#which is fucking HILARIOUS in hindsight

[idsb]

Okay now here’s the question lol: I feel like it BECOMES weird if I inform my boyfriend about it like “why tf are you formally telling me about this / should I be concerned” but also I feel like it’s hella uncomfy if I don’t say anything and he finds out and also feel like I’m keeping a secret if I don’t say anything (????) which also makes it weird so now what

#tbh I feel like the most objectively correct answer is don’t go #but I’m not doing that so! #having been my friend when I came here both times he knows All Of It #he also met him bc the night before we first hooked up I made him go on his walking tour to sus him out bc he was in Aus as a friend with me #which is fucking HILARIOUS in hindsight #that the only person I know whose ever met him is my boyfriend

[anachronic-cobra]

If a demon tried to possess my body it would just bounce off my oddly balanced collection of mental illnesses

#there's no room #i came to a realization in therapy last week that a few years ago my depression and ocd countered each other so hard they canceled out #like actually #which in hindsight is fucking hilarious #from the desk of anachron

[meangirls-imagines]

Could I request a Leighton x reader one shot where Leighton just recently came out and is new to the whole lesbian flirting thing so she tries to find out if reader is gay with the help of questionable internet advice?

Gaydar Issues

Description: Leighton is new to the Essex queer community and unlike her confident persona, she has no idea how to flirt. She meets Reader and develops a crush on her. She should not have gone to her roommates for help.

WARNINGS: fluffy as fuck, leighton being a gay baby, her roommates being dumb, leighton gay panicking.

Okay.

In hindsight, Leighton knew she shouldn't have gone to her roommates for queer flirting advice.

She had no other options.

Let's recap.

Ever since Leighton came out, she had found it difficult to talk to women in person and not behind a screen. She was two different people.

One had a seductive aura, luring her hookups in with a single smirk and making them see stars by the end of the night.

The other was a shy, nervous girl who had no idea how to flirt.

Leighton was struggling. She had tried to talk to Nico about it but him being a guy, gave her flirting tips that he does, which were gross. She tried to talk to Willow about it but the girl was no help. She flirted with athletes, who she had something in common with.

That was it! Leighton just needed to find someone who had something in common with her! Easy peasy.

Plot twist: it's not so easy peasy.

Leighton had decided to scout out her math class to see if she had any hot female students in there with her. She had one, and she had already hooked up with her and didn't really feel anything with her.

It had gotten to a point where Leighton was starting to give up, but as she walked out of class, she saw the most gorgeous girl talking to Bela, of all people.

Leighton froze as she looked at the girl. She was stunning, the smile she was giving Bela was melting Leighton's heart. The girl had on some black skinny jeans, white converse, a white crop top and a jean jacket on.

Leighton could tell she had great fashion sense, even if the outfit was casual. She could hear her laugh from where she stood and it became her favorite sound in the world. Before she could go over and introduce herself, the girl hugged Bela and walked the other direction.

Bela began walking towards Leighton as the blonde fell in step behind her.

"Hey Bela! How are you today?"

Bela looked at Leighton confused but played along. "I'm...fine. Leighton, are you okay? You never ask about my day." The blonde smiled at her. "What are you talking about? I always ask about your day. I had a question."

Bela laughed, "There it is." Leighton rolled her eyes. "That girl you were talking to, who was she?"

Bela smirked. "That's Y/N. I'm trying to get her to join my comedy club. Girl is hilarious." Leighton nodded. "Yeah. Could you introduce me?"

Bela smiled. "Ooh does someone have a crush?" Leighton blushed hard. "Bela! Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean I have a crush on every girl!." Bela smirked again. "Yeah, yeah. I'll introduce you."

The next day, Leighton was walking across the campus courtyard when her name was yelled. She turned to see Bela and Y/N walking towards her. She instantly got nervous as the duo approached her. She straightened herself up and smiled at the two.

"Hey Bela!" The duo reached her as Bela held out an arm. "Y/N, this is Leighton. Leighton, this is Y/N, the newest member of my comedy club!" Y/N stuck her hand out for Leighton to shake. The blonde shook it, thinking about how soft her hands were before snapping back.

"Congrats! Bela was telling me how funny you are!" Y/N blushed. "Thank you! It's so nice to finally meet you! Bela has told me a lot about you, though she didn't mention how pretty you are."

Leighton's jaw dropped. A blush took over her features as she stuttered on her words. Y/N smirked and looked at Bela. "I'll see you later okay? Bye guys!" She walked off as Bela stared at Leighton shocked.

"Leighton. Are you blushing?" Leighton shook herself off and glared at Bela. "I am not!" She stomped off as Bela smirked. She pulled her phone out and texted Whitney and Kimberly.

"Leighton needs an intervention."

Leighton didn't know what to expect when she got back to her dorm, but it wasn't her roommates staring at her. It scared the shit out of her. "What the hell are you guys doing?" Kimberly gestured to the couch. "Please sit."

Leighton sat and looked at them confused. "What is happening?" Whitney sighed. "Leighton, it's come to our attention that you don't know how to talk to girls. We are here to help you."

Leighton's jaw dropped as she slowly turned to glare at Bela. "You told?!" Bela sighed. "I'm sorry! But you need help. Y/N is so into you!" Leighton glared at Bela. "Do you know if she's even gay?" Bela sat silently for a few seconds. "Uhh...no?"

Leighton pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

Whitney decided to save Bela. "She told us Y/N called you pretty! That's a sign, right?" Leighton directed her glare to Whitney now. "Girls call each other pretty all the time Whitney!"

Kimberly, ever the voice of reason, finally spoke. "Leighton, I think for now, talk to her, get to know her, and then maybe if she's comfortable, she'll tell you. But don't just outright ask her. So that way, if she isn't, you can remain friends."

The room was silent for a moment before Whitney and Bela voiced their disagreement of the plan and began to bicker about how Leighton should handle it.

Leighton was stuck on Kimberly's words. "Talk to her." "Get to know her"

That's what Leighton was going to do.

She spotted Y/N the next day walking out of the library and quickened her pace to catch up. "Y/N!" The girl turned and saw Leighton. A bright smile came across her face as she waved. "Hi Leighton! How are you?" Leighton fell into step with Y/N. "I'm good! I actually wanted to ask you something."

Y/N nodded. "Ask away." Leighton took a deep breath and asked the question. "Do you maybe wanna hang out, later? We can study together in the library. If you want!" Y/N blushed and nodded. "Yeah, sure! Can I get your number?"

Leighton felt her heart rate increase. She handed her phone over to Y/N, who put her number in quickly before handing it back. "Text me when you wanna meet up later." Leighton nodded before the girl smiled at the blonde and walked off.

Leighton fought the urge to do a happy dance.

Step one, done.

After a few weeks of hanging out with Y/N, Leighton discovered she was down badly for this girl. The more they hung out, the more Leighon's crush grew. Her roommates tried to hype her up to ask the girl out, but she didn't want to embarrass herself.

It all came to a head one day at lunch, the day that the roommates deemed, "their baby gay grew up".

Leighton was sitting at the table with her roommates eating lunch when Y/N approached. "Hey guys!" The girls greeted Y/N, not so subtly looking at Leighton, who blushed.

"Hi Leighton." The blonde smiled and quietly said hi back. Y/N cleared her throat. "If you weren't doing anything tonight, would you maybe wanna go to dinner and a movie tonight? I know this really good burger place a few miles from school."

Leighton blushed. Her brain was unable to function and she stuttered on her words once again.

Kimberly answered for her. "She would love to! She doesn't have any plans tonight!" Y/N smiled and looked at the girl. "Great! I'll pick you up at say 6:30? Dress casual." Leighton nodded as the girl walked off.

Her roommates squealed as the girl blushed harder. "We told you she was gay! You got a date!" Leighton smiled at how happy her girls were for her, joining in on the squealing, not noticing Y/N watching with a wide grin.

When Leighton came home later that night, hearts in her eyes and swollen lips, the roommates squealed again, sitting her down and making her give them the details.

Their baby gay really had grown up.

#leighton murray x reader #leighton murray imagine #leighton murray

[cataclysmic-cathexis]

Can we take it... slow?

Because I am once again completely normal about a piece of media, here is a visual essay on You Wear Fine Things Well Take 2: Faces and What Those Faces Are Doing (It's Kissing, But Also Emotions)

(I lightened all these screenshots up so the faces are more visible)

Ed is telling Stede his very sweet fishing story. Stede is reacting totally appropriately - gasping, eyes wide, interested and adorable. He's genuinely loving spending this time with Ed, hearing about his day.

He even leans forward to examine the lil fishy. CUTE. He's just so happy to be here, with Ed, talking about their days, spending time together. ("I love being near you.")

Stede tells Ed his abbreviated "cursed suit" story, where Ed delivers the "that wasn't a long story at all" line deadpan with this hilarious face:

(Why is this face so funny? Scientists in the future may know, but alas, this mystery will not be answered within our lifetime.)

Ed then ups the ante - going from that hilarious face to this SCORCHING HOT ONE after uttering the line that ruined the life of everyone on this hellsite

You wear fine things well

Those big brown 'come hither' eyes are HITHERING (it's a word, don't Google it tho)

What I also like about the refrain of "you wear fine things well" - Ed is signaling to Stede that he is ready to take another step. In the last episode, Ed put down a firm boundary - "you don't get to say that to me." Stede, in his adorable, desperate, determined, stubborn yet respectful way, backed off (by delivering an arguably MORE romantic speech but whatever - he respected Ed's boundary and didn't say "I love you"). Ed is pulling from their shared history, from a beautiful moment where they both felt something (although it's arguable as to whether or not in the moment Stede actually knew what he was feeling - he certainly with hindsight was like OOOOOOOOHHH).

So Ed is giving Stede the ok to take a step forward - which he does, while making this face with is the human equivalent of the heart eyes emoji:

Stede then looks away - and he stays in place, letting Ed come to him, making sure it's Ed to initiate. I think Stede wants Ed to be sure, doesn't want to push, since he knows how badly he fucked up and knows how deep Ed's hurt is.

Stede looks back up, but stays in place. Ed is looking at him with such vulnerability...

..as he slowly does his adorable little teenager-about-to-have-their-first-kiss shuffle...

And he leans in for that sweet kiss under the waxing moon.

Initially it's just Ed who is leaning in, but then Stede leans into the kiss as well - and deepens it.

Ed is then like "ok weird for ME to be the one saying this but it's probably healthier if we don't skip straight to banging each other's brains out on the deck of the ship and like, make sure of our feelings first"

After Ed says "We're whim-prone, as you said," Stede goes through a little mini crisis. First, fuck why did I say that:

Then - before Ed can finish what he's saying, Stede's face falls. He's so worried he's messed this up. Ed gave him a kiss and he tried to go too fast, and he's getting rejected again.

He tries to put a brave face on it, but our lil guy is SO SAD

Then once Ed finishes his fish metaphor ("You can't catch a fish unless the fish wants to be caught") Stede realises that Ed isn't rejecting him. I think Ed's vulnerability here and how unsure he is ("we're the fish, I guess. Maybe. I think.") helps Stede to remember hey, this isn't about me and my stuff right now, this is about Ed and Ed's stuff.

Stede gains a little confidence back. He's reassured. Ed is still trying to figure out who he is without Blackbeard, and Stede gets it. And Ed still wants him to be a part of who the new Ed is ("we're the fish"). He's like ok, I got u babe.

So he pulls himself back, but he still wants Ed to feel his affection, and to know that Ed is loved. So he holds Ed's hand and asks for permission.

"What about this? Is this alright?"

"This? Perfect."

Then they have their adorable little hand moment - just happy that they understand one another, happy to be touching, happy to be together.

"You won." Stede whispers.

Ed looks away, beaming:

And, in contrast to the last time they stood on the deck, under the moon, and said "you wear fine things well", this time they walk off together.

FIN.

#cool #cool cool cool #again i am completely normal about this piece of media #did i hyperfixate and take screenshots of this entire episode? MAYBE but that's MY BUSINESS #ramblings #ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 ep5 #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ed teach #stede bonnet #ed teach loves stede bonnet #stede bonnet loves ed teach #you wear fine things well #our flag means death #ofmd meta

[futureman]

the way we fight

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: you and joel love taking your frustrations out on each other—in more ways than one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, drug use, canon-typical violence, slight spoilers for minor tlou 2 cutscene, jackson era, enemies to lovers, undefined age gap, sloooow buildup, smut, grinding, rough oral (male & female receiving)

word count: 6.7k

a/n: no idea how this got so long, but here we are! generally my fics are based on song lyrics, so this one goes out to my girl ari and social house. this honestly took a while to wrap my brain around and idk how the end got so filthy but alas, i really hope y'all enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

It’s always an argument with him. He’s just so stubborn. Actually, Joel Miller might be the most stubborn man you’ve ever met. There’s never any room for disagreement or discussion with him—it’s his way or the highway. Half the time, you don’t even know what you’re fighting about, hurling callous, empty words at each other as if they don’t hurt. Immensely.

Maybe you really do genuinely hate each other. Or maybe it’s just for the fun of it.

It’s been like this for as long as you’ve known him, which, in hindsight, hasn’t even been that long. Probably a year? Year and a half? In all that time, you’ve never managed to crack his tough exterior and, as far as you know, no one else has, either.

The only things anyone knows for sure are that he’s Tommy Miller’s older brother and he’s got a daughter named Ellie. He hasn’t made a lot of friends here and it’s not hard to see why. He’s mean in a surly old man kind of way and rarely has anything nice to say to anyone—if he says anything at all.

Yet, somehow you still find yourself spending the majority of your time with him. It’s not something you do by choice. It’s a forced proximity thing.

You can’t tell if Tommy schedules you for patrols together because you’re the only one who hasn’t kicked up a stink about it or if he just thinks it’s funny to watch you both squirm. Most of the town thinks it’s hilarious, so you can only guess it’s the latter.

During your first few outings together, Joel wouldn’t talk to you unless it was absolutely necessary, and, even then, all you’d get was a grunt or some grumbled instructions. The silence got old pretty quickly. It wasn’t until you made your first mistake out in the field that he finally started communicating. Maybe a little louder than you’d hoped.

Now, Joel will pick a fight anywhere, usually over the dumbest shit. But his bark is worse than his bite—most of the time, at least.

On his worst days, his anger is explosive and it seems like he takes it out exclusively on you. It’s honestly a little ridiculous that you haven’t just asked Tommy to take you off his patrols already, but there’s a part of you that’ll never admit you actually kind of like your dynamic.

Not a lot happens in Jackson—it’s well-protected and even the community drama gets a little stale. Joel might be a dick, but he keeps things interesting, keeps you on your toes.

And it’s hard to ignore the fire in his eyes that makes you think he likes it just as much as you do.

It’s fucking freezing out and you haven’t even left for patrol yet before Joel’s muttering something condescending under his breath. Surprise, surprise—he’s in a bad mood and about to make it your problem. You throw him an unimpressed look over your shoulder, the best you can muster this early in the morning, and continue to saddle your horse.

“You wanna say that a little louder, Miller?”

He looks tired and annoyed and, god, you haven’t been awake nearly long enough for this shit. Today’s going to be trying enough as it is. You were assigned one of the longer routes and the clouds are already dark with the promise of rain or worse.

There are a few other patrol groups nearby gearing up to leave and their preparations suddenly slow, eyes darting between the two of you as if they can sense the impending argument. You barely notice their loitering, the small crowd inching forward to not-so-subtly eavesdrop.

“No, really, I’d love to hear to hear what you have to say,” you taunt him, hands settling on your hips. “Y’know, it’s really not like you to keep things to yourself. You sure you’re feeling alright today, old man?”

“Feelin’ just fine, sweetheart,” he grits through his teeth, rolling his eyes. “Just hurry your ass up so we can get this over and done with. I’m not tryin’ to spend any more time with ya than I have to.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Sweetheart? That’s a new one. It sounded sarcastic as hell and a little patronizing but, still, that’s not something Joel’s ever called you before. Useless and annoying, sure, but never sweetheart.

Your stomach swoops, but you force yourself to ignore it; that’s not even remotely something you want to analyze today.

“Uh, yeah…whatever,” you eye him strangely, and he abruptly looks away, shifting his focus back to checking his saddlebags. It’s like he’s purposefully avoiding your gaze, and it’s weird. He’s acting so fucking weird today.

Sparing him one last glance, you throw a leg over your horse and start toward the gate at a slow trot. You don’t bother waiting for him to catch up.

“What’s our first checkpoint?” you call over your shoulder, but he’s somehow already right behind you, his horse falling in line with yours.

“You should already know that,” Joel sighs, brow furrowed in what you can only assume is irritation. Oh, here it comes—the inevitable lecture. He does this every single time you're on patrol, whether you’ve done something wrong or not. You must’ve really pissed him off if you’re hearing it this early.

Except—he’s not berating you. Instead, he pulls a map out of his backpack. “Alright, look,” he says, leaning in closer so you can see. “This is us right here, and—,” his index finger traces a route from Jackson, winding along a road that passes through a small neighborhood, and lands on your first stop, located a few side streets off a main road, “—we should end up here in about an hour if the weather holds up.”

Nodding, you look up at him. You hadn't realized how close his face had gotten to yours, and your lips part around an involuntary gasp. His eyes drop to your mouth for a second too long before he pulls away, folding up his map and tucking it back into his pack.

You try to convince yourself that you imagined it, that Joel Miller would never intentionally look at your lips like he wants to kiss you, but you can still feel his warm breath on your skin and it’s affecting you more than you want to admit.

This is…not at all like your normal dynamic and it’s throwing you off. Joel hasn’t raised his voice once today and, at most, he’s only made a few snide remarks that weren’t nearly as bad as they usually are.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you breathe out, creating a tiny puff of condensation in the air. “It doesn’t even feel like it's cold enough to snow, anyway. The worst we’ll probably get is some rain and we’ve ridden in way worse than that.”

All you get in response is a low grunt, and then he’s lifting the reins, leading his horse in the direction of your first checkpoint. You sigh. Guess you’re back to square one. You never thought you’d miss your spats, and can’t help but wonder what the hell happened to make him change his behavior so radically.

“Seriously, though, are you okay? You’re, like, really quiet today,” you prod, and his whole body tenses. He turns to you, expression angry, and it sends a shiver down your spine. There he is.

“Didn’t I already fuckin’ tell you I’m fine? What, you suddenly lose the ability to hear or somethin’?” He shakes his head in annoyance, and you’re glad he’s not looking at you anymore because you can’t suppress the grin that spreads across your face.

“This girl, I swear,” you hear him mutter as he trots away.

You don’t say anything to each other for the rest of the ride to the checkpoint. The crumbling attorney's office is basically the same as you remember from the last time you were here. It’s old, obviously, and musty, but it’s stocked with random provisions, like food and ammo, so patrol crews can replenish their supplies before heading out to their next destination.

There’s also a killer view of Jackson from one of the windows, and you get distracted looking out at the lights and mountains in the distance. It’s starting to flurry, so you drop your backpack on the floor and stick both hands out to catch some of the snowflakes in your palms. So much for rain.

“You dilly dallyin’ again? Just sign the logbook already so we can move the fuck on,” Joel’s voice startles you out of your reverie. Huffing, you turn away from the window, looking for the pen that’s supposed to be next to the notebook, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“You know what, asshole, you could’ve just as easily signed the damn thing yourself. You were there too, or are you getting forgetful in your old age?” you shoot back as you hunch down, getting on your hands and knees to search under the desk. You hear him scoff behind you.

You spot the pen towards the back, because of course it rolled that far, and bend down so you can reach out a little farther. Your fingers brush one end and then you’ve got it, sitting back up with your prize in hand. Looking over your shoulder, you just barely catch Joel’s eyes darting away from where you were a moment ago, basically puppy-posing on the floor. That’s…suspicious.

“The fuck? Were you just staring at my ass?” you ask incredulously. There’s no goddamn way. He snorts, arms crossed with an uncharacteristic smirk on his face, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“You wish, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly, and there it is again. That fucking word. So, he’s calling you pet names and staring at your ass now? There’s something seriously off about him today and you want to know what his deal is.

“You wanna tell me why you keep calling me that? You’ve been acting weird as fuck all day and it’s giving me whiplash,” you glower at him, taking a seat at the edge of the desk and forgetting all about the logbook. He shrugs.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” he says simply, and you squint at him.

“Seriously, Joel? You've called me sweetheart twice today and now you’re checking me out,” you hop off the desk and walk over to where he’s leaning against the wall. “If I didn’t know any better…,” you glance down at his lips, moving closer, “I’d say you were flirting with me."

Well, that made him angry. "Fuck you,” he growls in your face, and his lips are soft where they accidentally graze your cupid's bow. He’s trembling now, fists clenched at his sides, and you think he’s about to push you away when he grabs you by the hips and shoves you against the wall. Your head lolls back and you laugh cruelly.

“Yeah, Joel,” you roll your hips into his and he grits his teeth, tightening his grip. “I think that’s exactly what you wanna do.”

But before you can go any further, there’s a crash just outside the door accompanied by a familiar sound that turns your blood to ice.

It’s unmistakable. The clicking, guttural and stuttered, is followed by a high-pitched shriek that echoes throughout the small space, and you both freeze. You look up at Joel, terrified, and he raises a finger to his lips, eyes telling you to be quiet or else.

There’s no way either of you can unholster your guns—and reload, in your case—without alerting it to your position. Joel reaches for the hunting knife strapped to his thigh, and you move to do the same, only to realize it isn't there.

Fuck, it has to be somewhere. Probably in one of the dozen random holsters you have attached to you right now.

Frantic, you pat at your sides and legs—anywhere it could be—as your panicked intakes of breath gradually increase in volume. A hand slaps over your mouth, and suddenly Joel is crushing your body against the wall, halting your movements.

"Quit," he whispers harshly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you nod quickly.

The creature abruptly changes course, jerking toward the open window, and that’s when you notice something familiar by its feet. It's—fuck, it's your backpack. And your knife is gleaming from where it sits, nestled in one of the side pockets.

Stupid, that was so stupid. If, by some miracle, this thing doesn't kill you, there’s no doubt Joel will once he realizes your mistake. His hand drops from your mouth and he glances back over his shoulder at the clicker, gripping his knife a little tighter.

He looks resolute, and it dawns on you that he’s about to make a move. It takes everything you’ve got not to grab onto his coat and pull him back to you as he slowly shifts away, but then something else stops him in his tracks.

Another screech rings out from the other side of the room, and now you know you’re fucked. There’s only one option left now. Either you run, or you get torn apart. He reaches down to take your hand in his, warring emotions of anger and fear in his eyes as he looks into yours, and squeezes; it’s now or never.

The path to the doorway you came through is somehow miraculously clear, and Joel takes off at a sprint, dragging you with him but, to his horror, you decide to do yet another stupid thing.

For reasons you can’t explain, you find yourself ripping your hand out of his, swerving to snatch your backpack from where it lies just a few feet from the clicker.

Joel is yelling, or at least you think he is, and you vaguely feel his blunt nails scratch the back of your hand as he reaches out to stop you, but he can’t. You’re moving on autopilot, can barely register your body moving at all, until your fingertips skim the strap of your pack and the clicker is shrieking in your face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to one before, even dead, and it’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined. The world freezes for a moment and you freeze with it, unable to move or look away from the fungus erupting from its skull, teeth gnashing inches away from your throat.

And then you feel warmth—warm, strong arms wrap around your waist and tug harder and harder until you’re back out in the cold. Joel spots his horse a short distance away, likely spooked by the commotion, but you can’t see much farther than that. What was a gentle flurry less than a half hour ago has become a violent blizzard, and you’re both getting pelted by ice that burns as it scrapes across your skin.

There’s one horse—just Joel’s horse—but there’s no time to think about the fate of your own before his hands are on your hips, lifting you up and into the saddle, and he’s climbing on in front of you.

He urges his horse forward and you’re off without so much as a glance behind you, galloping away from danger and down a street that you realize you actually recognize.

“Joel,” you squeeze his waist and he ignores you. He’s shaking and it’s definitely not just from the cold. You can feel the anger radiating off of him in waves and it’s warranted. You fucked up big time. “Joel, turn right,” you say a little louder, and he’s still not listening. “Turn right! There’s a library up ahead, you have to turn now!”

He growls, and you think he’s purposely going to miss the turn until he’s yanking the reins to the right, nearly throwing you both off the horse.

“You better know what the fuck you’re doin’,” he all but shouts back, and you wrap your arms around his waist a little tighter.

“It’s safe!” you yell, struggling to speak loud enough for him to hear you over the wind. “Ellie’s been there before, loads of times, and she says it’s safe. “

And that’s all it takes to convince him.

The library’s completely boarded up and, with the wind howling against your backs, it takes more than a few hard tugs to yank enough of them off to get inside the lobby with Joel’s horse.

He hands you the reins before moving into the next room, crouching along the rows of aging books and knocked-over bookcases, and you peek in, watching him anxiously. Cracked bricks litter the ground, and he steps over a few as he crouches into place behind a broken book cart.

He picks one up and then shoots you a look, eyebrows lifting pointedly, and you realize he wants you to get back into the lobby, out of sight. You duck behind the wall, placing a soothing hand on his horse right as you hear the sound of the brick shattering against the ground, and wait. A few agonizing seconds pass before you hear him throw one more a little farther out, just to be sure.

When nothing startles or jumps out, Joel whistles and you know that’s your cue to come out from your hiding spot. Normally, that would piss you off immensely, him whistling for you like you’re a fucking animal, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

You’re exhausted now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, and the only thing you want to do is curl up into one of the torn-up chairs in the corner and pass out until morning. But that’s not what Joel has in mind.

“Y’think you’re off the hook for the shit you pulled earlier?”

You sigh, head tipping back and thumping against the bookcase behind you. “Do we have to do this right now? Joel, I’m tired and hungry, and fucking cold, and I really don’t have the energy.”

“Seriously? Sure looked like ya had the energy when you were runnin’ straight into that clicker’s mouth,” he scowls, reaching down to grab something next to the book cart and throwing it at your feet. “Thought ya might want this back since you apparently decided it was worth more than your life.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, eyebrows pinching together. Joel…he—

It's your backpack.

You were so sure it got left behind when he saved you from that clicker and yet, there it is. You lean over to pick it up, but Joel kicks it out of reach before you get the chance. He looks livid and now, you realize, you’re about to get that lecture you dodged earlier tenfold.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me? I'm not the one having an identity crisis! You’ve been nothing but distracting all damn day,” you scoff bitterly. “None of this would've happened if you hadn't had a complete personality makeover overnight.”

You can’t believe he…is he serious? There’s no way you’re taking the fall for this, not all of it. Yeah, you fucked up with the backpack, but Joel isn't entirely blameless, either. If you hadn’t been fighting again, you would’ve just signed the stupid logbook and moved on like you were supposed to.

"Yeah, alright, sweetheart. It's my fault you almost got us both killed. Maybe you’re forgettin’ I saved your goddamn life back there, somethin' I wouldn't have had to do if you hadn't gone and done something so fuckin’ stupid."

Sweetheart.

"Stop calling me that! I…fuck, Joel, I just don't get you. I get it—I know I fucked up, but…,” your voice cracks and you can feel your lower lip wobbling, but you can’t let yourself cry. That would only prove to Joel what he already knows—you’re weak. “I’m sorry, okay? What more do you want from me?”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “You really wanna know what I want from ya?” He crowds your space, leaning in slightly. His head tilts like he's going to kiss you, and your breath hitches. “I want ya to get your shit together and stop makin’ unnecessary mistakes,” he says cruelly instead.

Your jaw drops.

"No, you know what? Fuck this,” you seethe. “When we get back to Jackson, I’m telling Tommy to never put me on your patrols again. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Think I give a shit about that? Go ahead, you’d be doin’ me a favor!” he yells at your back as you storm away, and you flip him off over your shoulder. Behind you, he sighs heavily, sounding as worn out and frustrated as you feel.

What a load of bullshit. You don't deserve to be treated like this. There's a stark difference between the inconsequential arguments you normally have and whatever the hell that was.

And the worst part? It hurts so much more than you expected it to. Leave it to you to get attached to the asshole whose personal mission it is to make you miserable. This whole thing was fun while it lasted, but you meant what you said. You and Joel, it’s over.

You exhale wetly, tears still threatening to fall as you leave him behind in what the yellowing signs tell you is the romance section. Well, isn’t that ironic.

You quickly realize navigating the library in the dark is more difficult than you anticipated, even with your flashlight. Not even ten steps away from where you started, you trip over something protruding from the ground and almost land flat on your face.

Joel comes running over as you let out a frustrated noise and push yourself up onto your knees. His knife is at the ready like he was expecting danger but, no, it’s just you humiliating yourself even further. He lets out a relieved sigh, holstering his knife, but then just stands there glaring down at you.

“I’m fine, by the way,” you wave a hand from the ground. He shakes his head, reaching down to help you up, and his hand feels so nice in yours—big, strong, and calloused.

You curse yourself for still thinking about him like that, like anything at all, but you can't help it. And when his hand drops yours, it feels distinctly cold and empty.

Shaking it off, you aim your flashlight at the offending spot on the floor. “What is that, anyway?” you ask Joel as he crouches down to brush away some of the dirt and debris.

“A handle,” he mumbles, pulling out his knife again and digging it into a crack in the floor, tracing around what looks like…a door?

“Is that a trapdoor?” You lean over his shoulder to get a better look. He looks back at you and nods, looking a little less angry and a lot more concerned. “Well, should we check it out?”

Instead of answering you, he wrenches the door open and shines his flashlight into the opening. There’s a ladder leading down and you can hear something rumbling below that sounds like a generator.

“Stay here,” he eyes you sternly as he begins his descent down the ladder.

“Uh, yeah, that’s not happening,” you scoff, following him. The ladder’s longer than you expected, and once your feet touch the ground, you reach out to run your hands along the wall, searching for a light switch.

A few moments later, your fingers come across something vaguely switch-like and you flip it, a warm glow filling the room, emanating from about a dozen heat lamps hanging from the ceiling. Your eyes adjust and—

“No fucking way.”

Joel is silent beside you, and you glance over, his expression just as stunned as yours is. You step closer. “Is that…?”

“Weed,” he breathes out.

You didn’t mean to get this high. Really, you didn’t. But you're in a fucking grow room hidden beneath a library in some tiny, backwater town, and you almost just died. So really, what reason was there not to?

The blizzard’s still going strong outside and, at the very least, it’s nice and warm down here. There's also the added bonus of something fun to do while you wait it out.

…Yeahhh, so you might’ve found a mason jar full of already rolled joints between some couch cushions, literally just sitting there for the taking. What were you supposed to do? Not smoke them?

But what surprises you even more than the pot itself is that Joel is smoking it, too.

It’s cute how he coughs after every drag, eyes watering as you pass a joint back and forth. The air is thick with smoke and a strange tension that neither of you can really describe, but you’re not fighting anymore. Not yet, at least.

The couch you're sitting on is cozy and less tattered than the chairs upstairs, so you settle there for the night, sitting closer than you ever willingly have before. Enough time has passed that you’re beginning to realize neither of you plans on moving, either. That you’re actually enjoying each other’s company.

The warmth of him seeps pleasantly through your clothes, and he feels so solid and real against you. Unconsciously, you melt into his side, your fuzzy brain chemicals urging you to feel more, more of him, and he tenses only for a moment before lifting an arm to rest behind you on the back of the couch.

It's strange how readily he's accepting your touch now. With each drag, you feel a little braver and press more of your body into his, draping your legs across his lap and nesting your head in the crook of his neck. He goes boneless when you mouth damply at the skin just below his jaw, his throat rumbling under your lips as he lets out a ragged breath.

You’ve both loosened up so much since earlier. It’s an easy, comfortable sort of peace you’ve found down here, even after the horrors you experienced earlier in the day. Part of you wishes it could always be like this with Joel but, then again, that just wouldn’t be you and Joel.

Your relationship thrives on the way you fight, almost like you can’t exist together without the promise of battle. So, when the high wears off and the world feels less lazy and more dire, you’ll both remember with sharp clarity that you hate each other. The memories will fade away and the war will continue. That’s just how it is.

It’s a little sad when you think about it, but for at least a little while longer, you’ll still have this version of you and Joel. You’ll enjoy the way he feels pressed up against your body; the way he feels pliant and suggestible under your lips.

And you’ll ask the question that’s been eating away at you all day because right now, you’re positive your lips can convince him to do anything.

“Tell me why you keep calling me sweetheart,” you murmur against his skin. He freezes, clearly not expecting you to bring it up again. You lift the blunt to his lips and encourage him to inhale to calm his nerves. The smoke plumes from his nose like a dragon as he exhales, and you're enraptured by the way it swirls through the air before dissipating. He braces a hand on your thigh before responding.

"Well, I…uh—," he mumbles, his cheeks turning a deep shade of burgundy, and you can’t resist reaching out to stroke the heated skin with your fingertips. He breathes shakily as he continues, "I—had a dream about ya last night, and…you, uh—you were…"

He cuts himself off, and your mind goes fuzzy for a moment as you let that little bit of information sink in. So, Joel was dreaming about you last night…and now, he’s treating you so much differently. Calling you pet names, eyeing you up, touching you. It all makes sense—but now you need him to tell you everything.

"What was I doing in your dream, Joel?"

He meets your gaze, looking flustered and a little ashamed, and it's a far cry from the man who was yelling at you not even an hour or two ago.

"You, uh," he clears his throat, still hesitating. You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, sucking it wetly into your mouth, and his eyes darken. He lifts a thumb to your mouth, tugging your lip down just slightly, and you can see the moment his apprehension disappears. "You were on your knees for me," he murmurs. "Doin' such a good job, too, workin' that pretty mouth of yours."

You inhale sharply and his thumb drops, but his eyes never leave your lips. Gingerly, you pluck the joint still burning between his fingers and take one last deep drag before flicking the rest to the side and crashing your lips onto his.

God, they feel exactly like you thought they would, soft and a little chapped from the cold, but so fucking eager against yours. You hold his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs along the roughness of his beard, and he groans as you exhale into his mouth, tasting the smoke on your tongue.

Sighing, you lean back slowly, heavy-lidded eyes roving over his face to take in his kiss-swollen lips and that beautiful burgundy flush. He's so pretty, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his thick, graying hair as he pants heavily below you.

You need to feel more of him, all of him, so you climb into his lap, straddling his hips and grinding down against where he's already straining in his pants. He grips you tighter in response, working you steadily across his hardening cock.

"Keep going,” you moan breathily. You're already so wet, and heat blooms in your belly every time your clit grazes the seam of his jeans. It's a foggy, hazy pleasure, what you feel when he speaks, and you're addicted to it. “Keep telling me about your dream—a-about my mouth…I wanna hear more.“

You feel rather than hear him growl low in his throat as he ducks his head down to your neck, sucking and biting bruises into your skin.

“Your mouth…so fuckin’ wet—s-soft and tight around my cock,” he sucks hard under your jaw, and you gasp. “Takin’ me all the way down, like I always knew you could.”

Your breath hitches, eyes rolling back. The thought of him dreaming about his cock down your throat makes your cunt pulse, and now you're positive you're soaking through his pants.

You bet he thinks about it when you're on patrol together, too—that when you're fighting like you've both got something to prove, he's thinking about shutting you up with his cock. Fucking your mouth to show you that what he says goes.

"M-more, Joel…ngh, fuck, I need more," you reach down to shove his shirt up so you can feel him, his stomach flexing and unflexing under your palms. He starts to buck into your clothed pussy faster, like he's fucking you through the fabric, and you whine pathetically as he tugs hard on your hair, yanking your head to the side.

"S’alright, n-needy girl, 'm gonna tell you exactly how I was fuckin' that sweet mouth of yours last night…h-how you were—," he groans raggedly in your ear, voice cracking, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat racing between your legs. "…c-chokin' and gaggin' around my cock while I was cummin' down your throat…"

He keeps giving you what you asked for, tells you all the filthy shit he wants to do to your mouth, and his hips start to stutter like he's bringing himself closer to orgasm with his own words. It would make a lot of sense—Joel's always loved the sound of his own voice, especially when it's directed at you.

But you can’t hear much of anything anymore aside from the sound of your own stuttered moaning, suddenly so, so close to hurtling over the edge with him. You’re sliding so easily over his cock now and you brace your hands on his shoulders as your thighs start to quake around his waist. He digs his fingers into the plush curve of your ass, pulling you down harder, but you squeeze his shoulders roughly to get his attention.

“Y-you—Joel, you can’t cum,” you whine into his neck, and he all but snarls in response. “No…no, no, no. Want you t-to fuck my mouth—you have to cum in my mouth—”

He abruptly yanks you off his lap, shoving you back onto the couch and wrenching your jeans and underwear down in two hard tugs.

You barely have time to let out a squeal before he buries his face in your cunt, honing in on your clit and sucking wetly. He flattens his tongue, circling once, twice, three times, and then you’re cumming with a loud exhale, gushing as you grind into his face.

Your pussy’s still pulsing, locking down around nothing, as you tug him off of you by his hair.

“Joel—jeans..o-off…now.” You help him push them down just enough to free his cock, and then your mouth is on him, sucking him down to the hilt.

His hips buck off the couch of their own accord and he groans pathetically as you gag around him. He’s petting your head and saying something raggedly above you, likely apologizing for hurting you, but it’s drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

Instead of pulling off to reassure him that you very much want him to keep gagging you, you guide his hands to bury themselves in your hair and squeeze his thigh, praying he gets the hint. His fingers tense against your scalp as he holds you in place and, yeah, he absolutely gets it.

Your head feels like it’s disconnecting from the rest of your body as he starts fucking into your mouth the way he was probably dreaming about last night. He’s just so fucking big, and you feel a weird sort of pride bloom in your chest at being able to take him like this.

Tears are streaming down your face from the effort and you’re drooling all over his lap but, fuck, if he wants to do this every time you patrol together, you’ll let him. You take back everything you said before—if Tommy ever takes you off Joel’s patrols, you’ll kill him.

His fingers start to tug harder, painfully at your hair and you can hear him moaning something above you, his words slurred and desperate.

“S-so fuckin’ good, sweetheart, you’re…ngh—fuckin’ perfect,” he grits through his teeth, breath hitching as you wrap your lips tighter around him, flattening your tongue along the underside of his length. “‘m gonna cum…fuck, fuck—need you t-to swallow it all, sweetheart… know you can do it…so goddamn good.”

Humming and swallowing around him, you reach up to cup his balls and he erupts, pumping thick cum into your mouth and down your throat. Deep groans are punched out of his chest with every spurt and you can feel his cock pulsing against your tongue.

There’s so much of it. You try your best to do what he asked, to be good and swallow everything, but it’s starting to leak out the corners of your mouth and down his cock. Slurping up as much as you can, you pull off with an audible pop and lick off the rest of the salty, white streaks remaining on his skin.

When your watery eyes finally meet his, he’s looking at you like maybe he really has been dreaming this whole time. He’s still a little dazed, from both the weed and the intense orgasm, and he reaches out to cradle your face in his hands almost as if to prove to himself that you’re real. It’s a surprisingly tender gesture that kind of makes your heart ache.

Your lips quirk up as you lean into his touch, aching to prolong the moment, and he leans forward to press a sweet kiss to them, mouth coaxing yours open to taste himself on your tongue. You whine softly as his tongue runs along your bottom lip, and then he pulls back, hauling you into his arms to lie back on the couch.

Those heat lamps feel unbearable now. You're both hot and sweating, chests heaving from exertion, but you still refuse to separate from each other. Your brain’s feeling a lot less foggy, so you’re probably coming down from your high, which means Joel is, too. The realization sends a pang of worry through your chest like you expect him to suddenly come to and push you away, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls your back to his chest, positioning your bodies more comfortably before murmuring fondly in your ear, "You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. Maybe you’ll get to keep this after all—and without sacrificing everything that makes you and Joel, well…you and Joel. You twist around to shoot him an unimpressed look, but the burgeoning grin on your face betrays you.

“What, you’re just figuring that out? Took you long enough.”

He scoffs. “Listen, sweetheart—“ But you gasp, cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. No, way. How are you just putting two and two together now?

“Wait…oh my god, wait—is this why you keep calling me sweetheart? Because it's what you called me when I was blowing you in your sex dream?” You’re grinning so hard it hurts. How the fuck didn't you notice that earlier?

There was plenty of time to work it out when you were all but fucking on the couch for the past hour. But then…he didn’t actually start calling you sweetheart until he was cumming, and the realization makes your cunt throb. You file that information away for now, but make a mental note to come back to it later—hopefully back in Jackson with Joel.

…who’s still mumbling irritatedly into your shoulder. You tilt your head back to press your lips under his jaw, and you're quickly learning that kissing that particular spot turns him to jelly.

“You can keep calling me sweetheart,” you start, thinking over your next words carefully. “But I’ve got conditions.”

“Oh, she’s got demands now,” you can hear the dramatic eye roll in his voice. You suck a bruise into his skin to stop the back sass and it works spectacularly.

“Oh, shut up. It benefits you too, asshole,” you glare up at him before continuing. “I want your dick in my mouth every time we patrol from now on. And next time, you have to fuck me.”

His fingers dig into your sides, and you’re pretty sure you just felt his cock twitch against your ass.

“…Y-yeah, I, uh. I can do that,” he stutters, suddenly demure, and it dawns on you how much you like seeing all these different sides of Joel. He’s been mean and angry, shy and tender, and so fucking sexy all in the span of a single day. It's not something you ever would've expected from him.

You used to think he was just some grumpy old man and that his one personality trait was being an obnoxious jerk, but tonight you were proven very, very wrong.

You pull his arms tighter around you, let yourself get lost in the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back, and hum contently. You’ll have to thank Ellie and her weed-grower friend later.

“Y’know, I almost thought you were gonna say no more fighting,” he says after a few seconds of silence. You look up at him incredulously, and he chuckles.

“Nah, where’s the fun in that?”

thanks so much for reading! 🥰

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.

Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince

NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE

That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.

Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~

Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:

~

Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.

Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.

But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.

All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.

As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.

Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.

"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."

Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.

But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"

So this was the famous Arabeth.

"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."

The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.

He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.

"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.

"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"

And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.

It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?

Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"

She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"

"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"

"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"

"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."

"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.

"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"

Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.

Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.

Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?

But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.

It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.

By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.

"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.

"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."

"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.

"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"

Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.

Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.

She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"

"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."

She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"

"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.

"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"

This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.

You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."

But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."

She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"

"No! I'm marrying the prince!"

Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.

"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."

Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."

Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."

"Dad don't-"

"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.

He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."

"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."

"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"

"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.

He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.

Now all he had to do was ask.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #ascended astarion #astarion ancunin #im getting a little meta with these story lines y'all #this mother is half based off my own lol #i was thinking oh gosh am i making him ooc with all of this fluff? #reload my astarion romance save and remember no #the boy really does get down that bad #I literally got the thing in the game where he shits on you SO hard with that prince line so this is cathartic #i have like a fucking marriage/wedding/proposal kink or something man #I hate the reality of it honestly #all of it #but the fantasy has me in it's jaws #chomp chomp #seven more to go! #this one was a little out of my element but like i guess thats the point of the exercise of asks #right?

[rinhaler]

The Root Of The Apple

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Why is Megumi at your parents house warming party? And why is he such a psycho? Daddy issues, of course!

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, panic attack, mental health issues, alcohol consumption, drug taking, bullying, drugging mention, bladder failure mention, marking mention, family drama. 

WORDS : 5.8k

notes : two years years with hindsight i should not have added toji bc i want to fuck him so desperately 😭

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Unlike your hellish few days, Megumi’s were uneventful. After he choked you in the club, he took a cab home. His sister Tsumiki was fussing over him, much to his chagrin. She asked how his night went, if he had a good time, if he kissed any girls. She thought she was hilarious, but Megumi found her to be nothing but a nuisance.

He hates that he was trapped with her until he finishes university, being unable to move out from under her over protective thumb is painful for him. Tsumiki is invasive, irritating, and too God damn happy. And what’s worse, she’s not his real sister. He’ll never think of her as such, to him, Tsumiki is a means to an end.

He hates her. He hates his whole God damn family. But right now, right in this exact moment…

There’s nobody he hates more than you.

While you were still in a drug infused sleep, Megumi’s Wednesday was different. He went on as if everything was normal, he got a ride to university from Tsumiki. It’s rare she has the time to take him since she is usually at work.

He found the entire day dull. It pained him to admit it to himself, but he supposes part of him missed you. He was blissfully unaware of your coma-like state, he smiled into the pencil he was chewing in his mouth as he imagined that you’re terrified to come back to school for fear of seeing him. It gave him a sick sort of power trip, knowing what he’d done to you, what he’s doing to you.

He’s sick.

But it’s okay that he’s sick, because he knows.

He knows he’s fucked up, and everything he’s doing to you is fucked up.

But Christ it’s fun.

Thursday is the same, although he’s grateful he gets to finish the school day earlier. But as he walks through the parking lot, he pauses when he doesn’t see Yuuji’s car in its usual spot. He didn’t think twice about it yesterday.

Of course perfect Yuuji would want to stay home and play the role of the doting boyfriend, protecting you from the big bad bully, wrapping you in cotton wool and shielding you from the world. But today is the second day Yuuji hasn’t been to school.

Megumi would never admit it out loud, but his blood ran cold at the thought that something terrible had happened.

He arrives home, his sister nowhere in sight. Megumi dumped his backpack and sprawled out on the couch. And against every voice in his head telling him not to, his resolve crumbles, and his thumbs involuntarily types your name into Facebook.

He couldn’t see much since you weren’t friends, but he thought he might be able to see if anyone had said something about what happened.

Alas, there was nothing.

He decides to try and put it to the back of his mind.

Within the hour, Tsumiki is home. She begins preparing dinner for the two of them. She waffles on about her boring, mundane workday. She hasn’t even realised that Megumi has his headphones on and is completely tuning her out. An eyebrow quirked on his face when a text came through to his phone.

Nina: Megumi omg baby we are in soooooo much trouble! 😳😟💘xxx

Megumi’s thumbs hover above the keyboard momentarily as he contemplates how he should reply. One thought ran through his mind.

Who the fuck is Nina?

It had to be one of those annoying sluts from his class. But was it the blonde or the redhead? They’re both practically the same save for the hair colour.

He can barely remember which one he fingered; he thinks it’s the blonde.

It had to be her, surely the other one wouldn’t be so bold as to call him baby. He shudders and gags as he thinks of the pet name. The more he debates formulating a reply, he opts to not bother.

Megumi technically didn’t do anything wrong.

Hours pass, it's close to 1am. Tsumiki never normally stays up this late, but she has the day off tomorrow and was enjoying watching movies with Megumi.

Well, she thought they were watching together.

Megumi is just in the room playing on his phone, pretending she didn’t exist, as usual. Just as he was about to go upstairs, the siblings both startle at the sound of an ominously loud knock. Tsumiki looks at him, as if to ask if he was expecting anyone. He shakes his head in response, so she gets up and looks through the peep hole.

She gasps, and opens the door quickly after she’d spotted who was outside.

Megumi isn’t ashamed to admit that his stomach drops when he realises the police are at his door. And the disappointed look in Tsumiki’s eyes as she hears them ask if Megumi Fushiguro is home make his insides churn. She welcomes them in, clearing space for them to sit on the sofa.

Megumi sits down next to her, she wraps an unwelcome arm around him, a sign of solidarity.

“There’s been a serious allegation made against you Megumi.” one of the officers speaks. Megumi hears his sister’s breath hitch, but he clears his throat and tries to remain calm.

“In regard to what? I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” he answers simply. The officers look at each other quickly before giving him their attention once again, as if they’ve already decided he's guilty.

“A classmate of yours has accused you and two others of drugging her in the early hours of Wednesday morning. Do you know anything about that?” the policeman asks. Megumi does his best to stay composed, shaking his head in response.

“Megumi would never—”

“Please don’t interrupted miss.” the other policeman speaks. Tsumiki bites her tongue as she sinks back in her seat. His attention focuses back on Megumi before he starts flipping through a notebook. “This young woman was in a terrible state. I won’t go into too many details, but she was publicly humiliated and has been unconscious for the last two days.” he explains. Megumi’s jaw bubbles as he tried to supress his emotions, Tsumiki’s hands cover her mouth in horror as her ears digest the information. She leans forwards timidly, as if to ask permission to speak.

“I- sorry, what do you mean by publicly humiliated?” she wonders.

The officer clears his throat, unsure whether he should say. The other nods, wanting to fill them in. Megumi knew their little game. They think if they tug at his heartstrings and make him feel guilty, his emotions will give him away. He didn’t know what happened after he left; he told the girls that the drug will be enough to make her embarrass herself.

“When she was discovered on the bathroom floor in the club, we were informed that she had urinated and vomited on herself on account of the drugging.” they explain.

Megumi has to do everything in his power to supress his laughter.

He knew you’d find a way to make a fool of yourself when it was in your system, but that really cut the cake.

“That’s awful.” Tsumiki says softly.

“As well as that,” the officer speaks again, commanding the sibling’s attention, “the t-shirt she’d worn that night appeared to be cut open with a pair of scissors. We could tell from the CCTV from the night of the incident that someone had written the word 'bitch' across her body. According to the woman’s partner it was written in lipstick.” he tells them.

Megumi managed to keep composed, although he was seething. Those idiot incompetent girls could be the undoing of him. He specifically told them that they had nothing else to do other than slip the pill in your drink. Their petty jealousy had clearly gotten the better of them, and it could fuck them all up well and truly.

Tsumiki gasps when she hears the final sentence from the officer. She assures them that Megumi could never do anything so horrible. They look at him, and he knew he had to speak.

“I don’t know anything about that. I left earlier than most, I got a cab. My sister was awake when I got back, and I’m sure the CCTV can prove that I wasn’t there.” he tells them calmly.

“How do you know you were gone before it happened?” the officer asks, feeling clever, feeling like he trapped Megumi in a lie.

“Because you said it was the early hours of Wednesday morning. I had left the club by 11:30pm, like I said, the CCTV will be able to prove I left early. This incident has nothing to do with me,” Megumi stands to his feet, knowing he’s won and has no interest in carrying on the discussion anymore. The policemen knew as well as he did that it was your word against his, he feels untouchable. “Whoever she is, I hope you can get some justice for her.” he tells them, smugly. His sister beams up at him with so much pride. Her little brother is so good, so respectable, he’s perfect in her eyes.

If only she knew.

She shows the men out of their home, requesting he get in touch if he remembers anything that might help their case. Megumi finally retreats to the safety of his bedroom, feeling cocky and proud of himself for slithering his way through your feeble attempt to get him arrested. He feels like a god. He feels invincible. An electric excitement jolts through him as he wonders when he might see you next.

What he can do to you next.

Friday brings another uneventful day, he really fucking misses you.

It sounds more romantic than it is.

Maybe it is, in some twisted way, treat them mean to keep them keen.

And he is downright vile to you. He doesn’t feel anything but pure unadulterated hatred for you. You’re too fucking nice, like his sister. No one is that nice. The way you felt compelled to compliment his art whenever you had the audacity to lean over and observe his sketchbook. And every time you did it, it was pictures of him. He thinks he hates you the most. And then when he remembers that man, that scumbag, he takes first place. If you could have just shut your fucking mouth, if you didn’t feel so compelled to start talking about those pictures of him, maybe you wouldn’t be paying the price now.

Megumi arrives home from his boring school day and kicks the door shut behind him with his foot. He's furious. The combination of his hatred for you and his father is too much. All he wants to do is go to his room, get changed and head outside for a few hours to clear his head. But when Tsumiki stops him from going to his room, he just about bites her head off.

“What?!” he barks. The volume makes her jump, but she simply smiles as she prepares to speak.

“Dad called.” she told him.

“My dad. Don’t say dad as if he’s your dad too. What did he want?” he moans at her. Her smile pulls downwards into a frown at his rude and hurtful words. She was about to answer him again, but before she can she's interrupted by the creaking of stairs. The siblings look to the source, and Megumi’s blood boils at the sight.

“That’s no way to talk to your sister.” Toji speaks. He’s just showered. He's wearing some grey joggers and his chest is bare, he's in the middle of the process of pulling a shirt over his head. His shirt clung to his water-soaked body in all of the right places, it's almost a little pornographic considering how innocent of an act it was.

His children almost didn’t want to look at him because it's so unintentionally erotic. Although Megumi doesn’t like to look at him anyway. “It’s been a while son. You don’t mind if I take him for a drive do you Tsumiki? Got some things I wanna talk to ‘im about.” Toji smiles at the young woman who nods enthusiastically.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Megumi spits.

“I wasn’t fuckin’ askin’ so get your scrawny ass in the car and stop bitchin’ at me.” Toji commands, walking ahead and leaving through the front door.

What Megumi hates most about Toji is no matter how much he hates him, how much he knows he’ll never change, he still – for some unknown reason – craves his approval. He knew his son would follow him through the door, that’s why he didn’t wait for him to start moving his feet. Because within seconds, Megumi is following him through that very same front door.

The silence in the car is deafening.

Toji is feeling the need to drag out whatever it is he wants to discuss, and Megumi has absolutely no desire to make idle chit-chat with his piece of shit father. The new car doesn’t go unnoticed. Megumi can feel his blood bubbling with rage through his veins.

When Megumi’s mother died, Toji went off the rails and he brought Megumi right along with him.

He was a downright mess. He drank, he did drugs, anything to forget. And Megumi didn’t understand. All he knew was that he lost his mother, and his daddy wasn’t his daddy anymore.

Toji could barely stomach looking at him, he reminded him too much of his dead wife. Although he found a new wife to go off the rails with, and that’s how Tsumiki entered the fray.

They were both terrible for each other and they fed off each other’s toxicity. Megumi couldn’t bear to look at his father without reliving his trauma, his unresolved resentment coursing through his fragile skin.

He understood that his father was hurting, but he was too. He lost his mother. And instead of taking care of his son, being there for him, helping him heal. He found a new wife, narcotics, and shady ways of making money. That was more important than being a dad, apparently, and this new car, his new set of wheels that reeked of money and sin, makes his body fail him.

Megumi isn’t sad. He's never sad. What he's feeling right now, some may call a broken heart. But not him. To Megumi, the way his heart feels being in such close proximity to his father is different.

It didn’t feel broken. It feels shredded.

It feels like it has been wrapped in barbed wire, and when he was near this pathetic excuse of a human being it did all it could to bulge out of its piercing prison. Chunks escaped, sure, but they were destroyed. The rest of his heart is stained, bruised and pouring blood. He couldn’t bear it.

Megumi couldn’t bear it.

“Let me out,” Megumi speaks, his breathing intensifying. His chest rising and falling rapidly.

“What? Kid, stop bein’ a bra—”

“Dad! Stop the car!” he screams. He stares at his father, begging him to listen to him.

When Toji looks over to where his son is seated, he doesn’t recognise who he's looking at. Snot and tears dribble down his face. His eyes are puffy and red, totally bloodshot. His white irises cracked with red uncomfortable veins that made Toji’s heart stop for a brief second.

This isn’t Megumi. Megumi doesn’t get like this, he’s never seen him like this. But what has Toji seen him like? He’s seen gloomy, stoic Megumi.

That’s all he sees on his fleeting visits.

Toji pulls the car over and Megumi scarpers out as quickly as he can. Toji takes his time turning off the car, finding a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment before stepping out to tend to his child. He approaches him slowly. Wallet, phone and keys all rested skilfully in one hand.

Megumi doubles over, clear vomit evading the pit of his stomach. Toji grimaces at the sight, what the hell was wrong with him? His son is trembling, still. When he isn’t vomiting he's taking in sharp, heavy breaths, he almost sounds like he's screaming.

The desperation in his inhales are so eerie, like someone dragging a sharp knife down a windowpane.

Megumi is disgusted with himself.

It's all too much for him, reminiscing on his childhood and the closure he’d never get. The fact that his father thinks he’s allowed to pop into his life if and when he chooses.

He expects Megumi to drop everything and anything he’s doing to spend time with him and do as he’s told.

And the worst part? He does it.

He fights him every step of the way, but still, he does it.

Why does he do it? He hates him. Toji knows he hates him, too. Every conversation they have is surface level toleration or a heated argument. But Toji knows, no matter what, Megumi wants to please his father. Because he left him to fend for himself, he left him without a friend in the world. So, whenever Megumi gets the chance, he wants to prove himself to his father.

That’s why.

Megumi needs his father’s approval.

“The fuck’s wrong with you kid? Panic attack?” Toji questions as he towers above his son.

Megumi collapses onto his backside, mouth agape as he manages to calm himself down. He wants to rip his dad’s throat out for talking to him like that. But he doesn’t have the energy. He just can’t.

“Shut up, Toji.” he commands, making his father roll his eyes. An act of petty defiance, to call him by his name instead of dad. It doesn’t bother Toji, he couldn’t care less. He knows he’s a shit dad, he didn’t sign up for it anyway. He doesn’t care, he probably never will.

“Get up, there’s a coffee shop over there I’ll get you some water.” he tells him, hoping the offer will be enough to entice him off the ground.

Megumi blanks him though, still focusing on his breathing and trying to coax himself into feeling better so he can go home. Toji isn’t a man who likes to be ignored, Megumi is lucky he’s his kid right now. Anyone else would be in for a world of hurt.

But instead, Toji slowly raises his foot off the ground. He inches his dirty dust clad shoe closer to his boy’s face. Megumi side eyes the muddy soled loafer, piercing green eyes threatening him to back off.

However, Megumi forgets who he inherited those intimidating emerald orbs from.

Toji doesn’t take lightly to threats, and he hasn’t gotten where he is by being frightened by a simple look. His filthy shoe is millimetres from Megumi’s face, “I said get up kid.” and with Megumi ignoring him yet again, Toji has to make good on his threat. He gently kicks the bottom of his foot into his son’s face. Megumi grabs his ankle and pushes him away, springing to his feet soon after to ball his fists in his dad’s shirt.

“Why the fuck are you here now? What do you want? You only come when you want something so out with it.” Megumi hisses, his face mere inches from his dad’s. Toji raises his hand in surrender with that signature shit-eating grin on his face. But Megumi’s fists grasp harder, for the first time in his life he feels strong. Stronger than him. He shoves him backwards and pins him against the car. “What do you want Toji?!”

Toji, however, is over this little game. Megumi never has been, and never will be, stronger than him. He’d never hurt his son. He does love him, in his own fucked up way. He’s his after all. But he doesn’t love him enough to let him disrespect him in his quest for validation and superiority. He grabs his junior by the base of the neck, removing his sunglasses and peering intensely into his child’s eyes. Fear shudders through Megumi, and he lets go. But Toji doesn’t.

“Get in the fuckin’ car. Dumbass. I’ll go get you a drink,” and with that he releases Megumi from his grip, crossing the road seamlessly. Commanding the traffic around him to stop as he approaches the coffee shop.

Megumi gets into the car. It’s hot. Fuck, it’s hot. His breathing is intensifying again. He hastily removes his jacket with shaky hands.

His father has only been gone for a few minutes, but his gaze is flitting between the windscreen window and the coffee shop. He balls his jacket up and shoves his face into it, screaming all of the air in his lungs out into the material. He just screams. It feels like he can’t stop, the oxygen will never be out of him.

He needs it out, he needs to breathe out this day, this experience.

But he can’t.

It’s lingering in his lungs, itching away at him. Little spindly legs crawling around inside of him like spiders, biting and tapping inside of him searching for a way out.

There’s no way out. He can’t breathe. He wants to rip his fucking heart out and let his dad drive and reverse over it until it’s unrecognisable.

His head drops between his knees, his hands interlocking behind his head trapping tufts of his unruly onyx locks.

He startles a little when his father opens the car door and sits behind the wheel. Toji could swear he saw him jump a little again when he slams the door shut behind him.

“Here,” his dad speaks, holding two bottles out to him. Megumi peers up to see them. One is water, and the other is a chilled glass bottle of beer. Why did he get him this? “Might steady yer fuckin’ nerves. What happened to you? Never seen y’like this before,” Toji states, not expecting a direct answer from Megumi, but daring to ask anyway.

Megumi twists the plastic cap off his water bottle. He doesn’t sip, he gulps. And he gulped, and gulped, and gulped, until the plastic bottle was contorting and creasing as he sucked the air out and his heavy fist gripped tighter around the soft material. Toji offers a teasing ‘think ya got it’ hoping it would make Megumi give up trying to get the last lingering droplets out of the plastic container.

He was right, he did get it.

It just isn’t enough. It does nothing to drown that unbearable itch inside of him. So, he slouched back in his seat, at least a little calmer for having something else to focus on.

“I’m fucked up.”

And he laughs.

It's manic. If you could see him now, God if you could see what a pathetic miserable shell he is right now.

It’s symbolic really, how insanely he’s laughing. You’d actually see a similarity between the two of you. He was almost laughing as insanely as you had been as you destroyed his artwork, probably more so.

He's unhinged. And for the first time in his life, he thinks Toji is scared. His face hurts from the way his cheeks are pulling as he laughs. If he was normal, his stomach would be aching. Because that’s what is meant to happen when people laugh. Right? When people truly laugh at something, you feel it in your belly. But fuck, Megumi isn’t normal.

He’s breaking apart.

Toji grabs his shoulder, and in an instant the laughter stops. Megumi’s face turns, his eyes snap to find his father’s matching ones. His smile is gone, but his eyebrow quivers as he studies his father’s features.

“Oh, fuck, scared you huh?” Megumi asks. Toji scoffs and lets go of him, starting the car up to drive away instead. But before he does, he takes his sons beer bottle between his teeth and bites the lid off. He spits it down on the floor of his car beneath him and gives it to Megumi. And Megumi drinks it, seeming to enjoy the taste.

That’s doing it.

That’s drowning his demons.

His attention is back on Toji as he’s driving.

And looking at him now, that is the father he knows.

He’s just driving as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like his son hasn’t just totally snapped before his very eyes. He’s snapped already, so why not push him a little more. Megumi punches his arm, causing Toji’s steering to waver.

“Stupid little idiot, fucks wrong with you? Don’t fuckin’ touch me while I’m drivin’.” he barks at his son. But he doesn’t stop. He punches him again, again and again. He slams harshly on the breaks, engulfing his sons whole face in one fist. He smothers his face and forcefully pushes him back into the passenger side door. “Hey! Did I fuckin’ stutter?”

“Did I fuckin’ scare you dad? You looked a little concerned you piece of shit! Ya fuckin’ deadbeat…” Megumi yells, fighting back the tears that were building, slithering behind his eyes threatening to spill at any moment.

“Pfft. Grow up Megumi. You’re not fifteen anymore,”

“Yeah, I was fucked up then never mind now.” Megumi spits at him.

“God, shut up.” Toji seethes as he softly slaps Megumi on the side of his face, pointing to the tip of his nose, demanding his attention. “You’re not fucked up. You’re fine. Y’think everyone doesn’t get like this? Y’think I never get like this? I wanna rip my fuckin’ skin off when I think about how fucked everything is for too long.” he tells his son sternly, trying to be calm but firm with him.

“You—” Megumi manages to croak out before Toji interrupts.

“Yeah, me. I fuckin’ left you. Never said sorry did I? Would you believe me if I said I was sorry? I don’t know if I am kid, that’s the problem. Had to fuckin’ split, couldn’t handle it. But if it helps, sure. I’m sorry. It was fucked.” Toji tells him.

Megumi is in awe.

This is the most they’d ever talked in their lives. Everything they discuss is surface level pleasantries that are meaningless. And he apologised. He can’t apologise. He’s said the word sorry but the itch is still there. He doesn’t mean it, he said himself he doesn’t mean it. This can’t be it, this can’t be everything Megumi has been waiting to hear to fix him. Anger and resentment he’s clung onto for so long, dying as he awaited the moment he’d finally get an apology or an explanation.

And this was it.

This was all he’d waited for, and it wasn’t good enough. It’ll never be good enough. He’s going to be stuck with this itch for the rest of his life.

“Are you kidding me? You think that’s good enough?” Megumi questions, fists balled as he argues with himself whether to punch Toji again. “I’m sorry, but I’m not really sorry because I had too. Huh, asshole? You really think that’s good enough?!” Megumi bellows, lip quivering as he clenches his teeth together.

“Don’tcha get it? Idiot. Nothing I say’ll ever be good enough. I fuckin’ left you alone after your mother died. Whether I mean it or not, it won’t stop fuckin’ hurtin’ kid. You got more than I ever did. The Zen’in used to lock me up and beat the shit out of me.” he angles the right side of his face and points to the scar on his lip, “they gave me this for the pleasure, think I ever got a fuckin’ sorry? No. Fake or sincere, nothin’. Think holdin’ a grudge is gonna fix anything?”

Megumi has been vibrating with anger the entire conversation.

All he wants to do was smash the glass of beer he has and stab the jagged shards into Toji’s neck. He's furious.

There is some truth to his words, sure, but he's so fucking casual. Like Megumi is meant to take everything he's saying as gospel, accepting it as absolute truth and living his life by them from now on.

He’s been vibrating with anger through the entire conversation, until he thought of you. He can’t smile; but his clenching jaw relaxes when visions of you enter his mind.

It's just as well, Toji thinks if he clenched any harder his son’s teeth would smash to pieces. It was something Toji said that made him think of you.

Think holdin’ a grudge is gonna fix anything?

No. But it helps. He’s sure you’d have the same thought process as Toji, you’d be desperate to end the vendetta Megumi has against you. But if he didn’t hate his father, if he didn’t hate you, how else would he cope?

How else would he control the itch?

Megumi allows his body to go limp, looking over to Toji with a side-eye glance. He huffs, allowing his chest to rise and fall in one heavy dramatic breath.

“What do you want, dad?”

Toji kisses his teeth, contemplating how to speak. How to ask. But Megumi has honestly had enough of fucking around today, dancing around subjects and rowing with each other. He just wants to know, and that is something Toji could plainly see in his son’s defeated body. So, he comes right out and says it, not wanting to beat around the bush.

“Tomorrow,” he begins, looking around at everything in the car other than his son. But his gaze settles, their emerald eyes meeting once again. “There’s a big shindig, all of the Zen’in are goin’. You need to be there.”

And that’s how Megumi found himself in a town car on his way to your parent’s new manor home.

Toji didn’t offer him a ride, of course.

Megumi suspects his father will be feeling uncomfortable after their argument yesterday, but in reality Toji is having a good parenting moment. He felt it necessary to give his son some space to cool down after their heated conversation.

The closer the car got to the ridiculously enormous manor; butterflies joined the itching in the pit of Megumi’s stomach. He tries to clear his throat and take deep breaths, but it wasn’t helping.

He fishes around in his inside jacket pockets. He pulls out a mirror from the right pocket and a baggie of cocaine and a razor from the other.

The car slows as it pulls into the gates, manoeuvring around the intricate landscaping. He takes the opportunity to make a white powdery line atop the mirror resting on his lap. He doesn’t care what the driver thinks of him, he’s sure Toji does the same if not worse whenever he's in here.

He snorts it, slowly. It’s been a while since he’s let this be a vice of his.

Megumi isn’t stupid, no, he’s careful. He will be careful with his vices. But when the car stops below the staircase that lead to the daunting double doors, he sags back into the plush leather seats of the car.

“D’ya mind if I just wait here for a minute?” Megumi asks, the man shakes his head, much to Megumi’s delight.

It’s been a while since he’s been to a Zen’in get together. When he and Tsumiki moved away, he managed to avoid them and Toji like the plague.

It's harrowing, really, that he had to walk into a strangers home, alone. To see a family who did nothing but chastise and disapprove. A family he barely knew but still felt it necessary to try and control aspects of his life and look down on each and every little thing he did.

But he relaxes. He wipes his nose of the white dust and takes a deep breath. He gets out of the car, slamming it aggressively behind him. He ascended the stairs. Breathing shallow breaths as he prepares himself for the hell he's about to endure.

He rests his finger on the doorbell, he can’t seem to take his finger off it. Air is knocked from his lungs when the door opens, almost being ripped from its hinges.

What the fuck are you two doing here?

He can’t help but stare, completely in awe at the sight. You’re looking at him differently, like you know him. Like you’ve had a look into the window of his damaged soul.

What the fuck are you staring at?

Megumi clears his throat, and you're staring soon turns to dismay, irritation. Megumi thinks you’re just processing what is happening, the unlikely coincidence of it all.

Are you still scared of him?

Terrified of what he’ll do to you?

Or are you safe now, because dear old Yuji is here?

Megumi takes in the sight of both of you, but drinks up the vision of you. He can’t believe it. You’re really here. He opens his mouth, smiling sadistically, knowing whatever he does will get a reaction out of you.

“Well well, what do we have here?” Megumi questions, crossing his arms across his chest as he waits for a response.

Yuuji looks feral, like he wants to skin him alive. It’s sad, really, that his best friend has let a useless cunt come between them. Megumi won’t disown him, but he knows Yuuji won’t claim him as his friend anymore. He’ll always be Megumi’s. Yuuji pulls your hand to bring you closer to his body. He’s sure Yuuji can feel you shaking like a frightened lamb against him, because even from this distance, Megumi can see it.

“Get out of the way Fushiguro,” Yuuji demands, holding your body as tightly as he can to give you the feeling of safety you’re so desperate for.

But of course, Megumi doesn’t move.

He doesn’t sidestep to allow you past.

He just stares. And Yuuji’s temper flares when he stops staring at you both, but through you. Because a dastardly grin stretches across Megumi’s pretty face.

While Yuuji is staring, shaking and furious, while you’re trembling, terrified and on the brink of tears, he sees who he can only assume are the owners of the house, who he can only assume are your parents, are walking through the foyer and approaching you. It’s like he’s watching a movie in slow motion. And it just gets better when his own dad lollygags behind them, leaning on a doorframe further down the hall as he watches your mother and father chase after you.

Megumi knows you’re not going anywhere.

Megumi knows your parents will beg, plead for you to stay. What will people say if you leave the party earlier? They’ll be the talk of high society. A simple, elegant party couldn’t go off without a hitch because their selfish daughter ruined it all.

No.

That’s not you.

The few brief days he’s known you, something he can see about you is clear. You, perfect, sweet girl, are a people pleaser.

Megumi’s smiling. And he’s smiling hard.

Because you aren’t going anywhere.

© 2021 fuwushiguro | © 2023 fuwushiguro

#megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #megumi angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #fushiguro megumi angst #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji #itadori yuji #yuuji smut #yuuji itadori smut #yuuji x reader #yuuji x you #yuuji x y/n #itadori yuuji smut #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori x you #tw bullying #bully megumi #tw panic attack #tw drug use

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Round 4

Joan Watson

How were BBC Sherlock shippers so rancid about a WOMAN who wasnt even in the SAME SHOW?????

Martin Freeman of BBC Sherlock insulted Elementary and specifically Lucy Liu in the press. He straight up called Lucy Liu a "dog" in an interview APPARENTLY as a joke, because calling female actors ugly is hilarious. Benedict Cumberbatch was more measured about it, but he still said he was cynical about Elementary because it would lose the "male friendship" dynamic, which of course Johnlock shippers used against Joan Watson fans. Even the lead BBC Sherlock actors got in on the yaoi victimization of Joan Watson... 😔

she wasn't even in the same SHOW as the yaoi I've been convinced she deserves to win the entire poll. I was a Johnlocker but I did watch the first season of Elementary and it was fine????? It was totally okay????? Especially in hindsight given how hard Sherlock season four flopped. Also Lucy Liu is a queen and deserved zero vitriol for *checks notes* playing a character???? A fucking fictional character???????? Oh my god we were all SO mean to this show and we (or at least I) thought it was like The Good Fight™️, like we were defending BBC Sherlock against copyright infringement and straightwashing and Jonny Lee Miller's bizarre scarf, (it wasn't a good scarf I do stand by that) but then Elementary didn't make Holmes and Watson a couple either???? And also it didn't insult its audience constantly etc etc we've all seen the Hbomberguy Sherlock is Garbage video. This is really long sorry hashtag justice for Joan Watson.

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime.

#round 4 #poll #joan watson #cbs elementary #elementary #misa amane #misa misa #death note

[nico-di-genova]

i come to your inbox with Heavily Researched News™ (i listened to off track and did some quick googling) containing info for your 'a lesson in braking' alex.

so, in 2022 there was a huge prank pulled on conor daly on day one of the indy500 (dubbed Beadgate), where someone filled his hot tub with what he estimated was 400,000 orbeez. his top list of suspects were josef newgarden, callum ilott, tony kanaan, colton herta, kyle kirkwood and scott mclaughlin.

in hindsight, daly thought he'd heard some noise outside his trailer

'there was a lot of guilty faces in the paddock this morning, and i can’t figure out which one is the culprit,' daly said. 'it’s a tough scene. i think the primary suspects are the dads of the indycar community, too, because apparently children like to fill up these little fake guns with water balls and shoot them at people.'

newgarden called daly that night 'in a very scared manner' to try to convince daly that he wasn't guilty of the prank. daly suspected callum of being involved 'cause he was hanging out with him a lot as he was looking for the culprit and wondered if callum is keeping himself close to the situation to throw daly off.

callum meanwhile, claimed he’s innocent because he wasn’t prepared for the shenanigans to ensue so quickly. (but as a rookie, he was fully prepared for being pranked himself and had bought supplies to retaliate if that was the case)

ilott said that it was a genius and clever prank and wondered why daly was considering him a prime suspect and why alexander rossi wasn’t being considered at all.

kirkwood said he spent $40 on chlorine and test tubes to keep the hot tub running properly so why would he ruin it?

marco andretti also wondered why nobody was considering rossi, as well as james hinchcliffe.

'I’m so busy worrying about my race car right now, but it is funny to look at on social media,' andretti said. 'hinch has some time on his hands. rossi is always a culprit, isn’t he?'

but rossi claimed to have an alibi 'cause he and hinch was with daly as it happened on monday night, so he couldn't have done it... right?

wrong. guess what?? turns out he really should have listened to callum and andretti 'cause it very much was alex (with the help of sage karam) who filled daly's hot tub with 1.76 million orbeez (which cost him 483 dollars which was almost as much as the hot tub itself btw). he just didn't do it on monday night, he did it on tuesday morning.

and this is how he confessed:

daly's reaction to finding out btw:

and alex explained it all in detail on the 'off track' (don't know which episode, i watched the youtube clip titled 'the hot tub prank') where he claimed to have done legitimate research into how many orbeez it would take to fill a 242 gallon portable hot tub (which is apparently how large daly's hot tub is), which honestly? very believeable to me.

the cherry on top of it all? the way daly found out about the prank to begin with. 'cause daly had guests over and he wanted to show them his brand new hot tub.... cue him lifting the lid on the hot tub and finding 1.75 million orbeez instead of water.

and the reason behind this hilarious prank??? daly did this to rossi TWO YEARS EARLIER in 2020:

so essentially, when it comes to pranking alexander rossi? fuck around and find out.

…so when I said alib Alex breaking the water pump in the fountain at school…where he dumped a fuck ton of soap in there senior year…after researching which brand of soap would produce the most bubbles…I was actually underestimating the lengths he would go to?

Jasmine honest to god this is the best possible Alexander lore dump you could have given me. I am absolutely in tears. What the actual FUCK goes on in his brain??? He plotted, he planned, he did THE MATH to figure out how many fucking orbeez he would need to fill this thing? Because…the wheels were taken off his golf cart TWO YEARS PRIOR??!!

He’s so insane, he’s so absolutely crazy insane. Nearly $500 on orbeez beads…I love him. I opened this ask with absolutely no idea where tf it was going and now I am sitting here laughing so hard I am actually in tears. I can’t get over the image of him researching this. He absolutely was not fucking around.

And not only did he own up to it, he shows the actual receipts. My respect for his commitment is through the roof rn. When people say race car drivers are competitive this is actually what they mean. I am now also a little scared of him and his unwavering resolve to finish what is started.

What I’ve gathered from this is you should probably never engage in a prank war with Alexander Rossi. It is a guaranteed loss and he will decimate you to the point that you are preparing to proudly show off your brand new possession, only to find it has been broken by toxic water balls.

#the way I burst out laughing upon reading this and just haven’t stopped #what the fuck Jas????? #I love you for sending this and I love him for being crazy #I can’t stop crying this is so fucking funny #alexander rossi #alex lore #indycar

[gabessquishytum]

The black widow/sugar daddy ask has me obsessed, but I can’t help but make it a little silly (and of course lean into the Addams Family Gomez/Morticia vibes dreamling definitely has 😁)

So, Dream is a black widow, and his latest target is Hob Gadling, who was ridiculously easy to wrap around his finger. He practically worships the ground Dream walks on from minute one, without Dream having to do much at all. The meet to marry time is a new record for Dream, and he’s kind of enjoying himself. But alas, the wedding is done, the will rewritten in his favor, and all good things must come to an end.

Except Hob just…keeps not dying. He’s not noticing the traps and avoiding them, he blindly walks into them, but somehow they never manage to kill him or even incapacitate him.

He eats or drinks something poisoned and just compliments the interesting flavors. Tripping or pushing him down the stairs or out a window has him laughing at his own clumsiness as he stands and brushes himself off, nothing broken or bleeding or even bruised. Dropping something heavy on him has Hob gently teasing Dream for his clumsiness, with not even a concussion to show for it. Ropes and knives somehow get Hob excited and thinking that Dream is introducing some new games to the bedroom. At one point out of desperation Dream sits on Hob’s face in the hopes of suffocating him to death, and ends up passing out from too many orgasms instead (in hindsight not his brightest idea, trying to beat the king of oral sex at his own game).

Nothing works. Hob Gadling just refuses to die. And through it all he never stops lavishing Dream with gifts and attention, spoiling him rotten and treating him to the best sex he’s ever had, always with the mindset that Dream deserves it all.

Dream is enraged. Dream is fascinated. Dream is seriously considering for the first time in his career just staying in this marriage (apart from the whole not-dying thing, which offends his professional pride, he really has no complaints about his life with Hob, which he doesn’t know how to feel about)

-🪽anon

Oh this is rather wonderful!! I've been really enjoying thinking about this concept and it's really interesting to explore more of Dream’s deadly assassin side!!

I'm chuckling over the idea of Hob’s inability to die. It's hilarious. The ways that Dream tries to kill his husband become increasingly deranged. Crossbow (Hob apologises for getting in the way of the shot and pulls the bolt out of his own thigh). Drowning (Hob fucking FLOATS). Setting starving dogs on him (Hob ends up in a pile of cuddly, drooling doggos, grinning and thanking Dream for a wonderful surprise!). Its getting ridiculous. Dream’s reputation is on the line and his stupid, gorgeous, beloved husband won't die!!

And yes, of course Dream has managed to fall in love with Hob. It makes the whole thing even harder.

Finally Dream breaks down and admits the whole thing to Hob who... laughs a little. And admits that he knew. He isn't quite sure how he's managed not to die? Good luck maybe? Or maybe it's that Dream isn't really trying that hard?

Dream bristles and How Dare You's him, but Hob dips him, kisses him, and shuts him up. Hob’s leg slides between Dream’s and rubs against him and he whispers that it's ok. He's actually really really into the whole thing. He'd be honoured if Dream would continue "trying" to kill him. In the meantime he'll keep being a devoted husband and giving Dream the best sex he'll ever have.

Maybe eventually Dream will finally finish him off by sucking his life out through his cock. Now seems a pretty good time to try, anyway, and Dream is only too happy to slide to his knees. Hob really is exactly what he deserves.

#🪽anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[tismrot]

If I was an immortal, celestial being having witnessed 6000 years of unhappy marriages, breakups, exes being horrible and such, I would have qualms about going into a relationship.

I have at least two people I was certain were the love of my life - hindsight makes that look both hilarious and sad, as the only thing I have left from those relationships is trauma. No lingering positive feelings, no yearning, no what ifs or eternal waiting. Nobody will write poetry about these relationships, but there are police reports with exhaustive descriptions.

Love isn’t always forever. No matter how much you love someone today, no matter how certain you are that you found happiness and safety and that someone who gets you no matter what, you might look back in five years and think “what the fuck? Why did I even like that person?”

Eating an ox rib won’t give you heartbreak. Drinking wine might even cure it, temporarily - which is why Crowley drinks, probably. But a relationship? After seeing what happens to 99% of them? Best you can hope for in the best type of relationship is dying not too far apart, and these guys won’t even die. They have all the time in the universe to fuck up and start hating each other instead.

Perhaps some of Crowley and Aziraphale’s inability to get their shid sorded is because they see how messy humans are, and doing what humans do is scary?

#crowley #good omens fandom #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens 2 #ineffable spouses #innefable husbands #crowley edits #ineffable divorce #ineffable husbands #good omens theory

[gay-jesus-probably]

What was your 9/11 sona

God, I wish I remembered. Unfortunately, while the whole mess is absolutely hilarious in hindsight, back in the day I just thought it was incredibly tasteless and an insult to the people who actually lost loved ones that day (which it absolutely was!), so I was mortified to have to participate in it. But I didn't want to argue the point, cause with how subjective English is, getting on the teachers bad side will just obliterate your grade, and I'd always been in the high 90's for english so I wasn't about to break that streak over a stupid insensitive writing assignment. So I grit my teeth, wrote some shitty, generic OC, gave them a tasteless, non-offensive eulogy, then tore up the paper and threw it out the second I got the marked assignment back.

And that was about a decade ago now, so I can't remember any details about my tragically deceased 9/11sona - all I can really remember about grade 9 english is the 9/11 stuff, the teacher being really weird about demanding we say 'zed' instead of 'zee' because we're Canadian, and the look of absolute shock on her face when she informed me that I'd gotten a perfect 100% on the reading comp part of the PAT exam (still lowkey proud of that lmao). Moral of the story, don't throw out really embarrassing school writing assignments; they might be hilarious in hindsight.

...The real punchline of all this is that while I went to all that effort to avoid pissing off my teacher and tanking my marks in grade 9, in grade 10 I hit that exact problem literally before my first class had started. I had english in the second semester that year, and my older sibling had given me the book version of Les Miserables as a christmas gift that year, and I was still working on it when school started back up. So I made the terrible mistake of walking into english class about ten minutes early, cracked open my book to pass the time... and then after a few minutes of watching some punk teenager casually reading les mis, the teacher got up, asked me to step out into the hall, then led me into the classroom next door to introduce me to the AP english teacher, and inform him that I was probably better suited for his class. I had to hastily clarify that no the fuck I was not, I had three core classes that semester and a mixup with my one elective meant I was stuck in the goddamn grade 12 band class, so if I didn't have one class I didn't need to put effort into, I would die of stress. Grade 10 english teacher tried to pressure me into taking the AP class anyways, and after I kept refusing, she eventually was like "fine, you can stay in my class, but I'm going to grade you like you're an AP student the whole time."

And for the entire semester, she refused to mark any of my work higher than an 80%. Can you tell I'm still angry about that, because I'm still really fucking angry about it.

#and thats how i got stressed enough to walk directly into traffic (accidentally) #if your route home crosses a busy intersection. do not walk home while having a hardcore dissociative episode #because you will become unable to comprehend traffic lights. and your guess at the safe time to cross will be Very Wrong #shout out to that one truck driver for swerving because wow that could have gone really bad #this story got away from me. the point is i dont remember what my 9/11sona was sorry

[96percentdone]

It is deeply frustrating to me that it is a relatively common opinion that Amame murdering Uru was a moral good because it was "justice", and she "stopped Uru." To be clear, they're right that he needed to be stopped. His plan was evil, whether he has the sanity to parse that or not (and he demonstrably does not), but I think that's entirely beyond the point of the claims about the morality of Amame's actions. Whether or not Uru was in the wrong (he was by every possible metric) is not a worthwhile question to ask when it comes to evaluating what justice is.

First, and I cannot emphasize this enough, Amame literally didn't stop him. She just objectively didn't! Yes, he died, but the present day half of the plot plays out fucking anyway because it turns out the genocidal maniac had contingency plans to carry out his scheme! His guys do it for him! He says in his own tapes he planned for this just in case! Is that stopping him? The Nirvana Initiative gets as far as the genocide missile launching before his plan is actually ended. I cannot stress this enough; ya boi straight up almost won at KILLING EVERYONE posthumously. Sorry, but the in universe team "Amame did nothing wrong" is like suffering terminal hindsight bias, which is hilarious, because all of them were literally there when Uru almost killed everyone on the earth from beyond the grave.

Moreover, because Amame (and Gen who is helping her) spend that entire period of time trying to keep the murder a secret, she ends up actively getting in the way of stopping his plan until on the day of the initiative she finally steps forward because she can't take the pressure and the guilt any longer. She keeps critical information about the exact problem they are dealing with--like the fact that the guy they're looking for is fucking dead--a secret on purpose! Whether or not the police would have gotten anywhere faster if he lived is irrelevant; her actions for what actually happened made things worse. And there's a good reason for this! It's the same reason she is utterly ravaged by guilt for her own actions, despite how hard she tries to convince herself and the world she has no regrets: murder is always wrong, and Amame wanted revenge.

Revenge murder really isn't this incredible healing force people can hype it up to be in their heads. Amame says she went because she wanted to hear what he had to say. She wanted closure. Now of course he's severely out of his mind and everything he said in that moment pissed her off, understandable, and she'd have to wait like 100 years for him to maybe parse he was wrong, so okay, but did the revenge work? "I'm going to make you suffer the same pain..." She waits for him to be conscious when she kills him, she is explicitly out to make him hurt, but like...was it actually effective? No, lmao. The funny thing is, that first line we see of that flashback where she kills him is Uru referencing his own torture: "Yes, this world is an imperfect one. I was put through much hardship." At this point, even if he didn't tell her the details, we the players know he was held prisoner in a cell for over two decades and had his organs harvested so frequently anesthetics stopped working on him. We are being deliberately reminded of this fact so that when Amame says her classic one-liner, we'll know it was for nothing.

Revenge isn't justice. You can convince yourself that it will be satisfying, it's what he deserves, it's what you deserve to do, but what's left when it's over? What did you really gain? Amame didn't gain anything. This didn't heal her at all. She still mourns her father the same, only now she has to deal with new, worse problems of her own making. She spends the last of her free days catatonic from fear and guilt, she hates that she betrayed Shouma and Gen and her actions will force her to leave them, because she lost sight of what matters most in the name of punishment. It will never matter that Uru was wrong. Amame killed Uru for the same reasons he killed her father, and Horadori, and Jin; how could she ever be right? The fallout of her actions on her own psyche and on the world at large is the greatest proof of that.

If your definition of justice is just "we destroyed the bad guy most responsible for the problem" your definition of justice is worthless. The world is not meaningfully made better by punishing wrongdoers, but by healing the social and political ills that lead to their creation and that ravage to the victims they left behind.

#hope.txt #doi amame #amame doi #aini #nirvana initiative #aitsf #my meta #truly the most frustrating part of this is this is a common opinion with amame likers #and its like #do you guys actually like the character that was written or what #do you respect her story at all #do you respect the immaculate tragedy to her writing at all or just the idea of sad killer girl uwu #i forgot to tag uru #to be fair to me tho im the only bitch who posts in there #uru somezuki #somezuki uru

[the-bar-sinister]

Oh boy.... I'm so sick of the "fanon = canon" trend modern fandom has established. I remember when I got kicked out of the attorney fandom in 2021 because I dared to say I read Miles Edgeworth as aroace because of part of the game's text and because I'm aroace myself and he's my fave. The ammount of attacks I got, being accused of homophobia, of being illiterate and flooded with the narumitsu manifesto is something that I'm never going to forget in my life. I even had to close my DMs and post replies because I was getting accused of "trying to impose my straightness into a queer character", which in hindsight was fucking hilarious.

No wonder the other anon was afraid to come back. If you basically go against the trifecta of "phoenix = bi, miles = gay and apollo = trans" get ready for the worst. I preferred the days of fanfic sporking and encyclopedia dramatica over this fandom policing.

I just think there needs to be less (read: none) attacking people over headcanons, theories, ideas and interpertations in general.

Sadly, this is not a new thing. Ship wars and headcanon wars have been going on in fandom forever-- I can attest to them as far back as livejournal.

What modern social media has done is make them easier to spread and make them easier to make someone's life completely miserable over.

It's also made it way harder to avoid headcanons and ships that we're not fond of. It used to be that there'd be different little communities that were discrete and on their own, but now they're all packed into one fandom tag.

I miss the days back then too.

#ace attorney #fandom wank #shipping #ace attorney headcanons #ace attorney ships #fandom community #fandom history #fandom old

[macravishedbymactavish]

Game Over (TF141 X GN! Reader)

TW for swearing, mentions of sex but nothing graphic

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2 Masterlist | 18+ MDNI |

"Evac should be here by morning, this has been considered non-urgent as there are no active threats" Price explained earlier in the day, advising the team that you'd be staying overnight in the safe house.

Which in hindsight was more of a safeshed? Safehotelroom? Small makeshift dining area, bathroom and one bedroom. Safe something that didn't quite strike you as a house.

Leaving you in the one corner of the bedroom, curled up feeling the weight of the day finally settle into your bones. All in all a positive outcome, no injuries or casualties, and the threat in question neutralized. These outcomes were few and far between.

While these outcomes were positive, they also meant a lot of hard work and planning. Leaving you exhausted by the end and yearning for your bed (instead of a sleeping mat in the dark). Surrounded by your equally as exhausted teammates.

You were balancing on the line between awake and asleep when a voice broke through the darkness.

"If you think about it.... Babies become wireless after they're born" Soap whispered, causing your eyes to open slightly, and audible groans from your other teammates.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you" Gaz muttered, while Ghost only gave a soft shut up Soap, fucking hell. Likely ready to throw him out of the room

"Im not wrong!" Soap mumbled, to his less than enthusiastic audience. You bit your lip, smirking to yourself. He really wasn't though.

"Price, you just got engaged right?" You heard him continue, your sleepy mind now finding this mildly hilarious.

"Mind your buisness and go to sleep" the Brit muttered back, clearly exhausted and sick of Soap's sudden need for communication.

"When you're married you'll be having sex with a family member" Soap continued anyway, causing both you and Gaz to burst out laughing. Imaging the look of irritation mixed with horror in Price's eyes.

"That's enough sergeant, get some sleep" Price groaned, obviously thinking a bit too much about Soaps observation.

He won't live to see tomorrow morning otherwise.

"Fine, but one last thing. Everyone here lost the game" your eyes shot open

"Dude, what the fuck?!" You snapped, feeling around for anything you could chuck in his general direction.

"Not cool." Gaz muttered, half asleep (but fully lost the game). You could hear Price whispering to him, trying to figure out what the game in question was.

Followed by Johnny's surprised shriek, knowing it was likely from Ghost smacking him in the stomach or chest with something. Not only for keeping everyone awake, but:

"That's for making me lose the bloody game"

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

[kyliafanfiction]

Babylon 5: Born to the purple (finally having time to do this on the day)

*The whole 'G'kar is a horndog' thing gets kind of ignored after Season 1, which does make sense (it sort of comes back in Season 5, for one scene), but it was a thing earlier on, including in this line where G'kar agrees with 'all things in live females are the greatest'

*K'odath's disbelief that G'kar would be there raises questions about Narn society and G'kar's repuation back home *God, this episode hits harder in Hindsight *I love how Arcy B5 got later on, but I also like the opening to Season 1, because it lent itself to the more episodic feel of Season 1

*Oh yeah, this is the episode with Ivanova using Gold Channel

*Vir's use of the weird Gameboy like thing is hilarious. We never see that again, probably because he learns to do it back in his quarters. *B5 throws words like 'Sector' and 'Quadrant' around without much of a real sense of place and size. No clarity as to where these places are. *This episode tells us so much about Centauri society, and really drives home where Londo sits at this point. *MOON FACED ASSASSIN OF JOY *I don't think I've ever noticed the narn playing Vir's game before when I've watched this episode. *G'kar being so thrown by Londo's Mood *THIS ASSHOLE. And plot thickens. *God, it's so heartwarming though, how much he cares about her. This is not just some 'I want a pretty woman' thing. He really does love her *Londo's password is so very him at this point in his life. *I just wish Talia had been taken to dinner by Ivanova here. *cries in shipper* *Ivanova being protective of her console feels so in-character you forget... *"Figment of your demented imagination" *I do feel like Mollari's cipher should have requried a specific tone too, but I guess a voiceprint is pretty secure *Don't Give Away The Homeworld :rofl: *"get your feet moist" I love it when Londo and Vir get earth sayings wrong *Just a casual use of a tazer in public *I get that slavery is legal in Centauri space, but how is it legal on B5?

*damn that is a fancy bug. *Trakkis, when a man says "get out" in that tone, you GET OUT

*Vir walks in with such a swagger *Negotiating via subordinates is hardly unheard of G'kar. *"Don't give away the homeworld" *You know, I get it's conservation of Characters, but these Ambassadors really do need bigger diplomatic staff. And more competent ones. Ones you can actually trust to do the job *Then I hurt Him *"My good and dear friend" ah, Londo of this season. Such a decent guy, in a lot of ways. :rofl: *Londo's failure to talk the guy around is hilarious. But sinclair's deceptions *And here it is. The other key backstory element for Ivanova **cries* fuck. *Sinclair's strategem is so risky, I'm surprised there were no downsides. *"Coming from you Ambassador, that's a real compliment" *And the thing is, Talia has a point. The Psicorps rules about these things are there for a good reason. But this is one of those things where you'd think warrants could exist. But apparently there just is no room for that? *Not that they could get a warrant in this context but *I do love the 'don't think of an elephant' trick she pulls on him *G'kar saved Londo's career, and he's gotta hide that fact so much. :rofl: *I do wonder what exactly is in those Purple Files *I love that Garibaldi knows not to press her about it. Just "it won't happen again" *God, Londo... the ending.

#B5 Rewatch #Babylon 5 Rewatch #1x03 Born to the Purple