#ANYWAY does this make sense? i hope it makes sense. i'm so fucking tired. life is kicking me in the balls

[kiisaes]

the thing about deku is that dudebros hate him until he's doing something stereotypically GOAT-worthy like acting like a badass and evading the law and not letting his emotions slip through and it's like... yes. he did do that. he does do that. and that's probably why dudebros latch onto him nowadays because they want to be him, especially because so many of them think that deku and ochako and/or other female characters are destined to be together (through entirely shallow reasons) — but they miss the point.

his inability, or rather his lack of desire to, unlock deeper, more vulnerable, more selfish emotions is not because he's the so-called GOAT, the pinnacle of the sigma grindset bullshit masculinity by hiding his feelings and getting results in an edgy, emotionally unavailable way. no. it's because he cares too much, not too little. he cares so strongly, so aggressively, so softly, so painfully, for the people around him. he's the idealistic version of a hero because he cares, more than anyone, to the point where he'll break his body to pieces. and he projects those emotions outward so much, he doesn't leave any of that care for himself. he chooses not to address selfish thoughts and moments because he's not the one who deserves them. which is why even when he was in his super edgy, dark vigilante look, he was motivated not by anything superficial like money or success, but his own powerful feelings towards helping others. deku is, through and through, a deconstruction of the stoic, apathetic, violence-familiar, strictly goal-oriented view of toxic masculinity. he fights and kicks villain butt because he cares. he also cries and breaks down and smiles and loves with all the warmth in his heart because he cares.

and i think it's really funny that even when deku is "the GOAT" for his surface level grindset outlook, he's still just deku. the deku dudebros would complain about for crying too much and being a wimp is the same deku as the one who selflessly defeated villains during his vigilante era. he didn't "man up" and do a total 180 mentally, he just happens to have layers to his emotional ineptitude. it fucking rocks. not like dudebros would have the brain capacity to understand that, though

#just deku thoughts #i love him very much is what i'm trying to say. i love how his emotions are his strongest feature #and also his biggest weakness #and i feel like he struggles to find the balance between caring too much and the consequences of caring too much #so he kinda shuts down his own thoughts relating to himself #aka he has very low self esteem in my opinion. man does not take himself into account #ANYWAY does this make sense? i hope it makes sense. i'm so fucking tired. life is kicking me in the balls #bnha #mha #midoriya izuku #becki rambles about stuff

[katiexpunk]

Diner Girl | Pairing Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Summary:  You frequent your local dinner pretty often, not just because you love their pancakes with extra syrup, but because your best friend Sydney is a waitress there. You've heard her talk about her hot boss, Joel, every now and then but you've never had the pleasure of meeting him; that was until one morning, after getting unexpectedly laid off, you decided to drown your feels in syrup and love from your bestie. Joel offers you a job, and he shows you the ropes in more ways than one. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~7.3K Warnings: Pining, flirting, hard core tension, age gap (unspecified, reader is 30), 2000s style (needs a TW lol), 2000s texting, Joel is a little rough/bossy, Joel is actually readers boss, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), no creampie (a katiexpunk first, weird, I know), rough blow job, oral (m and female receiving) pet names, cum swallowing, praise kink, inappropriate use of syrup, one tit slap, Joel rips readers uniform off of her, readers former boss is an asshole, reader gets fired from her job, eating/references to food, did I already say flirting. Joel and reader fuck on a table in the diner. References to a health scares (for readers coworker). A bit of a dom/sub dynamic. Fluff. Porn with plot. Joel calls reader slut twice. Hilary Duff/A Cinderella Story gets mentioned, as does Jennifer Coolidge yelling for more salmon. Authors Note: The fact that I'm posting this doesn't feel real. This idea has been in my brain for so long, and I am happy and relieved to have it out in the world. Special thank you to @endlessthxxghts for holding my balls, brainstorming with me, and beta'ing this. And another thank you to @sydneyinacoma, my inspiration for readers bestie -- thank you for being my slutty, smutty, sister and for saving my ass with the first blowjob scene; I owe you one. ILY both. And to @hier--soir, Jessie, your beautiful way of storytelling inspires me and I often find myself HWJWTS (How Would Jessie Write This Smut). Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

November 2004 

The blaring sound of your alarm disrupts your slumber, and you jolt awake with a sense of urgency. Shit. You’re gonna be late. Again. 

You stumble through your routine. You splash cold water on your face in an attempt to remove the pillow marks left behind on your cheek and smear on a mixture of lotion and face oil the saleswoman swears will make you look like you’re in your 20s again. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that that was only a year ago. You can see why she would have thought you were older as you look at your reflection in the mirror and the dim light from your tiny 1950s bathroom illuminates the bags under your eyes. 

God, you’re tired. Truthfully, you’ve been tired for months now; no amount of caffeine can seem to make up for your lack of sleep due to the demands of finishing up your Master’s and your boss who keeps you late at work what seems like every night now. 

You hastily get dressed and attempt to gather your thoughts. As you step outside into the cool November morning air, you bristle at the wind cooling the still-damp hairs that frame your face. You unlock the door to your beater and slip the keys into the engine. A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach when a soft click, click, click, click noise reverberates through the air; the stubborn engine refusing to turn over. 

Shit. Not again. No!

Frustration mounts with each futile attempt to bring the engine to life. You slam your palms against the cool leather of your steering wheel, a long sigh escapes your lungs and your forehead meets the top of the wheel in defeat. 

You reach into your purse for your phone and quickly compose a message to your boss, explaining the situation. "Car won't start. Trying to figure it out. Going to be late. Sorry." With a sigh, you hit send, hoping for a sympathetic response.

The minutes crawl by as you anxiously await a reply. The familiar chime of your phone signals a message, and you eagerly check it. However, the words that flash across the screen only deepen your frustration: "This is unacceptable. You’ve already been warned twice. Don’t bother coming in, and consider this your termination."

The shock of the message hits you like a ton of bricks. 

Sure, you had been late a few times in the past year, but you figured your staying late almost every night would make up for it. Maybe if he paid a little more you could afford to fix your piece of shit car and you wouldn’t be late in the first place. 

Your eyes sting with disbelief, and your hands tremble as you clutch the phone. Anger and desperation dance the waltz in your mind as you fight to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

You sit in your silent car, the quiet sounds of morning make you feel frozen in time, unsure of what to do or where to go from here.

You look back down at your phone again and type out a quick message to your best friend Sydney.

“U working this am?” before you can even put the phone down, it’s chirping to life with her response. 

“Hi babes! I am. R u?” her response reads. 

You don’t want to give her the full details over text – too much to type out – and instead, you settle on a short response. 

“No. Long story. Coming in 2 c u.”  

“Kk! C u soon <3” 

Your day was quite possibly off to the shittiest start ever, but you know there are three remedies to that situation. 

Your bestie, pancakes, and syrup. 

Lots and lots of fucking syrup. 

++++

The early morning sunlight spills through the diner's large windows, casting a warm glow on the worn checkered tiles. The aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee envelops the air, creating a comforting ambiance that feels like a hug. The clinking of cutlery against plates and the low hum of conversations provide a soothing soundtrack to the chaos of your morning. 

Your usual booth is taken, so you settle for a seat at the bar. The stool is a little wobbly, but you have a nice view of the bustling kitchen and the seats next to you are empty. 

You watch Sydney pour a coffee refill for the older couple at the end of the bar before heading over to you. As she approaches, her infectious smile illuminates the space. Her apron, adorned with a patchwork of food stains and coffee spills, hints at the countless meals she’s already served this morning. 

"Morning, sunshine! You’re here early, you miss me?” she greets, grabbing a mug from the counter behind her before placing it in front of you and pouring you a steaming cup of coffee. 

You let out a little chuckle at her remark, knowing you just saw her last night.

You grab the mug in front of you with both hands, wishing you could shrink yourself and jump into the hot liquid like a hot tub; your bones cold from your long walk to the diner. Stupid car.

"No really, what’s up? Everything okay?” she asks, a hint of concern behind her words. 

“Not really. My car wouldn’t start this morning again, and John fired me after I told him I was gonna be late,” you respond, feeling the warmth of your frustration beginning to build in your chest once more. 

“What an asshole,” Sydney responds, “I’m sorry that happened, babe. He’s a real piece of work, you’re better off without him,” she continues. 

“I guess so. But I need a job, Syd. I don’t know what I’m gonna do now,” you respond, defeated. Your cheeks begin to heat and you think you might actually cry this time. You move the menu out in front of you on the counter to the side, and Sydney picks it up and removes the pen from behind her ear. 

“I could talk to Joel,” she offers, scribbling your order down on her notepad. You don’t have to tell her, she already knows what this situation calls for – pancakes with a lot of fucking syrup. 

“Joel?” you ask, leaning over the counter and looking both ways before you whisper to her, “as in the hot boss you won’t shut up about, Joel?” 

She lets out a little chuckle and you see a little twinkle of bashfulness in her eyes. 

“Yes, my ridiculously hot, mostly unreadable, but hot, boss Joel,” she replies. “Martha quit last week, something about wanting to spend more time with her grandkids, so we’re down a waitress.” 

You look at her face, pondering her offer as if you really have another option at the moment. 

“He’s here this morning, he’s in the back doing paperwork – I can go grab him and have him talk to you if ya want,” she says, nodding to the woman who just sat down at the bar, giving her a soft be right there hun. 

“Plus, it’ll be so fun to work together!” she says, her voice more energetic this time, preparing to go back into customer service mode. 

“I – yeah, alright, yes, I’ll talk to him,” you agree. 

She does a little jump and says “YAY!” and then gives you a big smile before pouncing off to greet her next customer. Where does she find the energy? 

As you wait for your emotional pancakes to arrive, you cradle your mug, the warmth seeping into your chilled skin, while you gaze through the window into the kitchen. Amidst the orchestrated dance of chefs and waitstaff, there stands a figure that looks like he doesn’t belong in the greasy kitchen of a diner – a towering presence, broad and resolute. His flannel shirt clings to the sculpted contours of his muscles and the determined furrow of his brow accentuates the intensity he’s directing to the clipboard in his hand. 

That’s him. That’s gotta be the ridiculously hot boss. That’s gotta be Joel, right? You feel a little tickle in your belly at the thought. 

You try not to stare too much, not wanting to be obvious, but like passing a car wreck on the freeway, you can’t seem to look away. You smile at the way he bites the cap of the pen in his mouth, only dropping it on occasion to make little notes or checkmarks. As you look at him doing his work, his eyes flutter up and meet yours. And in that brief moment, you feel a connection. The corners of his lips curl into a friendly smile as he stares back at you briefly, before once again dropping his gaze to the papers in front of him. Sydney did say he was unreadable; now you see why. 

Before you can process further, Sydney returns with your stack of pancakes and places them in front of you. “Thanks, can I have some syr–,” but before you can continue, she’s placing the container of the sweet liquid in front of you with a wink.

As you dive into your comfort food, savoring each bite, the door to the kitchen swings open, and Joel emerges. Tall and confident, he approaches your seat, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Of course, he would come to talk to you now, right as you have a giant bite of pancake shoved into your mouth like an animal. The cherry on top of your already shit day.

"Sydney's been raving about you," he admits, a friendly smirk on his face. "Say’s you’re lookin’ for some work,” his voice is low and even, and his eyes briefly scan over the patrons before coming back to land on your face. For as hot as Sydney has been describing him as over the past few months, she forgot to mention how fucking sexy he sounds. 

You stare back at him, gulping down the remaining pancake in your mouth. 

Joel's eyes are trained on your face. What he really wanted to say was Sydney’s been raving about you, but she didn’t tell me how pretty you are. That was all the more apparent to him now that he sees you up close. 

“We’re down a waitress, and we could use someone with your taste in breakfast and impeccable timing, if you’re interested?” he says, watching you fidget with the napkin in your lap. 

“I – yes, yes I am very interested. I’ve never been a waitress, but I have great attention to detail and I’m sure I could pick it up quickly with the right guidance,” you say, straightening your posture, attempting to look more composed than he has you feeling right now. 

“Well great, we’ll have you trained up in no time,” he says, his gaze lingers on your features for a beat longer than expected before he swivels on his heels, heading back to the kitchen. However, after a few steps, he abruptly pauses, pivoting back around with a thoughtful expression, as if there’s more he wants to share.  

“Oops, my bad, sweetheart. Almost forgot my manners. I’m Joel, by the way. This is my diner,” he says, gesturing with one hand as if to show the space to you like you were seeing it for the first time, before offering his large hand toward you. You meet it with your own, giving him a firm shake while sharing your name. 

"Can you start tomorrow?" he asks, and you respond with a satisfied "mhmm," sealing the deal with a wink from Joel. "Great – be here around seven in the morning then, and we’ll get cha all trained up" he adds with a grin, one that teeters the line between professional and flirtatious. 

And just like that, in the midst of your syrup-drenched, emotionally charged morning you let out your first real smile of the day. 

So there were four remedies to your situation. 

Your bestie, pancakes, syrup, and Joel. 

You finish your remaining pancake, letting your mind wander off, secretly hoping Joel will be showing you the ropes in more ways than one.  

++++

The next morning, you get to the diner just as the sun is starting to rise, and you can't help but draw a parallel to Hilary Duff in A Cinderella Story, except now you’re the Diner Girl. 

While you may not be gliding around on gaudy rollerskates, and Jennifer Coolidge isn't screaming at you “MORE SALMON! We need more Salmon!” there's an undeniable charm to the whole scenario that makes you chuckle. The uniform Sydney handed you on your way out may not be the stuff of fairytale gowns, but the fabric that clings to your skin is a tangible reminder that you're stepping into a different narrative today, a narrative where you’re employed and your boss isn’t a total jerk. 

As you step into the diner, the familiar calms your nerves a bit. Joel, seemingly in tune with your arrival, glances up from behind the counter and shoots you a playful wink. Does he wink at all his employees? 

"Morning, sunshine! Ready for your grand debut?" he teases, flashing a bright smile coupled with an adorable set of dimples. You manage a shy smile in response, feeling nervous once again, but it has nothing to do with learning your new job and all to do with the beautiful man in front of you that you’ll be close to the entire day. 

Joel wastes no time guiding you through the diner's rhythm. With each task, he effortlessly blends instructions with charming banter, making the learning process feel less like work and more like a shared secret between the two of you.

"Here's where the magic happens," he says, gesturing to the row of gleaming coffee machines. "And trust me, making a perfect cup is an art; takes a lot of love."

“Aren’t these like super-fast automatic coffee brewers? You just load the beans and water and hit start?” 

"Alright, smartass," he retorts, a playful glint in his eyes, "Yeah, they are, but you gotta press that button with love, baby. That's what makes it good." 

Your laughter harmonizes with his, and you catch the infectious mirth in his expression – one hand on his hip, the other casually resting on the counter. Your eyes trace the veins on his forearms, distinctly visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves, and you can't help but admire the effortless confidence he exudes. 

“Do it with love. I understand,” you respond. 

“Good girl,” he responds. “Alright, next up – silverware rollin’, ya ready?” he asks.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you reply, a playful smile dancing on your lips, as you follow him to the back of the kitchen to grab a tray of freshly washed flatware. Returning to the dining room, he leads you to an empty booth tucked away from the prying eyes of coworkers, giving you the first taste of true solitude with him all morning.

"Now, watch and learn," he says, demonstrating a silverware roll that rivals any seasoned server. "The key is in the wrist action. It's all about finesse."

You mimic his movements, chuckling when your first attempt doesn't quite match his polished technique. He leans in a little closer, his warmth and encouragement almost palpable.

"See, you've got the basics down. But let me show you a little trick," he says, guiding your hand with his own. The close proximity sends a delicious shiver down your spine, and you can't help but revel in the extra attention to detail in his guidance. As he imparts his expertise, the thought of him taking charge and instructing you in other ways goes straight to your core. 

“You’re a natural,” Joel says, responding to your growing stack of rolled silverware. 

"You like taking orders?" he inquires, his gaze intense as he places the second-to-last rolled set in the pile you both created, and you complete your own. The implication behind his words hits you, and your eyes widen with surprise.

"Do I what?" you ask, a hint of uncertainty in your voice, unsure if your mind has ventured too far into the realm of innuendo to fully grasp his meaning.

"Taking orders – you seem like you'd be good at it," he says, pausing deliberately, well aware that he's causing a stir within you.

"You know, from customers?" he adds with a smirk, putting you out of your misery. 

“Oh. Oh – uh, well, I’m not sure, I’ve never tried it,” you respond. 

“First time for everything, darlin’. We can practice. I’ll be the customer, and you can take my order.” 

He flashes you a charming smile, making it hard to resist. "Alright," you agree with a shy grin, readying your notepad. You start “Good morning, Sir! Can I get you starte–” 

"Now, sweetheart, we've gotta do this right – stand up now, take my order properly," he interrupts, a playful tone in his voice. You shoot him a teasing side-eye, and he smirks, attempting to hide it by bringing his hand to his beard.

You rise and straighten your apron, and turn to face him at the table. 

“Good morning, Sir –” you begin again, “what can I get started for you?” 

"I'll have the classic bacon and eggs, toast on the side, and a steaming cup of your finest brew. Oh, and a side of your million-dollar smile, please."

You laugh at the last part, realizing this is exactly the kind of practice you need. "Got it, one bacon and eggs, toast, coffee, and a million-dollar smile," you repeat, jotting it down.

Joel nods approvingly. "You're a quick learner. Now, let's spice it up a bit. What if I want my eggs sunny-side-up, the toast lightly buttered, and the coffee extra strong?"

You take a moment to absorb the details, determined not to miss anything. "Sunny-side-up eggs, lightly buttered toast, and extra strong coffee," you recite confidently.

Joel grins. "Not bad, darlin’ – you’re a good listener.” 

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” you playfully retort. 

You don’t see it, but Joel palms himself beneath the denim of his jeans, attempting to adjust from the growing lack of space in them. 

As the morning rolls into the afternoon, you finish out the rest of your shift at the diner and make the walk back home.

As you lay in bed, you try to rationalize all of your flirting with Joel. 

He’s just nice. A Southern gentleman. He’s probably like this with all of his employees.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel lies in his own bed, also attempting to rationalize all of his flirting with you. He knows it’s wrong, but that doesn’t stop him from taking his heavy cock in hand to the thought of you that night. 

++++

After nearly a month of seamlessly navigating the diner routine, you've become a fixture in the cozy ambiance. The playful banter between you and Joel has escalated to shameless flirting – a subtle touch from a passed laminated menu, an intentionally clumsy moment with the cash register as an excuse to get a little closer, and the unmistakable sensation of his gaze lingering on you as you lean over to wipe down the booths. 

You even find yourself yelling out “Corner!” less than you should, hoping it might lead you to accidentally bump into him. 

It's not exactly backbreaking labor, though it can take a toll on you physically. But you find yourself enjoying it—the thrill of pushing through a lengthy shift, the rush that accompanies swift movements and juggling various tasks during the bustling hours, the familiar faces of regulars who now greet you by name, and the bonus of spending extra time with Sydney. 

For now, it's fulfilling enough. However, the more moments you share with Joel, the more it dawns on you that, at least when it comes to him, "enough" might never quite be sufficient.

++++

You normally work M-F, during the morning shift, and you’re grateful for the extra time on the weekends. You’re starting to feel like you might not actually need that facial oil now that you’re getting adequate rest. Take that, Mary Kay. 

One Saturday night, as you’re sitting on your couch watching Kill Bill, your phone buzzes with an unfamiliar number, and curiosity pulls you in. Joel’s husky voice on the line tells you who it is, but he introduces himself anyway.

“Hey, darlin’ – it’s Joel. Listen, uh, I know it’s your day off but I was wondering if you might be able to come in to work tonight?” he asks. 

Without pausing to let you respond, he lays it on thick, making a persuasive attempt to nudge you into saying yes, "The other servers are all tied up, and Suzanne had to call out, something about Mike not feeling right tonight, tight chest and all, so I told her to make sure he gets checked out."

"Oh no, that's awful. Yes, yes, of course, Joel. I'll be there in 15," you reply, hearing a sigh of relief on the other end.

"See you soon," he says.

"Oh? You're coming in, too?" you ask, trying not to sound overly excited.

"Well, someone's gotta make the food, right?" A little chuckle carries through the phone.

You remember it now; he had shared with you during that first day that working in the kitchen at night was one of the reasons he decided to take over owning the diner, his decision in part was fueled by his love of cooking. “Helps me remember why I started doing this in the first place," he had said. You were listening, but you were also distracted by him fidgeting with his coffee cup, watching him make small circles around the rim of it. 

++++

As the night descends, the diner transforms. The hustle of the day gives way to an intimate, dimly lit ambiance. Joel, donned in his chef's coat, greets you with a sly grin, "Well, look who's gracing the night shift. It's just you and me tonight, darlin'."

"Think we can handle it?" you respond, not really talking about the dinner rush, and he knows it. 

The air crackles with sexual tension as you and Joel maneuver through the shift. The need between you two is palpable; a desire only one thing could satiate, a hunger no amount of breakfast food could resolve.

The hours tick by, and the tile inside is illuminated by the soft glow of the neon sign outside. With the last order served, you both lean against the counter, a comfortable silence enveloping you. 

Joel breaks it with a casual remark, "Hungry?" 

"Starving,” you respond a playful edge to your voice, biting your lip. Joel’s eyes go dark as he stares at your plump flesh. 

You are hungry, but not for food.

++++

 Joel guides you to the prep station for a crash course on chicken and waffles. 

“Now, I know you’re a pancake kinda girl, but trust me darlin’ when I say these chicken and waffles will make you fall in love,” he says. Yeah, they just might. 

Joel, sleeves rolled up and a chef's jacket in hand, hands it over with a grin that hints at more than just a cooking lesson. The oversized jacket drapes over you as he gives a quick once-over. He chuckles, “you look cute like this, sweetheart,” he says before he heads to the fridge for supplies.

Returning with a bunch of ingredients, he starts showing you the ropes of making waffle batter. "You like to cook?” he asks, pouring flour into a bowl. His hands move with ease, adding baking powder, a pinch of salt, and a dash of sugar. You crack the eggs into the mix, and he throws in some vanilla extract, giving the batter a fragrant twist.

“I mean, I don’t not like to cook, but I can’t say I’m very good at it. I think I’m better with instruction,” you answer. You notice his gaze deepen, going darker almost, as he hands you a whisk. “Mix it up then. Give it your all,” he says, and you start blending. 

As you stir the batter, you sense Joel subtly adjusting his position until he's right behind you. He towers over you from behind. His arms gently encircle your body, and his backside hovers just an inch away from yours. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. "The secret," he murmurs in a low, almost whispered tone near your ear, "is to whisk it just enough, not too much. The air bubbles make it fluffy." His voice carries a blend of guidance and desire. 

His hand moves up to sweep your hair away from your neck, causing your mixing to slow as his fingertips graze the sensitive skin. Goosebumps erupt across your entire body, and he presses his lips to the soft skin behind your ear. 

“Joel,” you whimper, tilting your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck. 

“Keep mixin’ darlin,” he commands. You try, but the distraction of him on you makes you forget the simple action altogether. 

You close the gap between your bodies and take a small step back so your backside is firmly pressed against him. You let out a gasp as you feel the thick shape of him on your ass. He continues to nip at your neck, grazing his teeth along the sensitive skin there. You grab the counter in a poor attempt to steady yourself, and press into him harder, and he responds pinning your hips to the counter until his growing cock is all the more noticeable. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he lets out a little hiss. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to get you alone like this – haven’t been able to get it out of my head.” A soft moan escapes you, and in the blink of an eye, his hands find your hips. Before you can react, he swiftly turns you around to face him.

“You like being told what to do, baby? I’ll tell you what to do, but I’m not gonna tell you twice,” Joel says as his large palm comes up to hold the column of your throat, his thumb just under your jaw, tilting you up to face him. 

“So if I tell you to get on your knees, you’re gonna do it,” he says, voice low. “If I tell you to look at me, you’re gonna do it,” he continues, “and if I tell you to swallow, you’re gonna do it like the perfect little slut I know you are,” he says, dipping his face lower to you. You wonder if he can feel your pulse quickening under his hand, caught in a lusty daze fueled by hot breath and the sight of his blown pupils. 

“Tell me you understand,” he commands, not really questioning. 

“Yes - yeah, I understand,” you say, tightening your grip on his forearm, feeling the strength of his muscles still grasping you, pulling you closer to him. 

You think for a moment he might kiss you, his lips barely an inch from yours, but he doesn’t. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “since I know you’re so good at practicing, let’s do it again,” he suggests, releasing his grip on you. 

“Get on your fucking knees, baby.” 

You fall to your knees and feel the hard, cold tile against your bare calves. You position yourself beneath him and fold your hands in your lap, waiting for him to give you further instructions. He reaches down and brings his pointer finger down to lift your chin up to face him. He runs his thumb over your lips. 

“So pretty like this, baby.” He thinks you're pretty. 

As he releases you, you take that as permission and reach out to undo the buckle of his belt. You fumble with the cool metal momentarily, until it’s completely unbuckled before you begin to work with the zipper on his pants. You tug both his pants and his underwear down just below his hips, and his thick length springs to attention. 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the size of him. He’s big. His cock is already at full attention, red and weeping. Your mouth waters at the sight of it.  You look up at him, silently asking for permission to touch him, and he nods. “All yours’” he says, and your hand comes to wrap around the base of him. The thought of all of him being yours stirs something low in your belly. 

Before you can put him in your mouth, he grabs your wrist to pull you back up to your feet. 

“Too many clothes, sweetheart. Need to see those fuckin’ tits,” he growls, tearing your uniform off, almost bare save for your bra. You’re gonna need a new one. His eyes are glued to your chest, admiring the red bra you’ve been hiding under your uniform.

“As much as I like the way this looks on, I’d like it a helluva lot better off,” he says while hastily unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the kitchen floor. Your nipples harden in the cool air, entrancing Joel. “Gorgeous fuckin’ tits,” swatting your left one, in awe of the way it bounced on impact. 

“Back on your knees,” ordering you once again. You obey without hesitation, almost automatically. 

You stroke along his length, feeling the silky warmth of his skin, the heat, and the thick veins that add texture to each pass of your palm. You pause at the top of him and let out a little squeeze, until a small bead of precum forms at the tip. You lap it up, and Joel lets out a groan and his hands fall to grab the back of your neck. 

“Keep that mouth wide open for me, baby.” I’ll do anything you want as long as you call me baby, you reply in your head. 

You part your lips and tease your tongue around and then start sucking on the tip, slowly taking more in until you’re sucking on the full head of his cock and your tongue is whirling around it. Joel’s grip on the back of your neck tightens, and he gently cants his hips forward, urging you to take more of him.

You’re barely halfway down and the back of his cock is already on your throat. You start bobbing your head up and down, and Joel mutters a little curse under his breath and bites down on his lip. 

“Such a good girl f’me, takin’ this cock down your sweet little throat,” you moan around him, the sound reverberating against him, “yeah, this what you wanted, hmm? Needed your throat fucked like a slut?” 

Your thighs clench together, a syrupy mess of your own slick smears on your skin, and his filthy words add to the roaring ache in your cunt. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel as you notice him stiffen just a little more. How is that even possible?

You pick up your pace, pushing yourself to take more of him. He thrusts shallow but firmly, meeting your movements along his shaft. 

“Tha’s it baby, just like that…” his groans are lecherous, coupled with the profane sounds of you gagging on his cock. You’d listen to that on a loop if you could. 

He tightens his grip on your hair and pulls you off him. There will be plenty of opportunities for him to fill your mouth up, but right now, he has other priorities. He does take an extra moment to watch you wipe the saliva and precum from your mouth with the back of your hand. It’s a vulgar sight and he commits it to memory. 

He helps you to your feet, and your knees on fire from the harshness of the floor. You’ll pay for it later, but for now, the soreness is a small price to pay for the exhilaration you’re experiencing with your super hot, hung boss. 

Without warning, he scoops you up in his brawny arms and carries you off to the closest booth adjacent to the kitchen. With your back flat on the table, you feel the cool laminate tabletop on your skin and it adds a stark contrast to the warmth of Joel’s chest pressed against yours moments ago. 

Your upper back is on the small table, leaving just enough room for your hips to slightly dangle off the edge, Joel’s hips between your legs. Your head ghosts the condiment bottles at the edge and he holds you in place there, teasing you. 

He pauses to admire the way you look up at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your perky tits slightly falling to the side, a little sheen of sweat on your chest. He pauses to admire the way you still look flustered, but composed, knowing he’s going to fuck every ounce of that right out of you. 

Joel wants to untangle you like a knotted ball of yarn, he wants to claim ownership of every inch of your body, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

He drops to his own knees this time, hooking his thumbs into your underwear to pull them down with him.. His face immediately finds your cunt, and he wastes no time before he lays a trail of soft kisses over your wet and waiting folds. He starts slow, a kiss here, a lap there, and eventually begins to pick up his pace. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your hips cant up at the welcomed intrusion and your back arches, unable to stay on the table. You feel his hot breath on your cunt, and let out a small mmm at the way he presses his forearm across your lower half to lower you back down to the table, to keep you still. 

His mouth returns to your clit to work you, and he adds another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so fucking close – your slow crawl to the cliff of your orgasm turns into a full-on sprint.

You’re so close, and he can tell by the way your body tenses under him. 

“Please,” you moan. “Please – ugh, neeeeed to come, please let me come,” you beg. 

“Just a little longer, baby. You can come when I say you can.” Joel says, voice slightly muffed against your wet skin.

He presses his lips against your clit, but doesn’t give you enough tongue to get you where you need to go. You’re already so swollen, sensitive – you know all you’ll need is a little suck and you’ll be gone. 

You don’t know how much longer you can stave off your pleasure, but you want to be good for him, to listen, to obey. 

He knows you want to come, that’s obvious, and god does he want to know what you look like when you do, to feel it, to be the reason; but still, he continues to tease and let it build. Your face twists, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes close and it all but screams I’m close, make me come, make me come.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and he grazes it with the top of his tongue and closes around you. You flutter your eyes closed. You warn him that you’re close, “Joel, fuck, please let me come. Please, please, please,” you rasp out your pleas with a symphony of moans. 

Satisfied with your pleading, he decides to take mercy on you. He looks up at you through his thick lashes, drinking in the way he has you melting, the way he has you begging. 

“You can come, baby. Go ahead, want you to soak my face,” he says, voice hoarse but still smooth like velvet.

You obey and feel the taste of your sweet release rush through you like a warm summer breeze on a hot day. Your vision goes white, and your whole body tenses with pleasure as he works you through it. 

“Fuck, so pretty with you come f’me, baby. Being such a good girl, listening to my every command,” he says and lifts his head. His dilated pupils tell you he’s high on it; on you. 

Your slick shines on his beard, illuminated by the atmospheric glow of the streetlights peering into the dark diner. He looks at you, breath slightly ragged, and brings his fingers to his lips to smear the remaining slick from his face onto them, and he pops his finger in his mouth like he’s savoring the last bite of the best meal he’s ever had.

“Taste so fuckin’ delicious, baby. Must be from all that syrup you eat.” 

And shit, it’s filthy. He looks indecent in the most delectable of ways. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, grabbing his thick cock in hand and lining the head of it up against your wet and waiting hole, pausing there before pressing in. You let out a little whine. 

‘Shh, baby,” he coos, “‘m gonna give you what you need, don’t worry,” he says. Both of his hands come to your hips, surely leaving little bruises under his strong grip. Your slick makes it easy for him to bury himself in you to the hilt, even with the size of him. Your greedy cunt taking every inch of him like it’s your fucking job, like it was made for him. 

He pauses for a moment to give you a second to adjust; you feel so full, you swear you feel him in your lungs. 

He begins a relentless pace, thrusting his cock deep inside of you, the obscene sounds of the clapping noises, a wet and wanton song made as a result of your wetness keys you up. 

“Fuck, yes, Joel – YES,” you cry. 

“Yeah? Say thank you to me, baby. Say thank you for giving you this cock, for fucking you dumb,” he commands. 

Thank you – thrust – tha - thrust – thank you, fuck, thrust. 

He fucks into you so hard that your head hits the condiments, knocking them over. The ketchup bottle falls, the sugar packets scatter, and the syrup tips over. A slight ooze of the viscous substance starts to pool on the table and get into your hair, but you don’t care, this feels too good to care. 

Just as you’re about to come, Joel notices the pool of auburn liquid running over the table and onto the red booth below. 

“Tsk, tsk, baby – makin’ a mess – creaming on my cock, and spilling syrup on the floor,” he says, continuing his pace. You feel your walls clench around him. Just as quickly as he entered, he retreats, and you whine at the loss. “Get up,” he says. 

You do as he says and rise onto your legs. They’re shakey like Jell-O. You watch as he reaches over the table and grabs the sticky glass bottle from the table. 

“On your knees again,” he asks of you for the third time tonight. You pause, your body sore and your knees aching. “You hear me, baby? I said get on your knees.” 

You do as he says, and kneel before him, once again worshiping at the altar of the man above you. 

You look up at him with bated breath and watch him use his free hand to rip off his shirt and throw it onto the booth beside him. 

“Come closer,” he says, “and open,” you kneel before him with your mouth open, your inviting tongue waiting to be used. He uses his hand to grab the base of his heavy cock, and he taps it on your widespread tongue a few times before holding the syrup bottle high in the air, centering it above his cock and your open mouth. 

You watch with wide eyes as he tips the bottle over just a smidge, and a long, thin, sticky stream of syrup begins to rain down onto his hardness, falling off the sides of it, down to the floor, and all over your chin. 

“Clean me up, baby,” he says, and your lips close around him. You begin to suck and lick every inch of him, savoring the golden liquid that creates a tantalizing mix of sweetness from the sugar and salt from his pre-cum. You hum as you work him, savoring every bit, and eventually, the skin on his cock is syrup free and you take him at a more consistent pace. You hear Joel groan, and it encourages you to take him deeper, harder, faster. 

You look up at him through wet lashes, tears forming in the corners of them, as he holds your now sticky hair into a makeshift ponytail and uses your mouth. 

“Such a good hole for me,” he says, “so fucking good, baby, you’re so perfect.” 

You let him chase his high, and open wider when you see his jaw tighten and his tight core tense, the grip on your hair pulling tighter. 

“You’re gonna swallow,” he says. “All of it,” he commands, and his jaw goes slack and he releases a rush of warm cum down your throat. It tastes musky, but a little drop of syrup you missed during your cleaning job makes it sweeter. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he says, panting heavily, holding you on his cock as he throbs out the final pumps of his release. 

He lets go of your hair and you pop off of him and use your fingers to clean off the rest of the syrup from your chin and smile up at him. God, you must look like a wreck. 

He extends out his large palm in a gesture to help you off the floor. As you rise to stand, his fingers find the underside of your jaw and he tilts you up to look at him. 

He looks at you, the darkness behind his eyes has been replaced with someone else; pride. 

“You really are a good listener, baby.” He says.  He gazes down at you, his thumb delicately tracing the contour of your jaw. This moment feels significant.

Leaning in, he tenderly places his lips on yours. The sensation takes your breath away, and as he intensifies the kiss, you willingly welcome the exploration of his tongue, relishing the warmth and savoring his taste. Tonight, you've experienced every other aspect of him, but in this moment time seems to stretch as your lips remain locked.

As he breaks the kiss, a contented smile graces your face, and you feel as if you could float away.

“Now really, let’s eat some food,” he says, letting a low chuckle escape from his lips, “I still owe you some chicken and waffles.” 

“And you owe me a new uniform,” you say, grabbing his hand to follow him to the kitchen, totally naked. 

Joel actually teaches you how to make the meal this time. He offers you another chef's coat to cover your body, but he doesn’t let you keep it on for long. As your breakfast-dinner cooks, he hoists you up on the counter and eats you again. He makes you orgasm more times in one night than you think you ever have with any of your previous partners. 

You were right in your initial thinking. Enough will never be enough when it comes to Joel.

You’ll always want more.

More of this, and more of him. 

And the one thing that’s the most certain is that you’ll most definitely want more fucking syrup. 

Good thing you work at a diner.

END

Bonus Drabble Coming Soon: How will Sydney react when you tell her about your steamy night with Joel?

Tagging moots and those who showed interest in the preview: @nosesitter @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @lovebandrry @dugiioh @frodo-jojo @ghostwritesthings @planet-marz1 @josephquinnswhore @cinnamon-gurlll @dragonfire @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #syrup #early 2000s #pedro pascal

[suguruplsr]

Let me be your cure

featuring.. Alhaitham

✰ ✰ ✰ You gave up on love after being affected with the infamous hanahaki. With pity and sadness slowly swallowing your life whole, you end up in the hospital. Reluctant to getting surgery. And your boring, sadly hot, doctor doesn't seem to care. At least until he finds himself thinking about you.

,, x fem!reader , reader had an ex fiancé who was shitty , fluff w/ angst + comfort , mentions of blood and bruises (caused by the disease) , purely fictional! i know nothing about how hospitals actually operate or if things in my story are or are not allowed! so as you read, remember its purely fictional!

+ disease used is called hanahaki! and it is fictional, and used in many fictional stories, like mine. in shorter terms, a character affected by this disease coughs up flowers and, usually, blood, because of rejection or the loved character not loving them, (without it being said too!). it’s mostly solved with the loved character realizing their love for mc and saving them. or in other cases, the mc getting surgery and losing feelings for the loved character.

↬ 1K Event Masterlist

wc: 5K+

- divider @/benkeibear

“Why are you staring?" You huff, making the gray-haired man in front of you nearly lose his composure. There’s no reason why someone like him should be stuck with some bratty woman. Okay, maybe he should have some sympathy. considering it’s a part of his job. “Ma’am, I'm just evaluating your physical health by sight for now.” You groan, turning your head away.

You’re literally going to die within this year and You can’t even at least get someone who is a bit more bubbly and nice to be around! not some cold guy with looks that could kill.

His eyes were unique. like targets or darts, probably? Your confuzzled mind couldn’t make sense of most things at the moment, but you felt strange underneath his gaze. intimidated. even without looking at him.

“Maybe if you wiped that scowl off your face, you wouldn't be in this situation. Probably drove the guy off." Alhaitham mutters. Yeah, yeah, it’s unprofessional, but he wasn’t disappointed with your reaction. His eyes lingered around your face, noticing how your tired, red eyes widened. But your lips curled, as if satisfied, mixing with the disbelief in your words. "Oh, you must be the funniest one around. What? Was I supposed to just smile? Say, 'Oh, I don’t mind, you’re fucking your secretary! Let’s plan our honeymoon, though!’ And hope to continue our romantic story?” You sneer, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“Well, it clearly didn’t work.” Alhaitham almost snickers. finding amusement in your extroverted attitude. He jots down a few more noticeable signs of your defect. Your lips look like they’ve been bit a lot, your nails are brittle, and your hair is frizzy and not taken care of. These are pretty normal things that the nurses should be able to help with. But he does eye the areas that aren’t just normal, like the bruises that reached to your neck or the ones on your arms that the gown does little to hide.

As you ramble on about your not-so-perfect love story, Alhaitham flips through the history of your visitors. It’s been three weeks since you were hospitalized, and there has been only one visitor since the day you came. which he’d assume was your mother or father. “Not a lot of friends or family?” He interrupts, his tone maybe a tiny bit softer than how firm it usually is. simply out of respect, of course. “Yeah, well, when you choose to die on your hill, not everyone wants to watch." You chuckle, smiling a bit.

He’d think that smile wouldn’t meet your eyes—cliche, right? But it did—a smile that wasn't too happy and an expression that wasn't too happy. But he merely hums in agreement, having no words of comfort and fixing his binder.

“Anyways, a female doctor will come and do a physical inspection before we prepare for your x-ray appointment in a few days. Although it seems that the roots of the flower may be growing and causing damage from the inside, His words make you waver, looking down at your lap. Was this really a good choice? It’s probably too late for surgery—not like you want one, but...

Alhaitham studies the visible emotions crossing your face before heading towards the door. “Make sure you ask for some food; you’re heavily malnourished."

The next few weeks have been bland. You wake up around 10 AM, and usually the nurse you’ve learned to call, Ms.Candace, is bringing your food inside and having a small conversation with you. Eventually, she begins the morning routine, doing your hair with a nice side of warm herbal tea. Chapstick, nails, and a light pair of pajamas, and then talking about what you’d like to do for the rest of your day.

But just when you think you won't ever have to see that snobby doctor,

“Unfortunately for you, you won’t be able to go outside.” Alhaitham steps into the room, clipboard in hand, and shoots a look of no remorse towards your huff. “And why not? I haven’t seen the light of day for what feels like months."You scoff, making the blue-haired woman beside you sigh. "Well, miss, your body is already becoming slower, and there’s signs you are getting weaker in general. I'm sure he’s just wanting to prevent your state from getting any worse.” Yet her sweet words do little to calm the bubbling feeling within your chest.

You shake your head as she goes to walk out, giving the gray-haired man one more look before the door closes. He ignores it, “Anyway, after the results of your recent checkups, the estimate of how much time you have left to live was determined. but I doubt it’ll affect you considering you’re one stubborn woman." Alhaitham raises his eyebrows at you, anticipating your rebuttal before you can even get it out. but instead, you suddenly get into a fit of coughs. It’s like an eruption within your chest. the tiny tree within, sending an array of attacks.

You hate it—the prickly feeling that wells up, like knives cutting your insides as flowers sputter and fall into the palm of your hand. Your eyes water from the odd sensation you’ve lived with, and you question yourself with the same old question you uttered the day you made your decision.

Was it worth it?

Was it worth sticking with a man who never had to even speak of his loss of love for you? The yellow carnations were enough. Symbolizing the rejection you’ve faced from him, something you never thought you’d ever have to endure after your relationship was taken to the next level,

Alhaitham had grabbed the new form of medication you were going to start using, a syringe filled with yellow liquid. He grabs your arm, his eyes quickly traversing around your body, especially your throat, for signs that may be more alarming than they should be. He looks into your eyes, seeing the panic and fear that have swelled within them. “I know it hurts, but breathe...” He whispers, keeping your arm firmly still as the syringe prickles into your skin. You look away in fright. You hate needles, but you hate this even more.

The spiky feeling in your throat slowly subsides as you spit out some blood. "I'm fine now...” Your croaky voice makes him jeer, swiftly grabbing a band-aid for the little spot of blood on your arm. "You aren’t. You’re, quite literally, dying. Although it seems like you may be dying way faster than I thought.” He sighs, moving around the room and grabbing a few of your medications. “We'll have to give you stronger medication to reduce the pain. I'll have Ms. Candace and a few other people come help you," he says, leaving almost as quickly as he came.

The nurses come in within a short time, the room bustling with movement and questions being directed towards you. The blood staining the pretty gold ring on your finger makes you finally wake up.

You’re actually dying.

And it’s for a man who swears he could never love you again.

Oh, how tricky fate can be with those stupid I love you's.

“How’re you feeling?” Alhaitham mumurs. You’ve been ignoring the man who sat in front of you, all silent, ever since the fiasco yesterday. You could only stare down at the ring around your finger, twisting it and sometimes daring to fully shed it off your finger.

You don’t have the guts to do that, even if he did. without any hesitation either.

“With how much you talk, I'm surprised you aren’t yelling at me for just existing.” He muses, his eyes flickering from his clipboard up to where you sit on the hospital bed. You don’t have the energy to banter with him, "I'm not that childish.” “You’d be surprised." His mutter makes you jolt, your face twisting into a pout.

“It sounds like you just have a problem with me!” you gibe. but Alhaitham’s eyebrow raises. as if you hit the target with that one. "Possibly," he mumbles, focusing back on the papers in front of him. Your fusses fall dead on his ears.

His problem with you wasn’t bad—more like pity. Something he rarely feels for patients, only understanding their situations, giving affirmations, and moving on. but he finds your situation simply ridiculous. Not only are you dying for a man who left you for another, but he doesn’t even have the respect to pay for your medical fees. Not to mention, literally, your mother was the one who paid, only stating to him that she has no plans on visiting and that he was allowed to do whatever once you died.

What a heartless woman!

“Since you’re so absorbed in that paper—“ “You must not have an ‘off’ button.” His eye twitches at the tone of your annoyance, all sickly and sweet. He could practically hear the joke Cyno would make. "Actually, I do. and it’s counting down. Speaking of, you never told me how long I have left.” Okay, maybe you were a bit funny. and it’s something that should definitely not make his lips almost form into a smile. However, he clears his throat, not bothering to flip through the mountain of pages. considering he already memorized the information. “Two months at least. With the rate at which your body is deteriorating, the best you’ll be able to last is maybe an extra week or two.

Alhaitham’s stomach strangely twists at the sight of your mood dampening once again. your head looking back down to your arms, and your lips pressed tightly together. But it wasn’t like he cared; it’s just interesting to see how fast the light can disappear from one’s eyes. something he realized long ago that he'd see a lot of.

It’s probably just from how tense the room got all of a sudden. nothing he can’t handle.

Before you know it, droplets of tears fall onto the blanket bunched around your lap, like a rainfall that just doesn't stop. no matter how fast you bring your hands up to wipe them away. "Sorry, I'm just going—" “Go ahead. I see it every day." Alhaitham doesn’t let you argue. He pulls out a small handkerchief from his chest pocket, inscribed with the letter A in cursive. but he doesn’t mind your slight humiliation, or whatever it is making you uncomfortable in front of him, looking away and grabbing a piece of paper.

Once your blurry eyes are clear, you see that he has left you in silence, leaving behind a sheet of paper. clutching the white cloth, you read the words, a smile blooming on your face. Make a bucket list.

“Abiding by our policies, you can’t get your nails painted.” Alhaitham shuts down the 20th idea you had. He sat in the chair in front of you, avoiding the glare you threw at him and skimming through the third row. Maybe she should’ve predicted that a dying person would want to do exactly, one hundred and one, things before their death.

But it’s not like he’s done this before.

"Okay, what, can I do?!” You huff, already fed up with the word ‘no’. "Well, since you can’t go out, we can watch that movie, ’scream’, here." Alhaitham sighs, watching how your whole mood lit up, your eyes almost sparkling. This is going to be a long two months.

“mhm! what else.” You giggle, clapping your hands together. It’s almost comical to him to see how expressive you are. Looking back down at the paper he held, he began picking out some of the activities you would be able to do.

And in the end, you ended up winning him over in a few things, like being able to use some make-up for fun, more movies, specific snacks that you’ll have to eat at very specific times, board games that you convinced him to play with you, and basically anything and everything that you can do with the tiny little home of your room.

You even managed to persuade the silver-haired man to let you get some press-on nails. nails, which Candace, thankfully, went out to buy. but surprisingly, the doctor decided to put them on you himself. since Ms.Candace was attending to another patient and he had some free time. Well, at least that was his excuse. Not like you know, he was simply curious to see your excitement over something so small.

“That one fits the ring finger more.” You correct Alhaitham again, making him squint his eyes, mumbling under his breath, and moving his fingers to hold your hand firmer. And you just so happen to be right. He sets it aside carefully, putting it in the line of pretty pink and black gemmed nails. He picks up the last smaller nail, the one that finally fits your index finger perfectly.

“Isn’t it pretty?” You smile, adoring the nails, as he concentrates on applying the fake nails. He gives a low tsk, a faux look of confusion on his face. "Well, I dunno, they’re kinda...” he trails off, a neatly structured, stoic expression on his face that makes you roll your eyes. “They’re cute!” “If you say so.” Your adorable little glare makes him want to egg you on, but he stays silent for now.

Wait— Adorable? Maybe he has a headache from your nagging or something; there is nothing to worry about now.

You study his expression unknowingly; your eyes just so happened to need something to latch onto. And he’s clearly got a nice view. better than the nails. The small scrunch of his eyebrows is obviously dedicated to something so simple that it almost concerns you. Even the way he holds your hands up is tender, contrasting with his slightly calloused hands. He has a beautiful face too, and you think you can see some muscles hidden under his coat.

Sculpted so gorgeously. Funny, for such a snarky man.

“How old are you?” You blurt out, looking up at him as he glances at you in confusion. “Why?” He asks softly, almost done with your second hand as you contemplate. “Just curious.” “Curiosity killed the” “but satisfaction brought it back.” You finish before he can fully say the little saying. A small smirk of victory forms on your lips when he gives you a look that just radiates sass.

“Twenty-seven.” He gruffed. Perfect. “How did you even become a doctor so young?" You question him, a look of surprise crossing your face as he shrugs. “A few golden opportunities.” “Wait, are you not going to ask me how old I am?” You’re so clueless, Alhaitham thinks. “I’m your doctor. You must really not have a brain.” And you scoff at his words, but yet another question pops into your head. “Anyways! Favorite color?” “Are you serious, right now?" “If you don’t answer, I will personally file a complaint." "Green."

You two eventually ended up having a long conversation, with you asking him questions and him answering reluctantly. But what made it so long was him turning it on you and asking a few questions that you gladly responded to. All the while, he held one of your hands, not ever thinking to let go and just studying the ring you still wear. What a bubbly woman you are.

Alhaitham nearly let a curse out to the man who wronged you when you mentioned him once. He doesn’t care much, but how can someone be so stupid?

Alhaitham looks at the time on his watch. Two-thirty. Zipping up his lunch box, he heads towards the elevator, making a small stop in the room full of medicines. He ignores the calls in his name from other doctors or nurses who simply want to know more about the quiet man. He hates spending his breaks around people. Sadly, this just so happens to be one of the times when he’d love to have his headphones.

But duty calls.

He taps the button to go to the ninth floor, where your room is. Today is your movie day. That just so happened to land on Friday, the thirteenth too. He swipes through his notes, finding the password to his Hulu subscription. He only bought that for the movie series you like to watch on the smart TV installed in your room. *’Scream’ was it? Today you two were watching the fifth one, and you somehow logged him out for the third time within a week. Ms. Candace said you were snooping through the account settings or something like that.

What a hassle you are!

He reaches the high floor after a few seconds, making his way to your room and memorizing the password that he surprisingly always forgets. But, when he opens the door, he’s greeted with the sight of you fast asleep. Something makes him dread the energy you’ll have later in the evening, but he’s mindful of your rest. Placing his bags on the table silently and taking off his coat, he put it on the hook of the door.

The silence within your room is nice, for once. Usually, only the tension of your attitude or sadness would lie in the silence of this room. But only your light snores and the small drag of a chair were heard. Alhaitham moves to sit in a corner, thinking about leaving and having an extended break or waiting for you until you wake. But he picks the latter, crossing his arms and legs, leaning back, and letting his eyes drift onto your figure.

His mind was maybe a bit more active than before. He doesn’t know why, but he finds himself thinking of you more often: your health, your many expressions, your cheeky smiles, the dumb stuff that comes out of your mouth, and your eyes. To him, eyes are the purest form of honesty. like how yours can look like saucers when you’re shocked or diamonds when you're happy. or a pit of sadness.

Sadness. Alhaitham would think your only source of sadness in life was that fiancé of yours. Well, ex by now. A man who caused you so much pain that you’ve decided to live and die with. How could you ever love again if you’re so committed like this? But Alhaitham won’t ask you such things, out of respect, of course. It’s not like he’ll be pondering over them in a few weeks.

He shakes off the weird thoughts, dozing off.

You woke up to the sight. ‘What a sight for sore eyes.’ You quote in your head. You almost want to wipe away your eyes with how fine that man looks. Despite how creepy it was to notice the doctor in the corner of your room, His head was leaned against the wall, and his body stilled like stone as he slept. And his arms—Oh his arms. His arms were practically bulging out the scrubs he wore, so muscular. You almost want to touch them. Well, at least you know he keeps up with his gym regimen. Good thing he’s sleeping; now you can admire him more.

“You must have a staring problem.”

Maybe not.

His voice was a bit raspy, laced with tiredness as his eyes fluttered open, straight to you. “Why didn’t you wake me?” You divert him. Eyes away from him with an obvious flustered expression on your face. Alhaitham’s lips tug into a tiny, knowing smile, humored. But he decides to play along and not tease you any longer. “I’m not going to interfere with a patient's sleep.” He sighs, standing tall and going to put back on his coat. He checks the time. 4 PM.

“Before you watch your movie full of blood, you need your dosage.” Alhaitham ignores your whine in response, picking up the wrapped syringe in his white bag. “Ugh, why do I have to do three a day anyway? I’m feeling well.” You huff, holding out your arm as he walks to you, closing your eyes in anticipation. “That’s exactly why.” He mutters, holding your arm gently. “Breathe.” He says it softly, feeling your fast heartbeat on your wrist. “I clearly am." "Well, calm down.”

You purse your lips, complying and taking some deep breaths. Once his thumb presses the familiar spot between your forearm and arm, you feel the prick in your skin. Then comes the tingly feeling of fluid entering your body. You shiver, unexpectedly clutching his hand as your chest tightens. Alhaitham watches in interest, allowing you to hold onto him until the pain passes. "Can we watch that movie now?" You mumble, making him give your hand a final squeeze before letting go.

He grabs the remote on the table, turns on the TV, and flicks through the streaming services. “Hmm, I’m not sure. I think you like looking at something else,” he offhandedly mentions, giving you a small jab at your earlier actions and glancing down at the little funny face you gave him. “Oh c’mon!”

“What? It was just an assumption."

“But! Ugh!”

“Again!” You groan before Alhaitham can even slot his red chip into the blue holder. You’ve lost maybe five or six games of Connect Four now, sitting at this stupid table with this stupid game for maybe an hour and a half. "No, I can do it." Alhaitham says this while sitting back into his chair with that signature cross of his legs. “And why is that?” “It’s getting late.” And you pout, laying your head on the table as he watches you.

Those little target-like eyes of his drill into you. Moreso, the purple veins that have formed on your neck over the past month The area is dark, and the veins are even darker. There were parts of your body that suffered from the disease; your health was deteriorating so badly that it made him sick. You’ve become slower, unable to even stay awake for longer than eight hours. He and Ms. Candace have been hovering over you with every last second of your life, with the knowledge that you could drop dead at any moment.

“Not a good look, huh?" You murmur, feeling awful under his watchful gaze. And Alhaitham’s cocks his head, not entertained by your words. “Did I say that?”

"It's on your face."

“You have poor judgment, then."

And your face scrunches up, looking at him with an annoyed look. “What else would you think, then?” Alhaitham bites his tongue. something he doesn’t do a lot. Well, not at all. It’s not like him to interfere with a patient's choice, but...

“I’d think that you should get that operation.” He sighs, not bothering to take his eyes off you as you turn your head away. “Doctor. You know I—“ “Are you seriously letting a man who isn’t here dictate how your life ends?” He scoffs, letting a tone of disbelief creep into his voice before realizing his own words. But Alhaitham doesn’t correct himself.

He was already correct.

"Okay, well, why do you care? And yes, I know you’re my doctor and everything, but, you don’t act like this." You give him a pointed look, sliding the lever of the blue grid and letting the coins fall into the bin. “I’m just saying. Anyone in their right mind would at least be honest with you about this.” Alhaitham shrugs, but the truth is that he truly could not stand to see you like this. So in his right mind, he did the least he could do.

It's not like you know his true feelings.

You ponder over his words, playing with the ring on your left hand. He was right. But perhaps you expected too much from that damned man, the man you fell in love with classically, high school sweethearts who swore to marry, and oh, how so close you were to that dream.

Not every story has a happy ending.

But who were you to let some shitty man write your story’s ending while he goes to some fucking island with his fucking bimbo?

An idiot is what you’d be.

“Sure.” You whisper, bringing your elbow up and laying your head on your hand. Alhaitham gives you a look of satisfaction, a knowing smile forming on his face as he stands up. “I knew you weren’t that dumb.” “You know nothing!” You scoff, your chest bubbling with excitement for your future as you get ready to put away the board game. But he pulls the grid towards him and says, "You won’t need this here. I’ll just take it home.” He says it casually, making you pause.

“But it was a gift to me? Why—" “Do you seriously not know how to take a hint?” What’s with this man always interrupting you? You scowl. Hint? What hint—"Oh, wait—are you like, inviting, me over or something?” And Alhaitham only makes a sound of agreement, dropping the chips in the bin into the box. “yea, and I won’t be your surgeon, obviously. But once the day of your appointment comes, you won’t see me around. Just talk to Ms. Candace after they release you."

Alhaitham cleans up as you tuck yourself into bed, playing the background show of your choice before leaving with a small click of the door.

You can’t believe it. You aren’t dying in three weeks. and you’re going on a date. Well, in a month, but still!

“Um, should I just call him? I don’t want you to trouble you any longer. You were dressed in a fine black dress that Candace willingly gave to you. Your body healed after the operation within a few weeks of rest and food. You hadn’t seen the doctor—well, Alhaitham—since the day before your appointment.

So basically, a long time.

But after getting released from the hospital, Candace took you in and helped you familiarize yourself with life. And she just so happened to tell a specific man that you made a full recovery. which his immediate reply was, for you to come over to his house for dinner.

It was about time for him to properly pursue you.

“Oh? You must be eager to see him. He’s just a little car ride away, but if you insist, Candace teases, her eyes glimmering in amusement as she hands you your phone. You look at yourself in the mirror again; it feels so refreshing to actually see yourself healthy, not scrawny and filled with scotches of purple on your skin.

You spent over an hour in the mirror, buttering yourself up with some light makeup of your choice and admiring yourself.

You take the phone from her hand, chewing on your bottom lip nervously as you get to his contact. "There is no need to be nervous. I’m sure he’d swoon just from the sound of your voice.” She smiles, making you laugh, and clicks the call button. "Oh, please, he’s not that—

"You finally called."

You shiver at the sound of his voice. Who the hell answers the phone so quickly? “Sorry, but, uh, I was wondering if you could come pick me up." You aren’t sure how the tone of your voice got meek so quickly, but for some reason, it makes him chuckle. “*yea? I’m already on my way.” Maybe you were too sick to realize how hot his voice actually is, even just on the phone.

Candace notices how stiff you are, clearly flustered and shy. She leans to the phone and says, “What a gentleman you are! I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you! She might lose her head if you don’t hurry.” She sings, clicking the red button as you fall into her hug.

You two talk about some things you might be interested in doing in the future, like continuing your career and education in technology or finding a job soon so you can get out of her hair. It really feels nice, like you’re actually becoming something rather than being a little housewife with a fiancé who never took the time to love you.

You drift away from the conversation on cereal before milk when you hear a honk outside. Candace jumps up, holding your hand and guiding you to the door. “I feel like a mother,” she smiles, making you give her a grin. “You’re younger than me!” “But I’m wiser. Have a nice night, hun.” She opens the door for you, giving you the sight of a Black Cadillac parked beside her driveway.

You walked down the driveway nervously, clutching the sides of your dress with your purse in your other hand. Just as you reach the car, Alhaitham gets out, walking around to open your door but stopping you with a hand just barely ghosting your waist.

You two stare into each other's eyes, a light breeze blowing through the evening air as he looks you up and down. while you do the same. It felt like a blessing to be able to see his figure without those stupid scrubs. He wore a gray button-up with black slacks, simple but fitting. with some small amounts of jewelry that complement him well. Before you can even try your hand at being confident, he speaks before you: “You look decent." "I spent over two hours on this outfit! And you say, "Decent?"You huff playfully, the weight of your heart already dissipating when he gives an airy laugh, opening the door.

“Then I apologize..gorgeous." “That is so corny.” You jest, despite the increase in blood flowing to your cheeks. “I tried. But I was honest.” He sighs, almost disappointedly, but is careful of your legs before closing the door. Your mind races as you get comfortable in the car, noticing the light scent of cologne. How fancy.

At least it was better than those strong perfumes. like a dark, regal scent, but brisk.

“I was hoping to make you dinner, and then we can play another game I bought for you.” Alhaitham gets in, buckling up before giving Candace, who stood at her door, a small wave. “Yea?” “Yea.” You smile bashfully, your cheek bones betraying you as you hold your hand out. “I’d like that.” And Alhaitham returns your smile, examining your hand.

No ring. But he already has one in mind.

It’ll be silver.

He puts his hand in yours, interlocking it and squeezing firmly. “And I promise you’ll love it.”

Hopefully, you’ll love him too.

#genshin x female reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #gesnhin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin x you #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #al haitam x reader #al haithem #alhaitham x female reader

[tinystepsforward]

i've still been keeping tabs on what's happening at automattic. a couple of things i've observed:

toni schneider (who is a man btw), the interim ceo, has been quite open with staff in ways that mean they generally seem relieved to have him leading the company for now. i've heard people speak optimistically about him from all parts of the spectrum (by which i mean: staff who are trans tumblr users right through to staff who are "anti-woke" or whatever and were absolutely intolerable to work with as a trans person), which seems like... a good sign? maybe.

this relative transparency includes things like weekly updates from an executive level, as well as openly saying that he did have to directly speak to matt and encourage him to, you know, stop posting.

matt is back to his usual milquetoast blogging, and replied to someone on mastodon about the AI issue saying he'd comment on it when he's back in may, so whatever toni said to him seems to have worked for him keeping out of it for now.

people have no idea what it's gonna look like when matt's back.

the best case scenario is that schneider manages to create a significant enough boost in morale and productivity that "it'd be nice if we just kept him" becomes a sentiment that isn't held just by the rank and file. i don't know how likely that is, but there's a sense of cautious hope and of making the most of this reprieve from matt's increasingly erratic decisions no matter what.

the tumblr staff statement was approved by schneider and hr, so i am also hopeful they won't face repercussions. what they said might seem pretty mild from the outside, or carefully worded, but it's pretty clear to me and to most people who've worked at companies like this that it's a pretty bold one.

i'll quote a friend:

keep reminding the more histrionic elements out there that: 1. there really are trans people, INCLUDING TRANS WOMEN, in the fight here. 2. we don't have nearly the power they seem to think we do. 3. we're fighting anyway. was the statement we wrote enough? fuck no. does it fix everything? fuck no. but we literally called out the CEO, and got the greenlight for it from the interim CEO. i don't know where this will end, but that's not nothing.

i'm not sure automattic deserves the immense honor of having this many of its brave, dedicated trans staff put effort into trying to make it better. but it has them, and it would be wise to do its best to keep them. so many of us — even me, even now — believe in the ideals that drew us to the work automattic does, and hope that it can return to them. we will see!

other things i want to say:

the wellbeing of my friends on staff is my priority. i am interested primarily in their safety, and won't pressure them to give me goss. the ways i've spoken publicly are already pretty scary to people who might worry about retaliation against them just for being known to be my friend.

this is a regular personal blog. i'll keep updating if there's shit to update about, but i also don't work at automattic any more (thank fuck, again), have a life, and am not interested in declaring matt my specific nemesis or otherwise acting purely out of spite.

some of youse really deeply do not understand companies, the internet, generative ai, or pretty much anything else i've said. that's okay — big tech in particular is fucked up on purpose bc it benefits those in power to have it be incomprehensible! but maybe it's not a great position from which to get mad at me specifically or at staff for idk not personally assassinating matt.

got tired of blocking transphobes so i've turned anons off. i'll probably flick them back on eventually.

#tony muses #tumblr meta #<- just for my blog's tag search

[baki-tiene-un-simp]

Hey, I know that i've already asked agood amount of hc but could you please make an hc for retsu, musashi, mumon, sukune and jun with an S/O that was almost killed by someone like their enemy or something (like a very graphic and bloody injuries that are basically exposing the bone or the whole body is basically fully bruised) but they get to the hospital and they are in a coma and they wake up after 3 to 6 months or so moments before their S/O is umpluged from the life support and everyone thought that they were basically dead.I would like to know about their thoughts, feelings and plans after they thought they were going to lose their S/O and their plans for the future, also what they would do the person and how would they react to their S/O coming back and some aftermate.

Thanks for having the patience to deal with so many asks.

Heres a kiss for my FWACCOF(Favorite Writer And Content Creator Of Tumblr)

P.S.(I know that this kind of reads "fuck off" but I liked the acronym so I'll let it stay)

Hope you have a nice second/minute/hour/day/week/month/year/life/eternety.

Situation: Baki's men's train of thought when an enemy attacks their S/O. / Tren de pensamiento de los hombres de Baki cuando un enemigo ataca a su S/O.

Characters: Jun Guevaru, Musashi Miyamoto, Mumon Katsuragi and Retsu Kaioh.

Jun Guevaru.

"These months have been exhausting without them, so stressful how everyone seems to go on with their lives while I feel lost because they didn't react, but they have finally come to their senses. They have opened their eyes and looked at me after so long, I really missed those beautiful eyes.

Who could even think of hurting you, mi amor? What kind of monster could hurt you, mi ángel?

I must make sure that your house is protected so that this incident does not happen again. A couple of my men could regularly hang around there just to keep the perimeter clear, I'll be with them anyway so I can protect them. Oh how I've missed you…"

Musashi Miyamoto.

"It's ridiculous to take it out on someone who can't defend themselves, what logic is there in attacking others when the target is me? The discomfort in my chest hasn't disappeared since they were attacked a couple of months ago, now that they woke up I felt less… Uncomfortable, but that feeling is still there.

Is it some kind of desire for revenge? Revenge doesn't taste so bitter, besides, I'm satisfied when I use my katanas on the offender. I don't understand what happens.

I don't understand how they are still here either, their slow breathing and their lack of mobility during these months only gave me an image of what I thought was the future, I don't know how they managed to come back to life, but I will stay with them until they can explain it to me…"

Mumon Katsuragi.

"They opened their eyes, heaven has finally heard my pleas, maybe God got tired of hearing me cry at night to get them back to me. I stopped myself, I wanted to jump on them and kiss them as if I hadn't seen them in years, but I I held back; her condition is delicate and I must be careful.

The doctors haven't stopped talking about her treatment and diet from now on, that old cookbook I found at her house should help me a bit. They probably don't mind me staying at their apartment, I spend most of my time there and they need help right now.

I have to go home before them, I have to clean and change the sheets so they can rest as soon as they get out of the hospital, maybe they want to eat something after a long time? Probably, I'll take care of bringing today's dinner so that I can regain my strength after all these months…"

Retsu Kaioh.

"They are fine, they are fine, they have finally woken up and just in time, just when I lost hope of one day being able to see their eyes looking at me once more. If only I had been by their side when they needed me most, maybe if would have paid more attention to their surroundings they would not be here, they would not have suffered as they did.

The wounds have healed, but they need therapy and periodic checkups to make sure they are better. Maybe I should ask them to move in with me so that I can take care of them properly during all the remaining time of recovery and therapies, that would also allow me to be around for them when they need to do something and their injuries do not allow it.

A good diet is also vital, it could supply the pantry with foods rich in vitamins and nutrients, meat and fish, reduce sugar and bad substances for a period of time. The tea is medicinal, surely they will manage to calm your discomfort and help you sleep. I should take out the inflatable bed and offer them my bed, the important thing is that they are comfortable and rested…"

Versión en español.

Jun Guevaru.

"Estos meses han sido agotadores sin ti, tan estresante como todos parecen seguir sus vidas mientras yo me siento perdido porque tu no reaccionas, pero finalmente has vuelto. Al fin abriste los ojos y me miraste después de tanto tiempo, realmente extrañaba esos hermosos ojos.

¿Quién podría siquiera pensar en hacerte daño, mi amor? ¿Qué clase de monstruo podría lastimarte a ti, mi ángel?

Debo asegurarme de que tu casa esté protegida para que este incidente no se repita. Un par de mis hombres podrían pasearse regularmente por allí solo para mantener el perímetro libre, de todas formas estaré junto a ti, así que puedo protegerte. Oh, como te he extrañado…"

Musashi Miyamoto.

"Es ridículo desquitarse con quien no puede defenderse, ¿Qué lógica existe en atacar a otros cuando el objetivo soy yo? La incomodidad en mi pecho no ha desaparecido desde que fue atacado hace un par de meses, ahora que despertó me he sentido menos… Incómodo, pero ese sentimiento sigue allí.

¿Será alguna clase de deseo de venganza? La venganza no tiene este sabor tan amargo, además, quede satisfecho cuando use mis catanas en el causante. No entiendo que sucede.

Tampoco entiendo como sigue aquí, sus lentas respiraciones y su falta de movilidad durante estos meses solo me dieron una imagen de lo que creía era el futuro, no sé cómo logro regresar a la vida, pero me quedaré a su lado hasta que pueda explicármelo…"

Mumon Katsuragi.

"Abrió los ojos, el cielo al fin ha escuchado mis súplicas, quizá Dios se cansó de escucharme llorar por las noches para que me lo devuelvan. Me contuve, quise saltar sobre el y besarles como si no le hubiera visto en años, pero me contuve; su estado es delicado y debo tener cuidado.

Los doctores no han parado de hablar sobre el tratamiento y la dieta que debe seguir de ahora en adelante, ese viejo libro de cocina que encontré en su casa debería ayudarme un poco. Probablemente no le moleste que me quede en su apartamento, paso la mayor parte del tiempo allí y necesita ayuda justo ahora.

Debo volver a casa antes, debo limpiar y cambiar las sábanas para que puedan descansar tan pronto salga del hospital, ¿quizá quiera comer algo después de mucho tiempo? Es probable, me encargaré de traer la cena de hoy para que pueda reponer fuerzas después de todos estos meses…"

Retsu Kaioh.

"Está bien, se encuentra bien, al fin ha despertado y justo a tiempo, justo cuando perdí la esperanza de algún día poder ver sus ojos mirándome una vez más. Si tan solo hubiese estado a su lado cuando más me necesitaba, quizá si hubiera puesto más atención a su alrededor no estaría aquí, no hubiera sufrido como lo hizo.

Las heridas han sanado, pero necesitan terapia y revisiones periódicas para verificar que están mejor. Quizá deba pedirle que se muden conmigo para que pueda cuidarles debidamente durante todo el tiempo restante de recuperación y terapias, eso también me permitiría estar cerca cuando necesite hacer algo y sus heridas no se lo permitan.

Una buena dieta también es vital, podría abastecer la despensa con alimentos ricos en vitaminas y nutrientes, carnes y pescados, disminuir los azúcares y sustancias malas durante un periodo de tiempo. El té es medicinal, seguro que lograran calmar sus molestias y les ayudaran a dormir. Debería sacar la cama inflable y ofrecerle mi cama, lo importante es que esté cómodo y descansado…"

#jun guevara #jun guevara baki #guevara #jun guevara x lector #jun guevara x reader #musashi miyamoto #musashi miyamoto baki #musashi miyamoto x reader #musashi miyamoto x lector #mumon katsuragi #mumon katsuragi baki gaiden yuuenchi #mumon baki gaiden yuuenchi #mumon katsuragi x reader #mumon katsuragi x lector #retsu kaioh #retsu kaioh baki #retsu baki #retsu kaioh x reader #retsu kaioh x lector #baki the grappler #baki son of ogre #baki dou #baki headcanons

[sapphire-weapon]

So. I gotta say some shit.

I think we all have a tendency to be more gracious to Ada's character than she rightfully deserves. I'm guilty of this, too. We all want to give her the benefit of the doubt and insist that her character serves a purpose and is worth talking about because she's A. such a huge part of Leon's character and B. the only non-white member of the cast, but like.

There's nothing there.

I noticed this when I rewatched Separate Ways recently (because fuck ever playing that shit again holy fuck Separate Ways sucks to play).

After RE2, Ada isn't a character anymore. She has absolutely no arc; her character never develops or goes anywhere. She's not tied to anyone or anything in the plot in a way that matters -- even her relationship with Wesker doesn't fucking matter, because there's no fallout or consequence as a result of anything she does to/with/for him, whether it's beneficial to him or against him. She has only one facet to her personality: snarky and mysterious. We never see her emote or speak in a context removed from either of those two qualifiers. Ever.

She has some softer moments here and there, but they last for like a single line of dialogue or two and then the scene just completely moves on without them -- so, those softer moments never actually matter anyway.

She doesn't enhance or enrich Leon's character in any way; the only thing her character serves to do is isolate him from the main cast, which gives his character nowhere else to go other than horrible, spiraling depression because every action he takes in his life turns out to be completely meaningless -- because it's not allowed to mean anything, because he's become so far divorced from the central plot of the series.

The only functional purpose that Ada Wong actually has is as a plot contrivance to explain how a bad guy did a thing. Other than that, she exists solely as a pair of legs and tits for Leon to chase after.

We all hold out hope that Remake is going to change this and turn her into a real person with autonomous motivations and goals, and there might be some merit to that, but like

She's not there yet. She's just not. There is no there there, when we talk about Ada's character.

And this tiptoeing around that we all do to try to make it seem like we're supportive of her character just

strikes me as silly a lot of the time, man.

I understand wanting to give credit where it's due, but it's not due for Ada's character. And I understand the desire to not be seen as misogynistically bashing her, but I feel like supporting her character as it currently exists is what's actually misogynistic. Because her portrayal in canon is misogynistic.

And I also understand the desire to not be seen as being a ship war fuckhead, but like. It's not about the ships, man. It's about Ada. Specifically Ada. She just sucks, dude.

And this is coming from the person who has probably written more meta about Ada Wong in an attempt to justify her character than basically anyone else in the fucking fandom.

idk I've just been thinking about this lately while perusing EagleOne fics. It feels like everyone in this ship feels obligated to address The Ada Problem before they can start to justify a relationship between Leon and Ashley, and it's like

No, you don't. Especially in Remake canon, you absolutely do not have to bring up Ada at all. Because Remake seems very self-aware of the fact that the problem with Leon's character has always been Ada, which is why they seem to be actively writing her out of his overall arc.

Like. Let's just call it for what it is. Ada is the worst part of Leon's character. The relationship is poorly written and poorly executed and doesn't make any fucking sense for who both characters are actually meant to be. They actively hold each other back -- not as people, but as characters who are meant to meaningfully contribute to the storyline.

And idk I'm just tired. I'm just tired of always having to do the hand-wringy "oh no no, Ada's really cool and great and I'm not trying to diss on her, and her relationship with Leon actually matters" shit, man.

Because she's not cool or great and her relationship with Leon doesn't actually matter -- and if it does matter at all, it's due to the negative impact that her presence brings -- not just to him, but to the entire fucking plot of the series.

She's the worst recurring element in the entire series, and there's not even a close second.

#resident evil #ada wong

[noranb]

Hey, hope you're having a good time currently.

Also, hope you're ready for a weird roller-coaster ride of vagueness and strangeness. However, I hope this may cheer you up, as weird as it is.

So, I wanted to say that your art, and also the general way you capture dynamics, reminds me of one oddly specific childhood memory I have.

(Like, vaguely a reminder, but still)

For context, I have a younger sibling who's always had terrible luck with bees and wasps and all those stingers.

I've only once in my life been stung, they get stung at least five times a year.

(Incredible they haven't developed any allergies or anything).

With that said, referring back to my earlier statement, here's the oddly specific childhood memory your art, and general capture of dynamics, reminds me of:

Obviously, my sibling is in no way, shape, or form, fond of these stingers. Now, we used to have this trampoline in our garden when we were younger and they really wanted to go jump around.

However, we didn't have shoes, (which is a completely different and irrelevant story, so let's not indulge), point is, they was scared of getting stung and shit because it was summer and those shits are relentless.

So, (as the good big brother I am), I offered to go first because they really wanted to go jump: my idea was that I went first, then they could tread in my steps that I was sure were safe. They agreed and off we went.

I got just to the trampoline, and then I hear them cry out, and wouldn't you know it? They fucking stepped on a stinger. So, I carry them in, we sit down, get out the stinger part and apply some salve and shit.

At the time there was this sort of panic, we'd been abandoned at home (again, totally different story) and we were just kids who weren't really sure how to handle all that, yet, it's one of the fondest and softest moments I remember of my younger sibling and I.

Just, it was so chaotic and we weren't really okay at the time, which makes it even softer to me. Because, even if we didn't have shit at the time, we still had each other. Those lively little moments of life and siblinghood will honestly always stick with me as a part of me. So it's a happy feeling your art provides me with and I'm grateful for it.

Generally the memory of how unlucky they were in that moment (and this is a compliment, please don't misunderstand) applies to your art.

However, what I think I also mean to say is:

Your art has this soft yet energetic feel to it, I guess that's what I'm trying to convey with this memory. It reminds me of some of my best and most treasured memories. I don't even know why it does that, I really couldn't tell you, but either way I love your art very much. Even in itself, without the undertone reminder of that memory, it's gorgeous.

Even if you may feel you need to improve, or simply that you want to, I can't wait to see just how wonderful such changes would be. It's a beautiful art style.

All in all, I will never truly know you as a person, and yet it's intriguing to think about how I look at your art and feel a sense of happiness because it reminds me of a loved one. I may not know you, but I wish you all the best. And I hope you've got (a) loved one(s) you get these kind of warm and fuzzy little reminders from.

Anyway, I should stop now. Hope you didn't die from this ramble and that I didn't tire you too much :)

Love, Anon.

this is... the wildest ask I ever got omg this reads like a novel?? 😭 but also one of the nicest asks at the same time thank you so much anon!! I have no idea how my art manages to invoke these feelings and memories but I'm so happy you like it ;u; thank you!!

#anon #noranasks #also the way you casually drop bombs like being abandoned at childhood #and never elaborate #so very gen z of you #but also i hope you're ok anon #T_T #asks

[pb-dot]

The Sisypheanism of Self Care

I don't know if the title is strictly accurate or uses words that are actual words, and neither do I care. Today's been a rough one and I'm granting myself license to be a little extra.

In the last year or so I've become acutely aware that the various mental health care I've been receiving hasn't really been hitting the mark. The talk therapy fails to function as much more than a pressure valve, although it in fairness has been a great pressure valve when I could get it. The problem is that we, that is to say, I and my doctor, former therapist, and social services caseworker haven't really made any inroads into making my life any better or breaking me out of my depression, or this spiral of unemployment, taking a job that doesn't fit my strengths, working until I have burnout and quit - repeat that I have been caught in for most of my adult life.

I was hoping there was an end coming to this time of faffing about with common sense cures for depression, my doctor currently suggests I lose some weight (I know, you're shocked) and take cold showers. In fairness, treatment-resistant depression probably isn't her field of expertise being a GP and all. Anyway, the reason why I hoped this was because I've recently been referred to the public psychiatric center that I know takes a somewhat more clinical approach to treatment, so although I wasn't holding out hope of being "cured" anytime soon, I was kind of hoping this would land me with a treatment plan of some sort. Maybe some different meds? A supplementary diagnosis of some sort? Who's to say, but a fella can dream, can't he?

So far I've talked to two separate mental health professionals who both seem deeply unsure about what to do about me. Out-fucking-standing. Oh, there were also some blood tests as I expressed I was a bit uncertain whether my antidepressants were, in fact, doing anything. I suppose that is the first thing you do in that instance, but I'm just expecting to hear that my body is treating the meds right, and the question if it does do something remains kind of floating in the air. That is, if it doesn't turn out I'm secretly immune to these as well.

Anyway, it's impatience on my end, and I'm fully aware of it. Diagnosing mental health conditions and neurodivergence is tricky and the consequences for making the wrong call can be pretty bad. That said, I'm just tired of getting mh treatment that I can't actually tell if does anything at the same time as I'm getting help getting back to work that I can't tell if does anything, and every time I talk to anyone in my life about this I can't but shrug and go "it'll pay off eventually... I hope."

It's all just such a waste. I was such a bright child in school, and although I wasn't quite as much of a standout during university, I did ok considering I was heavily depressed at the time. Hell, I'm still smart, pretty darn smart in certain fields, I would suggest, and my last formal test of my mental capabilities would agree. And yet, here I sit. Unemployed, frustrated, depressed, a walking pile of anxiety and dark thoughts so robust they almost, but thankfully not quite, should count as a philosophy by now.

Where did I go wrong? There are probably a bunch of things I could have done differently, but frankly, I also feel like Society, that old villain, has failed me in some rather profound ways. It's not just how difficult it has been getting mental health help that actually does something, or how absolutely debilitating being unemployed can be, although these certainly do contribute. My problem isn't just that my life is being made measurably worse by our old foe Late Stage Capitalism, although most of these are just made worse by that cancerous corpse of an ideology. The world seemingly has no place for me it feels like. Loneliness pushes in around me from every conceivable angle, dating is a nightmare, every job requires multi-year experience or specialized education I hadn't even heard about before reading about them, there seems to be no thought put into how exactly anyone not fitting into this cripplingly overspecialized work market is supposed to live their godfuckingdamned life, and that's not even getting into the climate shit.

I honestly hate how easy it is for me to pivot from talking about depression to unemployment. I hate how employment has to be a factor in my mental health. I hate how approximately nobody I've talked to about it, on the professional side, seems to get that I wasn't less depressed back when I was working. I hate how I can't get a job because it feels fucking impossible to be enough of a "go-getter with can-do attitude" to even make it to the interview stage when nothing feels good or worth it. I hate the fucking catch-22 of it all, and I hate that neither psychiatrist nor doctor nor case worker can even begin to unravel this Gordian knot for me, or even tell me where in the good grace of fuck I might begin pulling.

It's like they're saying "Sorry, your depression is untreatable and although we won't say it to your face, the labor market's general indifference to you should tell you that you have no place in it which in the current order of things means you have no value. Shame about that, someone probably should've told you all this before you did your best in school and endured the social ostracization that followed with being a kinda weird kid that loved books, all fueled by the fucking lie that it'd get better once you were done with school."

So yeah. I'm not having a fantastic day today, but I think getting some bile out of my system might have helped me feel a little less terrible? Better days than this will come, I'm sure. I'll try doing nice things for myself the rest of the day, although I'm not quite sure what they were. If I shitpost or rb more saucy art than usual today, that's probably what I ended up with

#peebs thinks #gripes #mental health #capitalism #depression #rant

[obb-z-scene]

RIProducer's "Pyrite Girl" reminds me of Rick!!

TW mental health and suicide discussion

NOT PROOFREAD IF SOMETHING DOESNT MAKE SENSE IM SORRY

Analysis below. I'm working from the end to the beginning because I said so.

This is the end..chorus? Christ I'm in choir I should know this. Anyways, something about this just screams his mental state. Not all of it, but a lot of it. It showcases how he's both a huge ass egoist and extremely self loathing. Him just knowing he's destroying himself and that he's going bonkers, but also fully deluding himself into thinking that he IS God and is untouchable when in reality he will break any moment now. It also ties into the irony of the title Pyrite girl, which is also known as "fools gold" due to being mistaken as gold for its colour. His "shield of gold" is really a fake protector.

Him putting up protective emotional walls so he does not get attatched again. Probably after Diane's death, and possibly also from being betrayed by Prime in their partnership/relationship? I'm unsure where their relation to eachother will actually lead canonically but I've read some interesting theory posts and it's got me convinced a lil bit so I'm adding this.

He oh so badly wants to be understood and comforted but he doesn't have anyone anymore because they all either left or betrayed him. (Let's push Squanchy and BP aside for the sake of convenience I'm tired) and this will soon turn into a need to hide the vulnerable parts of himself away.

Ricks response to Prime's betrayl, "you left me covered in gold" implying that Rick is the reason he is the way he is today. His anger is new but so is his grief, and it hits so very hard. ("don't you try me! Don't take it lightly!" And "I'm broken, yet somehow, still alive.")

"I've been pulverized for the past five thousand five hundred days." References his endless hunt for Prime. It's exhausting and killing him so badly, example "you shattered my mind one thousand times.", but he's counting every single day to torture himself because he can't keep failing his family. This can also be backed by how the AI in his old house taunts him so horribly, and he even fucked with the time in that dimension just so he could suffer and continue to look with a constant agonizing reminder.

This mainly just reminds me of all the enemies and allies he's made but there's also an actual point here. The people in his life that love him want to try and fix him in their own way. People like Birdperson and Morty. Probably even short term partners, not-seen-in-canon-friends, and probably Unity too when it broke things off. It realized it could not fix someone that wants to stay broken. And Rick does need support, he needs his big support system because he's been so lonely for so long. But without him putting the work in himself, not much can be done. I actually read a fanfiction where Unity had used some sort of mind control to make Rick pass out before he killed himself, and I think that was really smart but also sad. It knows it can't jeopardize it's own health to be around him, he is toxic and infectious like the plague. He seeps into every person around him to survive, but it sees the humanity in him.

In conclusion, the song can be seen as Ricks fall into...himself. or a fake self, someone he shouldn't have been. You can also just think all of this is bullshit and that's okay too. This song is really good and it's story is both a thinker and easy to place at the same time! I hope I made sense and that my tired almost-4-AM brain didn't make you want to retake kindergarten. Feel free to pm me or comment whether you just wanna tell me how your day was or you want to discuss this more. :)

-Ozzy

#riproducer #pyrite girl #rick and morty #r&m #song analysis #character analysis #correlating two things that don't fit #like me and social skills #mental health #rick sanchez #rick sanchez analysis #morty smith #birdperson #squanchy #Spotify

[takemealivelh]

SHAKES (MV) - Luke Hemmings

I've been putting off writing this because the music video woke so many feelings in me that i'm scared to watch it again. but here i am! ready to do this essay

Starting that it's very Lost in Translation (2003) but set in the 70s is everything i could've asked for. favorite decade aesthetics, amazing movie. and i love that luke is giving nods to not only bill murray's character but also scarlett johansson's. the elevator scene is so beautiful, especially when he does that little awkward dance(?) while the camera captures the scene in front of it.

Not only this song is incredibly crafted, but the music video really surpassed my expectations. it's the best that he could've given us. you can see the effort and attention to detail and also the way it portrays loneliness makes my heart hurt. because i've been in that place. feeling like everything's so dull. feeling so empty and longing for something that you can't get. in luke's case, it's his inner child. in mine, it's the yearning for the times that i feel good.

anyway

the music video is devastating. top 3 moments

luke taking off his makeup while the song sings i wanna go out in my sleep now so i don't feel no pain. like, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? i want to cry. taking off a mask, feeling really desperate but also hopeless and too tired to function.

the final shot zooming out of the window and then the car sounds in the background when the song ends. like??? we just had this beautiful intimate experience with the production of the song and suddenly real life comes and the pain is even worse. heart aches.

not really a moment but the makeup and the clothes are AMAZING. it's very nostalgic but also modern if that makes any sense?

IN CONCLUSION

I knew luke would feed us, but i also didn't expect to be this blown away by a music video. feeling so fucking seen. when he said he hopes people can relate to it? MY MAN, I DO. the city tends to move on all the same.

i saw this post where someone pointed out when luke said he was going to therapy. and even though i'm incredibly devastated by the mv, it also works. i'm too in therapy and when you're doing a lot of stuff and there's pressure to succeed, you feel like this -again, my case. like, a shell of a ghost. feeling so much inside you're numb. and we see him fidgeting at times, which i interpret as this urge to feel normal again, hope that you look normal -not like you're life feels so exhausting.

HONORABLE MENTION

The coloring of this!!!!! very gloomy, it works perfectly

i don't know. what are your thoughts?

#luke hemmings #shakes #shakes mv #listen it took me a whole ass day to process this video and i don't think i'm yet done lksjdghfsf #boy ep #CHAPTER TWO????

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

So... spoilery review of MoM after the cut (and you know me, it's going to get long).

I have like a thousand thoughts about this movie. My main concern was Stephen's characterization and that was fine, I liked it and they didn't ruin it which leaves me satisfied. But everything else? It felt like a punch in the gut.

So I have a lot of negative thoughts but let's start with the good ones first.

The Positives

Stephen's characterizarion is fine. He's snarky, he's kind, he's brave, he's so prepared to always help and be of assistance, he's such a diva with the way he left the wedding and changed into his robes mid-air, he's sweet and amazingly selfless (and I'm tired of no one ever acknowleding that in the movies, well, except America maybe). I love him dearly - and OMG that reverence to Wong? I had a huge smile on my face when he did that, that's my boy! (Come on, tell me again how arrogant he is).

I LOVED America. Every single scene she was in, oh she's absolutely wonderful. I really hope we'll see her again because she's fantastic. Her portals opening in the form of a star was pretty cute, too.

I'm happy they kept Wong as the Sorcerer Supreme, by the way. All hail Wong!

They mentioned Donna. They did. Oh boy, they did, I'm so happy. I was expecting a flashback or something but I would have probably shed tears so it's better that way.

Regarding the Illuminati, what a waste. Easily forgotten but this is the positive part of the post so I'll just say that I loved how Charles ignored everyone and showed some faith in Stephen (about damn time someone does!) and he said the line, he said the line™! (Not to be too nitpicky here but uh, Stephen didn't stumble and he didn't lose his way either so the line doesn't really make any sense since it doesn't apply to him but I'll let that slide because I LOVE that line).

And I'm going to put this in the positive side of things because I'm petty as all hell: I saw Peggy die after she said a bunch of words that DO NOT BELONG TO HER. And it was wonderful. I (silently) clapped in fact. Yes, I hate her. And yes, I was alone and no one saw me doing it lol

I suspect Charlize is Clea, right? I'm looking forward to that. Charlize Theron and Benedict Cumberbatch? YES PLEASE.

The Negatives

I had been tagging my posts for months with "Keep Waldron away from Stephen" for a damn reason. And I was right. At least there's a silver lining to it all: he didn't ruin Loki because he hated him, he ruined Loki because Waldron is a terrible writer.

First off, I will never forgive them for healing his hands.

(So as it turns out I was wrong about his hands and they didn't fix them which makes me very happy. What I wrote in this 1st part is removed now)

Second, I knew Waldron wouldn't understand his relationship with Christine. It's one of the BEST things about DS1, that they love each other so much but know they can't be together, it works in the origin movie because they arrive at a mutual understanding together - and they still keep that love for each other no matter what happens. But of course how the hell is Michael "kiss your fucking sister" Waldron going to understand platonic love? And friendship? Of course he doesn't! They spent the whole freaking movie linking Stephen's happiness to Christine which is so damn frustrating as if he couldn't find happiness in so many other ways, with any kind of relationship, through achievements, etc.

Especially when in the end they're not going to end up together anyway! What's the point, then? If you want to explore why Stephen isn't happy then do it, go back and truly dive deep into his life because the answer is right there. They mentioned Donna, and that's fine, but what about also talking about how that hurt him, changed him, shaped him, why he doesn't have any friends not even in Kamar-Taj, to the point of going to the wedding alone, not telling Wong about it either... you want to talk about his lack of happiness? That's awesome! But why is it that the only way Waldron refers to it is through (lack of) romance?

Third, the whole damn movie I kept thinking that Wanda was going through another WandaVision and Stephen was being given the Loki treatment. Wanda has no fucking arc whatsoever, she keeps saying "my boys" every 2 minutes when at the end of her series she understood what she had done was wrong and she has never wanted to hurt people willingly! Look, I really would love a chat with Waldron to explain to him the difference between morally grey vs villain because he doesn't get it. And at the end she's killed? Oh no, worse, she kills herself?

What's the point of her wanting to travel to the multiverse to her boys when she could just create another Hex with just her and her kids? And her descend to villainy is so sudden, as well. She left Westview accepting that she had been wrong, taking responsibility for it, apologizing for it, and she left to be alone with the Darkhold. And yes I know it corrupts people (I remember AoS and Aida) but still, Wanda was NEVER a villain. And if the point they wanted to make was that the book had corrupted her they could have done it so much better.

Also, I was under the impression Wanda was a Nexus being? I'm probably wrong but I was surprised there were variants of her in the multiverse.

And speaking of variants... Stephen's variants they're all evil, on the top of being arrogant of course, we shall never forget calling him that in every movie otherwise people might forget. And that chat with the Illuminati where they were basically telling him he's a piece of shit because the Stephen of their universe did something wrong... uh so are we blaming 616 Stephen for shit the 838 Stephen had done? It's the Loki series all over again!

Fourth, Peggy freaking Carter again. Look, it's a damn insult to Steve's character that they gave her his "I can do this all day". Shame on Feige, on Marvel, on Waldron, and anyone who had a say on that. How dare you give that line to a woman who willingly hired a nazi who had tortured and ruined Bucky's life to work for Shield and the American government. How dare you take that line from a man who spent his life fighting fascism and defending civil rights and protecting the weak and give it to someone who worked with nazis. Oh and they called her the first Avenger!

Fifth and last. Queer rep, huh? Absolutely non-existent. Well, America says she had two moms, that's what Disney and Marvel call representation. It's unacceptable that America Chavez, a character who has been a huge icon for the queers, has her sexuality completely erased in this movie. Not a damn word.

No wait, there's another, sixth. Stephen can read sanskrit but I'm supposed to believe he doesn't speak nor understand Spanish? Don't make me laugh.

There's probably more I haven't mentioned but this got long enough. Overall I'll give the movie a 5/10 only for not ruining Stephen's characterization + because I love America + both Christines were absolutely wonderful + Wong is still the Sorcerer Supreme. No more than 5 because Stephen is not the centre of the story and he's sidelined for the most part, and they turned Wanda into something she's not.

And one last thing that's not related to MoM but I feel like sharing: they showed the L&T teaser and the new Avatar trailer. The latter got a higher cheer than the former. Make of that what you wish...

#doctor strange #stephen strange #multiverse of madness

[thestalwartheart]

Would love to see some of the lovely things you daydream about 📓!!

Oh God, I have a chaos brain if ever there was one. My daydreams are all over the place 😂 However, I shall oblige and share something I've been thinking of during the last few weeks in particular.

TW for depression, in case anyone reading this isn't up for engaging with that! Nothing graphic or too heavy, though. It relates to discussion of a hurt/comfort fic.

I've always found it interesting to consider the notion that Q struggles with depressive episodes, and how that might play into his career as Quartermaster. I've played around with it in a few of my shorter fics, as well as in 'i get down (when she gets you high),' but I'd like to write more about it.

Lately, I've been finding a lot of personal solace in the idea of a hurt/comfort fic that explores him getting to the point of a breakdown/burnout and having to take a break from work. Someone like Q must see work as, like, THE coping strategy for getting through life when depression is working against him. I'd like to explore that a bit.

Anyway, my general plot for it (if it can even be called that) involves:

Q nearly fucking up at work because he's lost a bit of focus. He feels absolutely awful about it, and I think this triggers something in him.

Mallory orders him to take time off. I think he probably does this in the same way he assures Bond there's "no shame in missing as step," only in waiting until it's too late. Perhaps he reminds Q here that a mistake from him could cost lives.

Q goes home, but locked out of any work systems for the next [x] number of weeks, he falls into a spiral. Can't get out of bed, doesn't see the point in it. He considers doing some non-espionage related hacking to work through it all, but the moment he puts his fingers to the keys, he just feels tired.

And then, enter James, who is back from a mission and baffled about the disappearance of his Quartermaster. Neither Mallory nor Moneypenny will tell him where Q is for confidentiality reasons, just that he's taking time off. So he breaks into Q's flat to find it a mess, with Q in bed, unshowered and unshaved, in an absolute state.

Lots of comfort etc etc.

But also a lot of talking. James can relate to falling into a depressive spiral (see Turkey - in fact, I really want to do a deep dive into that in this fic). So he helps Q through things, staying with him, getting him out of the house, and helping him to develop a renewed sense of life and purpose. Because James may be terrible when it comes to dealing with his own problems, but he does know how to help others. In fact, he finds real contentment in it. Also, maybe he learns a few things about himself in the process of helping Q.

Maybe they take a trip somewhere, James driving Q to the countryside for a day ("Ah, ah. No screens, Q. Hear that? Not a single electronic beep to be heard.)

I'd like to think he stays sober for the duration of staying at Q's, because he doesn't want his Quartermaster finding a bottle and spiralling even further.

The urge for me is to always have them fall in love (or to already be in love), but I'm considering not making the romantic side of things the focus of this fic. Who knows, though. It might be too much to resist.

And that's it! Possibly the most self-indulgent thing I'll ever write (if I ever write it at all)

Of course, it's extremely fitting to be taking about this in response to an ask from the QUEEN of H/C. I'm not joking. When I'm in a bad place, Where You Are, Sigh No More (!!!) and Lay It Down are my go-to comfort reads. I can only hope I manage a modicum of the comfort you bring people in this as-yet-unwritten thing.

Thanks for the ask! 💖

#00q #00q fic #my fic

[leclerced]

Thank you so much and I'm so sorry because I really just need to get this out of mi mind rn.

I just found out that "my boyfriend" of 4 years is cheating on me with one of my friends. I don't know for how long and if he is been sleeping around I can only guess he has. The thing is that his parents knew?! And still received me with open arms and all nice smiles when I was around. And the cherry on top is that my friends also knew and still decided to not say shit, and rn I don't even know what to do. I found out because one of my friends just decided to throw it in my face after I said I didn't wanted to go out because I'm tired, and she just said "that's why he is cheating on you and he is so right for doing it" and I confronted my now ex and he said it was all true, happening for a long time now he just didn't wanted to leave because he was comfortable with the relationship, and didn't wanted to be single. I know deep down it's because I always do everything for him... Anyway, "my friends" were his friends first so I guess it makes sense. I feel like such a fucking idiot rn and I don't even know who to trust. I'm very introverted so making friends was not a easy thing so yeah... Appart from all of that my job is killing me they are gonna let go of so many people bf Christmas and I'm scared if I'm one of them.

So sorry for this but I literally don't know who to talk rn and this blog is like a safe place for me.

hey angel, sorry it took me so long to see this ): it came through while i was at work n i just finished dinner.

this is a nightmare scenario, i’m so sorry you’re going through it. honestly everyone involved, excluding you, is a terrible person. do you guys live together? i hope your living situation is okay!! pls lmk. i wish you luck with your job, i hope you don’t get let go, but if you do, then i would immediately start looking into unemployment (depending where you live, i’m not sure what it’s like in other countries so im basing this off my american perspective sorry!) if therapy is a resource available to you i would definitely do that!!

anyone who really cares about you wouldn’t hurt you or watch as you get hurt. you dodged a bullet in the long run! you can count yourself lucky said you wanted to stay in, because if you hadn’t said no to going out tonight you wouldn’t have found out. you deserved to know, even if you didn’t deserve for this to happen. you have so much more ahead of you in life, this will just seem like a minor setback in the long run. you just have to keep pushing ahead, and telling yourself each day it’ll get better until it does <3 that sounds so dumb but it works!! take this as something to be learned from, don’t do everything for your next partner, set boundaries, etc. and make your own friends before dating again, i know it’s hard but it definitely helps. idk if they have t everywhere but bumble has a friend version for that exact reason!! u could look into that

it gets sm better baby!! this is just a rough patch, but you’ll get through it. i’ll always be here if you wanna talk or vent, or even if you just wanna lurk n read fics! i’m not going anywhere

#ask #anon

[rockleaves]

Help why do you hate him so much… it’s very funny

okay the fact that you didn't have to specify who you're talking about is killing me. like yeah you're right we all know it's sasuke. also thank you for finding my haterism funny and being nice about it.

the short answer is i think he's way too boring to justify how much he cannibalizes the narrative.

the long answer is under the cut. sorry if it's incoherent, unfortunately i am insane.

so. let me start by saying sasuke was never really going to be my favorite character ever, because it is frankly hard to make me super invested in characters who are The Specialest Boy Ever, Heir To A Long Line Of Specialest Boys Ever. i like characters that are just some guy who's now in a fucking situation. especially with shounen.

when i DO get really invested in characters like that, it's because they've got something else going on. for example, gen from the queen's thief series is the latest in a long line of thieves -- a position with divine origins! -- who is personally the gods' favorite poor little meow meow, but as much as he loves being a thief he absolutely hates being The Specialest Boy Ever because all it does for him is make his life a fucking nightmare, consistently. or for an example from another shounen, killua from hunter x hunter (i'll probably bring hxh up a few times because well kishimoto loves to steal from togashi, but i'm using killua for this example over kurapika because as far as we know kurapika's clan were actually just regular people with a genetic mutation that got them murdered, BUT WE'LL GET BACK TO THAT SO ANYWAY). killua's the heir to his insane family's whole assassin business and he is a prodigy but he fucking hates it, he just wants to be a normal 12 year old boy, so he leaves and immediately gets involved in the least normal shit a 12 year old boy possibly could. also he's funny.

but with sasuke, being not only The Specialest Boy Ever but the Sole Survivor Of The Specialest Boy Ever Family, is pretty much his whole deal. like that's it. that's all he's got. and that's not enough for me! it's a starting bullet point for a character being treated as something full fledged and the longer naruto went on the more boring and frustrating it became to me. like, let me be clear, he's still not my FAVORITE even then but i do kind of like sasuke during the chunin exam and konoha crush arcs! he is attempting to experience friendship and struggling with that vs his goal of revenge, and it's interesting. even after those arcs, throughout the rest of part 1 he's having a pretty clear conflict of identity that, even if i don't love watching it, at least....makes sense, and it's SOMETHING. and my problem is that's pretty much all we get. sasuke becomes even more of a massive focus of the story after the timeskip, but he also entirely stagnates. when he leaves the village the narrative is asking the question, what would sasuke do for his revenge, and the answer is anything. and that is the ONLY question the narrative ever asks him, and the ONLY answer we ever get. he never really truly has to wrestle with his goals or question himself. even when he finds out itachi was ordered to kill their clan, he just switches targets to konoha instead. and that's not character growth, that's just the same shit in new INCREDIBLY STUPID clothes and i'm so tired of it. i'm this kakashi. i'm so deeply unimpressed and i want my suffering to end. go ahead and kill me sasuke. i hope you die i hope we both die.

ANYWAY.

speaking of the stupid new clothes. i've talked a few times before about why i think the "actually the uchiha have been oppressed for generations and konoha ordered their massacre" twist was very dumb very annoying writing but so help me god i'm going to do it again. so if i repeat myself well that's just how it goes.

so obviously kishimoto is a horrible writer and could not carry a theme/plot/character arc/[insert literally anything necessary for a story, especially a serialized one, ESPECIALLY A SERIALIZED ONE AS LONG AS NARUTO] if you put a gun to his head, but i think the uchiha twist is one of the biggest examples of that, for a couple reasons. i'm gonna try to break those down into a list just to TRY to insert some organization into this beast. and unfortunately tumblr doesn't let me do paragraph breaks in its built-in numbered lists but i need them so this is going to look insane. sorry.

REASON ONE

for me personally, the twist happens way too late in the story, specifically because it's too late to make me care about the uchiha family as a whole for reasons beyond what they mean to sasuke. i know that sounds really harsh but let me explain.

until the twist, the uchiha family tragedy is just that -- a family tragedy. it's a personal revenge mission for sasuke. we're given pretty bare scraps about the rest of the family -- there's some information about itachi and shisui, a couple flashbacks to sasuke's dad, etc -- but it really is scraps. like, his mom has the most generic anime mom design ever. most of the rest of the uchiha are not actual characters in their own right, they are background mythology that informs who sasuke is.

and the thing is, THAT'S FINE.

to circle back to hxh: sasuke's whole entire concept is ripped off of kurapika. like. all of it. from the murdered clan to the red eyes to the revenge mission. and with kurapika, we're also given scraps about the kurta clan. we know very little about them and their culture, save for the trials they had to go through to enter the outside world, and if i recall correctly, nothing at all about kurapika's immediate family. but we as readers still care about the kurta clan, because we care about kurapika. and we care about kurapika because he's a well-written, complex character. from the very beginning he's presented to us as a paradox and a hypocrite: he has a very strong sense of honor and looks down on leorio for wanting to become a hunter for the money (before he knows why leorio wants that money), but also has a very clearly warped and gray sense of morality, given that he himself wants to become a hunter because it will give him the authority to carry out extrajudicial killings for his revenge mission without being arrested. like sasuke, he chooses his revenge over his friends, but unlike sasuke, he does so BECAUSE he's fiercely loyal to and protective of them and doesn't want them to get hurt while they try to stop him, and the narrative is very clear that this choice is QUITE LITERALLY killing kurapika. what happened to the kurta clan is a tragedy, and what it has done to kurapika's life is a tragedy.

so, back to sasuke: by the time the twist happened, kishimoto had spent probably close to 10 years (i don't remember exactly when the chapter came out. do not tell me i don't want to know) hinging 95% of our interest in the uchiha family on our interest in sasuke. and that is FINE. that's a fine choice to make. it'll work or it won't reader-to-reader based on whether or not they like sasuke, but for it to work at ALL you have to STICK TO IT. otherwise it just feels like you've been wasting my time for a decade.

REASON TWO

if you're NOT going to stick to your original choice of keeping the uchiha tragedy a family tragedy, and you're going to drop some game-changing lore that late, you at least need to follow through on it. which obviously kishimoto doesn't. nothing about the shinobi system changes (i'll get back to this in a minute), so making the uchiha massacre ordered by konoha does nothing and adds nothing besides like, more agony for sasuke i guess, but like i've already said it's the same shit remixed and i don't care.

REASON THREE

the twist frankly makes no fucking sense lol. it's a pretty huge aspect of part 1 that sasuke gets special treatment for being an uchiha, because the uchiha family was well-respected and highly revered, and along with the hyuuga clan was considered one of the noble, ancient bloodlines of konoha. and that's important to the story specifically because of how it contrasts with naruto, a fuck-up orphan whose family name bears no weight and garners no respect, who is ACTIVELY HATED by a large portion of the village and is never given half the leniency sasuke gets just for being an uchiha. that is why naruto makes sasuke his rival. it's the basis of their whole deal. so why the HELL am i suddenly supposed to take it seriously that the uchiha were actually oppressed the whole time when, A) there is no indication of that ever being the case throughout all of part 1 and B) it undermines the foundation of the main relationship of the series. like. i'm not going to do that.

REASON FOUR

THEY'RE COPS THEY'RE COPS THE UCHIHA ARE LITERALLY COPS. like yeah everyone is a soldier they're all ninjas but the uchiha are ALSO LITERALLY COPS ON TOP OF BEING NINJAS. NINJAS COPS. i'm not going to buy that the cop family was actually oppressed for generations and i'm sure as HELL not going to buy that tobirama let them be cops as part of that oppression. it's bad writing and i'm not taking that shit seriously!!!

END LIST

okay. so those are the reasons why i think that twist is stupid. well there are probably more but those are the 4 main ones that come to mind. as for what that twist being stupid has to do with my feelings on sasuke, this is a big part of what i was getting at when i said he cannibalizes the narrative.

like i said, the twist doesn't pay off, so the fact that kishimoto brought in this plotline that so clearly (and, imo, heavy-handedly) is meant to make readers question whether the shinobi system should exist and then did not follow through on ends up feeling like a cousin to the smol bean emperor problem. i say cousin because the cause of it isn't exactly what's detailed in that article -- i don't think it'd even cross kishimoto's mind to be at all worried about making sure readers know he thinks military ninjas towns with child soldiers are Bad In Real Life lol -- but the result is the same: he's unwilling to have his narrative fully buy into its own premise of the shinobi system, but he's equally unwilling to actually commit to the complex writing that would be required by a narrative interested in dismantling the shinobi system, so he wound up with a half-baked story that did neither and was very annoying to read.

because HERE'S THE THING: if he was interested in writing a story that dismantles the shinobi system, i really don't think he'd have done it via making the uchiha the BIGGEST SPECIALEST victims all along. that twist going nowhere is annoying as hell but it's also literally the only place i can see it going because, like i talked about this in one of my posts i linked above, the entire time he's wanting to burn konoha to the ground sasuke is still buying into the myth of clan superiority. what i mean by that is, he believes he's special because he's an uchiha and his suffering is special because he's an uchiha. and because he's bought so heavily into that myth of clan superiority, he does not and CAN NOT realize that it goes hand in hand with and could not exist without the shinobi system. the uchiha would not be special or unique without the shinobi system, so sasuke and his suffering would not be special or unique without it, and both sasuke personally and the narrative itself NEED his suffering to be special and unique. so of course sasuke was never going to actually destroy the hidden villages. he can't. not when the twist that makes him want to destroy that system hinges on him not actually cashing out of it. for all fandom likes to call him a revolutionary and act like it comes from a place of altruism, he's literally just not, and it doesn't.

if he was and it did, he probably would have thought twice about joining up with the akatsuki and going after the jinchuuriki. part 1 and much of the beginning of part 2 are very very VERY explicit that the jinchuuriki are some of if not THE greatest victims of the shinobi system. they have the tailed beasts sealed into them usually at birth, usually without their consent, usually with the express purpose of turning them into a weapon. they are then thoroughly abused by the same villages that did that to them, ostracized or stripped of all autonomy to be made a weapon or both. most of the jinchuuriki get ZERO protection when the akatsuki starts coming after them, because their villages don't fucking care. and whatever else i think about the akatsuki and their motives, you are never ever going to convince me that a group that takes the most vulnerable members of society and literally grinds them up into fuel are right about those lives being a necessary price. sorry. you're just not. #TeamJinchuuriki

that hypocrisy in sasuke joining up with the akatsuki could be interesting in the hands of a better writer, but kishimoto is a bad writer. and also i want to be clear: without that twist, the uchiha would still have, in a different way, been victims of the shinobi system. everything with neji and hinata during the chunin exams makes it extremely clear how horrifically abusive clans can be, especially when they buy into their own mythology so heavily, and how there's no winning whether you're born into the main family (hinata) or are naturally extremely gifted (neji). but at the same time, even though they are victims of their own family and thus the system that encourages their family's practices, they still have the social capital that comes with being from a clan, which we see come into play in the naruto vs neji fight. i really wish kishimoto had gone further into what is frankly a class struggle between clan and non-clan shinobi as well as the horrors of what the shinobi system does to families who buy into it for generations instead of largely abandoning those storylines after the chunin exams, and i'd have LOVED if he applied that same framework to the uchiha clan. but he didn't, and instead he did that dumb twist, because he thinks everything needs to be about sasuke all the time. so sasuke -- who imo already got more than enough screentime -- became central to the entire akatsuki plotline, as well as everything else, and other characters and plotlines (NAMELY THE JINCHUURIKI but others as well) got sidelined even further. and i found that incredibly frustrating and annoying. this show is called naruto! naruto is a jinchuuriki! this show should be more about the jinchuuriki! and yet, and yet, and yet.

oh also it just makes for a bad revenge narrative lol. if you're gonna commit to the revenge then COMMIT TO IT. and if you're not then how about you steal a little bit more from hxh and take some fucking notes on how togashi writes revenge as an act of self-destruction (kurapika's whole deal, gon vs pitou).

another reason i don't like sasuke is. well. well i just don't think his bond with naruto is that convincing lol. like it's fine but it's like.....it's just kind of there. i am way more compelled by almost every single other relationship naruto has. i think it would have been really interesting if kishimoto had actually grappled with how naruto didn't actually know sasuke that well before he left the village and has been chasing an idea of sasuke, and how part of why sasuke finally snapped and left is because he was mad that naruto (a person he considers kind of a failure) was actually getting stronger than him, but for the 800th time, this man is a very bad writer. it was simultaneously very funny and EXTREMELY FUCKING GRATING to see him try to backpeddle and make naruto constantly say that sasuke was the first person to truly understand and accept him when that is simply not true. you can't lie to me kishimoto i read the manga you wrote. i was there.

also i actually genuinely and extremely fucking hate how kishimoto made almost every female character have a crush on sasuke even when it did not/no longer made sense for them to have one and prioritized those crushes over character development every single time, because it's deeply sexist, and how the fandom uses that as a reason to hate said female characters, because that is ALSO EXTREMELY FUCKING SEXIST. like sorry to be a hag and a hater but i don't think the constant joke that sasuke is a feminist for treating women badly because he's gay so it's in service of yaoi is funny, actually. i think you all just hate women and give way more grace to the male characters who are poorly written than the female characters.

uhhh okay that's all i've got for now. there's probably more because this horrible shounen manga has tormented me for most of my years on this wretched earth but this is almost 3000 words and i am very tired so i'm calling it here. tl;dr i am just mad because i am angry but also i'm right. thank you for letting me explain my passions.

#t #asks #naruto time #not proofreading this. it is what it is.

[quetzalpapalotl]

Anyway, Energon Universe Transformers spoilers under the cut

Ok, so first of all, they fucking killed Bumblebee. Oh my god, if nothing else, I gotta admire the audacity of it. But I guess it makes sense, not just for the shock it would have for Transformers fans, but also because they're trying so hard to get non-tf fans to read this. Bumblebee is one of the few Transformers those people would be likely to recognize, so it's the best choice for it to have any sort of impact. I hope it sticks because otherwise it would feel really cheap.

(Correct me if I'm wrong but didn't they want to kill Bee in idw1 phase 1 and Hasbro said no?)

But also I fucking hate it, oh my god, that's my boy!!!! You gutted him like a pig!!! Why!!! I get everyone is tired of Bee getting the spothlight all the time, but you didn't have to kill him!!!

Well, it creates a link between him and the Witwicky's, which is as good as any hook.

Killing Jetfire does feel like a waste tho. RIP Ravage (is he actually dead) but nice that the Decepticons also got a fridged character so we can feel for Soundwave. Equality.

Now, for the most important thing, which is of course the man himself Optimus, he seems good. I greatly enjoy how much he's suffering and how troubled he is, but they seem to be sticking to a noble characterization. Not that I don't enjoy a gritty Optimus on principle, I just don't trust people to be able to do it right. Anyway, god, look at this man, I can already feel how he's regretting all his life choices.

The preview of issue 2 seems to imply that Optimus doesn't need energon to run thanks to the Matrix, which is cool and makes sense.

No trace of Arcee despite how prominent she's in the covers, but for that reason I'm sure she'll show up soon enough, very excited.

Speaking of covers, it's a sure thing Megatron won't show up at least until the first arc. Strascream is very vicious in this, so it'll be fun to see what happens when he inebitably returns.

What I'm interested in is how short the war seems to be. Strascream says they're been at war for a hundred years, I suppose he's not counting the years they were offline, but how much is that? I really hope is not millions of years this time, but on VD #1 Jetfire deduced he was stranded for millions of years (and he hadn't seen SS in centuries before that?) so the war could have started at any time after that.

Well, given everything they're saying and VD #4, it would make sense that it started due to lack of resources, which is supposed to be a component of the war in many continuities, but in this one you can really feel the shortage. If I had to guess, the most obvious conflict would be that the Decepticons wanted to exploit other planets for energy and the Autobots refused to do that, but even if that were true they don't seem to have actually taken the war to space given how unfamiliar they act with encountering other life forms.

That Squish typed in blood was really nice.

Anyway, it's too early to say anything, but this seems like a good start. I'm pleased with how the Autobots are in a really thigh spot, it actually makes me a bit nervous and excited to see what comes next. I don't really have any complaints expect that the Johnson still doesn't seem used to drawing robots and lot of the angles and poses are really awkward. Which is a pity because I would love to ogle at Optimus while he's in pain. Otherwise is pretty good, the flow, shots and general feel of it is very, vey good. The humans look better than anything from IDW and the colors are nice.

#quetzal rambles tf

[zeephyre]

Sucked Into A Bagel.

A depressed person who has Not been having a great time lately tries to put their thoughts together in one coherent post about Everything, Everywhere, All at Once

CW: Depressive thoughts, existential dread. Maybe don't read this if you're gonna get bummed out.

I just... what the Fuck. First of all. Genuinely what the fuck.

I've seen vague reviews of Everything, Everywhere, All at Once, but I was in no way actually prepared to have an actual breakdown during the third act.

The movie in general is amazing. The actors were phenomenal. The visuals were gorgeous. The strange quirkiness of the general concept the story is built around made me giggle because it was so Fun to see. I loved every god. damn. second of it.

I especially enjoyed Joy, or well, being of chaos Jobu Tupaki, but all versions of Joy count anyway. When Jobu gets introduced, I fucking adored how cool she was. How strange and unhinged and detached she seemed. And I was like, "I wanna be like her. She's so fun... She's so powerful." Intellectually, I understood that the reason I loved her was because she "felt nothing," and as someone who feels Too Much all the goddamn time, it was easy to want to come to the higher conclusion that I was above all the bullshit, that because none of it mattered, nothing could hurt me.

When Jobu sang that iconic, "Sucked into a bagel," line, my thought was: "God, I wish I was sucked into a bagel," which kind of sounds ridiculous but later on, it gets Very Very depressing.

Near the end of the movie, when the bagel reveals Everything All at Once, and Evelyn and Jobu finally share the same conclusion that nothing matters at all, I realized (or well, I remembered) Joy has depression.

Not just Jobu, but actual Joy. When the two are staring at rhe bagel, and Jobu expresses that she was glad she wouldn't have to die alone, finally, I remembered the scene so much earlier in the movie where Evelyn was speaking to her Joy about Jobu like she was some monster that was ruining Joy's life. There was a specific line that implied Joy struggled with depression, at the very least.

Anyways, Jobu uncomfortably reminded me of myself, and while the entire family made me cry multiple times,

This whole scene, especially where Joy expresses how tired she is, really fucked me up.

More than anything, it felt like in real life, I was being sucked into a bagel - this empty nothing that's supposed to help everything else fuck off so I can finally be happy. I had been feeling like this for years, and it was no surprise, but it was getting worse recently. The conclusion that Joy and Evelyn had was cathartic and beautiful, but I did not experience that.

I just felt like I was being given hope, one of the most painful things I have ever experienced. Because being alive always hurts so much more when you're fighting for the right to be here.

The movie didnt... fix me. But, I cried. I was in so much pain, and I have no real way of describing it.

I have felt so tired for so fucking long, maybe I'm just hoping, just waiting for all of this to make some fucking sense. Maybe I'm clinging to whatever moments i can, like Edalyn said, struggling through the parts that make me feel like a pointless piece of shit, and maybe I'm just so fucking tired and so fucking lonely.

I don't really know what the hell to do with myself now. Every so often I come to this conclusion: I want to be alive. I do. But I hate it so much that it was always feels like I'm at war with myself. Everything sucks and nothing matters, except that some of it does. Some of it makes me so happy I could cry. But I still????? feel so pointless???

This... has been all over the place and very depressing, so. Anyway you should watch Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.

#everything everywhere all at once #jobu tupaki #sorry for being depressing #existentialism #i need therapy #Spotify