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milla984 · 11 months

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With Neighbors Like These

Summary: Jack goes away for the weekend and Aaron and Reader can finally have some alone time (inspired by this concept)

Pairing: post season 12 Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: kissing, mutual masturbation, moderate dirty talk, penetrative sex, protected sex, established relationship, unspecified age gap, Hotch dealing with parenting issues, Jack is mentioned but not present

Word Count: 2k

The house was unusually quiet as you walked in, leaving your shoes at the entrance to proceed barefoot towards the small office Aaron had arranged for himself with a few retouches to the spare room in the back.

Despite having a key in case of emergencies and whatnot, like a very good neighbor, it was a common decision you’d only use it on specific occasions and mostly when Jack wasn’t around. A single soccer cleat lay abandoned in a corner in the living room; were it to happen on a regular day you knew the mere sight of it would have sparked a fierce argument, but this morning was different.

The evening before a very concerned father had driven his fourteen-year-old son to the arranged meeting point, camping gear in tow, and Jack was now enjoying a two nights excursion somewhere in the local woods. You had a feeling that, conversely, Aaron wasn’t getting a kick out of the child-free weekend - confirmed by his rapid typing on the keyboard when you knocked on the wooden frame of the French door to catch his attention.

He looked at you and cracked a smile, still too focused on what he was doing. “It won’t take too long. I promise.”

You dropped your purse under his chair and hugged him from behind, the scent of his aftershave filling your nose with pure delight.

“Feeling lonely, already?”

“Why?!” he enquired. “I didn’t have to shout five times to turn off that damn videogame, last night… and nobody guzzled down half a gallon of milk directly from the bottle, at breakfast!”

“You’re also worried, I can tell,” you added and he shrugged, defeated, then went back to focusing on the screen.

He’d been working part-time as an FBI consultant for a law firm for about a year and you had never seen him putting his job before his kid: he was an active member of the PTA and even volunteered to chaperone whenever he could (something that many moms and other dads found incredibly hot, without a doubt). If he was working on a Saturday he was a hundred percent desperate for a distraction.

Your palms brushed over his shoulders and a delicate touch soon turned into a proper massage, kneading his muscles through the polo shirt he was wearing.

“Relax. You’re too tense,” you mumbled. He had only shared a few unpleasant details about his life as a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in D.C. before he and Jack moved into the neighborhood; nevertheless, it didn’t take a genius to figure out his former employment as an FBI agent had taken a huge toll on both of them.

“I’m not sure I should have signed that consent form,” he confessed.

“His entire class is with him and his teachers all have cell phones, nothing’s going to happen. Save for a few mosquito bites,” you replied. “And don’t get me wrong... but aren’t you being just a bit overprotective?!”

“Jack told me the same thing when I said I wanted to think about it. Except, he didn’t phrase it so nicely,” Aaron grinned and shook his head while he rose to his feet. “Sorry, enough with the family issues,” he apologized, “it’s a lovely Saturday morning. Have you got any interesting plans?”

“I have. And they don’t involve homework,” you declared, and as you pushed his laptop to the opposite side of the desk he locked an arm around your waist, his expression reverting to a serious one.

“... so you’re a bad influence.”

The intimidating attitude he could pull off with a single stare never failed to make your legs turn into jelly.

You lowered your voice to a purr. “You don’t even kn—”

His soft lips pressed onto yours stopped you mid-sentence. The fact he had a teenage son registered in your mind only as a foggy thought and the power he’d had on you since the instant you saw him jogging around the block was almost inexplicable.

“You’re right, no more homework. How about I take you out for lunch?” he proposed and the warmth of his breath on your skin ignited a fire you weren’t at all convinced you could control. Or would.

You hugged him tight, your bodies finally making contact. “How about we take care of something else, first?”

Aaron’s attitude towards romantic relationships exuded manners and consideration, the portrait of a gentleman from a different era, so the response to your suggestion came as a surprise: he’d always shown a preference for the intimacy of his bedroom, even though his palms stroking over your breasts to make your nipples grow stiff and visible through the fabric was the perfect sign he had no intention of wasting any time to move the action upstairs.

Your tongues lustfully met in a second kiss, prompting you to let out an excited sigh as you blindly undid and removed his belt before letting it fall on the floor with a loud clunk. You reached for his zipper and he sighed in return but gasped a second later when you gave him a light push that forced him to sit down again.

“Show me how you do it when we’re not together.”

Aaron’s eyes widened - confusion and stupor at the beginning, then the sheer thrill of the idea lit up his gaze. And made him hard entirely.

He sank into the cushion behind his back to finish unzipping his pants and pulling them down his hips so that his swollen erection was only contained by a thin layer of underwear.

“You’re just going to watch?” he asked, locking eyes with you. You could have sworn that look alone increased the temperature in the room by a couple of degrees. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

You reached under the flowy dress to roll your panties along your thighs, letting them crumple around your ankles; you sat on the desk and lifted the skirt up to your waist, your feet resting on Aaron’s parted knees.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He swallowed nervously but didn’t miss a movement of your fingers starting to draw circles around your most sensitive spot, guided by the aching tension in your belly; your mouth watered at the sight of his cock whipping free and he noticed, so he took his time to wrap his right hand around it.

You knew how to work his length, moving up and down in slow and long strokes as foreplay, nevertheless witnessing such a handsome man masturbating for you proved to be one of the most lascivious experiences of your life.

“I always think about you when I touch myself…” you confessed, and he held on to your ankle with his free hand while you rubbed your clit.

“Are you trying to make me lose control?”

You nodded in confirmation and he growled.

He was now coating his shaft and palm with the leaking precum, using only his index and middle finger to collect some of the slickness and spread it over the bulging head, the exposed glans glistening in the process. That was when he usually begged you to move faster, since his delicate skin was lubricated enough and increased friction meant pleasure - not pain.

“I’m really wet for you,” you teased him, your own desire pooling at your core, but his reaction threw you off balance.

“Stop, please… stop,” he whimpered, “this is not…”

His ragged breath made it difficult for him to articulate his words. “I need you.”

You gestured at the purse that was still under his chair and he handed it to you; sharing the house with a teenager meant Aaron had grown accustomed to some of his clean t-shirts randomly disappearing from his drawers and wardrobe, so you both knew nothing out of the ordinary could be hidden among his personal stuff.

He stared at you, entranced, as you retrieved the small box you’d carried with you and tore one of the foil packages open.

“A little closer, maybe…?” you joked, and when he stood up you bit your lower lip in anticipation. He kissed you lightly on your forehead as you unrolled the latex down his hardness, then you pinched his chin and smiled at him.

“Better?!”

He whined again. “Not exactly.”

You grabbed him by the nape of his neck, speaking softly to his ear. “Make me come. I can’t wait anymore.”

The uninhibited request seemed to have flipped a switch in him: the sound of a pencil holder spilling its content made you laugh as Aaron enthusiastically raised your legs in the air and held them to his chest, so he could start rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your folds.

It was torture but he was damn good at it.

When he managed to get himself covered in your arousal he slipped the bulbous head past your entrance. “It’s so big…” you muttered.

Truth be told he wasn’t that well-endowed and you had nothing against it, since you’d never been keen on painful sex, still you welcomed him with a loud moan once he buried himself inside of you. Even a gentleman from another era didn’t mind a bit of flattering and appreciation of his manhood.

He wasn’t as vocal, though, but his deep groans reverberated in his throat in a manifestation of primal, untamed passion; he looked so solemn it drove you insane, his brows furrowed and tiny droplets of sweat trapped between his short hair, almost as if he was directing all of his energies into screwing your brains out.

When his thrusts grew slower but more intense you wriggled your legs free and locked them around his waist: with a last, fierce grunt he twitched several times and you closed your eyes to enjoy the moment, which was always the biggest turn-on for you.

With your eyes still closed you welcomed the pressure on your lips, a not-so-subtle invitation to take his index and middle finger in your mouth; you sucked on them alternately, happy to oblige, tasting traces of the salty precum. You clawed at his forearm when he brought the wet digits to your clit, rubbing and drawing circles just like you’d shown him before.

“Aaron… I’m…” you mewled, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you - indeed - came with his throbbing cock still inside you, lungs pleading for air and inner muscles clenching around him.

He collapsed on top of you, the additional weight making you realize how harsh the desk’s smooth surface was on your back, yet you cupped his face and stroked his flustered cheeks with your thumbs.

“I missed you so much,” you breathed out as soon as you were able to.

He pulled out and started to fix his clothes, and before he got rid of the condom he planted the sweetest kiss on your lips. “I’m sorry about the other weekend. Jack wasn’t supposed to play, last minute change of plans—”

“Don’t be sorry, I know you love going to his games,” you said, propping up on one elbow to straighten yourself as he stood in front of you. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your biggest fans, would you?”

He was still heaving a little and looked at you with a pensive pout. “... what?!”

“I mean, you’ve seriously never noticed…?” you locked your hands behind his neck as you tried to come up with a good imitation of the cooing voice of the soccer moms who you knew swarmed the sidelines every time he was present.

“Aaron, can you help us move the coolers? Aaron, we need to rearrange those chairs! Aaron, come here and have some cake! We made it for you ‘cause you’re such a good dad and it’s soooooo hot!”

He laughed, the vibrations in his ribcage making your breasts jiggle, then he gave you his best smile to date. “You’re jealous?!”

You shrugged, holding him closer. “No. To be honest I don’t even blame them, you are a good dad. Which is very hot, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he laughed again as he wrapped you in his arms to kiss you one more time, forcing you to close your eyes and get lost in his tender embrace. You muffled a surprised gasp when he playfully nipped at your earlobe with another heart-stopping smile.

“But just to be clear…” he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “it’s usually cookies, not cake!”

@hornyhornyhimbos

NB: I don't really have an Aaron Hotchner fic taglist 'cause I usually write about Spencer Reid but if you wish to be tagged in future Hotch-centric works (SFW or not, who knows?) you can either send me an ask or leave a comment below.

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joelismiller · 9 months

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misunderstanding

joel miller x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.0k

Summary: you liked joel and you really thought he liked you back.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (joel is in his fifties and reader is in her late twenties), angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), jealousy, protective!joel, violence if you squint, no use of y/n

A/N: hi everyone my name is ariel and this is my first post ! I have never written for joel before and i have never written smut so please go easy on me and enjoy ! <3 (oh also i completely made up the currency idk how that works😭)

It hurts, you think.

Having an attachment to a man who has seemed to lose the ability to comprehend on an emotional level how to form one.

An exception of course made for one goofy teenager named Ellie Williams, which you can’t blame him for—she is an easy kid to love.

You however still can’t help but feel a little envious of the fourteen-year-old even if it is a silly kind of jealousy. You just wish you could be close to him—know him like no one else does or has.

It started 6 months ago: you had been living in Jackson for a whole year after braving the world overtaken by Cordyceps alone.

Tommy and a group of other people on patrol found you near the edge of town looking right about to just give up and keel over and allow fate to take over and decide if you should live or die from that point.

After making sure you were not infected, Tommy scooped you up and managed to get you back to town where Maria agreed to help nurse you back to health and eventually make you an official resident of Jackson.

You were given a house close to Tommy and Maria’s and they gave you a job at the local clothing shop of sorts; really just a place to trade or purchase clothing, bootlaces, etc. You began to not just live, but enjoy living—a fate you never thought you would be able to see for yourself after the events of the last twenty years.

It was more or less a life of routine and monotony, but it was more of a life you had before which is what made it special.

Then Joel Miller came in and ruined all of that.

Six months ago he rode into town with his little brunette companion for a second time after briefly visiting a while before. He walked up to Tommy and gave him a firm hug while confirming your hope that he indeed would be making himself a permanent member of the Jackson community.

His house with Ellie was only a few blocks away which allowed for you to wake up a little early to see him leave on his way to patrol.

Now the interaction that started your infatuation with the grumpy old man was nothing too special; at least probably to the man himself. However, to you, it made a very old and foreign feeling form in your gut.

Butterflies erupted just at the sight of Joel Miller’s beautiful brown eyes that, depending on the light, either shined a light honey-brown, or dark and rich, like the coffee beans you used to brew your coffee that morning.

His hair reflected his age—a fluffy mess of brown with graying streaks and a patchy beard to match.

And his broad shoulders and strong looking arms made it so you wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up by him—consumed by him.

He looked awkward, you think, as he stood inside your shop looking around wordlessly. You decided to step out from behind the counter where you were going over some previous numbers for inventory to help the handsome man get what he came for.

“Hi there, can I help you look for anything specific?” you asked as you approached him slowly from across the room.

“Hi, um, I was just lookin' for a thicker coat than the one I already have—‘just got my first pay from patrolling.” He muttered, continuing to search the many tables and walls littered with all sorts of clothing items.

“Oh okay, for sure! If you just follow me they’re right over here.”

You began to lead him to a rack near the register which had a small assortment of heavy winter jackets. You were constantly selling out of them since Jackson was always cold no matter the season which is why there wasn’t a lot to choose from.

He took a look at the jackets and gave you a nod, “Thank you, um…” Joel trailed off as you breathlessly laughed and told him your name.

He repeated your name trying it out on his tongue; making you wish for nothing more than to hear him say it in his Southern drawl over and over and over-

“I’m Joel,” he stated simply and you gave him a smile and nod of your head, pretending like you hadn’t already done a bit of digging to find out the handsome newcomer’s name a couple months ago when he first visited.

“Well Joel, if you need anything I'll be back behind the register.”

You pointed over to the table with a broken old register that worked just well enough to store the currency the town came up with so there was an extra curtain of civilization despite the events that were anything but that.

You thought it was kind of stupid, but it worked and made people happy so who were you to say otherwise?

He nodded to let you know he heard you as you went back to your previous position: pretending the whole time you weren’t shamelessly ogling the rugged, big, Southern man mindlessly looking through the jackets.

He eventually settled on a nice tan one with flannel material on the inside lining with white fleece on the collar and cuffs.

You quickly looked back down to the inventory papers so you wouldn’t be caught staring when you heard his heavy footsteps approach the counter.

“I’ll take this one,” he grunted as he began to gather up some coins to give you in exchange for the warm, heavy jacket.

You quickly pushed his hand away to alert him that it wasn’t necessary, “You're new here right Joel?” You asked as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow and shook his head in agreement.

“Right, then consider it a welcoming gift—free of charge.”

You gave him a bright smile as he furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head causing you to see the honey sparkle in his brown eyes under the bright store light.

“Ya sure? Jacket doesn’t look cheap,” Joel muttered, his gaze flickering to his boots.

“A hundred percent! You’re new and patrolling isn’t an easy job, accept it as a thank you for keeping us safe if anything,” you told him shyly, the smile never leaving your face.

He chuckled softly and nodded his head.

“Okay darlin’, well, thank you—much appreciated.”

You whispered a soft ‘yeah’ as his eyes looked over you, causing a burning feeling to spread throughout your whole body as if you were being branded. He gave you one last nod of his head as he began to turn around and leave the store.

Not to your surprise, an empty feeling immediately filled you in the presence of his absence.

You whispered to yourself to pull yourself together—that you’ve only met him once and that his effect on you should not be this intense.

It didn’t help however as every interaction after that caused your feelings for the large stand-offish man to only grow.

Whether it was a quick acknowledgement of each other when you happened to eat in the dining hall at the same time, or a wave of a hand when you left your houses at the same time in the morning as he headed to patrol and you headed to the store.

But your favorite interactions were when he would come into the store to maybe get a couple of new shirts for Ellie, or some new socks for himself.

Over time you felt him grow more comfortable around you as you did him. He would tell you about Ellie’s latest antics; swearing that the teen girl was trying to ‘send an old man to an early grave.’

You would giggle and tell him that he wasn’t that old and that Ellie was just a teen girl finally in a safe somewhat normal place where she can go to school and make actual friends.

“About that, I think I might needa talk with her teacher soon—she’s been missin too much school and heading off god knows where,” Joel confessed to you, a frown overtaking his aged features as his worry about his adopted daughter showed clear all over his face.

You shyly grabbed his hand across the register and gave it a small squeeze.

“Try not to worry about her too much Joel. She’s young and she didn’t get to have a normal childhood—It's only normal that school probably doesn’t matter too much to her after everything,” you explained hoping that your words may ease him a bit.

He didn’t respond right away, instead looking at where your much softer hand overlapped his bigger, calloused ones. An unreadable look came over his face before he gently took his hand away from yours and looked to the ground.

“Yeah you’re probably right,” he responded in that low tone of his as he slowly began to back up.

“I gotta go check and see if she made it home okay. It was nice seein ya.”

You barely were able to say another word, maybe apologize for touching his hand in such a careless way before his heavy boots were already heading out the door; the little bell ringing a hollow sound in your ears.

After that, you began to see less and less of Joel and it hurt to admit that it slowly felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest.

You hated yourself for thinking that all your interactions meant something to him; that when he started to come to the store, not even leaving with anything but a conversation with you, that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way you felt for him.

Every time you even attempted waving at him in the morning when you both left—he just grunted and looked the other way—pretending like you weren’t even there.

The store was for some reason busier than usual today and you closed up feeling drained and ready to sleep. The long shift accompanied by the hollow feeling in your heart Joel had left caused you to want nothing more than to curl up and forget all the pain in nicer dreams where things were better between you, things were different.

Joel would hold your hand in your dream and walk you to work, leaving a kiss on your cheek and a whisper of having a good day as you giggled and kissed him right back—whispering the same sentiments.

You were shaken out of your daydream on your walk home when you spotted the very man at the center of all your thoughts on the porch of someone's house, a woman’s house.

She was gorgeous with long, blonde hair framing her face perfectly, while she looked up at Joel with gorgeous, crystal, blue eyes. She looked older than you too, maybe even closer to Joel’s age.

They laughed about something before she was leading him inside her house as he followed suit; the door shutting in a finality behind them.

You felt a mix of jealousy and an even greater sadness than before filling your belly as you continued what felt like the longest walk home in your life.

As soon as the door closed you slid down the old wood as tears and sobs that you couldn’t stop wracked your body.

You just didn’t understand; what changed, what did you do to make him start avoiding you?

And you knew how hard it was for Joel to come out of his shell, so why did it seem so easy for him to talk and laugh with that woman?

After what seemed like hours, you finally picked yourself off of the ground and trudged slowly to your bed where you collapsed immediately upon impact with the old tattered sheets.

Instead of the usual happy dreams about Joel, tonight you were plagued with endless nightmares of him and the mysterious blonde woman; standing in the place you usually would in your dreams about Joel.

You woke up in the morning with a feeling of restlessness as you readied yourself for another long day of work.

After work that night you decided to go to the Tipsy Bison which was Jackson’s bar that you would usually frequent when your nightmares from the time you were on your own came back to haunt you.

Mindless images of a group of clicker’s taking from you the only person you had left in your life since the virus took over: your best friend.

After she was gone it was just you, and that period never seemed to completely leave your mind even after a year in Jackson.

After last night’s sleep, you definitely needed a drink you thought to yourself as you made your way over. When you entered you saw that it was a pretty busy night for the Tipsy Bison as you did your best to find a seat towards the end of the bar.

Once you took a seat, you gave the bartender your drink order and surveyed the area to see who else was here as you waited for him to deliver your alcohol of choice. Your breathing stopped and your eyes widened when you noticed a familiar group of people at a table closer to the front of the bar.

There in all his ruggish, handsome glory was Joel Miller, smiling widely as he talked with Tommy, Maria, and her.

You quickly swung back around to face where your drink was just set in front of you as you begged the burn in the back of your eyes to go away.

Fuck this, you thought as you downed most of the drink in one go, using your hand to wipe away the bit that escaped at the corner of your lips.

You did your best to ignore the person that was at the center of all your sadness; drinking and drinking until you felt a familiar buzz kick in and begin to cloud your thoughts.

Right when you were about to order another drink, a skinny, tall, blonde boy walked over to where you were seated and said it was on him as he handed over a couple of coins.

“You didn’t have to do that but thanks, I guess,” you muttered, hoping your disinterest was a sign that you wanted to be left alone.

He smiled wide in a way that caused you to shiver, and not in a pleasurable way like when Joel would grace you with the corner of his lip twitching up, releasing a breathless laugh; but in a bad, unnerving way.

“Anything for a girl as pretty as you.”

He winked which caused you to roll your eyes and once again look away from him. “I’m not interested but again, thank you,” you told him with a finality in your voice that the man—no—boy, didn’t take very seriously.

“Aw come on don’t be like that I just wanna have some fun with you,” he said in a sleazy manner as he reached out to grip your shoulder.

You quickly shook him off but in your drunken haze, you accidentally fell off your chair onto the ground—single-handedly causing the whole bar’s eyes to turn onto you.

“Godammit, now you're just causing a fucking scene,” the man snarled at you, causing tears to form behind your eyes as this man's actions as well as having the entire bar watching the now-forming scene.

And if the night couldn’t get any worse, you hear the familiar sound of boots coming up behind the man and it takes just one glance to confirm your suspicions.

“What did you just say to her?”

You heard a deep voice growl out, a look of pure rage overtaking Joel’s features as he stood right in front of the blonde boy’s face.

“Look man I didn’t know she was taken, I was just tryna have a good time, you know?”

An animalistic sound leaves Joel’s mouth before he takes the boy’s arm and forcefully grabs it until he's facing the bar counter and his arm is pressed deep into his back.

“It don’t matter whether she’s taken or not, you never treat a woman like that,” he snarls into the shaking boy’s ear.

“I never wanna see you come near her again, you hear me?”

He shakes his head wildly until Joel finally releases him and he scatters out of the bar. The anger on Joel’s face morphs into one of concern as he gently stretches out a hand to help you up.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He questions softly as you bat his hand away and attempt to stand on your own.

“M’ fine,” you mutter as you stand on shaky legs—about to fall over when Joel rests his big hands on your shoulders to steady you. He chuckles and curls an arm around your waist as he begins to slowly lead you out the door.

“You sure darlin’? Cause’ you seem a lil drunk to me,” Joel says amused at your hindered state while you frown up at him.

“Don’t you have to go back to your girlfriend,” you huff out, avoiding looking at the grumpy man’s features.

“Girlfriend?” He responds confused, not understanding what you were talking about until he catches your eyes drifting to Veronica’s face—Ellie’s teacher.

After the day he left abruptly from your store, he sought out Ellie’s teacher Veronica. They have been having weekly meetings about how Ellie was doing in school as well as her continuous efforts to ditch class.

There was absolutely nothing romantic about it, the whole ordeal gave him a headache—a subject he was too old to be stressing about.

Besides, how could he dare think about anyone else when you had him wrapped around your little finger?

When he first saw you at your clothing store and you gave him his jacket for free, he knew you would be trouble.

And trouble you were as he couldn’t stop himself from continuing to visit you just to see you and hear your comforting voice promise him that all his worries about his adopted daughter were normal.

It was actually your idea that maybe he should at some point meet with Ellie’s teacher. But when your small hand wrapped around his he got scared— scared this could become something real.

Everyone he has ever gotten attached to he’s lost and he already accidentally went and got attached to Ellie, he didn't know if he had it in him to do it to another person.

And on top of that, he was a bad man, he had done horrible things. You were also so much younger and prettier than him—a sweet, soft thing Joel didn’t feel he deserved.

But looking at your heartbroken face now as you looked back at him and then at Veronica, he knew he messed up. He should have never started avoiding you.

It was never the answer, but Joel had never been good at feelings, this much is evident.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you home.”

The walk back from the Tipsy Bison to your house was a pretty close one, your hose only being about five minutes away.

Once you were at your door with a Joel who did not take “leave me alone” as an answer, you struggled to get the key in the lock in your drunken stupor which the large man beside you thankfully helped with.

“Let me do that, sweetheart,” he muttered as his big warm hands covered yours and twisted the key, letting the both of you inside.

“Joel, I don't feel so good…” you said shakily as Joel uttered a “shit” and quickly hurried you to the bathroom which he found pretty quickly—his hands quickly opening the toilet seat and finding purchase in your hair as he held it back, allowing you to empty the contents of your stomach.

“Joel I’m so sorry,” you groaned as a tear fell down your cheek; your sadness, tiredness, and embarrassment flooded in all at once with help from the lingering alcohol in your system.

He shushed you softly and cradled you to his chest taking a second to rock you until your tears stopped and you felt well enough to stand.

“How bout’ you brush your teeth and get your pajamas on—I’ll make you some tea then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You nodded as he gently brushed your cheek with his thumb causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach as he made his way to your kitchen to attempt to find the ingredients and mug he needed.

You cleaned yourself up: showered, brushed your teeth, and put on sleepwear which helped you come back to a clearer state of mind allowing confusion to overtake you.

Why was Joel here taking care of you, wouldn’t his girlfriend begin to ask questions?

You weren’t allowed to keep worrying yourself with your thoughts as a knock on your bedroom door brought you back to reality.

“May I come in? Made ya tea,” Joel’s voice rang out into your room softly as you muttered a quiet, “Sure.”

Joel stepped into the room and handed you the mug which you took a generous sip of—the honeyed flavor soothing your throat and stomach.

“Thank you so much, Joel, for walking me home and taking care of me. I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t go apologizing darlin’ you have done nothin’ to have to apologize for,” Joel interrupted sending you a soft smile as he went to pick up your hand laying on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into the smooth skin.

In a reversal of roles, it was your turn to pull your hand away as Joel frowned and you looked to the floor; he should have expected that after everything that’s happened.

“I guess I deserve that,” he chuckles sadly as your turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Well you have a girlfriend and I bet it would make her uncomfortable if she knew you were holding my hand, Joel.”

Joel couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped him at your words which completely stopped when he saw your features form into one of anger.

“Why is that so funny? That’s why you stopped visiting and talking to me right? Because you found someone else.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out as bitterly or as venomously as you said it but you couldn’t help it. You have spent weeks suffering over his actions towards you and now he helps you home, takes care of you, holds your hand like nothing happened?

“M’ sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was laughing at you. It’s just that…” He trails off collecting himself. Joel sighs out your name and begins to tell you that Veronica is not his girlfriend and that she was just Ellie’s teacher.

He explains to you all about their meetings and that tonight was just him getting her a drink to thank her for all her help.

“I promise you darlin’ it wasn’t anythin’ more than that—don’t feel that way about her at all.”

You process all the information Joel just unloaded on you; and though you do feel relief, you still feel irritation and sadness as his complete throwing away of your friendship—abandoning you without a word. You tell him as much as he releases another sigh and looks down toward the wooden floor.

“Look, m’ not really good at this…” Joel starts, eyes flickering up to your face as he continues.

“But coming into the shop and talkin’ to you started becoming the best parts of my day, sweetheart,” he pauses to give you a look of sincerity and to try holding your hand again—and this time— you let him.

“And I was just downright a coward and instead of facing my feelings I shut you out completely and I feel so fucking awful darlin’ I’m so sorry.” He whispers, tightening his grip on your hand.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I'm hoping you can forgive me and that maybe we can try to be somethin. I don’t know if I’ll be very good at it and I’m so much older than you, but-”

You cut Joel’s rambling off by pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. You begin to pull away when you don’t feel him kissing back, but he doesn’t give you a chance as he cups your head in a big hand and begins to kiss back with more fervor.

“Joel,” you whimper as he begins to lay you back on your bed, his tongue licking the seam of your bottom lip asking for entrance into your soft, warm mouth—which you immediately allow.

“Shhh, darlin’ will you lemme take care of ya? Wanna make you feel so good baby, make up for how bad I've been actin’.”

You let out a moan when you feel the rough denim of his jeans buck up into your soft sleep shorts making contact with your clothed cunt.

“Please Joel, need you so bad,” you whine as he starts to place kisses from your jaw down to your neck—slightly nipping and leaving a trail of small red spots in their wake, which he soothes with his tongue causing a high pitched whimper to leave your lips; beads of frustration beginning to gather at the corner of your lashes.

“I got you sweetheart, I’m right here, can I take this off?” Joel questions as he lifts the hem of your tank top.

You nodded quickly as he borderline rips it over your head, quickly latching a mouth onto one of your nipples as he massages the neglected one with his hand.

“Ohmygod-” you cry as he expertly flicks the bud with his tongue, soon moving over to the other nipple to give it the same treatment.

Arousal pools in your gut as Joel groans, beginning to leave kisses from your sternum, down to the soft skin of your belly, and right to the hem of your sleep shorts.

He leaves a soft kiss there and looks up to you to ask for permission to take them off. You nod vigorously but he shakes his head and leans down more to press a kiss to your clothed core, emitting a loud gasp from your mouth.

“I need words darlin',” he states, glancing back up to you as you vocalize your permission. Joel wastes no time in taking your shorts down in one quick motion once you say yes—leaving you in your white lacy panties.

He runs a finger over the damp spot in your panties and then brings his arched nose close to the spot to breathe you in as well as to lick your folds through the cotton, his nose perfectly bumping your clit in this position causing you to squirm and moan his name.

“Joel please,” you begged as he pulled away and began to run soothing circles into the soft skin of your thighs.

“Please what baby, tell me what you need,” he demands as you try to buck your hips up to his mouth, but he won't let you, strong hands keeping you in place.

“Your tongue Joel I need your tongue,” you whimper but he shakes his head.

“Where do you need my tongue, baby? Gotta tell me if you wanna cum, sweet girl.”

You whine in embarrassment and look down to see Joel Miller with the smuggest smirk you have ever seen.

“I need your tongue on my pussy Joel, please take off my panties and use your tongue,” you beg as he chuckles and gently removes the white lace—quickly stuffing it in his back pocket before you can see.

“Good girl baby, that s’all I needed,” he murmurs as his tongue comes into contact with the bare skin of your folds causing you to gasp his name and grab his salt and pepper hair to hold him against your cunt.

“Oh my god Joel that feels so good!” You cry as his tongue moves from licking solid stripes against your folds to suckling gently on your clit, as your legs threaten to squeeze around his head.

“Fucking Christ sweetheart, you taste so good, can’t get enough of you,” he groans as he continues to lick into you—the coil in your tummy beginning to tighten but you need more to get you to your high.

“Mmm your fingers Joel, please I need your fingers,” you groan, causing Joel to growl against your pussy, the vibrations only heightening your pleasure.

“Okay baby, think you can take two, huh?” he murmurs as he presses several small kisses to the inside of your thigh.

You whimper a small “yes” as he gathers your slick on his middle and ring finger—the burn you feel from the sheer girth of his fingers stretching you open fades into a dull bliss.

“J-Joel I’m close,” you alert him as you buck into his face and fuck yourself on his fingers.

“Yeah, baby? C’mon then cum for me sweetheart, let go,” Joel coos gently and that’s all it takes for the coil in your stomach to snap—a stream of your slick gushing out all over his face and onto the scruff of his beard.

He continues to lick you through it until you're shuttering and mewling from the overstimulation. He pulls away with a large grin on his face as he reaches down to kiss you passionately, the sweetness of your fluids on his tongue making the kiss that much sweeter.

He wiped the rest of you off of his beard before giving you small pecks all over your face until you were giggling and he was chuckling.

“I am sorry y’know,” he whispered in that silky smooth voice of his. You cupped his cheek with your hand, rubbing circles into the scratchy skin.

“I know.”

Joel got up to get a wet cloth to clean you up. He then took his time putting your sleepwear back on—leaving gentle kisses and massaging every inch of your body he could see.

He ended up spending the night as you curled into his strong arms as he stroked your hair until he felt your breathing even out as slumber took over you.

He stayed up and watched you for a while until he soon fell victim to sleep; the thought of him finally being able to be completely happy despite everything was a comfortable thought, and it was all because of you.

#i hope you guys like it omg #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #tlou x reader #joel miller x f!reader

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im-a-hoping-beetch · 9 months

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Many people seem to get genuinely confused, whenever we, zutara shippers, mention how underdeveloped kataang really is. Usually, they’ll brush it off as us being delusional, bitter and you know the drill. Their main response to that, usually is: “How, could they possibly be underdeveloped, they had 3 seasons!?!”

The thing is they forget that the amount of time isn’t as important as what you do do with it. Cuz, yeah, Aang and Katara did have 3 seasons, but their relationship still managed to feel rushed as hell. Heck, even Bryke, out of all people, admitted to it. Which mostly as to do with a bunch of things that I’ll get into right now.

Let’s start with the fact that, Katara never actually shows any interest in Aang.

Now, many of y’all will probably come for me by citing how the cave of the two lovers or even the Headband have moments of her showing interest in him, but all of them end up falling flat at some point.

The cave of the two lovers:

The argument here, usually is“if she didn’t have any interest in him, why would she kiss him?” or “why would she blush at the idea of kissing him?”. The former seems to forget this is a life or death situation and that we don’t really know for sure that if there were another way to get out if this, she wouldn’t take it. For the latter, I’d like to say that blushing can have many significations such as, embarrassment. Which, here makes sense when considering what she says and overall demeanour, after suggesting to kiss.

Like yeah, a fourteen year old girl blushing bcz she’s embarrassed at the idea of having to kiss, her friend, out of all things, cuz you know… awkward. Can you imagine that (pun fully intended)???

The headband:

This one is going to be a ride, but stick with me. The arguments can range from “What about her jealousy while Aang is dancing with other girls.” to “What about the way she looks at him during the dance.”

Here, is said jealousy being shown:

And said look being done:

Now, yeah, I can absolutely see why these two exemples would be used as a way to prove her interest, but let me remind you that this is the same episode where we have this happen.

Yeah, the same episode where Katara is acting all jealous and giving flirty looks to Aang is also the same one where she pretends to be is… mother. While, I could go on about how it wasn’t the best idea on the directors or whoever was in charge of the episode part if it was their way of giving a glimpse of Katara being into Aang. The issue is, them doing so wasn’t completely farfetched either, because up until now it’s been established that Katara can be very motherly and she acts that way with almost everyone in the gaang. More specifically, the one with who she does so the most is, Aang.

I mean, even the show makes a point of poking fun at their mother-son dynamic on several occasions all throughout the show (ie. the don’t-rub-your-eyes-when-you’re-speaking scene in “The runaway” episode). So realistically, the two exemples shown way above could somewhat work, but only if you decide to completely ignore what episode they take place in, one that hasn’t really helped at stopping the mother-son dynamic allegations kataang has been getting, for years, now.

So, back to the development aspect, I think it has always been stunted from the beginning, because, fundamentally, the ship as always been designed to be Aang-centric. If you’d like more insight on that I’d recommend checking @starlight-bread-blog’s amazing post on the issue. But also, that their lackluster resolution is way much more obvious, cuz both are leads in the show. Katara's existence in the show, isn't solely there to serve as some love inerest for Aang. Shocker, but she's actually a MAIN CHARACTER in the show, meaning that we spend three seasons where we get to learn about her battles, fears and aspirations, none of which seems to involve a relationship with Aang.

Like yeah, the reason why The Ending Kiss™ feels so unsatisfactory is, simply, because, Katara doesn't like Aang (at least not like that). Katara, likes Aang, because the show said so. Now, stick with me, cuz I can already feel some of y'all ready to jump at the screen. Within the show, name a single moment where she ever comes to thinking of Aang in a romantic way. One that doesn't involve any external sources, such as someone suggesting about it or because of the given circumstances she has to. The answer is none. The only time we ever get to see her voice her ACTUAL opinion about it, this is what she says:

That's not even counting how her overall demeanor, from the body language to her choice of words seems to suggest that she's actually trying to let him down gently. Also, may I remind you that at that point THERE'S ONLY 3 FREAKING EPISODES LEFT BEFORE THE BIG KISS™ and this is where there at in their relationship. Plus, within the 3 episodes that are left WE NEVER GET TO SEE THEM TALK ABOUT IT, EVER!!!

This obviously was part of Bryke’s horrible attempt at the will-they-won’t-they trope. Which ended up playing right in their face, cuz like I mentioned they themselves had to come to glaring realization that kataang was rushed. Now, it could’ve been it, the creators realizing their obvious mistake and if they could, trying to fix it by giving us what seemed like the natural progression of their relationship, which was for it to end.

Instead, we got comics!Katara and oooh boy…

Basically, they decided that they would throw away Katara’s meticulously built characterization in order to make her existence revolve around, Aang. I kid you not, when I say that she isn’t allowed scenes, lines and actions that do not revolve around her “sweetie”.

Remember how I said that, Katara likes Aang because the show runners said so. This is an example of this cranked up to a hundred.

Essentially, when you start thinking about where these two are in terms of growth, kataang is the antithesis to development itself. On one hand it validates the regression of one (ie. the dropped chakra plot line), while simultaneously, having to strip any previously built characterization of the other (ie. comics!katara).

On that note, I’d like to remind people, how important Katara is to the story. Without her, the entirety of the gaang would be dead. Without her, there would be no story. Without her, there would be no Aang.

She deserved to have a voice within her own relationship and not for it to be stolen by two grown men who were still stuck in their childhood fantasy.

She deserved better.

#atla #avatar #anti bryke #avatar the last airbender #anti kataang #zutara #pro katara #katara deserved better

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findafight · 9 months

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RE the posts about Nancy and Jon just kinda leaving the kids to their own devices; I find it very telling that in season four that despite Steve complaining a number of times about being the babysitter, none of the kids raise any objections to him being the babysitter, despite what it implies about them. It’s Nancy who reminds him “they aren’t babies anymore”.

I used to find that kind of funny, the idea that they might kind of like being babied a bit by Steve (for whom indulging younger kids is still a novelty). And it’s fascinating to me how Mike in particular, despite regarding Steve with utter disdain, feels entitled to Steve’s time and attention. Even *months* after Nancy has broken up with him, and Mike could just follow her lead and not have anything more to do with him, *Mike’s* the one ringing the service bell until Robin shouts for Steve.

The kids are maybe a little bit clingier than we or the characters give them credit for, eh?

(This reading gets really interesting when you consider that out of all the teens/adults, Steve’s probably worked/fought alongside them the most and knows full well what they’re capable of.)

I think Steve being someone the younger teens look up to as both a friend and as a leader is probably key. The age difference between them is enough that it makes a difference in how they look up to him and small enough that they'll be functional equals given a few years, but that they'll still defer to him. They like Steve! I think they like knowing that there's someone older willing to call some of the shots and take the heat y'know? Even if they also want to contribute to the decisions it's nice for them to know he has their backs.

Tbh I think Mike and Steve butt heads for the bit. Like they biker and groan about each other but Steve still thinks of Mike as maybe kind of annoying (as are. All fourteen year olds 🫡) one of his (mildly ungrateful) little friends. Of course it would be Mike ringing the bell repeatedly, he and Mike show friendly affection by being obnoxious motherfuckers to each other.

Sooo correct that what makes it different than Nancy and Jon, was that even though they've all gone through Upside Down stuff, Nancy and Jon went through it together, while Steve went through it, starting in S2, with the young teens. They see him and even though they stop Billy from killing him he saves them (specifically Mike!!) In the tunnels. It sort of establishes Steve as someone they KNOW is going to take charge to help them. They can and have! Mike knows he can rely on Nancy, probably, but he doesn't have the same...proof? I guess? That he does of Steve.

I think it's natural for them, even as they get older, to defer to Steve. He's sort of invincible to them, and they trust him. Does this make sense? They can call their own shots but I think maybe they'll also go "right, Steve?" Even if just in their brains.

#steve harrington #mike wheeler #steve and the party #steve and mike #stranger things #findaanswers #anonasaurus #stranger things meta #as a full grown adult i still fall back on thinking my brother has hos shit together more than me and there's less than three years between #tho my little sister thinks im an idiot

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niconebula · 1 year

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I’m currently writing a college essay on the representation of Witches (and all Magical Girls) in Madoka Magica; I don’t know if I will be able to include this within the limits of the project so I wanted to share to Tumblr instead. It does not seem to be widely understood how much yonic imagery there is in the series and how important that is to the intended message.

For starters Kyubey is a walking uterus. The name of his species is literally Incubator (an enclosed apparatus providing a controlled environment for the care and protection of premature or unusually small babies; an apparatus used to hatch eggs or grow microorganisms under controlled conditions). He creates egg-shaped Soul Gems, and deposits the Grief Seeds back into his little receptacle. Why does he have such a weird design with two sets of ears? The lower ‘ears’ with the separated ends are actually modelled off of what Fallopian Tubes look like.

(Funny diagram but. It’s true! I’ll come back to this point at the end).

So then take this scene (thank god someone reuploaded it to YouTube):

youtube

“And you think a shit-for-brains hoe is going to be making that much in ten years? That body ain’t gonna last forever, you know.” “And then you dump ‘em, and they get all whiny!”

These two men are talking about the short term relationships they have with women, using them for their bodies and treating them like shit, and then dumping them immediately after - not understanding or caring as to how this upsets them.

It consistently baffles me how many people will completely throw out feminist readings of Madoka Magica. ‘Readings’ shouldn’t even be used - this is the main text of the goddamn show! You are free to argue that it failed at its message, or that the application was problematic, but for this scene in particular to fly over your head makes me discount opinions immediately.

Anyway, where have we heard this rhetoric before? “That body ain’t gonna last forever” - a young Magical Girl is always destined to turn into the Wicked Witch. “When you dump em’, they get all whiny!” - it is a Magical Girl at the peak of her despair who turns into a Witch, and Kyubey cannot and does not care for their human emotion.

The men cycle through their ‘hoes’ like Kyubey cycles through Magical Girls to get whatever his species supposedly needs to continue the universe.

I’m going to cut a break here for TW discussions of metaphorical rape and pregnancy involving minors, but this portion of the post is important.

Kyubey completely violates the concept of informed consent when he creates his magical girls - though he always argues that he did ask, and it’s in fact their fault (as fourteen year old girls) to not ask further questions.

Taking his form as a uterus alongside the yonic imagery of the show, it is implied that Kyubey has in some way ‘raped’ the girls. This is most evident in Sayaka’s arc; her insistence that becoming a Magical Girl has made her spoiled and that Kyousuke wouldn’t want to even kiss a girl like her.

Their transformations into witches further the idea that they have been ‘spoiled’, but also symbolize their transformation into adult women. Women who are ‘too adult’, and whose bodies are no longer attractive or useful to create babies anymore.

Goddess Madoka is even depicted as pregnant in the full Magia ending.

I feel like you could reason within all this symbolism that there’s a metaphor for specifically the coerced pregnancy and mothership of women. Something often considered the ‘ideal state’ for women and as you will see many conservatives argue, the necessary thing to continue society. In their minds, the subjugation of anyone they assign as women to these roles is necessary for society as they know it to continue for the imaginary people of the future who do not even exist yet.

Kyubey refers to the Magical Girls as cattle. He is there to help incubate and hatch the witch, and then throw the magical girl to the dust afterwards as she dies no longer useful. These girls are sacrifices to a far-off future that Kyubey promises them, he tells them that if no Magical Girls existed to hatch into Witches, humanity would not last long enough to see itself to the stars.

The incubator and his design, the soul gems and grief seeds, the pregnant madoka, the discussions about men liking their eggs a particular way by their homeroom teacher, it’s all very consistent. I’m not sure if my prospective readers have ever considered this within Madoka Magica - but try seeing it from this angle.

I didn’t find a way to work this into the post, but in addition: take the ancient myth of the wandering womb. This was the belief that so called over-emotional women were suffering from a condition where their uterus was moving in ways all across their bodies. It morphed into the more modern usage of female hysteria; hysteria coming from hystera- the Greek word for uterus. Kyubey thinks of the girls as constantly overreacting and overemotional. Hysterical.

#pmmm #madoka magica #posts made without proofreading #I trust in peoples reading comprehension ability to not take this as a trans exclusionary post #and if you think I’m reading too much into it idk what to tell ya just move on

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comradekatara · 3 months

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Wkfndjfske I FORGOT KATARA BULLIES TOPH ABOUT BEING BLIND. Like I know she's a problematic icon and a complex character who undergoes a lot of growth but I truly genuinely did forget that she was also a fourteen year old girl who Toph called sugar queen for very good reason. The specifics fade into the background after so many years and so many of her worse moments are because she is acutely hurt and defensive and also a teenager. Whereas this is just her being a teenager and lashing out because of being socially insecure, which isn't usually her wheelhouse. I'm constantly impressed by how well written she is!!!!

i know right!!!!! i love katara so much (duh) bc she's like the most realistically-written fourteen year old girl of all time. and it's so funny to me how people who refuse to acknowledge that she has flaws (despite the fact that she is of course so eminently and beautifully flawed) will simply dig their heels in if you cite any instances wherein she does something mean or out of line and they'll be like "no she was right and morally justified actually because the person she was talking to was being an asshole and victimizing her [katara voice] personally and so she wasn't being mean she was right 100% of the time and always justified and morally correct actually you just hate her and want her dead" because that's like. exactly how katara thinks. they're just subscribing to her logic (thee ultimate fourteen year old little sister logic) and then deciding that she must be correct because she thinks she's always correct and if she's always right then she is. and i find that kind of endearing because i do cherish katara and do always understand where she is coming from even when she's wrong but like. she is not an irreproachable angel who is always justified in her rage and vitriol. she is a realistically fallible teenager who is in a lot of pain and fucks up a lot and has a tendency to dig her heels in when she's wrong. and that's something i absolutely adore about her!!!! so it's really such a shame that so many people who claim to love her will put her on a pedestal and blindly agree with everything she says and does, because it's a really reductive way to engage with her character, and it's also just plain dehumanizing to reduce such a rich and nuanced character into "girl whose actions should always be taken at face value because she is simply a vehicle onto which we can project our owns thoughts and feelings." i mean, didn't you know that stripping her of all her agency and making her a flawless site of projection (usually for shipping purposes) is feminist actually?? and if you ever point out her flaws (even in a loving, celebratory, or humorous way) it's because you hate women??? didn't you know that feminism is when women don't have flaws they have to learn and grow from, and instead just kind of sit there??????? which is, incidentally, how you get the trash fire that is natla. anyway. i love katara so much, but i really do hate it here -_-

#estra-die-ol #asks #katara #the way she treats toph is sooooo fascinating #but ppl tend to ignore the less palatable things she does bc they dont wanna admit that her rage is not always 100% morally justified .....#lol. lmfao even

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eoieopda · 1 year

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Yoongi + “runaway bride” I’mma leave this one up to your interpretation bc I know I’ll love it either way and also wanna see what you come up with 👀

oooooooh!!! v excited by this prompt, lol. this is, um, going to hurt kind of a lot at the beginning, but stick with me!!!! also, i accidentally made this >3.3k words….. which i will proofread when i am no longer exhausted 🤪

the one with yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas

ft. POV shift, pining & correlating angst, reader who’s🎵 a runner she’s a track star 🎵, a #nonspon vans product placement, a very unfortunate namjoon (sorry, buddy,) childhood idiots in love

Yoongi sat in a seat chosen specifically for him not because he wanted to, but because he knew how much time you’d sacrificed in writing every place card by hand.

To be clear, he’d never wanted to attend this rehearsal dinner in the first place. Unfortunately, he knew the stakes. That wasn’t something he’d dare to say out loud — especially not to you. Not in that restaurant while you fluttered between tables and shined your warm light on every single guest, one by one. Not ever, because you’d slipped through Yoongi’s fingers the second Namjoon slid that ring on yours.

If, in twelve hours’ time, Yoongi could force his deflated body out of bed, he’d have to watch quietly while you got away for good.

There was nothing he could do about it, either, so he swallowed that grief with a mouthful of bibim nengmyun. He knew it wasn’t the food that tasted so bitter on his tongue; however, on the off-chance that it was, he followed suit with another ill-advised swig of makgeolli.

During the two subsequent hours he sat and stewed at that table, Yoongi had lost count of just how many glasses he’d had. His eyes never lingered on the bottle, sticking instead to you and the smile that didn’t seem to spread beyond the curve of your lips. Every now and then, you’d glance his way — and every time you did, there was a microscopic twinge at the corner of your mouth.

It felt like a signal, something cryptic, but he wasn’t in the proper headspace to begin making assumptions. For the first time ever, you’d hit Yoongi with a look he didn’t know what to do with, and that fact drove him insane. This was what he was afraid of, after all — that the invisible string between you would be re-routed to someone else, and the telepathic link you’d always shared would disappear with it.

Your friendship had started early because your respective mothers had grown up together, and found each other once again as adults with two kids each. Back then, both of your front teeth were missing and — if Yoongi made you laugh too hard at routine, weekend gatherings — banana milk would occasionally fly out through the gap. He was nine-years-old and had no concept of it, but now he knows that he loved you then.

He loved you when you were ten, and you kneed a classmate in the dick for bullying Yoongi on the basketball court. You were two years younger and half his size, but you were a force to be reckoned with.

He loved you when you were fourteen, and a wave of brand new hormones made you a little bit of a fucking nightmare to be around.

At seventeen, twenty-one, still.

Now.

There, while everyone around him clinked their chopsticks against their glasses and Namjoon accepted the crowd’s wordless demand that he kiss you.

Yoongi had done well enough with your previous relationships. None of them made him feel like this, though, and he’d spent two years unable to put his finger on why. Sandwiched at that carefully chosen table between his mother and older brother, it finally clicked: None of them ever threatened to last.

Yoongi had never been a particularly hopeful person, but buried deep in the back of his brain, there had always been a crumb of it. Part of him, however stupid, thought you’d end up together at a dinner like this. All of this was the last nail in the coffin, the alarm clock screaming that it was time to wake up.

Suddenly more nauseous than he’d ever been before, Yoongi scooted his chair back so abruptly that it scraped along the floorboards. Just as quickly, he got to his feet and made a beeline for the exit. Of all the heads that turned to watch him leave, yours was the only one he noticed in his peripheral vision. He could feel your eyes on his back — pictured how confused you must look — and it only made his stomach acid churn faster.

When he finally made it out to the patio behind the restaurant, Yoongi’s suspicions were confirmed: closed for the season. Fitting. He wasn’t in the mood to heed the signs, so he stepped carefully — one leg at a time — over the hip-high metal gate and gulped down sharp, late autumn air. As he did, he begged himself to get his shit together for you, if not for him.

He spent several minutes out there, maybe even hours, sitting on a bare, metal chair and glowering out at the trees at the edge of the property. He hated himself, he realized, for how easily he wasted time. Let it slip by unnoticed while he stood still.

The clock seemed to mock him, ticking faster from behind him as if time was going to outrun him again.

At least, that was his first guess.

Yoongi quickly learned that the clicks weren’t signaling the passing seconds; they were broadcasting the urgent beat of stilettos on brick. So, having figured that his mother had appeared outside to gun him down, Yoongi glanced over his shoulder and braced himself for the be-all, end-all of scoldings.

What he got instead was you and the undeserved concern that caused your eyebrows to furrow.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly once you reached the gate. With your manicured hands on the cold metal, you shivered, but you didn’t seem to notice. “Did you eat too much of the gochujang? I definitely did, and now I’ll be up all night with heartburn.”

Yoongi felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. The memory caught him in a riptide, beat him bloody against the rocks because he could’ve sworn he was sixteen again, stacking old encyclopedias under the headboard of your bed. He’d read somewhere online that, while sitting upright in a chair can exacerbate reflux, sleeping at an angle could help.

He was dizzy when he blinked back at you and saw your lips moving. He had to focus hard to figure out what you were saying.

“You remember that?”

Yoongi struggled to even out his breathing; he had no hope at all of finding the plot he’d lost. “Huh?”

You grinned and it made up for all the stars that had been hidden by grey clouds overhead. “The encyclopedias,” you chuckled, “They worked, you know.”

Yoongi didn’t mean to say it. He knew it before, during, and after it slipped out of his mouth that it was the worst goddamn thing he’d ever done, but he couldn’t stop himself — couldn’t shove the bullet he’d shot back into the gun. With the way it exploded through his chest — I love you — he was surprised that his body was still intact. No viscera sprayed out from the exit wound, no stains appeared on your chic, white cocktail dress.

You opened your mouth but closed it soon after, so clearly stunned by his unsolicited admission that you couldn’t find the words. Yoongi had no expectations whatsoever when it came down to your reaction because he hadn’t meant to provoke one in the first place. Even still, the wounded look on your face was worse than anything he might’ve imagined.

The two of you stood in tense silence for so long that Yoongi’s soul had nearly ejected itself fully from his body.

“That’s not fair,” eventually came your shaky reply. You clenched your fist tight around the top of the gate to anchor yourself and stammered, “Yoongi, that is not — Why would you —”

As soon as he aimed to take a step in your direction, your shock gave way to a scowl that could’ve boiled him alive.

“Why would you dump that at my feet? Tonight, of all fucking nights, Yoongi — seriously?” You snapped, though it sounded like a sob. “What am I supposed to do with this now?”

Now?

He didn’t know how to respond. He was paralyzed, inside and out, and he deserved it. Who the fuck was he, forcing the burden of his feelings onto you?

Selfish. Stupid. Out of time, as usual.

The makeup you always took so much time on started to run alongside your tears. Yoongi had seen you cry before, though he’d always been the reason you stopped, rather than started. He hated every single one of those muddied, black tears because he knew you. He knew you would have worn waterproof mascara if you’d had any reason to anticipate crying on your special night.

“I’m getting married in the morning!”

Your reminder was a dagger flying out of your mouth, sticking him right between the ribs. It stung as images flooded his mind — of you and Namjoon, your guests, and your out-of-season, imported fucking hydrangeas. It hurt even worse to see how badly you shook as you glared at him.

“Yoongi — fuck!”

Before you walked away, your eyes locked on his for a fraction of a second. In that moment, Yoongi promised himself that it was the last time you’d ever have to see his face.

When you were little, you pictured your wedding day like a moment ripped straight out of Cinderella. In your head, you’d wake up to birds singing at your window and mice scurrying around your feet, eager to dress you in a gown of epic and magical proportions. It’d be perfect. For years, you’d been sure of it.

In reality, there was no waking up because there hadn’t been a single second of sleep to begin with. No beauty rest, no sweet dreams of marital bliss — just you, feeling as if you’d swallowed a car battery. It sat heavy in the pit of your stomach, let acid burn all the way up to your esophagus. And it’d been all too easy to toss and turn in your hotel bed, which laid perfectly level on top of a plush, floral rug.

You crawled out of bed without the assistance of altruistic rodents and shuffled your dead weight over to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. For once, your imagination had been accurate. Your puffy eyes were red in the aftermath of all your tears. They ached above circles so deep and dark that they would’ve alarmed you if you hadn’t expected them.

Namjoon had seen you at what you both believed to be your worst. Neither of you could’ve ever predicted that the Corpse Bride would be the one staggering down the aisle towards him. He’d love you anyway, you knew it, no matter how you looked. But if he knew what you spent all night toiling over…

You shook your head and abruptly turned away from the mirror. There were several of your dearest friends bustling around the room next to yours, all of whom were waiting on you. Swallowing hard, you headed for the adjoining door and promised yourself that the only person you’d let down today would be you.

You lost all track of time when a blur of hands went to work on you. If you’d closed your eyes while you dissociated, you could’ve pretended that your assistants were those woodland creatures you used to dream about. But you couldn’t close your eyes, couldn’t sleep through this part, couldn’t let your mind wander all the way back to that patio.

It’d been terrifying, staring your own heart in the face like that. More than anything, it was confusing because it didn’t look like you expected it would — not like an organ at all, but a person. You’d gotten so good at ignoring it that you couldn’t reasonably expect yourself to recognize it. It knew you, though, and loved you. Apparently, it always had.

As you sat in that hotel room, far away from the patio, you pictured every other moment you wished Yoongi had said what he did. The thousand times you’d thought for sure he felt the same, and all the ways you distracted yourself when you resigned to believing he didn’t. Every person you dated until you finally managed to move on —

“— please, love?”

You blinked rapidly to force your eyes to focus. In front of you, your mother stood with a knowing smile on her face and a sokchima in her hands. You didn’t need to ask her to repeat herself; you took the hint and rose slowly to your feet.

“I was nervous on my wedding day,” she hummed as she pulled the undergarment gently over your head. “Hungover, too, but your grandmother does not need to know that. Frankly, I’m surprised she couldn’t tell with how bloated I was when she helped me get ready…”

The bright scarlet chima followed without so much as a word from you. Your heart slammed helplessly against your rib cage when your mother proceeded to tug the sleeves of your jeogori up your arms. This moment should be special, you thought bitterly. All you wanted to do was cry; to apologize to your mother for your total inability to care while your wedding happened around you, not for you.

Soon enough, you were dressed. Your friends and older sister gushed about how beautiful you looked — the perfect bride — like you weren’t caught in the web of an anxiety attack. Like it wasn’t all wrong, and you weren’t dangling on the precipice of your life’s greatest mistake. Like you hadn’t spent so much of your hard-earned money on invitations and greenhouse-grown, special-ordered fucking hydrangeas.

Like you could catch a fucking breath under all the layers of your hanbok.

Sensing that a moment alone was necessary, your mother kissed your cheek and ushered the others out the door ahead of her. Before seeing herself out, too, she stalled in the threshold, turned back around to look at you, and exhaled through a pause.

“I left your shoes by the dresser,” she chirped.

The gentleness of her tone was reassuring, but there was a faint gleam in her eyes that caught your attention. Before you could ask after it, she nodded firmly once and let the door click shut behind her.

Alone again, your instinct was to do the same thing you’d spent ten consecutive hours doing — burying yourself under pillows and crying until you ran out of tears. But you had run out, which was precisely was the problem. You had no options left, nothing left to do but lean in.

At least, that was your first guess.

Your list of choices expanded by one when you saw the well-worn pair of slip-on Vans your mother had set out for you.

Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

Only two meters away, a garment bag hung from the hook on the back of his bedroom door. That bag — and the crisp, black suit it concealed — lingered there for weeks in the shadows, untouched since the day he bought it. Even though it hadn’t left its hanger, he felt it smothering him throughout the night. It choked him while one thought ran circles in his sleep-deprived brain:

The reason he bought it was the same reason he’d never be able to wear it.

Sick of the way he’d trapped himself with his thoughts, Yoongi pushed himself to his feet and crossed over to the door. With the way he flung it open, knob slamming against the wall, he’d likely never recover his security deposit. It felt good, though, taking his grief out on that godforsaken suit.

On his way to his front door, Yoongi stopped short. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a cabinet he hadn’t opened in weeks. As he stared at it, the devil and angel on his shoulders warred over the action he wanted so desperately to take.

Sure, he’d recently — finally — quit at your insistence, but what did that matter now?

He gritted his teeth and shook his conscience off his shoulders with a shrug. Within seconds, Yoongi was on the other side of his kitchen, grabbing an unopened pack of cigarettes and the lighter that lay in wait next to it. He closed his hand tight around it so he couldn’t see the Hello Kitty stickers you’d placed all over the plastic; your attempt to dissuade him from using it in public.

Joke’s on you, he thought as he placed a cigarette between his lips, your plan backfired. Leaving your mark on it the way you had was the only thing that’d kept him from throwing it away — and the only reason he still had a lighter to use at all.

Yoongi opened his front door with one hand as he tried to ignite the lighter with the other. No matter how many time he flicked the pad of his thumb over those little metal ridges, nothing sparked. Defeated yet again, he slumped down onto the porch swing, closed his eyes, and willed himself not to break down over something so stupid.

He had no way of knowing how much time passed as he sat like that. He had no way to tell who those urgent footfalls belonged to, either. That is, not until panted breaths hit his ears and prompted him to open his eyes.

Admittedly, Yoongi had pictured you in your bridal hanbok more than once throughout the years. Half the time, it hadn’t even been purposeful. From first to third grade, you’d rambled to him about your dream wedding on your daily walks home from school. You spoke about it so often, in fact, that even he started thinking about what embroidery a mouse might add to the hem of your chima.

As the pair of you got older, you brought it up less, so Yoongi didn’t think about it often. The image crept up on him, though, once in a while. Every time you brought him as a plus one to your friends’ weddings because you didn’t want to dance alone; and he nearly told you that he’d always want to be your partner.

Or that time you cried through your worst ever heartbreak on his couch, lamented that you’d die an old maid, and never get to wear one.

Even as recently as last night, when he drank half a fifth of whiskey and grieved over the fact that he’d never get to see you wear one.

He couldn’t make heads or tails of the real thing, not with the way you’d doubled over to catch your breath; and bunched the ends up in your fists, presumably to prevent yourself from tripping as you — ran here?

“What did I tell you about the cigarettes?” You puffed, still with your hands on your knees and your face angled at the sidewalk.

Somehow, despite running five kilometers to Yoongi’s doorstep, you hadn’t displaced a single hair from your artfully crafted up-do. Your makeup hadn’t budged, either, which meant that the only sign of your expended effort was the tint of pink on your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

You’d outrun his train of thought in your scuffed, old Vans. Yoongi had to buffer for a moment in order to catch up, but the involuntary smile fighting its way over his mouth didn’t bother to wait. Eventually, he recited your long-suffering appeal, smirking all the while, “They’ll fuck me up, and I’ll have to be wheeled out onto the basketball court in an iron lung.”

“Exactly.”

With one last, deep breath, you returned to your upright position. The second you did, Yoongi was the one choking up.

Rapid blinking did nothing to stop the tears pricking at the inner corners of his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t shake the inexplicable flutter in his chest at the sight of you. You’d always been perfect, but this was —

“Oh, my god,” he croaked, thoroughly melted from the inside out.

Yoongi stood before his brain could signal his legs to do so; or remind his hands not to drop the phone, lighter, and cigarettes he’d been holding. His eyes, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do. He drank in your appearance like he’d spent the last twenty-two years wandering, dehydrated in the desert — and in a way, he had.

You blinked back at him with swimming eyes as if you’d found sanctuary, too. Suddenly aware of what you were gripping, you opened your fists and let the fabric flutter down to the ground. While smoothing out wrinkles that didn’t exist, you asked softly, “Not bad for a bunch of mice, right?”

“Look just like a dream,” he replied just as gently.

Yoongi’s hands, which were thankfully now free, reached out and grabbed yours. You followed his lead as he spun you, twirled under his raised arm until you ended up with your face mere centimeters from his.

“Yoongi,” you breathed. Your eyes danced from his, to his lips, and back again. “If you wait another twenty-two years to tell me how you feel, please pick a time and place that is mutually convenient. I swear to God, I’ll —”

It came out much more easily the second time than the first; and when it did, it felt more like a beginning than a bomb:

“I love you.”

#re: the one with yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas #jade’s requests #jade’s drabbles #2k drabblepalooza #myg #min yoongi #yoongi #bts #bts drabble #yoongi drabble #bts imagine #bts scenarios #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #trashlibrary

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alittlebitofloveliness · 10 days

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Underrated Sad Outsiders Moment

"I had to read Great Expectations for English, and that kid Pip, he reminded me of us--- the way he felt marked lousy because he wasn't a gentleman or anything, and the way that girl kept looking down on him. That happened to me once. One time in biology I had to dissect a worm, and the razor wouldn't cut, so I used my switchblade. The minute I flicked it out--- I forgot what I was doing or I would never have done it--- this girl right beside me kind of gasped, and said, "They are right. You are a hood." That didn't make me feel so hot. There were a lot of Socs in that class--- I get put into A classes because I'm supposed to be smart--- and most of them thought it was pretty funny. I didn't, though. She was a cute girl. She looked real good in yellow." (Hinton, 1967)

********

This quote always KILLS me because this is a KID he's just a fourteen year old kid who is so used to being judged and looked down on that it is kind of an afterthought in his story, so normalized that he is no longer surprised and has begun to internalize it and just UGHHH it kills me. Every time something like this is mentioned it's quickly glossed over but I can FEEL his embarassment and that feeling of being inferior and the way that everyone he cares about and looks up to is treated exactly the same by society and its such an important and consistent and underrated part of the book because like everything else in the outsiders it applies to real life and SO many people in the world and much like in the the book it is overlooked and brushed off and never adressed because people want to pretend it isn't a problem when it IS. just...this is will always be one of the saddest parts of the book to me.

(also, kind of unrelated but this specific instance might be a contributing factor as to why Ponyboy 'doesn't care too much for girls' because of this interaction with a 'cute girl' and his own negative self image that she perpetuated)

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #steve randle #two bit mathews #johnny cade #dally winston #lovelythoughts

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lizardsfromspace · 9 months

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Rereading a writing advice series I remember from the Livejournal days and it's uh, way more rooted in that specific milieu than I remembered

A lot made me go "what even was spec fic in 2004" but then I reached one where they discuss a hypothetical fourteen year old whose work gets reviews saying "THIS SUCKS AND YOU SUCK!" and the advice is that the people yelling that at the fourteen year old are right to do so since "if it sucks, don't post it" and it's pathetic to respond to "flames" since you'll "just prove you suck" and god the days when you could say "teens shouldn't get to hide behind being teens, you should drag their work as much as possible to teach them a lesson" and the expectation was that you'd get nothing but agreement

(also the reasonable criticism includes someone lecturing the hypothetical fourteen year old about how the female protagonist isn't realistic, since she wouldn't be allowed to rule and would likely die in childbirth irl, which. What even was 2005)

#writing

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dk-ghostmachines · 23 days

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I gotta talk about FourDogs (again)

It's barely about her, though. I think "he's so lucky his dad was brutally murdered" and "people with trauma need a second handicap because they're too motivated" are such absolute-the-fuck-ly bonkers takes, they're not even worth the time it took me to get mad about them, which was immediately. This time around, I have way more to say about audience reception. I'll try to keep it civil.

It feels like a lot of us are responding from increasingly personal places because these are characters with which a lot of us identify, or we see traits in them that remind us of people from our real lives. And hey! Another performance and storytelling slay on the part of one Brennan Lee Mulligan. Who else can invent 50+ characters every year and play them to the point where any one of them can evoke both an "omg that's literally me!" and an "omg that's literally Dani, the girl that bullied me all of freshmen year until I punched out her front tooth in the student parking lot and got in-school suspension for a month!". And whether Kipperlily reminds you of Dani, or reflects your own anxieties about potential, ability, and trauma, an important thing to remember is this: she is not real!

Brennan made her up! Brennan made her up to tell a story, and when he made her up, he made her annoying, petty, antagonistic, and he gave her not just opposing goals to the the protagonists we know and love, but the explicit goal of ruining The Bad Kids' lives, specifically.

Now, I'm not saying she's fictional to be a dick, or dismiss any deeper readings on her or any of the Rat Grinders. I'm bringing it up because the way I'm seeing people talk to each other about these characters is starting to get a little wild and it's in danger of waking up The Olde Gods™ (i.e. the special brand of Tumblr Self-Righteousness that lives inside us all).

It's important to remember Kipperlilly is a character in a fictive work so that different interpretations of her don't get treated as stone law. Each reading of her is personal and valid, but none are gospel. The "Kipperlilly is but a victim" take is not the only correct one, nor is radical empathy for her as a character the only correct reaction. Also, even if I consider her sympathetic that is not incompatible with an opinion like "Kipperlilly needs to get roundhouse'd in the head by a lesbian in a tracksuit and/or a wizard in a jean jacket, posthaste". Sure, you can say that anyone who doesn't feel a deep and eclipsing empathy for Kipperlilly above all other emotions is immature at best and sociopathic at worst, but then I can just say anyone who demands solely empathy for Kipperlilly and excuses her literal crimes and bass-ackwards world view because she's insecure and has anger issues, is probably also someone who has a history of weaponizing whatever minority status they may or may not occupy to talk over, silence, or harass people of color.

They're both just opinions. And also, like. Y'know. A bit much.

To engage in the long and rich tradition of measuring character trajectories against those in the Avatar: The Last Airbender cartoon, let's compare Kipperlilly to Azula. Azula had an incredibly sympathetic backstory and untreated mental health issues. Azula was also a danger to herself and others, as well as profoundly manipulative and abusive (although, it was a children's show so Azula never killed anybody for whatever that's worth). Do I wish that fourteen-year-old girl had an Iroh-type in her life? Literally one adult who loved her genuinely and advocated for her best interests? Of course I do. I saw the Ember Island episode, I watched that one video essay! Does that mean it was any less satisfying to watch Zuko and Katara kick her absolute ass? No! And it was non-lethal anyway, children's show, duh.

That brings me to my other thing; Kipperlilly is a character in a fictive work that is not finished. And I know that point will age poorly, but I'm thinking it won't be the only one (hey-o). Remember the people that were calling The Bad Kids bullies? And then we learned that Kipperlilly hated Riz because his fucking dad fucking died?? And that was a full academic year before getting reanimated by a rage god?? I'll do a tame one; remember when Gilear wasn't cursed?? He was "just a guy"?? The show is serialized, gang, the world is still building! Clerickiller is not done yet, y'all need to let her cook! I'm sure we'll tune in next week to see her graduate from "unhinged" to "unaffiliated with the door frame or any frame-like structure". Reprimanding people on Tumblr will not change the trajectory of this character who, by the way, has not expressed remorse or any desire for a path other than violence. You look me in my black face after your blorbo slits a kid's throat and say "help her"?? Kipperlilly doesn't want get better right now, she wants one thing and that's for Kristen Applebees to go fuck herself and die!! You were there, you heard it!! When the fictional behavior changes, as it often does in stories, so will my opinion. There is no fore-forgiveness. Without an actual redemption arc I will continue to see the villain as a villain.

Speaking of, I think what some people have an issue with is the level of hate Kipperlilly's getting and how aggressive it is. But like.... isn't that allowed?? Because of all the stuff I said but also because like, mama said that it was okay! And by "mama" I mean Siobhan Thompson who said Kipperlilly belongs under the jail. Sure, in the real world, adults don't tell kids they belong in the ground that's crazy fucked up, but all these kids are played by adults and Emily as Fig joked that she was gonna smite the sixteen-year-old girl played by the thirty-something man. You're telling me the antagonist antagonizes the protagonists, and the protagonists go "boo, hiss" and then I, the audience, go "boo, hiss as well" but I'm wrong? I'm wrong, somehow, cool checks out.

"They're XP Levelling*punches a locker*!!"

"That girl is worse than Kalvaxus."

"Littledoggy Girlcollar"

Am I not engaging with the narrative on it's own terms if I say "i'd tell Clerickiller to die mad, but she clearly already did, Jojo Siwa head-ass, in reference to that fuck-ass ponytail and your toxic yuri" Do I need to draw a little caitmay-style OC to say it for me, would that be better?

God-forbid, we have fun? Must we discourse, always? FourDogs is tragic, FourDogs is compelling, FourDogs is Dani from 9th grade. She is Azula from Avatar and Clare from Fleabag and Brennan Lee Mulligan from my dreams and that is something that can be so personal. But no one else has to participate in your parasocial relationship. What's crazy is, I actually like Kipperlilly! As a character. I mean, the "trauma is privilege" obviously hit a nerve with me because of real life stuff, but the image of her over the rogue teacher's grave?? With a backhoe and a "gotcha, bitch" expression??? Come on, that is fresh-off-the-vine Cunt™. Even more so than I imagined that moment to be when we first heard about it. Her ending up in a Ragh or Aelwyn place would be way more satisfying than a Goldenrod or Penelope Everpetal place, BUT IT WILL ALSO be satisfying to see whatever Kipperlilly's version of the locked-in-a-chokehold-and-being-gaslit-into-thinking-you-shit-the-coach's-pants-scene is. In addition to the non-lethal ass-kicking that proceeds it.

Y'all can chuck the insinuation that something so clearly subjective is actually objective and has moral implications that make me bad, directly in the garbage. What is this, religion, hey-o.

#lost some civility there at the end #but shit im not iroh #im a hater first #and an advocate for mental health third #and second i am an advocate for poc's getting their lick back against white people #especially if they were hurting your academic prospects #yes riz is a poc even though he's played by murph #me and demi adejuyigbe talked about it #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 #d20 #kipperlilly copperkettle #brennan lee mulligan #fhjy #fantasy high junior year #the bad kids

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zukomysweetbabyboy · 11 months

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This may be a controversial opinion but I'm glad that Azula was the prodigy firebender and not Zuko not just because Aang stumbling upon the prodigies of all the elements is unrealistic and feels cheaper but it was so essential to both Zuko and Azula's character arcs.

I mean, it’s no secret that Azula's character arc did not get the attention that she deserved. But from what we did get, we know that she put a lot (and I mean A LOT) of her self worth in her firebending which isn't surprising because she idolized Ozai and he was fucking useless without bending and, specifically, in being better than Zuko. Azula was the best firebender in the world and inheriting an entire kingdom at FOURTEEN years old. From her father, she was taught that she was safe as long as she was better than Zuko ("You can't treat me like this! You can't treat me like Zuko!"). This meant being sneaky (staying behind in the throne room while Azulon talked to Ozai), being emotionless (teasing Zuko about his grandfather literally ordering his father to kill him - what the fuck baby Azula), being tactful (knowing the answer to the question Ozai asked in the throne room & only speaking in turn), being perfect ("Almost isn't good enough!"), and most importantly: being the best firebender (mastering advanced forms as a child, blue firebending, etc.). She was taught from her mother that these things made her a monster ("My own mother thought I was a monster - she was right of course", "What is wrong with that child"). She was smart enough to know that she couldn’t have the acceptance from both parents, but acceptance from Ozai meant being safe and acceptance from Ursa meant being loved, and to Azula being safe was more important.

This is where the difference between Zuko and Azula starts. Where Azula is all head (being safe > being loved), Zuko is all heart. Zuko didn't understand why his father hated him or why Azula was cold. He was genuine in his love and in his hurt and in his anger. He wasn't good at being the perfect prince, so he couldn't gain acceptance from his father (he couldn't be safe) but he clung to his mother (preferring her company even to Mai and Ty Lee and Azula, who were his age). He internalized what she said in the throne room about his struggling making him strong, and we see him repeat that sentiment throughout the show. Zuko's sense of identity comes from his persistence whereas Azula's comes from her perfection and both of these ideals are trauma responses. It's obvious that it's not healthy for Azula to base her identity around being perfect and It's no wonder she cracked by the end of the series although that should have been handled SO MUCH better - WHERE is the buildup she deserved, Bryke. But it is also not healthy for Zuko to base his identity around struggle, even though this flaw doesn't drive him insane like Azula's perfection and in a fucked up sort of way it is productive to him being a great Fire Lord. Zuko's character arc is well done (maybe the most well done character arc ever, actually) but he finishes the show with a lot of growth left to do.

tldr: Both of their characters relied on Azula being a prodigy and Zuko not being. Azula is all head and Zuko is all heart and their parents pitted them against each other.

p.s. I have SO many thoughts about their dynamic and how canon could have been tweaked just a little bit to make it so beautiful and tragic and compelling, but that will have to be a different post. Also all of the quotes are from memory so if they're wrong oops.

#azula #zuko #fire hazard siblings #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla zuko #atla azula #ziggy talks #also obviously azula has a heart and zuko has a head that’s just not their strong suits

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winterchimez · 5 months

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Nightmare Before Christmas | Kevin Moon

SUMMARY: your uncle has always been a crime and supernatural fan and would often plan fun little games for your family to solve before Boxing Day. However, things have taken a turn this year as never would you and your friendly neighbour Kevin imagined that the both of you would actually have to solve a decades-old murder case, and eventually finding out the culprit behind all of this was someone much closer than you have expected.

PAIRING: neighbour!Kevin x f!reader

GENRE: horror, thriller, supernatural, crime, angst, some fluff

WARNINGS: nc-17, mentions about dead bodies & severed body parts (nothing too gory though dw!!), missing person case, haunted house, mentions of blood, supernatural (ghosts, black mass), yn's descriptive nightmare (about the ghost-like character she would often see in the past), kissing, betrayal, dual personalities, pet names (sweetheart, princess)

WORD COUNT: 4,465

A/N: so this was supposed to be released on the 25th....but we will pretend that never happened 🫡 massive thankiew to @from-izzy for beta reading and giving me tons of ideas (and just giving me the support bcs i was so done and upset with everything bjasnjsdn) tagging the kevin enthusiast aka @hyungseos-cafe for this 👀✨

“Sissy, wake up!”

You were jolted awake by your little brother, who was violently shaking your entire body as you groaned in annoyance and lifted your bedsheets above your head in hopes that he would leave you alone. But you have forgotten that he was a wild and energetic fourteen-year-old teenager, and there was no way he was giving up that easily.

As your brother pulled your bedsheet off you, your eyes squinted, and you were about to curse at him out loud before he eventually beat you to it.

“It’s Christmas Eve, sissy! Uncle Ben has already left a note on the dining table, and we must start before the clock strikes midnight!” Your brother announced out loud before running out of your room back to the living room downstairs.

You sighed before pinching your eyebrows together, trying to make sense of your surroundings and what your brother had told you moments before.

It was that time of the year for your annual family tradition. Your uncle has always been into supernatural and playing detective. He would often devise a different scenario where he would get you and your siblings to solve the puzzles or cases before you would eventually earn a Christmas present from him. He had a different scenario in mind every year and was full of ideas to ensure each year stood out.

Not only were your siblings encouraged to participate in the hunt, but he would also get your neighbour next door to experience every year, and he had done so for the past decade.

Your best friend, Kevin Moon.

It was a joy to have him aboard, especially when he had the wits and brains to help crack and solve most puzzle pieces or clues in your uncle’s little game each year. Because of that, your uncle has taken a liking to him, eventually pairing you guys up, often thinking that you both would end up great as a couple.

Which isn’t something you were totally against if you were to be completely honest.

You liked him a lot, and he has been your best friend throughout middle school up till university. He has always been someone you could always count on and gave you the support you needed.

You just weren’t sure if you liked him more than just a friend at this point.

Trying to shake away all of the unnecessary thoughts, you quickly rushed down to your dining hall to find the letter that your uncle always left on the table the night before when all of you were asleep. However, you froze as you saw that your brother was already holding one in his hands, reading it internally while another was left on the table.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that uncle made two separate invitation cards and that on the table is specifically just for you and Kevin-hyung next door,” your brother said half-heartedly before he walked out with his invitation, getting ready to get all geared up before heading out the door. You suspected Uncle Ben had probably given him some scavenger hunt games again, given the looks of your brother’s outfit and the big shovel he had just brought out the door seconds ago.

As you diverted your attention back to the invitation card on the table, you slowly picked it up before opening the envelope and pulling up the letter tucked within.

Oh, Uncle Ben, what exactly have you plotted for us this Christmas?

“Your uncle must be nuts going all out for Christmas this year. He must’ve been itching to get this year’s theme out as soon as possible, don’t you think?” Kevin questioned you while chuckling at the side, trying his best to hide his uneasiness.

But that was when you didn’t respond and quietly began looking for clues; that was when Kevin knew that it probably wasn’t a joke this time.

“There’s no actual dead bodies, right, Y/N?”

When you quickly skimmed through the entire letter, your eyes widened at the envelope's contents. You wasted no time and hurriedly scurried out the door to Kevin right next door. With a few knocks, your best friend was out with a hot mug of cocoa, with his hair slightly ruffled, indicating that he had just woken up not too long ago. His eyes widened as he did not expect you to be on his doorstep this early in the day, and he was a bit embarrassed with how he looked.

Deep down, you wanted to tell him how he looked absolutely adorable and how you would snuggle up on the couch with him for the holiday seasons, but there was no way you would admit you had a crush on him just yet.

Shaking off your initial thoughts, you quickly redirect your attention back to the envelope, trying to fill Kevin in with all your uncle wrote on the invitation. He had the same initial response that you had, thinking that this was all some sort of sick joke. All while he was getting ready by changing his pyjamas into a cosy sweater sufficient to last till the destination, you couldn’t help but spare a few glances back at him a few times to take a sneaky little peak at his toned body.

He worked really hard during the summer anyway, and you have seen how he basically went from being all skinny and slim to being toned and bulky within the span of half a year, and you couldn’t stop ogling at the sight whenever you saw a little skin from him.

But again, you would not admit that to him just yet.

As soon as he was ready to go, you both took the pathway down to the written location as the sky quickly turned dark due to the winter season. By the time you both arrived at the entrance of the abandoned house, you needed to grab the torchlight hidden within your sweater and turn it on to navigate the place.

As you both opened the front door with an awful creak, you were met with nothing but complete darkness. The power lights were completely cut off so there was no chance of even having a little bit of electricity within the premises.

There was this eerie feeling in the air that neither of you could describe; it almost felt like a little haunted house, as much as you did not want to admit it. But given the details that Uncle Ben has written in the envelope, that spooky and sinister feeling you’ve had was valid, and it would probably remain this way until the both of you could crack the case open.

“To answer your question, Kevin, I really hope we won’t be stumbling upon any dead bodies too. It’s the Christmas holidays, goddamit,” you spat, still thinking that Uncle Ben was totally out of his mind with this whole dilemma that was going on right now.

“Well, we’ve lived in this neighbour for a good decade now, and never in my life have I heard about a Madam Nee Nee residing in a house right at the end of the road and was actually murdered without a trace,” Kevin replied worriedly, thinking that this whole situation is slowly getting much creepier by the minute.

As much as you wanted to agree with the male, you have heard something or two about Madam Nee Nee through your uncle’s stories. All you knew about her was that she was the one who would often bake cupcakes for the children across the streets and would pass them to Uncle Ben so that all of you were able to get your hands on them every Christmas.

Those cupcakes were indeed one of the best you have ever tried in your entire life; they were not too sweet and were just enough to fit everyone’s liking and taste buds. It seemed as if Madam Nee Nee knew exactly what each child’s favourite television show was as she would make an effort to pipe and decorate each cupcake exactly as each character looked. You would often get your favourite Tinker Bell design, and she would alternate between the different fairies each year, while your younger brother often got his favourite DC superheroes.

But there was only one problem: you had actually never met the baker herself, and each time you tried to bring it up, your Uncle Ben would often tell you that she was too busy delivering the goodies to the other children out of town.

In other words, you didn’t really know if you could trust Uncle Ben’s words on whether such an individual really existed and if this whole murder case was actually a reality or not.

Regardless, you were not going to get anywhere if neither of you was going to make progress in solving the riddles that your uncle had made specifically for you two, adding onto the fact that you really did want to get your hands on the presents as your uncle always knew exactly what you liked.

Hence, you and Kevin moved forward and deeper into the house as you both tried to see where or what could potentially help you both get a kick start on the investigation. Suddenly, the doors behind you both slammed shut with a loud thud, and you both were now in complete darkness, heavily relying on the torchlight you brought to navigate the house.

“We’re really doing this right, Y/N?” Kevin asked as he grabbed your wrist to drag you closer to him, making sure that you both stuck together, especially in the given circumstances. Not going to lie, your heart skipped a beat with that sudden gesture of his, and you prayed that he was unable to hear that loud thumping noise coming from your chest, given how silent the whole place was, to the point that you were able to hear a pin drop if there ever was one.

“Y-Yeah… to face Uncle Ben and get our hands on the gift. And besides, we could always have a little fun mystery for the holiday season.”

After ten minutes, you both arrived at the house's second floor. You both tried your best to scavenge through the bottom floor, but there wasn’t much you found that could potentially help with the investigation.

So here you both were, slowly taking your steps up the old wooden stairs that creaked with every single step, making the uncomfortable feeling you have had since stepping into the house a lot worse than before.

Thankfully, Kevin stuck close to you and took the lead in front, where you naturally held onto his sweater from behind, which caused him to turn behind for a second and offer his hand to you instead. You stared at him blankly at first, blinking your eyes a few times to see if you weren’t hallucinating, but he eventually linked his hands with yours and pulled you slightly forward.

You were thankful that the electricity was out in the entire house, and Kevin held onto the torchlight and shone the pathway in front of him instead; you definitely did not need the male to know how red and flushed your face was right now.

As you both moved forward, you eventually stepped onto something firm and hard, causing you to stop in your tracks, nudging Kevin’s elbow to shine the light directly onto your feet.

You truly wished you hadn’t done that at all.

A severed hand was situated right below your new pair of white shoes, and a little blood splatter was visible around the corners of your shoes. You immediately screamed and took a little jump back, causing you to cower into Kevin’s arms immediately. His eyes widened at the sight, and he tried his best to calm you down by rubbing your back with one of his hands while the other continued to shine the torchlight all around the room.

And there it was: another severed hand, located close to what used to be the fireplace.

“Th-This must be a joke…” Kevin muttered, not wanting to accept reality and thinking, ‘this was all a dream.’

It couldn’t be real.

There haven’t been any reported murder cases around town for the last thirty years. In fact, your town has been regarded as one of the safest in the state for the past decades, and it is also known as the best town to reside in. Whatever situation you both were in now must be wholly made up by your uncle, who was always full of surprises.

…right?

That was until Kevin redirected the light source towards the fireplace above, where there were clearly a few picture frames damaged through time or by someone. As you both began moving closer to examine them, you noticed they all had one thing in common.

All of them had the same person cut out from the pictures themselves.

Three picture frames stood above the fireplace, each depicting a family of five smiling brightly as if the world was free from all sorts of nightmares and misery. At least it was before. Something must have happened for whoever removed the person in question from the pictures—perhaps it must’ve been a bad memory for them, or that person is probably no longer associated with them.

You slowly moved close enough for you to be able to examine it well, gently wiping off the dust from each frame with your thumbs to see who exactly was the family in the old pictures. You didn’t recognise them at first until you squinted your eyes and saw the famous signature on the bottom right of each frame.

It belonged to the Jamaisons; the very first family that moved into this town many years ago.

From what you have heard about the tales from your uncle, they were the ones to be grateful for as they built up and raised the town's reputation as it is known today. Their family have since then lived for generations, constantly passing down their legacy for years until the last heir passed on without a successor ten years ago.

As everyone has been told, the very first generation of the Jamaisons was a family of four: a dotting father, a loving mother, and a set of twins. But then, who was the mysterious missing cut-out person from the pictures? Did they have another sibling they have kept secret for years, and nobody knew about them? And if yes, why did they do that?

Countless questions are pondered within your mind, and you can’t help but want to dig much deeper to discover the truth.

“Kevin…how much do you know about the Jamaisons?”

“As much as they have taught us in the textbooks. Why?”

“I have a bad feeling about this…” You muttered, slowly showing and telling Kevin about the missing person from each picture.

His eyes widened too, and you could tell he had the same thoughts as you.

“You don’t mean…”

“I really hope it isn’t true. Why would Uncle Ben even want us to meddle with their history if it was? Does he think we were detectives that could solve a potential murder case that was decades old?” You questioned, tugging his arm around you even tighter.

He pondered for a bit before answering. “Why not? I have always wanted to go to an actual crime scene.”

“Kevin Moon, this is serious,” you firmly reminded him.

He sighed before giving you a little smile back. “I know, Y/N. Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out then.”

Along with your friendly little neighbour, you both begin scouring through the bookshelves, hoping to find any potential records that could prove that they had someone else in the original line-up of the family.

However, all of your luck was pointless as there was zero to no evidence proving that the missing person from the pictures existed. It was as if the family themselves had erased whoever it was to the best of their abilities.

You groaned as you ran your fingers through your hair. “Ugh, I guess we’re back at square one again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you,” Kevin responded, which caused you to turn your head towards him to see that he was pointing towards the empty room across the room, where the door slowly creaked open.

You were sure that the doors were closed tight when you both made your way up an hour ago, and now you were witnessing the door slowly pry open by seemingly nothing.

Oh hell, there is no way ghosts are real.

“Do not say the g-word, I swear,” you immediately placed one of your fingers directly onto Kevin’s lips, preventing him from saying it out loud.

“Not until we go check it, Y/N.”

“Can we just…not…”

“I think you know what the answer to that is.”

You rolled your eyeballs at Kevin’s words; you knew there was no way you both were leaving this place until you found the answers to the case. Without a choice, you reluctantly allowed Kevin to drag you along step-by-step as you both got closer towards the room.

If you were in an actual horror movie, you were pretty sure there would be creepy and high-pitched violin sounds playing in the background right now. The siren by your ear was beginning to resonate aloud, causing you to have a slight headache while you were trying your best not to shit your pants at this point.

As you were a step right before entering the room, your grip against Kevin’s arm tightened, giving him the signal that you were having second thoughts and would gladly dash right out of the house right now. But he returned a little rub on your palms with his, telling you that everything would be alright and that he was here with you.

With one final gulp and nod, you both took that long-awaited step into the room, when you were met with your worst nightmare.

You have never told anyone about how your deepest and darkest fear was about how you once had this dream where a black mass consisted of a white face with a lipped mouth paired with large black eyes used to lurk at the corners of your room watching you sleep. You eventually got terrified to the point that you would think about it all day, which then interfered with your daily routine.

And it was the same nightmare that stood right in front of you, slowly expanding as it crept nearer towards you both as if it was going to swallow you up as a whole.

“No…please don’t…” You whimpered.

Before you could even think straight, the huge mass eventually engulfed Kevin, and he was gone within a second. Just like that, the mass turned in your direction, approaching you slowly as you took a few steps back each time.

With one final huff from the mass, it quickly expanded one last time before jumping right onto you, slowly dissolving your entire body and turning it into the mass just like it was.

You were helpless, and you eventually felt your entire body go numb as if it was all over and done for.

Before you were taken over by darkness, you slowly peered your eyes upon the doors, noticing a bright white figure approaching you before everything was a blur.

“Sissy! SISSY WAKE UP!!”

You immediately jolted awake with that scream coming from the side of your ear, drenched in sweat, and your eyes widened as you tried to calm your fast breathing down.

“Whatever the nightmare you have been having since last night, it must have been a wild one I must say,” your brother responded as he slowly grabbed a cloth to wipe your sweat away.

“N-Nightmare? What are you talking about?”

“Do you really not remember anything at all? You have been sleeping for the entire day yesterday! You have been tossing and turning in your sleep, mumbling incoherent words as you broke out in sweat.”

What? That can’t be.

You slowly looked down to see your hands trembling before moving them to your face, trying to take in everything your brother had just told you.

“What about the scavenger hunt, then?”

“Scavenger hunt? You mean Uncle Ben’s?”

“Y-Yeah…what happened to it?”

“Well, you were in bed for the entire day and wouldn’t wake up, so you actually missed the whole thing,” he bluntly replied.

That can’t be true. You remembered walking down to the kitchen table and grabbing the envelope placed neatly on the dining table, which shocked you as you read the contents.

“Uncle Ben came up to check on you, though; he said it was fine to let you continue to sleep since you were probably exhausted with finals.”

No…this is just not making sense at all.

Wait.

“Kevin! Where’s Kevin?!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as you grabbed your brother’s shoulders, shaking them vigorously.

Your brother stared at you as if a ghost had possessed you because the next thing that happened was that you immediately jumped out from your bed and dashed towards the front door.

You speed ran through your open gates right towards your neighbour’s front porch, banging on the door, not caring if you were creating a scene. You needed to know if he was doing alright and in one piece.

After a few seconds, the doorknob eventually turned and the door was opened. There stood your best friend, exactly like he was the day before when you went up to him to talk about the strange envelope Uncle Ben had left specifically just for you both.

Well, supposedly, at least.

It wasn’t unusual for you to come banging at Kevin’s door in the middle of the day, as you have done it multiple times. What he did not expect was that you would immediately dive into his embrace and begin sobbing into his sweater.

“Y-Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?”

You couldn’t even give him a proper answer as your tears poured profusely. You were glad to see that he was fine, still in one piece and unharmed.

“Thank God…THANK GOD KEVIN!!!!”

You were not budging an inch, and Kevin only did what he knew was best at the moment, returning the hug and slowly caressing your back as if to calm you down. He eventually rested his lips on your head, leaving you little kiss.

After what seemed like a couple of minutes resting in his embrace, you eventually pulled away and cupped his face with your palms, gently caressing his cheek as you looked at him lovingly.

“Kevin…promise me…you’re never leaving my sight again.”

He chuckled. “Why would I? Y/N, you know I would never—”

“Please, a little pinky promise?” You begged, and Kevin could never resist that little puppy doe eyes you have.

He smiled before he eventually leaned down and connected your lips with his. Your eyes widened upon the contact before you eventually eased into the kiss seconds later, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

When you both eventually broke off for some air, there was this surge of adrenaline within you, and you felt your face heat up quickly, causing you to duck your head down as you cupped both cheeks to cover up the redness away from the man.

Kevin could only laugh at that little sight. “Come on, Y/N. It’s not like I have not seen your iconic red-flushed-tomato-like face before.”

“It’s not iconic, and whatever that was wasn’t necessary at all,” you pouted.

He took a few moments just admiring how you looked before leaning down and resting his palm on your head. “That kiss is a promise that I’ll always be yours.”

“Even stronger than a pinky promise?”

“Absolutely.”

With that, you reconnected your lips with his warm ones again, trying to savour them as best as possible before leaning your forehead against his.

“Oh, Kevin. You truly are the best thing that has happened to me during Christmas this year.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered by that?” He teased.

You sulked for a bit before slapping him on the arm. “Obviously, silly.”

With a deep huff, you stretched out your arms before wrapping them back around Kevin’s arm, trying to drag him out of his house and head straight towards yours instead for a cup of hot cocoa.

“Say, why don’t we go find Uncle Ben? I’m sure he might have some other tricks to keep us occupied until unboxing night.”

As you tried your best to pull Kevin with you, you were stunned by him standing still at the front of your doorstep, staring at you with a straight face.

“Kevin? Is everything alright?”

There was this odd ten-second silence before Kevin eventually spoke up, which actually sent chills down your spine.

“I’m afraid that Uncle Ben will not be coming anytime soon, sweetheart.”

Within a swift motion, Kevin pulled you vigorously back into his embrace, locking you tight with his arms. You then noticed how his demeanour began to change and was completely different from before.

You began to panic, shivering even, as you looked into his now-turning hollow eyes.

“W-What are you talking about?”

“That little nightmare you had was a reality, princess. Your little Uncle Ben has been trying his best to warn you all these years, and who would’ve thought he would actually get you to head towards the murder site yourself to crack open the case.”

“K-Kevin…you’re scaring me…” you began pushing yourself away, but it seemed that his grip had then gotten a lot tighter, which was when you began to feel the pain that was slowly travelling across your whole body.

“Let me tell you a little story, Y/N. A long time ago, a certain group used to think Christmas was all sparkly and bright. But what if I told you that things would never be the same? That the people around them now think that Christmas is a nightmare. After all, a sparkly Christmas can only happen if there is a drop of blood, right? I think that’s enough for you to figure things out, no?”

It was. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you knew exactly what he meant.

Not only was Kevin your Christmas, but he was also your Nightmare.

Just like that, he slowly began leaning down as he pushed your hair on your shoulders towards the other side, leaving a clear opening for him to start rubbing your sensitive skin as he leaned down slowly to the point that his lips brushed against them.

“From now on, I’ll always be your Nightmare Before Christmas.”

A/N: a lil belated spooky Christmas to yall 😚

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taglist: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @k-films @flwoie @zzoguri @kyusqult @tinkerbell460 @cheonsafics @sulkygyu @jaerisdiction @lngwayup @hyungseos-cafe (join my permanent taglist here!)

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munsonhoneybaby · 8 months

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would you ever write anything about henderson!reader being adopted? i’d love to hear about her background if you were interested in writing about it!

i’d love to get a little bit more into what background i imagine for reader!! idrk a good way to do this in a drabble tho so i hope headcanons are okay :)

tysm for the ask <3

Warnings: 18+ mdni, angst, probably very inaccurate descriptions of the foster care system, some brief mentions of abuse/neglect, mention of drug addiction and overdose, a sentence or two that very very vaguely alludes to childhood sexual trauma

A/N: some of the things mentioned here are incredibly dark but i also tried to make it incredibly vague because i wasn’t trying to make this super sad or hard to read, please let me know if i missed anything in the warnings and absolutely send in more asks if you’re interested in anything else about tmic !! for @darlingdixon

➺ Dustin was seven years old when his parents got a divorce, and almost eight when his father moved out of state with little to no explanation. He sent letters and, for a little while, got postcards back— but after a year or so the postcards stopped coming.

➺ It was just before his ninth birthday that his mom asked how he would feel about having someone new in the house, almost like a sister. His nose wrinkled slightly at the thought of a baby in the house, but then she explained further. He didn’t understand all the specifics of foster care then, just that there was a fourteen year old girl who needed a place to live because she didn’t have a home or a family of her own. He was so sad just losing his dad; what would he do without anyone? Without anything? He’d hope somebody would be nice enough to share with him. He thought he could share with you.

➺ It was weird when you moved in. Mom bought you new things, replacing what used to be his dad’s office with your new bedroom. He was upset about it for a few days, but when you invited him in and set up the Mouse Trap board game that his dad never wanted to play with him, he realized that the room was a lot more fun than it used to be.

➺ Initially, your stay with the Hendersons was meant to be a temporary placement. Somewhere to stay for a few months, maybe even a year, while the system tried to find somewhere more permanent to put you. Your neglectful, drug-addicted ‘mother’ had overdosed three long years ago and your ‘father’s name wasn’t even on the birth certificate. But you’d already been through three short-term placement homes: the first, which put you through hell in ways you were too young to truly understand; the second, which only took you in for the money they would earn; and the third, which you were booted from the moment the couple learned they were expecting a child of their own. And now you were edging fifteen. Before too long, you would be placed in a group home, and you weren’t sure you could take that.

➺ It didn’t take long to realize that Claudia Henderson was different than the other foster ‘parents’ you’d stayed with. She made sure you were eating multiple balanced meals every day. She tried to watch movies with you. She offered to take you shopping, even in those record shops you could tell she thought were seedy. She tried to get you to open up about your past, and comforted you whenever you allowed her to. She welcomed you like you really were family, and you were sure that was because she had just lost some of her own. You felt for her, and her young son, and as the weeks passed you started to let yourself trust them more and more.

➺ You spent a lot of time with Dustin. It was far from your first time being around younger kids, but he was so easy to get along with. It didn’t take long for him to get comfortable with you, and soon he was knocking at your door nearly every afternoon to watch a movie, or go outside, or play a game. He liked to talk to you. He’d tell you about his day at school, and his friends, and sometimes he’d tell you about his dad— about him leaving and how it made him feel, about how he felt bad when he missed him and felt bad when he didn’t miss him. And you listened. You let him sit in your bed with you and look at your records, and lean on your shoulder. You told him it would all be okay, that it was okay to feel bad. And when he cried, you told him it was okay to do that too.

➺ Months ticked away and you started to worry about how much time you had left. When would you be swept away from these people you were beginning to care so much about? How could you leave Dustin? How long would you last if they put you in a group home?

➺ Until the day Claudia asked if you’d be comfortable with long-term placement. You wouldn’t have to live the next year and a half on edge wondering when your short-term placement would end. You could stay with them until you were adopted, or simply aged out of the system— a much more likely outcome considering not a lot of families were in the market for a teenager.

➺ So, you did.

➺ The months kept coming, and you only grew closer to the Hendersons. You got to decorate your own bedroom and help Dustin with his homework and learned to cook with Claudia; shortly after the two-year-mark, you even started to call her Mom.

➺ Your 16th birthday came, and by then you knew for certain that you weren’t going anywhere.

➺ When Dustin was pushing twelve years old, he still let you sit on the edge of his bed and read to him until he fell asleep. He pretended that he was getting too old for it, but he didn’t want to admit it still took him longer to fall asleep without it. You always asked him if you could so he didn’t have to say it.

➺ It was the summer before your senior year that Mom asked you if she could legitimately adopt you. Your eyes welled with tears immediately. You didn’t understand why she’d go through all the trouble, pay any legal fees required, when you were turning eighteen so soon.

➺ “Because I want us to become a family in every way we can before it’s too late.”

➺ And again, you did.

➺ You insisted you wanted to stay home and work more your senior year. She helped you manage a decent homeschool education, aided partially by staff at Hawkins High School, while you helped her work out the technicalities of adopting an almost-eighteen year old with no known living relatives.

➺ Dustin, of course, was thrilled about the adoption. He loved taking any excuse he found to talk about how his beloved sister was officially going to be a Henderson.

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#too much in common #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson x reader #henderson!reader #dustin henderson #claudia henderson #the hendersons #stranger things #asks #stranger things angst #eddie munson angst #18+ mdni #eddie munson #eddie munson x f!reader

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