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#it's just. man. i just hate wasted potential

stromuprisahat · 2 days

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Can you help me to understand the tether between Alina and Aleksander? I've seen people say that it was formed when he collared her but if that's true then why not use it when she's on the run from him? I always thought that's why he got his nichevo'ya to wound her and why he thanked her, because it allowed that connection to form. Am I wrong here?

Okay, well, I'm still re-reading, but...

They're written as two halves of the same whole. They're supposed to be complimentary opposites, that's why Aleksander's waiting for the Sun Summoner instead of settling for just any immortal, why he believes they're meant to be even after encountering other immortals' different worldviews and Alina's refusal to accept her own greatness. She won't only live long, they're bound by the Making, so she's predisposed to ~understand~ (And there are moments, when she does. Only her upbringing, issues and moral police companions prevent her from embracing what's between them.).

The first clear sign of their interconnection's showed during Winter Fete, although from the wording, I've missed at least two earlier ones:

The moment his lips met mine, the connection between us opened and I felt his power flood through me. I could feel how much he wanted me—but behind that desire, I could feel something else, something that felt like anger. I drew back, startled. “You don’t want to be doing this.” “This is the only thing I want to be doing,” he growled, and I could hear the bitterness and desire all tangled up in his voice. “And you hate that,” I said with a sudden flash of comprehension. He sighed and leaned against me, brushing my hair back from my neck. “Maybe I do,” he murmured, his lips grazing my ear, my throat, my collarbone.

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 14

"... the connection between us ..." suggests it's something Alina figured out exists before this time, so she didn't experience it only once.

Then there's the Collar that gives Aleksander access to Alina's powers, although it's not exactly clear how it works.

I had spared the stag’s life. The power of that life belonged to me as surely as it belonged to the man who had taken it. ... The Darkling looked momentarily confused. He narrowed his eyes, and I felt his will descend on me again, felt that invisible hand grasping. I shrugged it off. It was nothing. He was nothing.

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 19

Like: Sorry honey, either the power belongs to you both, or you have the upper hand.

I would kill for Aleksander's LOGICAL explanation.

The nichevo'ya bite deepened the Bond, that's why Sasha did it. My guess is it might be something about merzost affecting the Making, therefore the connection formed by it, AND the tiny little detail the creatures might be created with use of said force, but from his own being. He's basically running around donating his body fluids essence to his closest "enemies"... *wink wink*

We don't know more than what he tells Alina, so perhaps he could feel her presence before that. Perhaps Alina's youth and inexperience played bigger part in her use of their connection, than we think. Perhaps her many issues did. (I hate repeating this phrase, but THE WASTED POTENTIAL!) Why tell your stubbornly uncooperating soulmate you have an in-build compass to help you track them, if they left a trail of more profane kind?

#reply #Grishaverse #Darklina #The Tether #The Darkling #Alina Starkov #grishanalyticritical #S&B Chapter 14 #S&B Chapter 19 #books #quotes #Leigh Bardugo #He's a bit of a spiritual whore.#You've crossed me?#I'll punish you with black goo from my own soul!

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chevelleneech · 17 hours

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Both Buck/Tommy and Buddie shippers are being so dramatic about everything.

On one hand, you have people acting like Buck and Tommy is written in the stars and anyone who dislikes them are being unjust and hateful. On the other, you have people acting as if Buck can’t possibly be in a relationship with a man who isn’t Eddie, and claiming he can is somehow based in racism and hatred of Eddie.

Neither is true! The problem is that prior to 7x04, Evan Buckley was not a canon queer character. He was viewed that way by fans and Oliver Stark was all for it, but that does not change the actual canon history of the character. Therefore, the writers can only fix what they feel fits the current story. They can retcon a few things and so on, but both sides are acting like they’re right, and it makes no sense.

Yes, Buddie shippers have Oliver and Ryan on their side for the most part. Yes, Oliver believes Buck has been queer all along and he thinks a lot of the headcanons about his character’s reaction to things make sense, but he is NOT saying it’s all true. He agrees Buck was likely experiencing some jealousy when Eddie first showed up, but that does not mean Tim Minear is going to make that theory canon. It’s fans and Oliver who think it, but that does not equal canon.

As well, with things being slightly retconned or adjusted to fit the story… Tommy is obviously no longer an asshole by proximity. He was rude to Hen and Chim, but we’ve seen he him interact with the two of them since in civil ways. We know Chim thinks he’s cool. Continuing to demand he apologize on screen is a waste of time. It was five seasons ago, and the story had to change to fit Tim bringing his character back. It happens.

As for Buck/Tommy shippers, y’all have got to get off the high horse of Possibility. At the moment, there are so many ways their relationship can go, and the only reason you all are so high and mighty about it, is because you’re technically never going to be wrong until you’re wrong. Which is annoying.

Yes, Tim could choose to have Tommy stick around for another season. Yeah, Buck and Tommy could be endgame. Yeah, Buck and Tommy could… any and everything is possible, but acting as if Tommy is the love of Buck’s life and deserves fan devotion is crazy. Don’t get me wrong, I like the character. He seems nice if a little cocky, but I like that. I like that he’s written as a grown man who, even though he’s changed, still has a little bit of asshole in him.

Because yes, what he did to Buck on their first date was rude. He didn’t explain anything and left him standing outside the restaurant as if he hadn’t just told him he’s never dated a man before, and as if they hadn’t just run into his best friend. It was a dick move. However, it’s also kinda realistic. So I dug it, but that’s also all we really know about him.

Tommy is an army vet, flies helicopters, was a firefighter, and is gay. Which he struggled to come to terms with, and can be a dick. The way y’all treating him like a savior is insane. Y’all are trying to rub it in people’s face that his relationship with Buck is canon while Buddie isn’t, and I don’t understand that. Buck wasn’t even bisexual three episodes ago, so where is this higher than thou attitude even coming from?

The only thing people should be focused on is the fact that Buck is now canonically bisexual. Tim liked the idea and Oliver loved it, so they finally made it happen. Now, his story has even more potential. I’d even go so far as to say season 7 is going to be a cleaning and re-establishing of all the characters, because so many of them feel a little different.

We’ve got bi!Buck, meaning we’ll get to see him in one or more relationships that he isn’t used to being in. We’ve got a new actor playing Harry, and he’s older, meaning they’re going to have to write to his strengths and build a storyline there that is more mature. Bobby and Athena almost died together for real for real, thus hopefully we’ll get to see their relationship evolve and what if it changes them in any way. Chim and Maddie are finally getting married, so we get to see them kickstart a new chapter together. Hen and Karen have a new child, which will hopefully bring them more storylines and hijinks as a family. And Eddie is dealing with forcing himself to accept a relationship he may not even want to be in. And he’s aware this time, which could result in him ignoring his fears or bowing out, then having to face what bowing out means.

Point is, there is no reason for all this drama.

Buddie is not guaranteed just because it is a popular want for fans, and an accepted theory by the actors and showrunner. They’ve all said it has to fit the overall story without forcibly gearing the writing in that direction. Which means it could happen two episodes from now or two seasons from now. We just have to wait and see.

At the same time, Buck and Tommy are not an established couple yet. They’re going on their second date, and it’s been said Tommy isn’t in the last few episodes of the season. So it’s possible he and Buck are still together, but Lou isn’t a series regular nor regular recurring, so he’s just not contracted to be on set. Which is fine, but acting like a quick breakup is also bad storytelling is ridiculous.

Fans have hated Buck’s relationships with women from the jump, and him breaking up fast isn’t exactly new. So if it happens with the first man he dates… okay. Tommy can become more than a stepping stone, but the writers aren’t obligated to make his first experience with a man something deep and profound. It can be fun and eye-opening and still have mattered, even if it ends fast.

Y’all have got to let the stories play out, and not scream bloody murder if your headcanon doesn’t become canon. Because truth be told, Buck being canon bi is the biggest flex of fan service I’ve ever seen, even if I think it adds to the depth of him. So I can’t imagine how difficult it is to be sure not to continue giving that same group of fans everything they want outright, when there’s so much more story to unfold.

Which means they can’t just make Tommy the love of Buck’s life because Buck/Tommy fans have ditched Buddie or were never Buddie shippers, and want to be right. But they also can’t have Eddie come out and he and Buck start dating, because Buddie shippers have waited five seasons. Just wait to see what happens, and in the meantime, enjoy watching Buck discover more of himself. With Tommy as his current love interest, and Eddie as his best friend.

#911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #buddie #bucktommy

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jrueships · 9 months

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I think Jalen and Gup will still remain friends but I hope whoever is leaking these video suffer a faith worst than… lol

literally!!! say it louder!! like the de-realism of it all. the 'ENTERTAINMENT' of it all. It's entertainment>emotions always, and it's soo sick. Their relationship is strong still, which I love, but ever since that leak.. it's been overanalyzed and picked apart EXHAUSTINGLY!! Ppl are going back to any material they can find of the two together and just heaping BUCKETS of immaturity onto them. Talkin like 'oh see? This random dude with them made an expression THAT MEANS HE KNOWS AND HE H A T ES THEM. HE IS DISGUSTED.' and it's just SOOOO. UGH. ICK! UGH! i'd zay go find a hobby but being homophobic is literally their hobby. It's just so blatant and disgusting, and media is a GREAT tool for them to dish all that shit out without consequence. The way they can and DESIRE to constantly go back and pick apart the past just from the chance that it can spread even more hate is UGHHHH!!! i HATE it!!! Boundaries aren't SHIT anymore! Respect is trodden and relationships can get rotten AND NO ONE CARES!!!!!

It's a really good thing that jalen green's nature and upbringing as one of the hyped top picks has kind of steadied him through this. He doesn't turn off his comments (for what I know), he's BEEN getting painted nail comments and he just keeps painting them bcs who gives af? They're internet people. He's the People's people.. without even caring about the worser half of that lot. He doesn't care. But it's also kind of sad. But that's just how this world is

What im worried about mainly is gup like... gup's always been more attentive to any kind of hate or would-be hate he gets. Green's even noticed it bcs interacting with the haters (on an image level) is never a good thing. HE'S been forced to learn and get with that kinda practice bcs he's jalen green. He can't speak more as jalen green bcs. He's jalen green. He can only have the comforts of an allowed argument ..in the comforts of a fuckin burner account.

That's one thing I like about Kd, although he might not be a fav player of mine (I just personally don't rlly care for him but can understand why others do. He's very complex and way more interesting than the media tries to portray. I just kinda missed the kd era in bball and moved on, it's just a personal whatever) .. he stopped (for the most part of what we know) with the burners and uses his voice a lot. He's older, he doesn't gaf about not giving a fuck. He doesn't HAVE to , and he doesn't WANT to. He embraces being a hater and a speaker now. Unlike Jalen and Josh, he has more abilities AND experience.

Which is just so sad that alot of the things basketball players need to worry abt can be from off the court. And We're not talking being a role model or whatever, We're talking always having to watch your back ESPECIALLY when your work environment can get very quickly hostile as it is so often sold as hostility being a propelling marketing principle. Nobody can have fun anymore or be kids or a lot of things.

LIKE!!! gup can't defend himself well because he's not trained well enough as someone who's a lower pick so therefore less worry to the business. Bro is just a pawn they can trade away whenever shit gets rough. AND IT'S SO SAD THAT HE H A S TO EVEN GET TRAINING IN THE FIRST PLACE??? on how to WHAT?? Feel less? IT'S SOO. UGHHHHHH!!

When gup posted that picture of him and a woman (with like long pink pedicure nails) holding his face where he was tryin to make it look chill even tho it was very obvious on how hard he was trying to show how that hand holding his face was very obviously a woman's hand and not a man's ... as a 'response' to that video....... like. I saw it n i didn't even screenshot. And yall KNOW me, i love taking photos of things i find funny n sharing it with yall! BUT JUST YALL. YALL CIRCLE OF FRIENDS. not to THE PERSON, not blasting smthin that could be embarrassing all over the media. There's BOUNDARIES to shit, even the smallest shit! But what i meant with this is.. u know. Usually i enjoy kinda embarrassing moves. But this? This was just str8 up Sad. Like. That was all he could even do to try and defend himself, his friendships, his LIFEstyle. That was the only power he had was some miserably pr picture without pr in a sad attempt at personal protection.

And of course, the rest of the internet thought it was the funniest shit ever and blew that boundary up. Bcs they don't gaf and the best (perhaps only) thing these young guys can do is try and not gaf either AND THAT IS SO FUCKIN SAD!!! LIKE! THAT'S JUST SAD. I get sadness can be entertainment, yeah... FICTIONAL sadness, i can SEE. an ARTFUL, blossoming yet still Respecting some boundaries while exploring others, FICTIONAL (saying this AGAIN) sadness can be quality entertainment. Quality as in ure not an absolute shithead for sharing it if you still respect it.

BUT THIS SHIT IS REALLL! AND IT'S NOT GETTING RESPECTED. A REAL THING THAT ACTUALLY REQUIRES THAT RATHER THAN A FICTIONAL THING BCS RESPECT IS AND SHOULD BE REAL but it's just NOT so much anymore and UGHHHH!!!!

Their friendship is REAL! THEIR LIVES AND EMOTIONS AND THOUGHTS N FUCKIN EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM IS REAL BCS THEYRE REAL HUMAN BEINGS JUST LIKE EVEEYONE ELSE!!! and it's just so DISGUSTING that a reminder and a worry even has to be made but that's just how the world runs when it's ran on entertainment, i fuckin Guess .

#it's just ughhh #sorry if i sound upset JUST TO BE CLEAR it's not directed toward anyone here just at the subject as it should be #LIKE WHY DO WE HAVE TO EVEN SAY THIS???#we're silly lil tumblr blogs!!!! who scuttle abt sharing what we like in this hellshit site #but in interwoven comfort burrows kept between us #and yet here we are being some of the few people who actually have a #IT'S JUST #ugh #i hate twitter like #i hate when people dont act like the kinda people that would gather together to try and stop a man from meeting a train #i hate when ppl regress into 'THING I DONT KNOW = BAD = KILL'#LIKE THATS SO UGHHHHH #n im not talking regress as in acting like a caveman bcs while im no anthropologist im pretty sure #ppl back then werent unfeeling monsters 24/7. idk tho. just a hunch called expanded thought #im talkin regress as only sitting in the humans ability TO be cruel and just steaming in it so much u become comfortable #it's just. man. i just hate wasted potential #it's just so sad man. im just so sad #ty for this ask tho!!! i can at least have room for my own comfort away from this mess by knowing theyre still strong #ure so kind for this <3 ty friend!!#ted tumbunity things #green #gup

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rowanoftheunknown · 6 months

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Okay listen it's been 4 days I'm over it but I hate that everyone is like "that's where Izzy's arc was meant to end, he accepted his death" yeah no when I developed my support system and dismantled my toxic habits and moved on from my trauma my psych took me out the back and said you're free and shot me like a lame horse

#hEs a FiCTioNaL ChaRActeR yes i KNOW i know i know just let me bitch #bro i also thought i was ready to die after i came to terms with my toxic behavior but i was 14 and i got over it #man just needed some medical attention and some sertraline wouldve fixed him right up #listen its fine im no longer mad at the finale i just hate wasted potential in characters and killing him was a fucking waste #anyone who says otherwise lacks imagination #ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands

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angnimations · 1 year

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You see, I've been thinking

HOW PHINABELLA COULD'VE BEEN!

We all know how Phineas and Ferb was extended long by its expiration date, but I mean, the expiration date of that summer. We still could've had so much content about the other summers, all through their highschool graduation!

And we all know by now that well, Isabella left the friends group in highschool and inconveniently enough, that's when Phineas develop his crush.

I've always thought that episode was so rushed, their friendship and romantic dynamic had so much to explore that just by 1 episode it couldn't be enough.

You mean to tell me Phineas never reach out in highschool, at least to invite all the scout girls (or ex scout girls, idk how it works lol) to some crazy adventure?

You mean to tell me Isabella never missed Phineas so much that she could settle for a friendship in highschool if it meant to see him?

You REALLY telling me that!?

So, I the crew could've done a better job by dividing their season on multiple summers instead of just one. And make the story have more continuity that way, grow their characters, develop them while they navigate multiple adventures in each summer and while they are going through their teenage years.

COME ON! THAT WOULD'VE BEEN SO COOL!

It could've teached us about growing up and so many lessons that come while your becoming a teenager and young adult (that's right, the last episode of this could-have-been-P&F ends in them going to college >:] )

I think we could've had this phinabella arc, though several episode ofc, in highschool summer season (or seasons?)

> Unfortunately, Isabella left the group in highschool like in the episode. So the summer where that happened we are introduced to this girl in Phineas class, she's a total nerd like him, but really shy. It's stablished she has a crush on someone and Phineas teases her and tries to guess, but never finds out how it is.

This girl is lesbian, but doesn't tell anyone out of fear because, well we all know the world is sadly not normally kind to LGBTQ+ people.

> Isabella finds out through the (ex?) girl scouts that Phineas has this new girl in his backyard helping him and the guys in their adventures.

> At first she tries to play it off, as if she doesn't care what he does anymore because she "is past him".

> Meanwhile, we get to know how they met. Maybe it's something cheesy like Phineas was drawing Isabella and the girl noticed it lol. Or maybe... he was making multiple sketches of what invention he would do to impress Isabella on her birthday as to have an excuse to talk to her, and the girl noticed it and pointed it out. Phineas, flustered, just said it was for an old friend of his and the girl offered to help him if he teaches him all about inventions and how to make them, because she also has something in mind to give to a "special someone".

> Isabella tries to figure out her feelings of jealously and "betrayal", and the scout girls are trying to tell her to just go to his place. She doesn't want to get hurt of he sees them together, or if Phineas didn't even missed her, all the if's keeping her from talking to him.

> Meanwhile, the guys keep on making their respective inventions for their special someone's. Phineas has run out of classmates names to ask her about, and she straight up tells him it's not someone from school, rather someone who lives in the same apartment complex she does. Phineas resorts to just ask her how they look, "Do they have brown hair? Do they have blond hair? Are they tall? Short? What do they like?" Meanwhile he also teases him "Are they from school? From this neighborhood? Are they blonde?..." The list goes on. They enjoy helping each other and talking about this mysterious persons they like, and which they don't disclose the name- but how they look, act, and what they like about them. They also are total nerds so expect multiple geek and science talk- Phineas and Ferb practically adopted her as their little sister now lol.

> Going back to Isabella, we also get to see why she has been pretty busy too. Perhaps she's making some charity work, helping her mother around, things like that. She keeps telling herself she can't go and see Phineas cause she has "XYZ thing to do", and she's running out of excuses, while her longing just grows and grows.

The one of the girl scouts (her bff I can't remember sorry) tells her that at least she should go and talk to him as a friend, that if she lets time pass and doesn't talk to him, they'll grow apart till she can't recognize him, as friend or lover. "Are you willing to lose your friendship with Phineas?".

The girl scout even asks her if she knows what invention he's up to lately, and Isabella is like "Of course! He's up to... Uh..." Isabella can't even remember the last invention he showed her.

This realization- that even she is forgetting things, shocks her and saddens her. "I don't want to lose him. I want him in my life, any way he wants...". She runs to his house to talk to him after so many months and half summer.

> Phineas has to leave for some reason (props the place where he wants to give Isabella her happy birthday invention) and the girl and Ferb are left in charge with the 2 inventions (Phineas' and the girl's). Ferb goes to the house to get them something to drink, and the girl keeps working.

> "HEY PHINEAS WHATCHA- doing...? Hi I'm Isabella, you must be _____" (yeah haven't thought of her name). The girl greets her and identifies her.

"Oh, you are Isabella, Phineas neighbor, the super cool pretty and intelligent girl scout, right?" Isabella is obviously flustered at this description. "Oh, you know me? How so?" The girl, not wanting to blow the Phineas cover, makes some dumb excuse and says that Ferb described her like that. Just as he comes with the lemonade- and awkward funny moment ensues lol. Ferb just downright leaves the backyard back for some "cookies".

> The girl talks to Isabella, and they soon start bonding over Phineas adventures and crazy inventions. She tells her Phineas is a super helpful guide, and has been helping her with this gift she wants to give to someone special, but the girl seems hesitant "It's not even that cool of a gift, really, I'm not good at this. I just hope it doesn't break in h... their hands right as give it, even if I do give it to them..." Isabella sees the cute invention, it's a sort of small robot that seems to analyze the soil, help planting seeds, keeping up with plants needs. Surely, someone that loves gardening would love a gift like that.

"I bet that she'll love it." Says Isabella. The girl is flustered, but happy, and gains some confidence now that she sees how she has such a lovely friend group. "Yeah. Maybe she will. She lives in an apartment, so she doesn't have a gardening space of her own. but since she volunteers on community services aimed to gardening, I thought this could help her. She is a bit forgetful, so this could help her keep track of every garden she takes care of."

> Isabella is really impressed by the girls skills and courage- she feels she has little courage, ignoring and evading Phineas this whole summer, breaking their friendship bit by bit. A sad look shows in her face. "You are really brave, I don't even have the guts to see the person I like in the eyes lately". The girl questions, and Isabella admits "He's really inteligent, and kind, and helpful, a total cute nerd that has the biggest heart ever. I miss him". The girl smiles as she starts guessing- but as clueless as her mentor, she doesn't get who she could be referencing (she would bet it's between Phineas and Ferb lol).

> "I'm sure he misses you too, is it...? Oh hi Phineas!" Phineas arrived "Hi ____, so look I checked with the mayor, he says he can get us both the park free for... Isabella? Long time no see! Hi!!" Clearly shocked and happy, he hurries to their side.

> "Yeah, long time no see. Watcha doing Phineas? Something in the park? What about?" Phineas, a but flustered tries to change the topic "oh is nothing, it's uh- a thing _____ wanted me to go check for her... I mean sure is for us both- I mean, I'm going to use it too, but uh... it's a surprise... How have you been?" The girl chuckles, now fully aware who Phineas has a crush on, and Isabella talks about all her adventures in her part of summer. Ferb comes with the cookies, and they all sit and enjoy the sunset while talking and getting to know what the other has been up to.

...

SO THAT COULD BE SOMETHING! Aw man, it would've been so cool if P&F was like that. Imagine growing with them, seeing how they mature and they finally getting together.

Maaaaaan it could've been so cool hadn't they beat to death the only summer we watched.

Anyways, yeah, that's my small idea. Anyone, feel free to write it better than I did and maybe even making a series of what P&F could've been like if the showed had some sense of continuity and growth.

Thanks for reading! Sorry for the typos, English is not my native language.

#phinabella #phineas and ferb #isabella garcia shapiro #what phineas and ferb coulve been like man #i really hate when a series with so much potential is wasted like this #p&f imagine #p&f headcanons #idk if it goes on those categories sure hope it does #kinda new on this whole making content but i just HAD TO #also had to put some representation while i was at it

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999squids · 1 year

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thinking back to when i went to church last year for easter (i only go once a year because it's the most fun one), and the priest said he acknowledges that most people only come to church for easter because it's the most fun one. well. i mean. maybe there's something he could learn from it? no? okay. enjoy the collapse of your entire religion then

#it's almost like... people would happily attend sometimes if it was a Somewhat Pleasant Experience #not religious btw i just hate wasted potential like this #man noticed sometimes people attend and his conclusion was People Are Bad For Only Attending Easter #instead of People Will Attend My Church Events If I Make Them Worth Their Time #yes catholicism is about suffering etc etc #but must everything be suffering?

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uncanny-tranny · 5 months

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This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?

At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.

I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.

#politics #i don't know much about são paulo banning marketing billboards but on paper i want that here in the USA #as a motorist it at best just makes me more anxious driving in those larger cities because i want to FOCUS ON THE ROAD #and passing 5000 billboards per mile isn't helping actually!#i've gotten good at filtering that out of my FOV but it's still fucking exhausting lol #i especially hate those modern electric billboards. despise them actually #i am aware that advertising is a critical aspect to business management in some cases...#...but it shouldn't risk the safety of the populous for you to advertise to them and i see things like billboards as risking safety...#...i feel similarly about online advertising in that so much of it risks internet user's safety...#...such as flashing ads online which risk triggering epileptic seizures in light/photo-sensitive folks #distracted driving (texting): NO >:( || distracted driving (being advertised to): YAYYYY :D #i've been driving on my own for a few years now and i've been thinking about this for ENTIRELY too long

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netherfeildren · 7 months

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Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation.

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands.

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him.

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone.

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him.

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity.

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?” Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face.

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question.

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut.

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that.

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware.

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this.

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor.

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now.

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry.

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you.

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you.

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort.

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either.

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me.

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all.

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you.

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him.

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet.

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car.

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of.

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake.

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you.

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach.

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage.

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this.

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be.

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found.

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be.

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl.

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller.

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted.

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of.

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time.

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here.

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying.

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching.

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt.

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl.

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good.

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm?

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good.

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you. And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#pink fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #Joel Miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us au

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kumawaii · 4 months

Text

SWEETHEART | LSM

cw - yandere themes, possessiveness, toxic behaviors, mentions of blackmail, unprotected sex, riding, recording, creampie

— this is my first request! hope you like it my dear anon!

∘₊✧─── 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ───✧₊∘

bestie!seokmin is an absolute sweetheart. he lives to make people happy, and you’re no exception. it’s so common, that you often feel bad for monopolizing his time. he always assures you that he wouldn’t have it any other way, and that’s enough to make any potential guilt vanish. which is good because your best friend hates to see you upset.

you don’t think anything of bestie!seokmin always following you around. he’s like a breath of fresh air and a burst of sunshine rolled up into a tall, handsome package. you two being attached by the hip is nothing new. you’re so used to it that you can’t really remember a time when it wasn’t like that.

it’s comforting having bestie!seokmin by your side. he’s the one guy who’s never let you down, and probably never will.

things never change between you two. even when you get a boyfriend everything remains the same. it’s odd, though. bestie!seokmin isn’t a fan of your new man despite him liking everyone. he’s still polite, ever the sweetheart you know him to be. which you’re grateful for. none of your relationships ever seem to last lately, so you hoped this time is different.

what you don’t know is that bestie!seokmin has no intentions of letting that happen. he’s been successful in undermining your other relationships and eventually ruining them, and this time will be no different. it’s hard at first because your new boyfriend is by far the most decent one out of the bunch of losers you brought around. but that doesn’t matter. he’s not right for you, and he’s going to prove it.

“why don’t you like him?” you ask, not liking that one of the most important people in your life doesn’t like your boyfriend.

seokmin is good at hiding the bitterness he feels. a small soft smile lifts his lips as he looks at you. “honestly? i don’t like his vibe. there’s something off about him.”

bestie!seokmin pulls you into a hug when you visibly deflate at his words. he apologizes into your hair, rubbing comforting circles on your back. instead of listing off all the reasons you should leave that loser behind, he tells you to be careful. after all, guys are pigs.

it takes a bit of time, but eventually the plan set in motion comes to fruition. it’s sunday night, aka your and bestie!seokmin’s movie night. you’re cuddled into his side when you get a notification. as soon as you look at it, your stomach drops. it’s a hey girlie… text from an unknown number with an attachment to accompany it. with trembling fingers, you open it.

as always, bestie!seokmin is there to comfort you when the image is revealed to be your boyfriend at some sleazy party. that scum had lied and said he was staying in to study for an upcoming exam. instead he was getting drunk with some girl in his lap practically dry humping him. it’s very easy for you to send him a breakup text seconds after you watch the video.

you cry into bestie!seokmin’s chest not knowing how bittersweet he feels. on one hand, blackmailing his ex into setting up your now ex boyfriend worked perfectly. however, now he’s left with your heart ache which he fucking hates. wasting your tears on such a worthless guy isn’t right, and he lets you know that.

“i-i just wish i could make him feel as bad as i do.”

seokmin tries not to sound too eager as he says his next words. “you can.”

you can’t regret listening to bestie!seokmin’s advice. he was right from the beginning, and he was right now. slowly sinking down on his thick cock feels so fucking good that you can’t even think of the idiot who lied to you. even with your camera pointing at your naked bodies, all you can think about is seokmin and his big cock.

“fuck, angel.” seokmin moans gutturally as he tosses his head back on the couch. “you feel so fucking good.”

you moan along with him as soon as you sink down all the way. he’s balls deep inside you, and you’ve never felt better. bestie!seokmin lifts his head and looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky. it makes your heart jerk as you lean forward to capture his lips. the kiss is sloppy and needy. you swallow each other’s moans as you slowly start grinding your hips.

his dick is so big that you can feel him in your stomach. your pace is slow, but you already feel like you’re on the verge of cumming. the camera is doing an excellent job at capturing the erotic sight of your juices dripping down bestie!seokmin’s cock. it drips down to his heavy balls, and it makes something in the two of you snap.

“fuck my cock, baby.” seokmin urges you, groaning when you start bouncing eagerly on his dick. “that’s it. use me.”

his words sound so desperate and needy that you feel your pussy drip with more arousal. you’re moaning loudly and wantonly as you use his cock like a personal fucktoy. the coil in your stomach is close to snapping, especially when bestie!seokmin brings his hand up to play with your bouncing tits.

you’ve never been so turned on. all your senses are invaded by the carnal haze of sex — the harsh sound of skin slapping, the lewd squelching, and the filthy moans mixing in together. bestie!seokmin can only moan about how tight your pretty pussy feels as he’s consumed by the same dizzying sensation. he’s slowly losing his mind, and he’s loving every second of it.

“your dick is so big!” you cry out when seokmin starts to meet your movements with sharp thrusts. he’s slamming his fat tip against the most sensitive part inside you, and it’s not long before you’re covering his dick with your orgasm.

your moans turn into loud cries of ecstasy when seokmin’s big hands slide down your body to grab your ass. he kneads it roughly as he helps you bounce on his cock while fucking up into your sweet little cunt. you’re a naked goddess on top of him, and he knows he’ll never be able to let you go after this. by the way your pussy keeps clenching around him, you feel the same way.

“cum inside me!” you mewl, eager to feel him stuff you full.

bestie!seokmin smirks into the camera before he gives you what you want, knowing your idiot ex boyfriend is going to watch as he stuffs you full of his cum. he keeps fucking it into you until you’re nothing more than a whimpering mess. he spreads your ass cheeks as his cock slowly pops out of you, making sure your phone captures your tight little hole leaking with his cum.

you lay on his chest for a moment before you slowly lift your head up, mouth messily covering his once again. there’s no room for any guilt. not even as bestie!seokmin sends the filthy video to your ex. it’s the best revenge. especially because now it’s official that only he can have you in such a way.

#kumawaii.exe #midnight.hourz #seokmin smut #svt smut #lee seokmin smut #seokmin x reader #svt x reader #svt imagine #lee seokmin imagine #svt scenarios #seokmin imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen fic #seokmin fic

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hello-nichya-here · 5 months

Note

Did Sia insult topic of autism somehow?

Oh honey, it's sooooooooo much worse than that.

Sia wanted to make a movie about an autistic girl that manages to connect to people/feel safe and confident through music. So far, nothing outrageous, just a simple concept that would obviously put Sia's music front and center while doing something nice and educating people on autism.

There was controversy about her not casting an autistic actress as it would have been nice representation, but she could have totally gotten away with that since, come on, hollywood hasn't even figured out Rain Man isn't exactly true to life, they're not ready to have an autistic person playing an autistic character. Baby steps.

The real problem started when Sia started promoting the "charity/support group" that was helping "educate" her on the topic to make the movie. The "charity" in question was Autism Speaks - which is absolutely HATED by the autistic community for things like:

1 - Spreading the myth that autism is a mental illness that one can develop/catch like the freaking flue and potentially be cured of, instead of a neurotype, aka something starts in the woomb and cannot be "cured" because to do that you'd need to replace someone's entire nervous system, which is impossible.

2 - Using that myth to get outrageous amounts of money from people so they "search for a cure" - that doesn't exist and will never exist because curing autism is biologically impossible, AND despite the fact that the overwhelming majority of autistic people don't even want to be "cured" (plus, since said "cure" would essentially mean giving the person a new brain, it leads to the question of "Would I even be the same person, or would that just kill and replace me?")

3 - Using the myth of "We don't know what causes autism" (we do, it's genetic) to, of course, get MORE money from people so they can "do research to find the missing puzzle piece" (if you ever see autistic people complaining about a puzzle piece being used to represent the condition, that's why, it was started by Autism Speak's massive disinformation campains).

4 - Falsely "confirming" things like soy milk cause autism with one of the world's most ridiculous "research", losing only to "vaccines totally make kids autistic, buy MY vaccine instead, guys, I am totally not an unbelievably biased person, it's ALL the other doctors/scientists lying to you. GIVE ME MONEY!"

5 - Pushing the narrative of "autism is inherently a tragedy" to distract from the fact that all the money they waste on stupid shit could be used to help autistic people and their families. Instead, they focus on creating more and more panic, making parents in particular despair even more - to the point that one of their "awareness videos" includes a mother talking about how she wants to murder her autistic daughter and then kill herself... while sitting right next to said daughter.

6 - Promoting ABA "therapy" - which was created by the same guy responsible for the attrocity that is gay conversion "therapy." Both have led to unbelievably high rates of confirmed PTSD and suicidal ideation in patients (victims), and ABA in particular has been compared to literal dog training. Very fitting since it was created by a guy who famously did not believe autistic people truly counted as thinking, feeling human beings, and said as much several times. Despite that, it is still praised by some utter bastards because "it makes the patients act less autistic when they're not crying in the corner or trying to jump out a window"

So yeah, working with these guys is a genuinely horrible thing to do since they're basically a scam/hate group pretending to be a charity - and people were STILL willing to give Sia the benefit of the doubt, since Autism Speak uses all their resources to make sure they're the first thing people see when looking up how to help autistic people.

Lots of Sia's fans, both autistic and allistic, warned her repeatedly, politely, that she needed to supporting them IMMEDIATELY as their goal was the exact opposite of the one she claimed to have - aka raise awareness through an accurate portrail of autism. People were even kind enough to name organizations like ASAN as replacements to help her fix any damage done to the project.

And instead of being a decent human being, Sia decided to cry on twitter about how the mean retar-I mean, autistics were bullying her even when she was so kindly using them for her vanity project.

Because yes, that's how the movie turned out. An unwatcheable piece of garbage, with the autistic "character" being so fucking bad even the people who actively use "autistic" as insulted being offended on our behalf - and of course, she was used just a prop to show how awesome Sia's character was.

Seriously, it was so bad the actress playing the autistic girl was sobbing in between scenes because she knew how it was horrible and she didn't want to insult anyone, but Sia is literally her godmother and helped her career by putting her in nearly all her music videos so she felt obligated to go along with it.

So yeah, fuck Sia and fuck Autism Speaks.

#asks #sia #ableism #autism speaks #actually autistic #aba therapy

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