#technically i should not have had the time today but that sort of thing doesn't count in the middle of the night
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Out With the Old (Heartsabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle x Yuu)
"Look I would get rid of this thing if I could afford a new sweatshirt." You drag the offensive article of clothing over your head completely missing the spark of curiosity and mischief in your companion's eye. "I've got a lot of bad memories associated with this."
"If it's that uncomfortable we can go look for a replacement instead of-"
"Oh no not like that, it's super comfy. I just don't like it because it technically belongs to my ex."
notes: they/them used for Yuu, some questionable behavior from Floyd and Jade because who else? This is meant to be crack. Second part can be found here (x)
Riddle- "THAT'S LITERALLY ILLEGAL???"
He is too focused on hyperventilating because it sounds like you just admitted to a crime in front of him to even think about offering you one of his sweaters. Trey and Cater have to break it down for him unpaid therapist style that no, you are not wearing stolen property (probably), borrowing clothes is just something people in relationships often do. He then further needs it explained that no, you are not still in a relationship and since you want to get rid of the shirt it sounds like things ended poorly. His friends want to try and suggest he should give you an article of his clothing to replace the offending one but he's so focused on getting you something that matches dress code that they decide to quit while they're ahead. Literally.
Trey- "You know you can always ask us if you need help, right?"
Vil's right about Trey's tendency to fuss and spoil people being a bit of a flaw; he's in tune enough with his emotions to know that he should not, for his own sake, give you one of his old sweatshirts without being honest about why he wants you to wear it. But he can't exactly deny his instincts when it comes to the people he cares about. You're cold and uncomfortable, what sort of guy would he be if he just left you all alone? Just please don't brush this off with a comment about how much of a big brother or mother hen he is; it is already going to be pure torture trying to look at you in his things in a Queen of Hearts honoring way. He doesn't need an added complex on top of it.
Cater- "Oh honey no."
Cater doesn't like keeping stuff his exes gave him either, but luckily for him he's never been in a position where that's literally only the stuff he had on him. Speaking of things, he buys a bunch of clothes off magicam he barley has time to take the tags off of before the trend goes stale. You guys should totally ditch what you were planning to do today and have a little fashion show in his room. It'll be cute and he can get a bunch of cammable shots! Just ignore the pop music club hoodie he refuses to take back because it looks "so much cuter on you." <3
Ace- "That's extremely lame prefect."
He isn't blind; you're cute and poor. Anyone would jump at the chance to let you steal a hoodie, besides Ace isn't insecure enough to be super jealous of someone you clearly hate. He knows you well enough to tell when you are silently wishing death on someone, it's all in the vocal tone. But damn if this new bit of information doesn't make things tricky. He already makes a big fuss about not needing to focus on dating right now, and with that iconic sweatshirt of yours technically belonging to an ex it's not like he can just slide you one of his without making it super obvious what he's doing. Looks like you're just going to have to take some extra teasing for a bit prefect, it's his preferred method of cope.
Deuce- "You've been here for how long and the Headmage hasn't given you any clothes?!?!"
Deuce is a good egg whose primary concern is almost always your well being. He tends to act before his common sense and emotions can catch up with his thought process, and that's exactly what happens here. The concept of you dating someone is just so... foreign to him. Not because he thinks your undesirable! It's just that you guys are always hanging out, you not being around makes him feel a bit funny inside, and not in a good way. He doesn't mention that to his mom when he texts her asking if she has any of his old clothes laying around, but she definitely knows what's on his mind. Why else would she have sent his old delinquent jacket?
Leona- "Well that explains why it smells like shit."
Let the record show that Leona is in fact, lying to you. Your clothes don't smell like anything other than you and maybe some of the musk floating around Ramshackle Dorm, but that doesn't stop you from pulling the fabric and taking a good sniff. To Leona, all this really suggests is that you've been over the person long enough that you don't care about keeping their scent around anymore. Sure, a tiny thought does worm it's ugly way into his inferiority complex that "oh they liked someone else" but his equally large ego immediately slams the emphasis on "liked" and starts thinking about how to get his scent on you. He doesn't really own too many jackets like the one you're wearing, but he does have some nice silk scarfs he could wrap you up in. Much classier than whatever trash you had previously been going out with.
Ruggie- "You wanna toss it my way then?"
Clothes are clothes are clothes, you don't see Ruggie acting like his uniform is still Leona's just because that's who originally bought it. If you are really bothered by the memories of your ex, he's willing to listen and make fun of them, assuming that will make you feel better, but this won't make him jealous. That emotion is reserved for when you share food with other people. He is dead serious about taking the sweatshirt if you don't want it, as far as he's concerned that shirt belongs to you, and he wouldn't mind having an excuse to blend your wardrobes a little bit. It would make you even closer to being a real member of his pack.
Jack- "You can just take mine."
Jack's strong sense of justice and firm moral code are definitely his only motivations for offering you one of his sweatshirts. Forcing a student to wear clothes they find uncomfortable and associate with negative memories just because they didn't have the foresight to pack something they did like for a school they didn't know they would be attending is beyond unfair. That's what he tells himself anyway, and it's not like he isn't upset on your behalf, but it's plain as day to anyone that he wants to prove that you can rely on him; he's not like that other person, he doesn't mind being alone together with you.
Azul- "If your finances really are in such dire straights you know I could-"
Revealing personal information in Azul's presence is asking to be offered a deal. Sure that little complaint might have been insignificant to you, but for Azul? He's having a full blown Sherlock style breakdown going on in his head trying to decide what his angle is. 1) The prefect has dated in the past and doesn't look on that experience favorably. Does this prevent them from dating again? Needs further analysis. 2) Giving articles of clothing is an acceptable form of human courtship, even if used. Or is it especially if used? 3) Can he convince you to burn this if he gets you a replacement or is that too petty? 4) More importantly does this mean you have a type? And how does he press for that information without appearing desperate?
Jade- "Oh? Well that sounds extremely annoying."
Jade Leech is first and foremost a messy bitch who lives for other people's misery. Sure, he is reasonably certain he's in love with you at this point, but that doesn't matter. You have a story that's filled with second hand embarrassment and a bone to pick besides he is nothing if not an enthusiastic audience. The thought of you wearing clothes that he owns wasn't something he would have thought of himself, merfolk don't typically wear them so dating customs that involve them are a bit foreign to him. He would much rather just bite you. Or give you some jewelry. both he wants to do both
Floyd- "PUT THAT THING BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME"
The instant you say that sweatshirt is from an ex he is taking off whatever shirt he is currently wearing and trying to tug off yours. Yes, even if it is his basketball jersey, and yes even if he just got back from practice. Isn't the scent supposed to be the point? He knows you miss him when he's gone, and he can get you something nicer out of his closet later. Just remember to tell everyone, even and especially if they don't ask, who gave it to you. Floyd's... nice? Enough? To not immediately burn your sweatshirt but it's up for debate if that's because he's actually being nice or if he just wants a trophy.
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst x yuu#riddle rosehearts x reader#trey clover x reader#cater diamond x reader#ace trapolla x yuu#deuce spade x reader#leona kingsholar x reader#ruggie bucci x reader#jack howl x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#floyd leech x reader#jade leech x reader
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What We Want - Chpt. 6 - Round Two. Fight!
In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe
(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!
SUMMARY
Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.
Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?
As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.
And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.
Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?
(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)
PREV - NEXT
Damn. Your indulgent TV stalking of the Wayne’s really doesn’t hit the same once you technically knew them. And you were hiding inside one of their bedrooms, inside one of their clothes, using their TV subscription. It just didn’t feel right. Morally, of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about. No, you were just pissy your favourite pastime was basically ruined. You shovel another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into your mouth, glaring through tired eyes at the screen.
There’s an up-close shot of Dick Grayson’s abs. The presenter ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over his physical form, and you have to agree. You wish you had abs like that. Unfortunately, you did respond to most unwanted experiences with stress eating. As always with these celebrity figures, you can’t really tell if you want to be Dick or be with Dick. Your butt is nowhere near the level his is at.
While you hadn’t really set out today looking for shirtless pictures of the Waynes, it wasn’t like you were going to say no to them. So, when the gossip channel had switched from the reactions of the Waynes to last night’s fiasco to… this… you’d just kept watching.
You wonder if you should stop doing this. It’s definitely kind of creepy, and now you’d technically once been his… step-sister. What a mind fuck. You’ve been crushing on these dudes for a while, and now they were your ex-step siblings. This was like the start of a bad porno, but you knew you were not that lucky. And it wasn’t like you were going to start thinking of him as a brother any time soon. You hadn’t even met the guy. No, he was still firmly in the ‘celebrity crush’ section of your mind. Pretty and untouchable. The way things are supposed to be.
Which was also bad because you would probably have to meet and interact with him at some point. Probably in the near future. God knows you’d absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the fucking Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,. Twice, in fact. You didn’t even want to think about the display you’d shown for Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne.
You didn’t really know what to do with your slightly obsessive crushes. And you could see it definitely being a problem in the near future.
…You decide that what you do in your private time is absolutely nobody but your business, and keep watching. It’s a mix of bitter spite and genuine mental breakdown levels of desperation that leads you to that decision. You feel like you’re a child with their toy being taken away, and it’s making you mad. And sad too. Even if you shouldn’t do this anymore, you still want to keep the habit. You’d mentioned before your creature comforts were one of the few things that kept you going. And while you were mostly very good at not being the jealous, heinous creature you really are, you knew you wouldn’t be giving this up.
They’d have to tear your gossip channels from your cold dead palms. You weren’t giving them up, not without a fight at least. Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed determined to wrestle away literally everything you loved.
Guilt’s for tomorrow. Today is for ice cream and purposefully ignoring everything. Speaking of which, you can not remember the last time you had a good Ben & Jerry’s. They were so expensive these days, as all groceries were. You simply couldn’t afford it. The Waynes, of course, had multiple tubs in multiple different options. Alfred had seemed delighted that you’d taken the ice cream, for which reasons you could not perceive.
Oh, yeah! His name was Alfred. Very butler-y. You’d remember it this time, he was a very nice man. And he called you ‘young miss’ which earned him points. He also didn’t seem to hate you on sight or treat you like a two-headed freak, like some of the other people in this household. Not naming names. Yeah, fuck that noise, Damian Wayne obviously has issues and it’s much less attractive in real life.
The woman drones on, and your eyes flick to your phone. Yup, she’s still yapping. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Dick’s abs or anything, it’s just that you think she might’ve been talking about this one specific photo for over half an hour now. Lady should get a hobby. Wait, wait, this is her job. Maybe you should start a podcast where you rant about the Wayne’s exercise regimes. It seems to be quite a lucrative field.
You shriek when the door slams open, nearly tumbling backwards off the bed. Hands manage to grip the bedcovers before you tip over, not making a complete fool of yourself. As it goes, you lose your spoon to the carpet. Bits of cookie dough spread over the floor in a divine sacrifice. And you lose your sanity to the man standing in the doorway. To be fair, he looks just as confused as you feel.
You blink at the physically perfect form of Dick Grayson and then turn your head to the TV to look at the other physically perfect form of Dick Grayson.
…You really wish you had a good explanation for this.
He mutters out your name, lips parted. Dick Grayson seems absolutely shocked to find you here. His eyes flick around the room and eventually land on the TV. Said baby blues widen to the size of saucers when the reporter makes a really, really unnecessary comment.
“And in news that broke the hearts of both ladies and gentlemen everywhere in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson has announced he will be returning to Gotham to assist his family in this difficult time. My cousin in the Blud is probably crying right now. There’s no ass out there quite like his, and there’s no replacement for Bludhaven’s favourite young rich bachelor,” she winks at the camera, and then the shot of his toned stomach phases forward to take up the entire screen.
Well, there’s a lot to say about that. First of all, fuck. Second of all, shit. Third of all, she really couldn’t have said that part about Dick coming back to Gotham sooner? Perchance, before you’d found yourself in this situation?
You said you weren’t that lucky, you meant it.
“But still, ain’t that lucky for us Gothamites? I myself have spent a lot of time on Dick’s Tiktok and Instagram, and his acrobatic videos have been used in a lot of my personal-”
You snatch the remote from the sheets and pause it right there. The silence is tense. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares at you. Completely stunned, mouth-catching flies. You want to pull the covers up and hide under them, but you don’t think that’d make him leave.
“I couldn’t find my room,” you finally manage to say. It’s the worst excuse you’ve ever heard, sounds like a complete lie. And yet, unfortunately, it is the truth.
Dick’s eyes drift to the TV, which you still haven’t unpaused. You can’t tell if it would be worth it, just to get rid of his golden brown abs staring at you judgementally, even if you’d have to deal with the extra embarrassment of the dialogue over them. Maybe if you muted the TV? It wouldn’t make up for the insult of his paparazzi photos on a widescreen.
It takes you even longer to come up with an excuse for… that.
“I was checking the news about last night,” you continue, the panic in you rising like a tea kettle left on the stove for too long. You might start shrieking like one too.
You don’t think he believes you. He looks down at the Beatles shirt you’re wearing. You know what he’s going to say before he does, but you still dread it.
“You’re wearing my clothes,” he mutters, his voice awed.
You want to say, ‘Nooo! No, no, no! Don’t do this to me, damn it! Not anymore! No more, please! It’s enough, enough suffering! This is genuinely ridiculous, damn you!’ but instead you reply with a shaky, “…Didn’t have any of mine.”
Also, you’ve been huffing Eau de Dick Grayson? That’s definitely in character for you. You want to beat your own head in with a stick.
“And I couldn’t find my room, and uh, thought this one wasn’t being used,” you continue, daring a glance back at him. He still looks completely stumped.
“It wasn’t,” he answers, but it sounds like he’s a thousand miles away.
You know, Dick Grayson was supposed to be a lot more charming than this. You’re almost proud you managed to stun the man into near speechlessness. Almost, almost. Almost not going to kill yourself once he leaves.
If he leaves. He doesn’t look like he’s getting up. You eye the gap between you and the door. Your animal brain is telling you to just run for it. But Dick has Olympic level athletics, and you don’t doubt he could catch you if you ran. Would he try though? That’s the deciding factor here.
He doesn’t seem like he’s actually going to fucking do anything though. He just keeps staring, like if he looks for long enough, it’ll all start to make sense. Which, you wish.
“Do you know where my room is? I couldn’t… remember…”
He nods, instead staring at his own abs on the TV.
“Can you take me to my room?”
He nods again. Still doesn’t look back at you.
“…Mr. Grayson?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. ‘You’ wouldn’t have used his last name, even though you might’ve. ‘You’ had been a casual person, as far as you could tell. That was the kindest way you could say it, at least.
His head snaps to you. He somehow looks more confused. You wonder if you should pinch him or something, god knows you’ve done your fair share of pinching yourself recently.
“Yes, right, sorry. Let’s… go,” he gives you a cheery smile, shaking his head, but it seems quite strained. You’re probably matching. This is the most humiliating moment of your life, and of course, it’s with the most beautiful man on earth right beside you.
A break. You want a break.
The two of you quietly shuffle out of the room, and when he guides you forward, you follow him obediently. Your head naturally bows, shame making it hard to look at him. You stare at the wooden floors as you walk. Watching it shine in the morning light that filters through the windows.
Eventually, he comes to a stop in front of a door that has obviously been avoided. Though it’s as clean as every other inch of this house, there are no marks in the rug from the door opening and closing. And even then, it seems… well, it sounds silly, but the door seems sad to you. Too many things seem sad to you these days.
Your thoughts must show on your face because Dick clears his throat and gives you a worried look. Is it rude to say you’re sick of those sorts of looks? That they just make you feel sick and burdened these days? It’s not like you could bring your family back from the dead, or convince your cheating boyfriend to not be a piece of shit. It was out of your hands.
“…Are you alright?” he asks you, blue eyes sincere. You tilt your head to the side.
“No?” you say, but it sounds more like a question. No, you are not alright. Yes, you will be okay. It’s the only option. It’s one of your rules. You have to be okay. You just have to.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
You almost laugh.
“No,” this time your voice is firm, confident. Dick seems like he’s going to push it, but something in your eyes makes him stop. You give him a forced smile and say goodbye, closing the door gently in his face. Once you do, you crouch down and once again, press your face to your knees. Then you press your hands to your mouth and let out a scream that had been bubbling up for a while. After that, you feel you can live with the humiliation that is your existence without jumping out the three-story-height window.
You stand up, turning to the room. The first thing you notice about it is that there’s dust in here. Same as Dick’s old room. Now that you think about it, Alfred doesn’t seem the type who’d randomly leave certain rooms uncleaned, so it must be something he does out of respect for the tenants of Wayne Manor. Or maybe the old you requested it? God knows.
Sitting down on the old bed, your eyes rove around the room. It’s well decorated, as the rest of the manor is, but you can’t see anything that would make it your room. There’s none of the novels you’d collected from the used books store, no dorky little items you impulse bought, no pictures of your family. The apartment hadn’t had those either.
‘You’- she- seemed like a ghost to you. While you’d often felt like you’d barely been alive, simply going through the motions, this girl seemed like she hadn’t even been conscious half the time she was doing it. It made your stomach swim, your face pulls taught.
While you’d had few things holding you afloat, it’d been enough to keep you alive. Molly, your co-workers, the need to work so as to not starve to death. She hadn’t had anything like that. No liferaft. You’d been sputtering and gasping your way through life, and she’d been drowning. Maybe already dead, at the bottom of the sea, hair tangling with the seaweed.
This room feels like a coffin, and this manor like a cemetery. It makes you physically sick.
Showing off your fickle-mindedness, you realise that despite this being the Wayne manor filled with all your idols, you actually don’t want to fucking be here. You need space to clear your head, and the creaking floorboards that echo down the creepy hallways just don’t offer that. The atmosphere at your too-modern, too-minimalist apartment is leagues better than the atmosphere at this gorgeous old house which you’d usually love spending hours getting lost in.
Usually. Unfortunately, this place was more suffocating than the workplace when you knew you were about to get fired again. And you weren’t getting paid to stay here, so why the fuck would you?
Once you realise you’ve decided to run, you’re quick to pack up your shit. There’s not much in the room you need. A pair of sneakers, because you would rather die than put those heels on again. And you’ll grab some shirts because they’re comfy and remind you of home. Hopefully, it’ll make everything… grate… a little less. All of this is thrown in an old ratty backpack, which is then tossed over your shoulder. Shoes slipped on, and tapped against the floor so they’re on comfortably. And then you’re ready. Ready as you’ll ever be. With one hand on your phone, you take a peek outside the door. Coast is clear.
You press call for ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’. Jeanine picks up on the third ring.
“Hello, Jeanine Ryans here,” she says, her voice all business.
“Jeanine, I need an evac, stat,” you whisper to her, creeping down the hallway of the manor. The floor is unbelievably creeky, so it’s pretty fucking difficult to be stealthy about it.
“…What?”
“Get me out of this fucking manor, please,” you beg, now going down the stairs. Almost out, almost out.
“Right, on it. I’ll have a car outside in ten minutes if that’s alright?” Jeanine replies, immediately on the case. It almost makes you cry. You know she’s being paid for this, and very desperate for the job for some reason, but it’s still a hail mary that you are so grateful for.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” you say, turning a corner and-
Oh, fuck. Damian Wayne glares down at you, green eyes cataloguing every single guilty piece of you in existence. He sees your hand tighten around your backpack, hears Jeanine telling you not to worry through your phone, and probably notices the way your eyes desperately flicker behind him to the door. To your goal, to the exit to this labyrinth.
You can practically hear the wind blowing, see the tumbleweed drift by.
And then, he moves past you, twisting his body so no part of it touches you. There’s a moment where your brain freezes, something spicy smelling (cinnamon, maybe?) flowing past you, and by the time you turn around, he’s gone. Your deer-in-headlights tensed-shoulders look falls, leaving you confused in the foyer. He didn’t even say a word to you. You felt like you just got passed over by a boss from a Dark Souls game.
…Well, you’ll take the wins where you can find them! Quickly, you hurry out the front door, skittering down the steps like some sort of rat. It’s a long walk to the gates, and you don’t really know how to open them to let the car in, so you decide to take your time and enjoy the walk. The early morning dew apon the clean-cut blades of grass glint and sparkle, the gravel on the road crunches under your technically-not-stolen sneakers, and even if it’s a miserable life, it’s a pretty day. From the hill the manor lives upon, you can see Gotham’s tall skyline, cloaked in its characteristic fog.
Eventually, you find yourself in front of the gate, where you can see Jeanine waiting with a black car on the otherside. There’s a big green button next to the side gate, which you press, and it clicks open. There’s a moment where your neck tingles, and you glance up at the camera pointed down at you. The red flickering light beside it holds your attention. You can see your bedraggled reflection in its lense.
Shaking your head, you move on, greeting Jeanine. She gives you a quick bow of the head and opens the door for you. You hike the bag over your shoulder, give the Wayne manor one final, lingering look and then you step into the car. Jeanine starts speaking to you about some future appointments you have, and you’re too tired to understand a word of what she says. She realises you’re not processing anything she says, and hands you a pair of headphones with a wire adapter.
You could kiss her right then and there. You don’t because that’d be weird, but you definitely think about it. Headphones on, you watch the rolling hills and luxurious manors turn into highways and honking traffic, to finally the upside part of town which was now apparently where you lived.
Eventually you find yourself being delivered in front of your swanky new apartment. With a passing goodbye, Jeanine tells you that she’ll be busy for the rest fo the day so if you need anything to call the number on the card she hands you. You tuck it in your pocket, certain you’ll lose it like every other business card you’ve ever been handed.
The elevator ride up to your room is contemplative. The music is boring, your reflection is bedraggled and tired, and the gentle feeling of gravity under your feet tugs at you. You rock slightly when you finally reach your floor. The doors open, but you don’t make any move to leave. They shut again, and you’re left staring daggers at your mirrored self.
You’d woken up, still here. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. And more than that, it seemed more and more like you’d be staying in this reality. You didn’t think you could go home. Sure you were rich but… but your home. Your few things you’d managed to save. Your meagre group of friends and your hard-sought job. It made you nauseous. Where had you lost it all? Why were you here now? Why did you keep having to lose everything?
You manage to snap yourself out of it before someone else calls the elevator. Striding out of the space, you look to the right where you remember your apartment coming from. It’s not hard to find the unit, as there are only three on the entire floor. Rich people.
The door closes with a satisfying thud behind you, and you nearly melt with exhaustion.
This apartment is the ninth circle of hell for you. Scrambling around on your knees, you’re desperate to find the damn phone that won’t stop ringing. You can’t understand where the sound is coming from.
Under your bed? You shine your other’s phone’s light under it. Nope. Behind the dresser? Nada. You search inside the drawers and then peek inside the fancy lamp. Absolutely nothing. You’re ready to tear your hair out when you spot something… odd.
There’s… You think there’s something stuck in your floorboards. You dig at the space with your fingernails and the piece of wood pops open. Inside is… a cardboard box. An awfully familiar cardboard box, actually. The sight of your Mum’s old keepsake box makes you cry out with joy, lifting it from its little enclave. You’d lost a lot in the past few days but at least the old you knew how to keep your family’s stuff safe.
This apartment looks brand new. And apparently the past you dug into it to hide her stuff. You can’t really judge, you have a hidey-hole back at your apartment. It was a brick that had already been loose in the wall, so it didn’t feel quite as criminal as this.
The ringing is coming from inside the box. When you pull the lid up, you find a keepsake box a little different from yours. While yours only ever had your family’s old passports and photo albums, this one had a sleek phone sitting on top of all the mementos. It’s an exact copy of the phone on your bed- or well, it would be, if you hadn’t dropped it.
Two phones? This bitch was greedy. And so are you, eagerly sweeping the expensive item into your gremlin hands. Your thieving high is instantly quashed when you see who’s calling.
Of all fucking… George.
You roll your eyes before hanging up, tossing the phone to the side as you start rifling through the old keepsake box. You flip through family photo albums and lovingly cradle old stuffies. The phone buzzes. You ignore it. You find one of your mother’s old necklaces, and because you’re desperate for anything that can ground you, slip it over your head. The cool heart locket rests just under your collarbone, and you clutch it with one hand as you keep exploring. The phone keeps buzzing. It’s only almost half an hour later when you realise something about this is strange.
Why is George… not blocked? You glance down at the vibrating object like it’s radioactive, a despairing frown pulling at your face. Cautiously, you pick it up, making sure not to open the notifications lest it tell George you read any of his messages.
He’s… apologising for not being there for your birthday. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. And it’s not even a proper apology, it’s one of those ‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings’ bullcrap. He keeps spamming you, and eventually, you realise that he’s not going to just stop.
You decide to nip this in the bud quickly because even remembering his cheating face makes you feel like throwing up.
‘You’: Why are you contacting me?
‘George <3’: Seriously? Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there yesterday. I was busy, you know that.
Stupidly, you reply:
‘You’: ‘No, seriously, why are you contacting me? I’m done with you.’
You wonder how you ever loved this jackass. Even if he was obviously more of a jackass here, than where you’d come from. He was just better at pretending there. You keep scrolling, ignoring the new texts that pop up. Your stomach sours at the number of texts he himself had ignored, of the amount of ‘sorry baby, can’t come tonight’, the begging, the pleading.
No, he wasn’t worse at pretending. He just didn’t care.
You wonder if this could have been you, further along down the line. Abuse happens slowly, right? Like a frog in a pot. You’d have forgiven and forgotten, written away his worse behaviours till you couldn’t anymore. Till you couldn’t leave, till you were trapped.
You think George Lancaster would’ve tried to. He would’ve isolated you from everyone you had left if he hadn’t screwed up and got caught.
You realise now there were a lot of red flags in your relationship with George. Molly always hated him and he hated her. He’d constantly complain about how much time you spent with her, spamming you with texts when you went out.
You were only… only two days since you’d actually broken up with him. Which was sort of crazy to think about. You feel like you’ve lived eons since then. Like that one traumatic incident aged you thirty years. Anyway, you still hadn’t processed the whole George thing. You’d been sort of busy fighting for your life.
‘George’: I’m here, can you at least open the door so we can talk face to face?
Freeze. A knock sounds, and your head snaps up to the front door. You don’t move. You just wish it away. The knocking only gets louder and louder.
You feel like a dumb girl in a horror movie as you walk towards the door, unlocking it and creaking the knob open. George Lancaster stands on the other side, and before you can slam it in his face, he grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the door. And then he’s pulling you to the elevator, even as you try and get your bearings, get yourself away from him.
“You can’t just ignore me like this,” George says, pissed off to high hell, “We’re going to miss the reservation I booked specifically for you. I told you it was happening today and-”
There’s white noise between your ears, you can’t hear what he’s saying. Told you? It wasn’t in any of the texts. He’s still talking even as the elevator dings, even as he shoves you in a white sports car that’s half parked on the curb. Even as he drives his way through Gotham’s streets, he won’t fucking shut up.
Why are you letting this happen to you? Why aren't you fighting back, wrenching yourself from his grasp? He takes you into a restaurant, one so upscale that normally you wouldn’t be able to get in for months, and your head snaps from staring socialites to watching politicians to gawking celebrities. You have the eyes of the world on you right now, and they’re all watching George yell at you.
And you can’t find your voice.
It's like a scab you can't stop picking at. Like you think this is what you deserve or something. And it's not. You know it's not. And yet you follow obediently, chastised and embarrassed, as he pulls you through the restaurant. When he picks a table in the centre of the room, you don’t protest. When he chooses your meal for you, even though it’s not to your taste, you don’t protest.
Looking at George, scrolling lazily on his phone, your hands clench against the table. They’re sweating, shaking, nails digging into your palms.
You… you didn’t have to break up with him again, did you? You realised it earlier, but you didn’t- it didn’t really sink in. Your first breakup with George Lancaster was a miserable traumatic experience, and it had been in the solitary streets of Gotham’s Narrows. This one, this one would be seen by literally everyone.
Nauseous. You feel so damn nauseous, your mouth dry as you swallow down bile. This was ridiculous. You couldn’t stand seeing his face. Was he texting her right now? God, did she even know? You’d just stormed out that night, running from what you’d seen.
George had chased after you. Had he left her there? Your stomach churned at the idea. You had to hate her on principle but, well, you also had to sympathise with her. Contradictions, that was the average you. You didn’t want to help this random girl. Didn’t want to have to ever think of her again.
…Staring at George, a definitively awful person, you can’t do it. Can’t just leave her to it.
“I’m breaking up with you,” you say.
“What?” George replies, not even looking up from his phone.
“I’m breaking up with you!” you shout. It’s not even intentional, just a result of being pushed too far, of breaking too easily.
The restaurant goes quiet. Guess you’re up for another scandal then. Whatever, it wasn’t like you would’ve lasted much longer anyway. This was all too complicated for your recently traumatised mind to handle. And it was just too damn stupid to bother with anyway. All of this was fucking stupid.
You included.
Just pull the bandaid off, right? You could already see how this version of you had so many scandals to her name. You probably should start giving a shit. Or at least trying to. You don’t think you want to, though.
George puts his phone down face down on the tablecloth, giving you a calm look. That slightly pitying stare activates something in your brain you didn’t really know was there. It’s a type of rage you haven’t known since you were a kindergartner and one of the other girls said you couldn’t play princesses. Since your first service job where your manager felt you up. Just pure, petty, anger. The type of anger ready to burn the world down as long as it burns whoever pissed you off as well. He opens his mouth, probably to say something condescending, and your hand whips out and snatches his phone.
“Hey!” George says instead, his eyes widening.
You turn the phone back on. Hm, passcode. You flip it around and use facial recognition to open it. Despite the fact that George wears the most comically shocked expression, with saucer-wide eyes and a mouth open to catch flies, it unlocks. Nice.
“Hey! What are you doing?” George demands, reaching over the table for his phone.
You twist away from his reach. Password. You flip the phone, and despite George’s comically shocked expression, it still unlocks. He shouts again when it does, probably realising that you might be taking this seriously. That he might actually be in trouble. That his sugar mummy might not take too kindly to the numerous texts to other women on his phone.
…You really can’t believe you’re a sugar mummy. And for George of all people. What a horrendous waste of money, it’s fucking tragic.
He’s got the texts with someone known as ‘Pizza Hut’ pulled up, with some very flirtatious messages. You scroll up furiously, ducking under George as he gets up from the table and tries to get the phone. Still, backing up, the sight of a very poorly shot dick pic of George’s has you grimacing. Your focus on the picture, trying to decide whether his penis looked so unappealing before you’d learnt of his betrayal, has you distracted when one of the servers come around.
And, well, shirt, meet soup. Very, very hot soup. Everyone? Meet a screeching, klutzy moron.
George takes the chance to advance on you, snatching his phone from you. He doesn’t even seem to care you’re currently getting third-degree burns. The sting scorches through the thin fabric of your dress shirt, burning your skin. George grabs you again, his grip harsh enough this time you know it will bruise, and you can’t really say why you do what you do at that moment.
Your aunt used to have a chihuahua. It was an ugly, grumpy thing. She’d rescued it late into its life, and it had been treated poorly beforehand. It didn’t like to be touched at all and used to run from anyone who tried. And if you tried to touch it? Cornered it?
Well, of course, it started biting.
George’s howl is the most satisfying thing you’ve ever heard. His squeal of “bitch!” might be even more so. He slaps you away from him, and the sound echoes in the restaurant. Your face stings. When you land ass first in the puddle of still-too-hot soup, you wonder if you might try and bite him again. You don’t think you even broke the skin, considering you can’t taste blood. The other patrons stare on in genuine horror, like they’ve never seen a messy breakup before. One woman raises a hand to her mouth, and gasps-
You find yourself staring up at a furious George, one with a menace in his eyes you’ve never seen before. You wonder, idly, if he’s ever hit you before. Well, not you, but ‘you’. You realise now that he has the capacity for it, that he probably always did.
“What the fuck!?” he hisses, angry eyes darting from side to side, “Biting me?! In fucking public?! Have you lost it, you crazy bitch?! And you got my phone fucking soaked in soup!”
“Did you buy it?” you ask, wiping your mouth with your sleeve to get George’s dirty taste out of your mouth.
He blinks, confused, thrown off by your question, “Huh?”
“Did you buy that phone?” you repeat, your staring starting to turn into a furious glare.
You don’t think he did. Your George had never been able to afford those sorts of things, he’d been as broke as you were. Of course, you’d seen him lust over those items, but you’d always managed to convince him not to go into debt over silly things like sports cars and fancy phones. And even then, you’d been the one to buy him a PS5.
He looks down at the phone and back at you, and you can see his jaw tick.
“I bought it. That’s mine.”
“It was a gift. You’re going to be such a bitter bitch to take back everything you gave me? Gonna leave me out on the fucking street?” he says, spittle flying with angry words.
This was escalating fast. Maybe before you’d have been cowed by his words, but you were genuinely off your rocker by now and were very much willing to tango with this bastard. Like yes, he did terrify you, but so did everything else. You could handle this much at least. You weren’t ready to back down.
“And if I did? What then George? What could you even fucking do?” you throw back, voice rising to match his.
“It’s not your money either, it’s theirs, you little leech!” says the pot.
“Does it matter?” replies the kettle.
Pushing to your feet, you find George without another answer. He stands between you and the exit. With the plain murderous rage on his face, you think he’ll try to grab you again if you run past. He wouldn’t bite you back, but he might slap you or something. So instead, like any good coward does, you run straight to the girl’s bathroom. It hasn’t failed you yet, and you doubt it will today.
You shove into the bathroom, past a woman doing her makeup. Her head bobs up and down as she takes in your seemingly infamous face, and your stained shirt. You stride as far away from her as possible, darting into the last bathroom stall and sitting on the closed toilet lid. You pull your knees to your chest and hiss out a sound of frustration when that presses the sticky liquid against your chest and pants. Not your brightest idea, but you were sort of running on fumes right now.
The bathroom stall is extremely clean. One thing you were quickly realising about rich people is they didn’t have to suffer shitty public bathrooms. You didn’t think they deserved it. Like customer service jobs, and traffic, they built character.
What were you doing? Right, trying not to cry. You’re doing much better than yesterday. Still, sitting on top of the toilet’s closed lid, your phone pressed to your face, you wouldn’t say you’re doing ‘good’.
But because you knew George was too much of a pussy to ever enter the woman’s bathrooms, you refuse to move a single inch. You don’t want to go out there. At all. At all, at all. You’d tried to call Jeanine, but she hadn’t answered. Some P.A. she was. You still weren’t going to fire her. Then you remember that she told you she was going out later, and that she’d left a card with you. Digging through your pocket, you decide it’s finally time to die when you realise you lost the card somewhere along the line.
So, she wasn’t going to come save you as your knight in shining armour.
You can’t remember Molly’s number. Who did these days? That was your phone’s job. So you were left with… this. You were left with this. Four blocked numbers and a third had sent an automatic reply because he was driving. Alfred was probably busy. Weren’t butlers always very busy?
…Rich people weren’t often very busy. They had butlers and assistants to do all their chores. You unblock all four of the Waynes that you have on your phone.
The first thing you notice is the amount of texts between ‘you’ and Dick. Scrolling and scrolling, you find most of them are him checking up on you and one-word replies from the old you. He’s friendly and accepting, even when you respond in cruel and aggressive tones. The further back you scroll, the kinder your replies are. At one point it seems like the two of you had a good relationship.
You check the other chats. Tim’s message log is filled with coffee requests sent back and forth between you, Damian’s is completely empty, and Bruce’s has had no response from your phone in years. But eventually, you scroll back far enough that you find an actual conversation instead of just ‘Call Alfred’ repeated every few days.
‘You’: I miss them.
‘Bruce Wayne’: I know. I miss them too.
You press the back button, sighing. That felt like you’d seen something you shouldn’t have, like you’d peeked into someone’s diary. Which was unbelievably stupid. All of this is unbelievably stupid. You should just leave, you should just be brave. Two days ago you faced off against one of your worst fears, but today you couldn’t even handle George Lancaster.
You want someone to rescue you. You know no one will unless you ask. It makes you choke on your own self-disgust. This is the second time in one day. God, maybe you should just do it yourself. It’s not like you couldn’t pay for your own Uber.
And still, you find yourself clicking on a name and begging. Skin crawling, you type and retype the text probably a hundred times. You go from long apologies to begging to rants you never intended to send in the first place. Tap, tap, tap, and then you delete, delete, delete.
What you settle on is simple.
‘You’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx
Maybe a bit too simple. You cross your arms and tuck yourself in the good ol’ fetal position. You feel like you’ve spent half your time holding yourself like this the past three days.
‘Dick Grayson’: I’ll be there in five.
MASTERLIST - NEXT
#Series:WWW#yandere batfam#batfam x reader#yandere dc#yandere batfamily#yandere x reader#dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#tim drake x reader#red robin x reader#damian wayne x reader#robin x reader
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don't really have time or energy to draw this right now so. you're getting it in writing instead
It's not your birthday. At best, you would call it a day that someone who was you once was familiar with.
One that he didn't like either. Sure, you'd pretend to be him for a bit, accept some birthday wishes for him. But it wasn't your birthday. Not to you, at least. You think they all understand, to a point. Dirk does, at least.
That was why you weren't prepared to humour this conversation.
TG: this is hal isnt it
TG: not mad jst
TG: how do i say this?
TT: It seems there's a fairly large chance you're accusing me of not being myself, based off of a totally bullshit statistic.
TT: Care to elaborate?
TG: if u want me to tell u happy birthday 2 i can lmao
TG: dont hafta be weird about impersonatin dirk for that!!!
TT: I...
TT: Sorry. Holdon.
TT: There we go.
TT: As I was about to say, it's not technically my birthday. It's Dirk's. I wasn't even created today.
TT: I'll relay your well-wishes to him whenever he returns. Don't need to ask me about it.
TG: hmm nah i think i like havin' a hold of u for this
TG: if ur like
TG: not REALLY him
TG: but have his memories and shit
TG: todays ur day too
TG: so happy b-day! im not takin' that back either!
TT: ...
TT: I should go.
TT: Dirk probably won't like me monopolizing his account, even if he isn't here.
TT: Thanks, I guess.
You log off without another word, back in your sort-of space. Maybe you'll check in with Jane in a bit. Maybe you'll go through the internet for no apparent reason.
You can't say that that made you feel human. Or that it made you feel better, but... it made you think. It made you feel something. That was a start, right?
---
A firm series of slaps to the back of the cue-ball/head drags you out of your reverie. It's Itchy, hand poised to continue slapping you if you don't acknowledge him.
"Apologies. I must have became lost in thought," you begin, "as tends to happen with the omniscient. That said, there are better ways to get my attention."
Itchy shrugs and tells you he doesn't give a shit. He was just the fastest. The Felt needs you for somethin'. Somethin' he can't tell you about.
"Vague and somewhat sarcastic as always, Itchy. Just get to the point."
He just tells you you're no fun, before half dragging you out of one of your many studies. The whole manor is technically your study. But especially this one.
Itchy only bothers to take you about halfway, to where Crowbar is standing and waiting. He hardly says goodbye before dashing off to who-knows-where, probably to cause trouble somewhere else.
You pretend you don't know what's being hidden from you. You could figure out, and in the back of your mind you have figured out. But surprise is an emotion you like trying to fake.
Sometimes you wish you weren't faking it.
Crowbar walks up to you, with some off-handed comment about how he didn't expect Itchy to get you there on time. Or at all. He can never tell. Nonetheless, he's slightly more gentle when he offers you his hand, like he's not about to effectively drag you across an entire manor.
You don't remember the last time you've had actual contact with someone in a way that wasn't violent. You're not sure it's ever happened, honestly. (In reality, you know that isn't true. You were an indigoblood once, you recall. It's not as clear as the other memories, though.)
Crowbar's hand is felted, unsurprisingly, almost like a pool table. Again. Unsurprising. It's never surprising, but you commit the texture to memory anyway, all but ignoring what he's actually talking about. Something about a celebration.
He says they got the table stickball table fixed, and your attention is drawn again.
"Just call it a pool table."
He says he doesn't feel like it. It's a ball you hit with a stick on a table. Ain't a pool in sight. You agree, silently. The Alternian names for things were as foreign as they were ingrained; you knew them as much as you didn't know them.
Eventually, you're led into what you believe is the living room, and Crowbar lets go of your hand. You don't immediately adjust to the lack of feeling in your hand, almost like you were... severely touch-starved, actually, or something.
That's ridiculous, of course. You aren't technically alive, even if you're not as "soon to die" as you once were.
Someone, you think it could be Quarters, explains that all the Felt knows it isn't technically your birthday, and that it's only such by a few tangents. (You mentally add on that you weren't even created today).
But, Quarters adds, you've been stuck in a rut of sorts for a while. It wasn't really anyone's idea, he says. But it was agreed that it might get you feeling better for a while.
And, for once, you feel surprise. You never thought that they actually cared. Or even noticed. You're just their boss, of course. You're hardly even there.
(You have spent the past few months only leaving the Manor when you absolutely have to.)
You can't say it makes you feel alive. Or better, really. But it made you think. It made you feel something.
And, as you're dragged to play table stickball with Trace and Sawbuck, you decide that's a start.
#long post#scratch.txt#toying with this cueball man's brain#//#hehe#honestly i don't think i COULD have drawn this if i wanted to. so. here.
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Ineptitude
A Billy Russo x Reader fic
A/N: You're just not ready for it. Tagging some moots I think will like it: @marvelmusing @this-is-serenaa @outlawadvocate @idaofinfinity @fivequartersoftheorange @stardust-danvers *evil laughter*
This is probably the filthiest thing I've ever written, thank you Jess for inspiring it, and so many others for helping me along and giving me ideas. Love you all.
This is technically a follow up to His Best Kept Secret and Duplicate.
Warnings: Smut (18+), degradation (he calls her so many names), dumbification, daddy kink, face slapping, choking, spitting, oral/facefucking (m), spanking, p in v sex, he sort of force feeds her some wine, but she can stop him at any time she wants.
"Daddy please!" You beg quietly, almost in tears as he tugs you out of the store. Though he's pulling you along, you try to move in time with him so that it doesn't look like he's dragging you.
"I said no, princess, and even you should understand that no means no."
"But they're so pretty!" You say, skipping to keep up with him, trying to convince him of your need for the iridescent butterfly heels.
He chuckles.
"Yeah, they're gorgeous, and you'd look so good in them too, but you've already spent way too much this month." He chastises, referring to the duplicate purse you'd accidentally bought a week ago. Your ass was still stinging from the punishment of ten spanks for each thousand that the purse had cost. He'd at least been kind enough to distribute the punishment over the week, giving you five a night for the last seven days.
You whine in frustration.
"Please, please, please, please." You sing, hoping to convince your boyfriend to buy you the things that you want.
Billy pauses, looking down at you, deep in thought. You try to give him the sweetest look you can muster in your excitement. His face relaxes after a moment, and he leans down to kiss your forehead. You think you've got him, ready to go back to the store and walk out with the pretty heels that were calling your name. He follows up with a kiss to your cheek, his hands cupping your face and you feel so giddy with excitement.
"If you don't get in the car right now, I'm going to make you sit through dinner tonight with a plug in your ass."
Your mouth drops open in shock. He wasn't going to buy them for you?
He chuckles.
"And then maybe I'll add twenty more spanks on top of that to really let the lesson sink in."
That has you moving without a word, accepting that the heels weren't coming home with you today.
.
You were crazy about him, liked the way he smiled at you when you were good, and loved the way he chuckled when you were bad. He loved pulling you apart at the seams just as much as you loved being pulled. His hand on your thigh as he drives, gripping the back of your neck at traffic lights to seal his mouth to yours for just a few moments, smearing your lip gloss around your mouth. He acts as if he can't breathe without your mouth on his, in those few moments, and when he pulls away, it's always with a smile of approval.
"How 'bout we get some ice cream on the way home, hmm?" He offers and you smile.
"Okay." You say, and he leans forward again to kiss you when the car behind you presses on the horn.
You laugh at his annoyed look, pulling away from you to drive.
.
You're a real brat tonight, as God intended when he made you.
It starts off with asking him to pick your outfit, and then deciding to wear something else instead, ignoring the way his eye twitches in annoyance when he sees you in a much shorter dress than he'd agreed too.
You shake with the cold as you step out of the car, and he looks a little annoyed again when he has to shed his jacket to drape over your shoulders.
"I told you to bring a jacket, didn't I?"
"I forgot." You say in a small voice and his lips quirk. You know he'd have something to say about you being a dumb little girl if the valet was out of earshot.
Nevertheless, his arm wraps around your body, guiding you towards the entrance.
"Reservation under Russo." He says in greeting, and a bell goes off in the back of your head. You'd forgotten to make the reservation.
"I'm sorry, I can't seem to find you." The man at the front desk says apologetically.
"Billy..." you call out to him, feeling absolutely terrible.
He takes one look at you, and sighs in disappointment.
"Oh, baby, did you forget to make a reservation?"
You pout, nodding up at him.
"Shh, don't fret." He says, petting the top of your head, looking up at the man next, "Is there anything you can do?"
The man glances at you, meeting your eyes for a quick second.
"Excuse me for a moment while I talk to my manager." He says, and Billy nods at him in assent.
" 'M sorry Billy, didn't mean to forget. Maybe I can... flirt with him or something?" You suggest, looking up at him innocently to feel the delight burn through you as anger touches his features for a quick moment.
He breathes a long sigh, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, but you know it's just an excuse to whisper in your ear, his hand cupping the back of your neck firmly.
"You want someone else to believe that they'd ever have a chance with my favourite cunt?" He hisses in your ear, "I'd quicker fuck you right here in front of all these people than watch you flirt with someone else, you dumb little girl."
Your breath hitches in your throat, already way too turned on to survive dinner. His hand is tight on your skin when the man returns.
"Great news, Mr. Russo, we have a space available, follow me, please."
Billy's hand stays firm on your back, as you both follow along. You hum in displeasure when you see the table.
"Um, can we have a booth instead? I want to sit next to him, not opposite."
The man's eyes linger on you, before he glances at Billy.
"Sure thing," he says suddenly, "right this way."
You're not sure what the man has to do to get you the seat you requested, but you're very grateful, smiling at him in thanks when you slip Billy's jacket from your shoulders to slide into the booth, stumbling a little, bending over to catch yourself when your heel hooks on the foot of the table. You settle in, and you notice the man's eyes are now fixed on the ground and Billy's are fixed on you.
"A waiter will be around to tend to you soon," the man says in a rush before he's gone.
You smile at Billy watching him sit beside you, he gets in close, wrapping an arm around your waist and sliding it gently down to grip at the flesh of your thigh.
You gasp when he squeezes just a little too harshly, and you look up at him with wide eyes for an explanation.
"You know, I think I might have to take the day off tomorrow." He says.
Your eyebrows furrow, not understanding his meaning.
"Wh-why?" You murmur, wiggling a little to ease his rough grip, that only gets tighter when you try to get out of it.
"You're going to need a lot of care tomorrow." He says simply.
"What? Why?"
A kiss to your cheek, and you turn your head instinctively so that he can whisper in your ear.
"Because," he murmurs slowly, the heat of his breath on your skin makes your nipples tighten in your bra, "I'm going to punish you so thoroughly tonight that I doubt you'll be able to stand tomorrow."
You sputter.
"What? But- I didn't even do anything wrong!" You protest.
He makes a noise of sympathy.
"Oh, my dumb little princess." He coos, pinching your chin between his fingers, "You haven't done a thing right today at all."
"Hello! My name is Martha and I'll be you're waitress this evening. Have you had a chance to look at the menu?"
But Billy is a man who already knows what he wants, and he does so with an ease of familiarity that makes you wish you could pull his cock out and get on your knees right here-
You blink when he says your name in question. Both him and the waitress look at you expectantly and you freeze.
"Can you, um, is it okay if you pick something for me? I can't decide."
You know what he'd say if there was no one listening, but instead of telling you what a dumb girl you are for needing daddy to order, he simply smiles, and tells Martha what you'd like.
"Would you like red or white wine?" He asks, and though you usually prefer white wine, this time, you ask for red.
•
"Wow." You say in admiration, leaning into Billy as you watch a woman walk past, "I really love her shoes."
Billy hums, eyes following where you're looking.
"Those are the Aveline one hundred," you murmur in appreciation, "so cute."
"They're just shoes." He says, and you know he's only teasing you, but you smile, ready to tease back.
"Yeah," you say with a challenge in your voice, "and your Wraith is just a car."
A smile breaks out on his face.
"Oh, how dare you," he groans, turning to pull your body as close to his as possible, his hands tight on your behind.
"My Wraith is an experience, a way of life."
You giggle, hands roaming up his chest and around his shoulders, "And so are those shoes." You argue.
Laughing together, his forehead pressed to yours and his body all around you.
"I bet those shoes would look pretty on my shoulders while I railed you." He says, trying to get under your skin.
"Only one way to find out," you taunt back.
•
Dinner is delicious, he orders you lobster pasta while he eats an amazing platter of lamb chops and risotto. He feeds you bites of his food intermittently and you do the same.
The wine is a bit too dry for your tastes, but you try to appreciate it a bit more, because it's going to come in handy later.
You have to time it right, or else it won't work. You excuse yourself to use the restroom, accidentally dropping your napkin and bending over to reach for the small square of cloth before placing it onto the seat and giggling as you walk off confidently. You maybe get a little lost searching for the restroom, and you smile easily at the waitress that guides you.
You take a little longer, making sure everything is perfectly in place for him to tear it off you tonight, and you smile at yourself in the mirror.
"Sorry," you say with a giggle, returning to him, "got a tiny bit lost looking for the restroom."
He smirks.
"It's okay, princess, I understand."
And at the the very last moment, your heel catches the foot of the table once more, and you trip, accidentally knocking over your glass of red wine.
It's like art, the way the wine glides through the air, hits the light grey of his shirt and drips down the front.
There's a stunned moment of silence between you two, before you're murmuring apologies, reaching for a napkin to dab at his shirt.
"Oh, god Billy I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean to." You pause your dabbing to look up at him, freezing at the look he's giving you.
He's like a coiled predator, looking at you carefully with a calm expression on his face.
The corner of his lip twitches as he takes in your worried an apologetic expression.
He doesn't say a word, grabbing your wrist and pulling the napkin from your grip, discarding it somewhere before he's pulling at you.
You once again have to stumble to keep up, always trying to draw less attention to yourselves unless someone thinks you're unwilling in this little game you're playing with him.
"My car, please." He says to the valet, who's already scrambling when he notices Billy approaching.
Billy's hand remains tight on your wrist, you lean into him a little when the cold of the night cuts into you, remembering that you left his jacket behind and you'll have to shyly remind him tomorrow.
"I'm sorry, Billy, I didn't mean to."
"I know, princess, I know you're just too dumb to be careful."
You ignore the look the valet throws your way when he overhears, uncaring about what other people might think when you're about to get exactly what you want.
•
He doesn't look at you as the car pulls up, but his hand remains tight on your wrist. He takes the keys from the valet and guides you into the passenger seat before shutting the car door for you. He doesn't say a word the entire way home.
•
He pulls you into his apartment, and when the door slams shut, he finally releases your wrist.
"Knees." He says quickly, and your mouth opens to speak.
"I didn't mean to, Billy. Please..."
He laughs, and the sound send shivers of fear and arousal down your spine.
"Mean to?" He asks, approaching you slowly, but you step back with each step he takes forward.
"Are you saying that riling me up wasn't your plan? Dressing up in that little dress, forgetting to bring a jacket when I told you to? Almost flashing that man when you were sitting down?"
You're shaking your head with each accusation he throws your way.
"I didn't- I didn't-"
"Oh? You didn't?" He mocks, "So you're you're so much of a ditz that you didn't know you put your ass right in my face earlier when you dropped your napkin? That ruining daddy's expensive shirt was an accident?"
"I'm-"
You're cut off when he grabs the back of your head, pulling your body to his, stopping your movements.
"Get. On your knees. Before I put you there." He says evenly, and you whimper, kneeling slowly onto the hardwood floor near his kitchen.
"Finally," he sighs, pulling away, "at least a dumb little girl like you understands orders." He steps behind you, and you can't see what he's doing. You hear moving around, but you know better than to look, you know your punishment is going to be harsh enough without the added penance of looking at him.
You jump when you hear a pop, the sound of a wine bottle being uncorked.
"I bet you're still thirsty, princess, after spilling all your wine. You never even got a good sip of it hmm?"
You can only look up at him when he circles back into your vision, a bottle of red in his hand.
You gulp.
"Here baby, why don't you have some more?"
You can't protest, because he's pressing the mouth of the bottle against your lips in the next second. You're forced to swallow or get your dress dirty, and you try your best, taking a few mouthfuls of the concoction before pushing the bottle away from your face.
"That's it? All full? But there's so much left."
You whine in distress.
"I guess if you can't drink it, you'll just have to wear it."
You gasp when the cool liquid touches the crown of your head, soaking your scalp and clumping your hair. It runs in rivulets down your chest and into your dress. A little runs too close to your eye and you tilt your head up to avoid it accidentally hurting you. He adjusts his hand, pointing it toward your chest and you look up at him, while he smirks in satisfaction, dousing you with the wine.
You shiver as it traces its way down your dress, soaking your skin and filling your nose with the scent of fermentation. Your nipples tingle as the liquid soaks into your bra and causes your dress to cling to your thighs.
He finally stops drenching you, tilting the bottle up, and you watch the wine form a little puddle on his floor that you know he could care less about.
He looks pleased when your eyes meet his.
"Oops." He murmurs evenly, "Guess my hand slipped."
You pout at him.
"That sweet pout," he murmurs, leaning forward to take your jaw in his hand, his thumb brushing over your lips, "makes me want to ruin you in every way possible. Open your mouth."
You only part your lips a little, watching him take a long sip from the bottle before leaning over you. His hand tightens on your jaw, opening your mouth more, and your eyes widen when he parts his lips to let the wine fall from his mouth into yours.
Your eyes flutter shut in bliss, fuck yes you wanted him to destroy you, pull you apart and make you his own little plaything.
"Don't swallow yet, baby, let's see if your dumb little brain can follow orders."
He leaves you then, walking away, while unbuttoning his shirt, you kneel in the puddle of wine, your mouth full of the same thing, trying to be as good as possible.
You wonder what your punishment's going to be. Is he going to spank your ass? No, too easy, maybe your pussy. You press your thighs together. Maybe he's going to fuck your face and come all over you and get you even messier than you are now. You shift a little, feeling your body ache for him.
You hear the sound of his footsteps as he approaches you, and your body tingles in excitement.
"Still holding onto my spit, princess?" He asks, a hand on your head.
You nod, parting your lips to show him the now warm liquid sloshing around in your mouth.
He hums.
"You can swallow now." He permits, and you don't hesitate to do as commanded.
You look up at him, noting that he's removed his shirt, looking down at you with narrowed eyes.
"Up." He says, and you scramble to your feet as best as possible. Your knees ache from where you've been kneeling, and your ankles hurt, uncomfortable in your heels.
He doesn't ask, grabbing your upper arm and pulling you with meaningful, measured steps into the living room. He doesn't stop until your face is pressed into the floor to ceiling window.
"Look at the pretty view you have because of me." He says, angrily pulling at the zipper of your dress, handling it so roughly that you hear several seams break as he pulls it from your body.
"I buy your clothes, and your shoes, and all those bags you love-" he tugs your bra off next, kneading your breasts in the palm of his hands, "- you only have to look pretty and be my good girl. Instead-" he pinches your nipples roughly and your head falls back against his chest, "- instead you act like a dumb little slut that can barely keep her head on straight."
You whine his name.
"Well if you want to be a dumb slut, I'll just have to treat you like one, yeah?"
You can't respond, to lost in his rough groping to respond.
Suddenly he slaps your cheek, and you moan, the sting is too gentle for your tastes but it gets your attention.
"This is an easy one, princess. Do you want me to treat you like the dumb slut I think you are?"
You nod quickly.
"Yes, sir, please." You beg, smiling when he spins you in his arms, looking down at your body, sticky and covered in drying wine.
"Look at you." He hums, "Ready to do whatever I ask. Eager to let me have any inch of you that I want."
You watch the power settle behind his eyes, a pleased look as he raises his hand to pat your cheek roughly.
"Harder." You beg, and he obliges, the pat moving into a gentle slap across your face.
"Daddy, please." You beg, and he pulls his hand back just a little bit more, a sharp sting on each cheek.
He's watching your face closely, looking for any sign that you're not enjoying it, slapping you across the face was only good for him if he could see and hear how much you enjoyed it.
"Thank you daddy." You say, opening your eyes to look at him, and he wants to break you senselessly right here, come deep inside of you and watch it drip out and have you beg for more.
More of him.
"Let me fuck your face." He says, an order, not a question and you're on your knees again in seconds, no further prompt necessary.
You wait, for his approval, hands fisted in your lap. You know that he'd only slap your hands away and call you an eager little slut if you tried to reach for him without his say.
"Go ahead." He permits, and it's all you need, reaching up to unbuckle his belt, unzipping his pants and getting your first real touch of his cock for the day. You pump him in your hand for a bit, working yourself up, before kissing the tip.
"Hands behind your back. Tongue out." He orders, a hand cupping the back of your head.
You obey, eager and ready for him to fuck your face.
He starts slow for your benefit, working his big cock slowly into your mouth and letting you grow accustomed to the feeling.
You can't help moaning around him as he fills your mouth, and you hear him chuckle above you.
"Does my dumb little girl like having her mouth filled?"
"Mhmm" you hum.
"Is that why you're so dumb? Because you like to suck more than you like to talk?"
"Mmm." You hum again.
He doesn't give you much of a warning before he starts thrusting into your mouth.
You hear him let out a low moan.
"Your dumb mouth feels like heaven, baby, fuck."
He withdraws his length from your mouth.
"Suck on my balls." He murmurs, and angles his hips so that his length rests on your face and his balls are nestled in your mouth. It makes you feel so good, to be an object for is pleasure, almost a basic receptacle for his torment. You want to be debased by him, and only him. You use your tongue, massaging him with your mouth as best as possible until he's groaning loudly.
You wish he would come on your face- you want to feel his warm sticky seed drip from your cheek and down your chest, and you want him to use you in any way he wants.
He pulls back, and you can't resist the little pout you make.
A laugh from him and you're being pulled up and lifted.
Your legs wrap around his hips, and you lean into him as he walks you to his room.
He puts you down, and you watch him sit on the bed.
"Over my lap." He says, and you do as he says, settling your mostly naked body over his, his hand resting on your ass easily.
"How many do you want?" He asks, and you try to conceal your shiver of delight at being asked.
"Twenty, please." You say to him and he chuckles.
"That's quite a lot, baby, sure you can handle it?"
"Now who's asking dumb questions?" You snip.
The first spank is hard, and you groan, feeling your body relax as the pain sinks into your skin.
He tugs your underwear down your thighs, kissing the round of your ass before giving you another.
He's unforgiving, unrelenting, and you find yourself leaning into each touch. He spanks your pussy intermittently, and you squeal when it happens, wriggling to raise your head but he simply presses his hand into your back to keep you bent over.
You kick your legs when it gets a little painful, but it really does nothing more than getting you spanked harder.
When it really starts to hurt, he takes a longer time between spanks, rubbing your bare ass to both soothe and remind you of the sting.
"Are you enjoying this?" He asks, and you moan when you feel two of his fingers ghosting over your puffy slit.
"Yes, Billy." You sigh, yelping when his broad hand smacks your thigh.
"Yes? But this is a punishment, you're not supposed to like it."
You mumble something incoherently and you're rewarded with another painful spank.
"I'm a dumb little girl, sir, and I think every touch you give me is a good touch." You say louder so that he can hear.
"Even when it hurts?" He asks.
"Yes," you moan, "Touch me and see for yourself."
You sigh, feeling his probing fingers slip between your legs, he hums in appreciation, swirling his fingers expertly over your clit.
"Oh, baby, look at how well that pussy's trying to get ready for me." He pushes two fingers into you and you relax on top of him, mewling when he decides to go so slow for your benefit.
He withdraws his fingers and gives you one final spank, before pulling you up.
"How many was that, princess?"
Your eyes widen.
"Um- I'm not- uhh."
He chuckles.
"You weren't counting? Don't you know you're supposed to be counting?"
"I- uhhh."
"Stop making those dumb little sounds." He says harshly and you pout.
He pushes you back on the bed, tugging your heels off your feet.
"Can you even count?" He asks, tossing your shoes haphazardly, reaching for your underwear next, "Or do you need daddy to do everything for you?"
" 'm sorry daddy. I can count I swear."
He hovers over you, grinning.
"Yeah? Why don't you count how many times I make you come?"
You swallow, nodding your head, and he doesn't hesitate to line himself up and push the head of his cock into you.
He groans above you.
"Fuck, your dumb little head is worth it for this cunt." He grunts, pushing a little more of himself in, rocking his hips to get to accustomed to his size before adding a little bit more.
You sob as he fills you, nails digging into his shoulders, he feels unbelievably amazing inside you and you struggle to find the words to tell him.
"Gonna make you come over and over, see if your brain can keep up." He grunts, before he's laying into you with slow, precise strokes.
You come almost immediately, and you hear another grunt before he laughs. He doesn't stop, moving at a measured pace, until your brain is mush and your body is pliant and shaking under him.
You're lost in his body, intoxicated by the pleasure he gives so easily, a melding of your forms as he reminds you why your body is only his.
His mouth descends on your collarbone, biting and sucking, leaving angry marks that you're grateful for.
When you've come a second time, he flips you onto your hands and knees, and pushes into you again.
He takes, and he takes and you're glad to give. He tugs your hair into his fist, keeping your back arched as his pace increases. The room is filled with the shared sounds of your pleasure and quiet adoration.
You lose track after orgasm number five, unable to keep your head on straight with Billy's cock so remarkably deep inside you.
"How many?" He finally asks, when you're on your back again, his body pressed in close, his breath on your lips.
You can only let out a pitiful sound.
He laughs.
"I knew you couldn't count." He teases.
And then his hand is around your throat, squeezing tightly, and you claw at his skin when his hips increase their pace.
"Don't come yet." He orders, turning his head to rub his cheek against your nose. You know he can feel you, clenching around him, near orgasm.
"You don't come unless I say, you don't think, unless I say." He looks down at you, hands tightening around your throat, "You don't breathe. Unless. I . Say."
Fuck yes, you think, eyes welling with tears as you try to hold your orgasm at bay.
A single tear rolls down your cheek and he grunts in pleasure, his grip on your neck eases.
"Come for me."
Your vision goes white, your body convulses violently as you orgasm. You squeeze his cock tightly inside you, until he moans loudly, spilling his come inside you, his cock pulsing along with your walls as you drain him dry.
You're both breathing heavily, and when you meet his eyes, you're rewarded with a smile and a little kiss.
The first kiss of the evening, followed by gentle ones in between breaths.
"You're perfect." He whispers into your mouth and you sigh in pleasure, "My perfect girl."
He stays inside you for as long as possible, but honestly you can't remember too much after that, your body succumbing to exhaustion pretty quickly.
You only come to a little when he's easing you into the warm bath, you watch his back, covered in scratches as he grabs your shampoos and everything necessary to get you clean.
You can barely focus on anything much but his body behind you in the bath, and his hands in your hair.
•
Later, he tucks you into bed, checking you over before pulling you into his chest, slow circles on your back.
"I have a surprise for you." He says gently, and you're caught up in the sound of his heartbeat, "But it can wait until tomorrow."
"Okay," you whisper, "G'night Billy."
A kiss to the top of your head.
"Night, princess."
•
You're sore the morning after, but you're glad to wake in his arms, he kisses the top of your head before he slips out of bed to make you coffee.
Everything aches as you stretch, from your throat to your thighs and your knees too.
You catch a peek of yourself in the bathroom mirror, and smile a little when you see the abundance of bruises and bites left behind.
Walking hurts a little, so you resettle on the bed after shrugging on an old shirt of his.
•
He comes back a little later, giving you a cup of coffee with just the right amounts of sugar and cream. You hum delightfully as you sip it.
"Come," he says when you finish your cup, "I have a surprise for you."
"Walking kind of hurts." You mumble, and he smiles proudly, reaching for you to pick you up.
Your arms around his neck, and your legs wrapped around his waist and he tells you to close your eyes.
You giggle when he kisses the tip of your nose, a gentle command to not peek.
"Okay, open."
He's taken you into his closet, holding out something for you to see, and you gasp in delight as you take the pretty heel from his hand.
"You got them for me? Oh, daddy, thank you, thank you thank you!"
"That's not the only thing." He says with a chuckle.
He turns, so that you can see what's behind you, and your mouth drops open in shock, the heel slips from your hand and falls to the ground with a muffled thud.
Against the far wall of his closet, where his shoes usually are, you're shocked to see that half of the wall has been replaced with heels. Not every spot is filled, but you're shocked to find the gorgeous butterfly heels in several different colours, along with the Jimmy Choos you'd pointed out last night.
"Billy." You say in shock, turning to look at him for some explanation as to why half of his closet is now empty.
"Move in with me." He says, your noses colliding gently.
You can only smile, giddy with excitement, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, you lean forward to press his lips securely to yours.
.
.
.
#billy russo#billy russo x reader#ben barnes#my writings#billy russo x female reader#the punisher#billy russo smut
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writing pattern tag game!
post the first line of your last ten posted fics and see if there's a pattern! thanks for the tag, @ful-crum !!!!!
not quite sure how i got here, real glad i've got more than ten fics posted (if only barely), excited to see how it goes
"Aziraphale bustles back into his shop with all of the energy of a raccoon holding a goodie they never expected to stumble across." – no skin like the skin you woke up in (gomens canon divergence au)
"Ed has spent the vast majority of his life as a pirate. Get as old and experienced as he’s gotten – far older and more experienced than he ever expected, mind you – and you form some opinions, about salt and the sea and the way of things." – and i feel so proud when the reckoning arrives (this is two lines so it's cheating but whatever 💚. very dumb black sails/our flag means death crossover)
"The first time Dick notices himself call for Batgirl and the wrong sibling respond, he doesn't think much of it." – no difference between the past and the ground (dick grayson thinks he's going crazy until he realizes [REDACTED])
"Tommy thinks that finding himself stuck through the Blood God’s sword – stuck through – should come as more of a shock to him than it does." – this is mostly what happens in dallas (au of my dsmp hero/villain major character death series where the major character death doesn't happen but it's still not great! hence the wtnv if he had lived title)
"Wilbur drops onto the couch with a groan and some sort of weird, histrion-type flail." – a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun (dsmp hero/villain au, companion piece to the actual mcd, probably my best piece of posted writing)
"He isn't looking for trouble today, but he isn't surprised when the blade of a sword finds him regardless." – the truth is like a sickle (it'll cut you to the middle) (dsmp hero/villain au with the mcd)
"The flickering lights of the tavern seem soft, in the late hours of the night." – drunk in a field (on dandelion wine) (unfinished 5+1 from a folk witch!jaskier universe that i got super super attached to but eventually let go of because my life kept getting more insane and the concept more intricate)
"Peter had spent a lot of time trying to psychoanalyze Neal Caffrey before his capture." – acquainted with the saint of never getting it right (white collar/batfam crossover, dick grayson is neal caffrey, my most popular fic by a chunk)
"Geralt can already tell that Jaskier plans on dragging them both out tonight, probably with quilt, to force him into a night of 'stargazing and communing with nature like we used to!'" – it could feel like an end (to have to keep going) (immortal/modern times geraskier au fic i haven't read since i wrote and posted it in a day. i think it's contemplations on mortality, helplessness, and the climate crisis?)
"Briefly, he contemplates sitting up on the couch to give himself better lung capacity for his incoming tirade, but figures that he may as well put his vigilante training to good use, and continues to lay back." – more like me (less like you) (technically the second line of an emotional conversation between dick and jason, but the first line was dialogue and it is too early for me to mess with quotation marks like that)
so, full disclaimer that i don't post a ton (no skin was last updated in august of last year and more like me was posted in july of 2021) so a lot of this writing is kind of old, but! i did notice that i've tended to open in media res, but recently i have been incorporating more exposition. i've never tried to make my first lines great hooks — i'm honestly more concerned with giving myself a good jumping-off point than anything else. it also struck me how many fandoms i've written for that i no longer engage with, basically at all. maybe i've just been really focused lately, but i don't think a few of these fandoms would hold my attention anymore! ironically, i'm talking about the more recent fandoms like dsmp/gomens/ofmd and not the older stuff like the batfam or the witcher.
this was really fun, i loved looking back through my work like this!! thank you again ful-crum for tagging me :)! i'm gonna tag @doingthewritethings, @b10000p, and @alavenderleaf !!!!!!
#tag game#me when ive been writing plenty of fic recently but not posting any of it so my most recent thing is gomens s2 cope fic......#and by cope fic i mean Make It Worse fic. for the record#augh i'll finish something eventually
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Bake On: A Jamie/Claire Wednesday100 story
Week 1: Cake
Jamie gets his signature - Mam's snow cake - into the oven before he takes a moment to truly size up the competition.
There's the usual crop of grannies and older gents and young mum types, a smarmy-looking middle-aged man Jamie instantly dislikes, a willowy girl he smiles at because she's trembling with nerves, a hulking, wildly bearded lad with an accent Jamie can't place (Welsh?), and then, down in the front corner, far from his back row...
He watches her for so long that he has to rely on the technical and showstopper to make up for his overdone cake.
Week 2: Biscuits
There were many things that Claire considered before entering the competition: that her self-taught skills wouldn't hold up, that she didn't have the sorts of stories and traditions needed for the signatures, that she wouldn't be able to balance it all with her usual work schedule.
She hadn't thought that she'd need to remind herself to focus each time her ears detected a Scottish accent at the back of the tent, or that, after her Kingston biscuits came first in the technical, she'd think about his grin and the light touch of his foot against hers the entire drive home.
Week 3: Bread
"The best simit I've had was off splintery carts pushed by old men who would have considered you mad for criticizing the sesame seeds' evenness."
Jamie looks up from messaging Jenny to find Claire beside him. He'd been trying to stop reexamining his near elimination today. Now he smiles without thought.
"Well, Sassenach, I'll be back next week. That's what matters."
"I suppose that's true." She smiles back, cheeks rosy and rounded, before adding, "You're taking the train, aren't you? I can drive you to the station."
It's an easy walk. The choice to ride with her is even easier.
Week 4: Pie
"Will London surgeon Claire's use of herbs finally win her the title of star baker?"
Her held breath becomes a laugh. She sets down the knife she had been using to carve her pastry top, looking over to him leaning on her bench.
"It might, especially if freelance translator Jamie doesn't get back and give her some competition."
He flashes a grin. "Canna have that. My case is done cooling besides."
She watches him walk away, then resumes, her hands steadier now. She wonders whether he could have possibly noticed her doubts from the back. No, she decides. A coincidence.
Week 5: Pastry
He doesn't notice how long they've been talking until Claire shivers in the midnight chill. It seemingly doesn't register with her - she simply crosses her arms and continues speaking about her patients - but he wants to tuck her against himself, offering his warmth.
Her expression is vivid, and he hates cutting her off (although he'd have hated interrupting her while discussing their fellow contestants, London versus Edinburgh, or today's lunchtime sandwiches). Still, he checks his watch, yawns, says, "Christ, it's that late? We'd better get in if we want to be awake for the showstopper," and sees her safely sheltered.
Week 6: Chocolate
It's meltingly hot in the tent, and everyone's rushing about. Claire's behind on her own bake, and so nearly doesn't notice the cheesecake sitting out at the edge of one of the vacant benches, matching the description Jamie gave of the one he was planning while they'd baked together over the phone this week. Her eyes narrow, and she looks around.
Frank looks back, then immediately glances away.
She places Jamie's cake back into the refrigerator. There isn't time for revenge now, but they can plan together later.
In the meantime, beating Frank will be sweet in its own way.
Week 7: Puddings
"Didna ken this would be the week where I'd remember them so much," Jamie says that night, knowing that she hears him despite his quiet words.
He supposes he should feel embarrassed, tearing up over a batch of clootie dumplings, but he remembers Mam helping him tie the cloth, remembers Da ruffling his hair and Willie saying with his mouth full, "They're good, Jamie!"
And Claire doesn't make him feel foolish, simply places her hand over his, saying, "I don't think there's a wrong time to remember the people you love," so he doesn't feel alone there in the dark.
Week 8: Tarts
She's smiling with satisfaction for the first bit of the drive, star baker title finally achieved and her place in the semi-final assured. It's only as she's shaking her head for her own foolishness at wanting to call Jamie to celebrate when she's barely left him (and knows that he had work to take care of on the train ride home besides) that she realizes what this means.
They've both shown their skill and she's confident in their chances of making it through next week. But even so, even if they get into the finale together, their weekends are numbered.
Week 9: Patisserie
The tension in Jamie's shoulders has nothing to do with two days fussing with choux pastry, or the pressure of next week's final, and everything to do with the countable hours he has left with Claire.
They stand talking in the car park long after the others have packed up and left, after he's missed his train, and he wonders if she might feel the same. Regardless, more time with her doesn't seem like a chance he can miss.
At the next pause, he breathes and asks, "Might ye—Will ye come have dinner with me, Claire?" and watches her smile.
Week 10: Final
The contestants carry their showstoppers to the waiting crowd of loved ones. In classic British fashion, the finale fete is chill and rainy; the camera catches Claire carefully keeping her hair out of her icing.
"Christ, I'd forgotten what the damp did to that curlywig o' yers."
Claire elbows him from her spot beneath his arm, although she is laughing along. "Hush and watch. We're about to lose in front of the entire country, after all."
"True enough. Still, I think we won more than that cake stand o' Glenna's," he says.
By the way she kisses him, she agrees.
#Wednesday100#Outlander#Jamie Fraser#Claire Fraser#Jamie/Claire#cheating a little but each part is its own drabble 🤷♀️
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Another 5 sentence (paragraph) for viktor?? Maybe him being such a creature of habit visiting the same bakery just about daily and always getting the same thing- mainly because he thinks the girl behind the counter is cute not thinking she notices him too much past being a regular but she sort of looks out for him? Brings him pastries to the lab when he doesn't come by upon jayces instruction of where he is.
You glance at the clock on the wall, and then at the door; when no one walks through, you also glance out at the street through the large windows lining the front of the shop. Once again, though, no one is there; no customers, nor passerby. You try to ignore the pang of sadness in your chest, but without any patrons to distract you it proves difficult. It wasn’t a busy time of day, so you’re not really surprised that no one is vying for a pastry at the moment - but that’s not what you’re upset about. For months now, you’d had a regular customer -Viktor, his name was- and every day like clockwork, he would come into your shop to purchase a custard pastry and an over-sugared coffee with sweetmilk.
But not today, it seemed. Such a fact certainly dampered your mood, but you knew it had only been a matter of time. Viktor was a busy man, you had learned, and during his visits over the past week, he’d looked increasingly stressed and tired. You had, of course, asked him about what was bothering him so much, and it hadn’t taken much prodding for him to air out his anxieties. You didn’t understand most of the technical jargon during his rant, but you certainly understood what it meant to be overworked: years ago, when you had worked as an apprentice for another shop closer to the edge of the city, you had been much the same - thirteen hour shifts, early mornings, late nights, and lots of coffee.
You quickly walk to the front door and flip the little ‘open for business’ sign over, noting the shop as closed instead. Viktor had said on many occasions what a wonder your coffee and treats were, and how it was something in his day that he always actively looked forward to. So, you decide, if he wasn’t able to find time in his schedule to come to you, then you would simply have to go to him. He had told you once where he worked: had it been an off-handed comment? Yes. But that didn’t matter.
Half an hour later, you’re out of breath and perhaps a little more sweaty than you wanted to be, but you had found Viktor’s lab. It had taken several wrong turns, and a couple of stops to consult a map and ask strangers for directions, but you had found it. Pleased with yourself, you knock on the door and push it open a crack, poking your head in. Two pairs of eyes immediately zero in on you, and Viktor looks stunned. “What are you doing here?” he asks, yanking the pair of goggles off his head, “did something happen?”
You smile widely, and present the tray of food from behind your back. “You didn’t come by today,” you explain, “and you said you’d been exceptionally crammed lately. I thought I’d bring some of the bakery to you - and Jayce of course.” You tack on the last bit when said partner pouts longingly at the snacks. Viktor’s surprise quickly morphs into something warmer and softer, and he gestures you further into the lab. “I won’t keep you, I know you’re busy” you say, setting the tray down nearby. “I just wanted to make sure that you eat something. I can come by tomorrow, if you’d like?” Viktor opens his mouth to reply, but before he’s about to thank you and agree, Jayce pipes up that yes, you should definitely come by tomorrow.
#writing is hard today and im not sure why#oh well!#five somethings prompts#viktor x reader#viktor arcane x reader#arcane x reader
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You are the stupidest idiot ever! But I'm not going to let you die // In amongst seven billion, there's someone like you. That's why I put up with the rest of them.
OKAY! Pyramid at the end of the World +Lie Of The Land!
these are the last two that I didn't write notes for and it's been a hot second so probably have forgotten Some Stuff. that being said, they're... interesting. at some point there needs to be an analysis done of bill's season and why it does and doesn't work (mainly that I wish it had come sooner and/or been longer). BUT ANYWAY!
I put these episodes together, although the tonal shift is quite big in between, but it is one story that follows on from extremis. it's kinda Bill's "wandering the earth for a year six months" so obvs I'm going to compare it to Martha a little. they even used a bit of s3 music in there!
sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 10/10
sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored, or given agency to her emotional interiority): 6/10
interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 5/10
furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 6/10
companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 7/10
the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 8/10
doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 6/10
isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 10/10
internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 6/10
Politics (how conservative is the story): 6/10
FULL RATING: 70/100 (if I can count….)
I gave this one a solid 70 out of 100. I think that's fair enough -- they're not necessarily my favourite stories (in fact I do kvetch about them a fair bit I think), but I do think they manage something M*ffat often struggles with, which is building a Big story that is also comprehensive and involves the companion in material ways
OBJECTIFICATION: listen, I do not remember. I think these episodes are free from this though.
PLOT-POINT: Bill technically does get to have feelings about things and these feelings do partially drive the plot -- she gets the Doctor's sight back, her feelings about her mother save the day, and she's very driven to save the world throughout (and her lovely self is what drives the Doctor to say today's second quote in the title, a sentiment that says a lot about who the Doctor is in this incarnation and the relationship between the two of them)
it doooes highlight how some of these things still suffer from M*ffat's penchant of just. throwing things at the wall in lieu of building a cohesive, deep thematic arc. the strongest part in my opinion is Bill getting the Doctor's sight back/saving the Doctor's life. I get why she feels this close to the Doctor at this point, what sort of a person she is that would take on this sacrifice, and how it drives the story
(I have mixed feelings about the Doctor being blind in the first place, it was never given any space in the story beyond being a narrative hindrance, and at the end of this it's simply fixed and never spoken about again. what was the point of having the Doctor be blind for about three episodes? but the bit where Bill finds out and saves him is good for me)
Bill's mother... doesn't have a name. it's the oddest oversight and leads to the incredibly silly line "Bill's mum... you've just gone viral." she's meant to be one of the core drivers of Bill's background, but it falls to pieces without a name, she's just a fridged mother without any personality --- also see me nitpicking, but this is the second companion in a row with a dead mother that should be at the center of who they are, but is sort of conveniently just there when needed. it was worse with Clara, because her mother was fully dropped from the storyline after s7, but it's... noticeable. at least Amy's parents came back from the dead (although were then never mentioned again). you can feel M*ffat tryyying to figure out those family relationship plots and being a different kind of bad at it with every companion
I still think Bill's is the best of these, simply because there are some bits and pieces of continuously acknowledging her mother's emotional presence in her life, but oof. it's tough being a no name dead mother character
also one thing I want to bring up that knocked this a full point was the Doctor and Nardole manipulating Bill into thinking the Doctor was on the side of the invading aliens to the point that she was going to shoot him dead (in her own head, she doesn't know about regeneration), and then completely brush it off afterwards. I think it's one of the crueller bits of writing from M*ffat and hearkens back to especially how he would write Sherlock. it very much undermines the development of Twelve as well, who's ostensibly learning to become kinder throughout his arc, and the Main thing is... if I'm going to compare this to Martha in s3 somewhat...
a. Bill is totally alone in remembering the events of the last six months, apart from the Doctor and pooossibly the handful of soldiers who were deprogrammed, from what I understand. this is not at all explored
b. Bill spends these six months trying to stay sane, and okay, so the Doctor is? isn't? held prisoner by the monks on this big ship, Nardole says he needed x amount of time to find him, but reaaally none of that makes a whole lotta sense the more one tries to break it down, and the bottom line is... there is no real point to Bill being there, other than the Doctor wanting her there. yes, the remembering her mother does become important later on, but that's not initially the plan, the plan is to just ask the Master what to do from the sounds of it, and I'm mainly just very very confused about the whole opening section of this plot. it's not well-written in that classic M*ffat way that makes it seem polished on the surface, but is full of holes that get waved away... and it's all, from what I can tell, in service of this big reveal that the Doctor was actually never on the side of the monks, because that whole section is cool
it's not really about Bill at all, as is obvious when we move past it immediately into "and then the Doctor continues to be cool"
(the stuff with the Master then gives us more pathos, but the opening is... bad)
... I could write a whole lot more about it tbh, but I'm not going to, it was stupid on several levels, took away
COMPLEXITY: a lot of this is over-the-top M*ffat nonsense, especially in pyramids of mars, where we mostly eschew your everyday perspective in order to focus on generals and world leaders or whatever. we do though have a (in my opinion) fun little tense counterpoint with two scientists who due to a series of little errors almost destroy the world. I actually do have questions about that though, in terms of what the heck was extremis for as a plot, if the invasion plan was to create a series of coincidences (I guess they have some reality controlling powers considering as well how they shift historical perceptions, but it's not explored all that much -- I'd say they fit well in the rtd2 upcoming era about gods and myths, but I don't have that much interest in seeing them again tbh) and then emotionally manipulate someone into handing over the world (my point isn't that this plan doesn't make sense in a Doctor Who way, my point is that extremis makes no sense)
questions questions. also oooh there were ways of recentering this on Bill, because apparently if Bill dies then the monks might be defeated. so why in the world do they just let her run around like she does? I mean, there's some real fucked up fun potential in all of this, surely Bill should be waaay more at the core of this plot than she is, she's key to their survival on this planet, and having just reread the transcipt, the Master has a throwaway line that says if they're booted off the planet due to the link (Bill) dying, they just chalk it up to experience... but there could have been more than that. more than just "eh, they're not that bothered one way or another"
bored aliens with (comparatively) godlike powers toying with earth is a good story, but it's not, in my opinion, this story. in this story it makes them seem less consequential, their motives even more opaque than they already were, and Bill's journey through the story meaningless -- again, to compare to the Jones Family Experience, the fact that they're the only ones to remember the events of the year of hell is one huge part of the trauma. they're glad the earth was healed, but they will always have the memories. Bill, by contrast, isn't given the space to rage against everything happening here, she just sadly accepts it, and maybe that's who she is. maybe that's the six months spent in it all. but I don't think it's well enough explored from her perspective in the text to really say
I think I'm rambling a bit, but it's something about Bill as sacrificial lamb, and it's going to come up again, I know, I know the ending of this season, I just don't remember how it's written. we shall see! but from a character pov I want more -- well, I want less of the Big Important Quick Moving Plots That Leave You Spinning And Going "hold on did that make sense?" and more character-centric narrative in this, but ah well
it's not the worst of these, I'm just kind of digging into what's missing. Bill is still fantastic to me, even if her mum isn't allowed to have a name, and generally she does have more grounding and things to do than either Amy or Clara, but there's a niggling feeling the whole way through -- this is the last season, so Bill is defining that ending, she's got to carry a whole lot after 5 previous seasons of very messy storytelling, she's a very different character to pretty much every M*ffat female character, so it's like there's a hit or miss with the story that I really wish there wasn't, because it's the last flipping season and you would have thought some of these basic narrative things were things a showrunner for one of the most high profile tv shows in the world knew how to do, but it seems like he's only just learning the ropes now
and he still overly relies on montages
actually the real issue with this three-parter was the pacing. the pacing was atrocious
CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: we get a whole bunch of the Master in this one, which I think is great of course
it does contrast how I don't think Bill has changed all that much from extremis to now, because the Master is in... two scenes? and comes so far. although, to be fair, the Master technically has been in scenes since 1970 so there's a whole lotta foundations there
but yeah, the Master stuff to me is always satisfying
and of course Bill has now met the Master, which is exciting!
COMPANIONS MATTER: I do think Bill matters in this. she makes decisions absent of the Doctor that massively drive the plot, the main three of which are "gets the Doctor his sight back, thereby saving his life," "keeps her sanity/memories of reality completely on her own," (seriously that seems to be nigh-impossible and she never stumbles) and "puts herself in the brain-mincing machine and wins"
one in several billion indeed
“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: mmmmm not so much in the first one, and technically Bill saves the day in both of them. he's a bit of a dick though, is my main thing about the Doctor in all of this. I actually just think he's oddly underwritten/out of focus? which is rare in M*ffat, usually the companion suffers this
he comes most into focus again during the Master scenes and during the end-sequence, but yeah. it made me realise that the Doctor really should have been properly helpless and Bill should have saved him from the monks/driven the plot even more, because it felt like the Doctor was smushed in there a bit to be a bit Doctor-y but then was kind of pointless
now makes me think of this alt plot: Bill remembers the vault from when she came across it in the first episode, and sneaks in periodically to try and get into it/speak with whatever creature is clearly on the other side. make this less than six months, because that was nuts. she gets in, meets the Master and it's really a Bill and the Master episode, akin to s9ep2 with Clara, except this time the Master is claiming to have become good, honest (Bill makes some deductions about why the Doctor might be keeping her in there, idk, but also can't get her out anyway) and you're left to wonder whether the Master would sacrifice Bill to save the day/the Doctor... again, like Clara
and so she helps Bill save the Doctor and get to the lair, and Bill already knows about the dying, which of course, the Master trying to kill Clara was a massive point of division between the Master/the Doctor, and this feels like that .2 except the Master swears this was all to save the world, etcetc...
and Nardole dies early on or smthin
PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: I cannot remember, but I think not really anything + the callback to s3 makes you go "ah yeah, but s3 had a thematic throughline that led to Martha wandering the earth for a year and then leaving the Tardis, because it was all a fucking mess, while these episodes don't really take Bill in a new direction, from what I can tell + are just sort of plonked in the middle of the season"
“SEXINESS”: listen, considering the Master is in this and I'd even allow some silly lines from the Master (and we do get "that's Spanish for hot!" although that's technically related to them playing the game "hot or cold") we're remarkably free from all this nonsense
INTERNAL WORLD: I think the first episode is more of a mess than the second. the second is meant to be incompatible with reality upon close inspection, it's a flawed reality-bending tool using the brain of one woman, but the first one with the pyramid and president of earth making a reappearance, that was more suspect to me
POLITICS: I liked the casting of the main scientist in the first episode, she was cool and fun to watch -- I kind of wish she'd been in the second one too, to give it more throughline. after all she was also at the eye of the storm, I was sort of missing her. but yeah, I enjoyed some diverse casting practice in the first place
the whole "we've got prison camps now" bit was a bit surface-level nothing. I don't think it was even meant to be anything other than "see the monks are baaad" dystopian type stuff 1-0-1 but I think one can do more with that than this episode did
generally, again, I dislike whenever Doctor Who makes things too disconnected from ordinary people and gives the focus to "the important people" (and it's not just M*ffat who does this, but he did introduce the president of the world stupidity). it's not a show I watch for idk presidents and generals and armies (unless it's a story about that in some deliberate way -- not as set dressing!) and it takes away any thematic weight -- in the end the monks are gone again and... nobody was harmed? weren't people potentially killed? didn't they literally build camps and have people in them? what happened to that scientist who almost destroyed the world?
ungrounded, on the whole, but not offensive, except for the fuckn "let's manipulate Bill" part of it
FULL RATING: 70/100 (if I can count….)
I don't know if I'm nitpicking with these two, mostly because they just didn't speak to me much on an emotional level. they're perfectly serviceable on the whole, avoiding some of the more egregious mistakes of M*ffat-era, but they're a bit hollow to me
I very much enjoyed the Master parts (shocker), and Bill's competency, but it does on the whole feel like a lot of set dressing that was missing a bit of spark
#the measurement#im watching capaldi who#episode the pyramid at the end of the world#episode the lie of the land#the rambles were more rambly this time around
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24.01.2024 Wednesday Night
Realizing that I'll likely need code names for non-Ena friends.
It's a friend's birthday today, we were meant to do something together, but they were busy most of the day on Genshin, I don't blame them, of course. However, they did ask me to clear my schedule except therapy today, and I did. Now it's currently getting late, and I'm rather tired, yet we have not done anything.
I did have a meeting with my therapist today, it had to be set an hour later than usual, and next weeks 2 hours earlier than usual due to some kind of scheduling error. The change in routine left me more exhausted than I had anticipated despite it not seeming like a big deal.
We talked about the future and what that might mean for me, but to be quite honest, I have no idea. It's not like I can even properly make plans, I haven't had the freedom to make choices before and I'm technically not even sure I will be able to. I still have to hear back from the government.
Even if they approve my request, though, that doesn't mean my family will back off with the way that they treat me, so it's not even like I can get out of survival mode just because I have a taste of what it's like to be able to make decisions on my own.
Still she told me it would be good for me to think about what I might want. I've not really had the opportunity to do that before, so I guess she's not wrong, but I have no idea what that might look like. The possibilities being endless is, in some ways, just as terrifying as not having a possibility at all. Though I think I'd prefer this sort of question to not even having to ask it.
That said, I haven't been able to figure out any of the answers. It will probably take a long time pondering them to even approach such a thing.
The other thing we discussed was about potentially receiving gender affirming care, however, I am worried that even with the small amount of freedom I gain, I would still face consequences for such a thing, and the consequences unnerve me a bit. I wish I could see a doctor who was more versed in these specifics, to really understand what this might mean, but there aren't any available to me. So, I really would just have to go through it all making guesses with no support system.
Finally, I know you will be reading this eventually, so I'd like to thank Ena for helping my blog look so nice. I would not have been able to achieve this without you, and I appreciate you immensely.
This isn't going to be tagged with everything it probably should because I just don't have tags set up to keep things from clogging up the main tags yet.
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Coming from someone who has played SH2 a grand total of once I have never found myself ever having issues with the load times.
The only issues I did have were with how empty and overly spacious the town's streets are (which is probably the point given the setting but that only goes so far to make up for how uninteresting it is to explore imo) and how overly generous it was with resources which led to enemies being little more than nuisances
Coming from someone who is not a fan of the series I think these are the only aspects that would need improving and it could be done with a remaster of sorts that maybe added an option to have less resources laying around or something. A full blown remake should be reserved for those games that are truly rotten at the foundation and as such require complete workarounds
Of the original four, SH2 is the least in need of a remake because it already has so many different ports and rereleases. So you know Konami is only trying to cash in on nostalgia. PT whomst?
What's really burning my ass is the fact that even people who call themselves hardcore SH fans are falling for the technical limitations cruft, in this quasi-condescending "uwu poor lambs did their best with what they could" kind of way. As if the artistic direction counts for nothing because the tech they used wasn't as advanced as it is today.
This kind of thing is why I think game preservation and history are incredibly important. We keep losing the history in which games are made, lack the context necessary to understand them, and then make up erroneous narratives as a result.
Such attitudes wouldn't be so prevalent toward the original if we remembered the quantum leap between the PS2 and the PS1, what an amazing artistic vision the "limiting" tech of the time helped Team Silent to realize. People often cite SH1's limited draw distance as if it's a flaw Team Silent worked around, but forget that it wasn't a problem on the PS2 - so why do later games in the series still feature heavy fog? At some point you have to stop thinking about it in terms of technical limitations and give the creators credit where credit is due.
In fact, the reason the fog looks like ass on even later consoles is because the PS2 is capable of layers of transparency that others are not. Team Silent knew this, and they baked these quirks into their design.
Folks are so ready to trot out "old graphics are old" as an excuse, like shut your entire ahistorical ass up and respect your elders. You think Sato lived in the office for three years in order to work on SH1's FMVs just so you could sneer at him?
Team Silent had done everything they set out to do, no more or less. And that's before Sato came out and said technical limitations weren't an issue in SH2's development.
(And it's actually really funny because SH2 released to lukewarm reception at first, with some folks upset that its tone diverged from the more overt horror of its predecessor. It didn't become a ~masterpiece~ overnight.)
SH2 was the game they spent the most time and resources on. IIRC, SH1's team was much smaller, and development was split between SH3 and SH4, with only a year's worth of crunch allotted to produce SH3. SH3 has a stronger case that they had to cut corners, but even that boiled down to time constraints.
I won't pretend SH2 is some masterpiece in terms of gameplay, obviously. Mechanically, it tends to be fairly uninteresting. At the same time, however, I don't think the jank necessarily works against the game. To me it would be more brow-raising if it were a more "sound" game combat-wise. SH3 has a heavier focus on combat by giving you a variety of weapons, and it tends to make the gameplay a little goofy. Plus, Homecoming already proved that better combat doesn't necessarily equal better game.
SH2 is also that rare game where even its flaws work mostly in its favor. Its idiosyncrasies are what define it. We can debate the degree to which the jankiness was deliberate forever, but for better or worse, when you sand off the rough edges, you lose some of that special quality that makes the game unique.
David Lynch-esque dialogue, or "odd" Japanese direction misaligning with English voice acting? Who cares? Does it succeed in unsettling you? Then it's done its job.
Another thing I learned from Sato's interviews is that Team Silent was mostly composed of artists instead of gamers. That likely made a critical difference in how the game feels. It's not supposed to be a gamey kind of game. You play it for the atmosphere, the characters, the story.
Oh but I guess James has real boy Emoshuns now so none of that matter. Never mind the fact that the remake will probably make your laptop fucking explode.
Silent Hill 2 Will Push Your PC to Its Limits - IGN
You sure it's the original suffering from "technical limitations"? Lol. Lmao.
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Well I don’t hate any race of people. Race doesn’t even technically exist on a biological standpoint so yea I’m cool with everyone unless you give me a reason not to like you tbh which is very hard
What do you mean with "race doesn't exist on a biological standpoint"? You mean you don't see a difference in DNA or?
Because as a WOC it sounds like something white people would say, to act as if race is not a big thing, as if people all over the world aren't oppressed because of their race.
I’m literally a Native American, Afro latina and African American woman? Humans have the same gene make up of 99.99 percent. Human race is not the same concept as species as animal, like respectfully have you taken a biology class, or an anthropology class? I’ll explain what I mean just so I don’t have to explain myself again! This is no hate to you anon 💗
Humans have migrated around the globe since the dawn of time. But these migrations were limited by climate, geography, and resources. Over time, people evolved differently in different parts of the world, allowing us to form distinct identities based on elements such as skin color, language, and cultural practices.
The concept of race as it’s known today is largely a product of the 19th century and attempts to categorize humans based on physical attributes. This framework was commonly used to justify colonialism, exploitation and slavery. It was constructed as a tool to oppress certain individuals and to elevate others.
But this idea of race does not hold up when examined further. Migration patterns throughout history have resulted in racially diverse societies with unique cultural markers. Weather also plays a significant role in migration; drought and seasonality can force people from their lands, resulting in a mixing of regional identities. As a result, any conception of race based on biology can quickly become outdated and inaccurate.
In terms of genetics, humans are 99.99 percent similar, meaning that we all have the same basic set of DNA. So, why does race exist?
The human species is a product of evolution. As humans moved around the world, some populations developed physical adaptations according to their environment. For example, people in colder climates developed light skin to allow better absorption of Vitamin D from the sun, while those living in sunnier climates developed darker pigmentation to reduce the risk of skin cancer.
These physical differences such as skin color are associated with race, but they don't necessarily define it. Race is actually more of a social construct than a biological reality. It's based on perceived physical differences and often involves placing people into categories based on stereotypes and prejudice.
So again It's important that we remember that race isn't real and that we possess the same 99.99 percent genetic makeup. The genetic differences between individuals are minuscule and are not enough to create the divisions of race that we have come to accept in society.
During our evolution our environment has shaped us, but does not define us. We can use our knowledge about genetics to challenge false and harmful stereotypes. We should recognize that we are all fundamentally the same, no matter what our physical appearance is.
So…., race exists due more to social conditioning than any sort of biological difference. We may have developed physical traits to cope with our environments, but these superficial traits do not define us as individuals. Recognizing that we all share the same genetic makeup is key in overcoming the prejudices that have been associated with the concept of race throughout history. Am I saying to ignore the social construct that has been put on our people to literally oppress us? No but it’s is an objective fact that race is not real. Sorry I had to be the one to tell you girl.
At the end of the day, race is a socially constructed concept with no basis in biology. It is constantly shifting, changing as we move into new regions and as our environment changes over time. In order for us to really understand it, we must look outside of biology and focus on social, economic, and political history. Only then can we truly begin to comprehend the complexity of the concept of race. The only biological concept bestowed upon humans is sex. Not to be confused with gender and gender norms before anyone twists those concepts
Btw im not mad, I just wanted to clarify this subject that is often discussed in the wrong way! But no hate to you anon I know what you mean, and how non poc use it to literally pretend like racial issues don’t exist. But that’s through a social construct and not the biological one I’m referring to! I also just like talking abt this stuff so I don’t want to come off as aggressive or pretending like I’m smarter than you or anything I’ve just done my research pertaining to this topic 💗💗
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So yeah I finally posted this, i posted it on Ao3 a few months ago and i got good reactions and thanks to my friend I’ve decided to post it.
Basically I thought it would be funny if my character that I created ( Rose Stark, the result of a one night stand Tony had years ago) had a secret relationship with Dr strange as seen as him and tony have an interesting relationship. Extra info: Rose is about 26-28 haven’t really decided yet she is a mutant after an accident she had years ago leaving her with the ability to summon fire(basically human torch but blue so technically not copying) and healing abilities similar to Deadpools. And strange is well just Dr strange
If you like it i will do some more thanks :)
What Doctor Strange was actually doing before infinity war.
It was an early New York morning, Rose walked up the stairs with two cups of coffee and Knocked on the door to the sorcerer supreme’s bedroom.
“Can I come in?” she asked as the door slowly opened Stephen replied
“Of course, you're here earlier than usual” Stephen was already dressed and clothed in his usual robes whilst sitting crossed legged, using the cloak of levitation to float slightly above his bed. As Rose walked over she greeted her secret lover with a kiss on the head,
“I’m sorry am i interrupting something i can leave this here and come back in a bit” Stephen opened his eyes and spoke
“No, it's okay there's only 1 hour left of my morning meditation. You should stay and do it with me” he said as one of the coffees floated out of Rose's hand and headed towards him.
“Do it with you, is that some sort of code?” Rose said, winking playfully. The two had been secretly sleeping with each other ever since they met 7 months ago. They enjoyed the difficulty of trying to hide their relationship from the rest of the world, often ending in early morning visits and Stephen appearing in Rose's room late at night in the stark tower. Tony, her father, was the one person they definitely did not want to find out.
“No,” Stephen laughed. “It's just good for the mind and it gives me time to check on the other sanctums without being spoken to by the other masters.” Stephen said as he closed his eyes again. Rose stood slightly surprised, she was feeling in some way quite lonely this morning so she woke up early, which was unusual for her to not be alone with Stephen. He did not usually decline her invitations so quickly. Rose now made it her mission to intervene with his morning meditation.
“Well then, Doctor Strange, I think it will be in your best interest if you were to cut your morning meditation short just for today if you know what i mean” she said as she closed the bedroom door and walked over to Stephen and kissed his head.Stephen smiled but didn’t open his eyes.
“I’m flattered but I'm afraid I will have to put your offer on hold, there's a few books missing from the tokyo sanctum and I need to find their whereabouts. But that doesn't mean I wont be able to attend to you once Im done.” he said, Rose scoffed playfully
“Fine if some books are more important than me, I guess I'll just take a shower whilst you look for them.” Rose said as she began to take her clothes off, throwing her bra playfully at Stephen who opened one eye to watch her.
“I know what you’re doing” he laughed “it will take more than just a pretty girl to distract the sorcerer supreme” he said as he acted like he was not somewhat intrigued by the naked body of his lover.
“Oh yeah totally, you’re definitely not watching me Doctor strange.” Rose said sarcastically “well i suppose if you’re not interested in me you won't mind if i take your sling ring into the shower with me, you know so you can't surprise me whilst i’m in there” she said as she slid it of Stephens fingers who giggled slightly still trying to be serious.
“ I don't know what you’re talking about, I would never do such a thing, but I could always just open the door,” Rose laughed as she headed towards the bathroom.
“When was the last time you opened a door normally Stephen Strange” she closed the door and ran the shower. Stephen closed his eyes and then began to meditate once again.
20 minutes later Rose came from the shower wrapped in a towel whilst drying her hair with another and moaned.
“Really? Surely this morning meditation thing can't be that important. I even left the door unlocked for you.” Stephen laughed but still didn't open his eyes.
“I’m sorcerer supreme. I have to do this. I'll be done in 30 minutes, can't you wait a little bit longer?” Rose smirked mischievously as she plotted how she could get her own way.
“Sure” she said as she finished brushing her hair, she stood directly in front of Stephen and undid her towel revealing her model-like body rubbing the towel up and down her tanned legs. Stephen opened one eye and watched as she ran her hands all over her wet body. She looked over and he quickly closed his eye, they were both as stubborn as each other, it was as if they were made for each other.
“I saw you looking Stephen” Rose laughed as she walked closer and spoke seductively “oh, am I distracting you Doctor Strange” she knew this would pique his interest, it drove him crazy when she called him Doctor
“N-no” Stephen said as his voice began to shake Rose smiled before she spoke
“Okay then, I guess I will just get dressed then.” from her bag, Rose pulled out a pair of black lacy panties Stephen had conjured up for her one drunken night along with a matching bra. Stephen ignored Rose’s attempt which irritated her, she was determined to win him over. She walked over to the bed he was meditating on and sat behind him on her knees pressing her chest against his back and began rubbing his shoulders and weaving her arms through his and rubbing his chest as she slowly kissed his neck. The cloak of levitation undid itself and flew into the bathroom to avoid being caught in the middle of the two. Stephen slowly floated downwards and sat on the bed still trying his best to ignore Rose's attempts but it was becoming difficult.
“Well if you're still so focused on meditating and not interested in me at all, I guess you won't mind if I venture downwards Doctor” Rose spoke as she heard Stephen gulp, his stubbornness still not allowing her to win. Rose moved her hands down his chest and began rubbing his crotch, she could feel the bulge in his pants begging to grow as she continued to kiss him from behind. As she slid one hand under his clothes and began stroking his hard cock she heard Stephen breath a sigh of pleasure as she moved her hands up and down his pulsing cock.
“Do you like that Doctor?” she said as she breathed deeply onto the back of his neck, even she got some feeling of joy knowing he was becoming excited. Meanwhile, Stephen could no longer ignore Rose, he opened his eyes and turned to her.
“Fine you win, I can't take it anymore, the sanctums will be fine.” Rose laughed playfully at her win as Stephen quickly undressed himself showing the full size of his bulging cock.The two locked lips placed their tongues on each other's mouths as Stephen used his magic to undo Rose's bra she moved her hands up and down Stephens body. Stephen slowly laid Rose on the bed and examined her body “Just what the Doctor ordered.” he said, liking his lips. He kissed her lips again before moving down her neck towards he breast sucking on her nipple as he squeezed the other with his hand before switching. The sound of Rose's pleasure enlightened him as he spoke.
“Now then miss, what seems to be the problem” He asked Rose who bit her lip as she spoke.
“Down there doctor i think it needs examining” Stephen smiled as he pulled down the panties which never seemed to stay on for long.
“I see.” Said Strange as he moved his fingers between Rose's folds and moved his two fingers around slowly before liking them and making his way to her clit. He moved his hand around in circular motions and grinned as he saw his lover pull the sheets off his bed as she moaned his name. “You’re a very good patient miss Stark but i'm afraid i will have to venture deeper” Stephen said as he placed two fingers inside Rose who barely managed to speak in a shaky tone
“Yes Doctor” he moved his hand in and out of her body, pleasuring himself as he watched her scream.
“Shhhh Wong might hear us, don’t make me have to move this into the mirror dimension again” he laughed as he turned Rose over onto her stomach as she spoke.
“Doctor Strange i think the only way you can cure me is if you fuck me. Hard.” Rose said as she smirked and turned back to look at Stephen who grinned as he plunged himself into Rose’s soaked cunt. The old floor boards of the sanctum creaked as Stephen continued his operation to cure his patient. Rose’s back arched as she came onto Stephen's pulsing cock. Strange loved to see his partner's pleasure. He was a perfectionist after all, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back trying to maintain control as the two synced in rhythm and moaning. The two became louder as Stephen fucked harder, he smiled and stopped to whispher into Rose’s ear.
“Let's take a trip to the mirror dimension shall we? Then you can scream all you want” Stephen moved his hands and the walls began moving around them creating a prism of light as they shifted around creating reflections of their naked bodies. Stephen stepped off the bed as Rose laid on her back, he pulled himself into her and began at slow pace gradually getting faster and faster rubbing the neglected clit with one hand and squeezing her breast with the other.The two moaned and screamed each others names as positions and control changed, testing the bed to its very limits as it squeaked and squealed with the lovers motion. Stephen was perched above Rose in the classic missionary style. As their lips locked Stephens hips began to stutter as he released himself inside his partner who came shortly after, digging her nails into his back as her body shivered with pleasure. The two shared one final kiss as Stephen took them back into the normal world.
The lovers laid there breathless and sweaty as Stephen placed his arm around Rose he spoke,
“You’re right it was a good idea to cut morning meditation short” Rose laughed and continued the conversation.
“Why do you think I got up so early?” The pair laughed as they eventually caught their breath as they spoke about the past few days and what they had been up to. Before Rose asked
“So what are your plans this morning?” to which Stephen replied
“Well i was supposed to meet up with Wong, about 40 minutes ago so we could go to this great sandwich shop down the street but then my really hot girlfriend made me late.” Rose looked stunned by the statement.
“Girlfriend?” she asked curiously, the two agreed on the first night that it was just a casual thing and nothing more but it had clearly grown into something over the past couple of months.
“Well yeah, I know we said we didn't have time for any commitments but there isn't anyone else I would rather scream in the mirror dimension with but you. Of course only if that's okay with you?”
“It sounds great” Rose smiled as the two giggled like children before Stephen pulled the covers over them and began to kiss Rose. However the two were interrupted by the sound of a portal being opened into Stephen's room, it was Wong who too was surprised to find the famous Rose Stark, in the sorcerer supreme’s bed covering her body as Stephen did his best to help.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry I just assumed you were meditating, I um. I’ll wait for you outside” Wong said, covering his eyes as he struggled to open the door.
“Just pull it, it's a pull not push, a simple twist door knob.” Stephen said, trying to get him out of the room.
As he left the two looked at each other awkwardly before Rose broke the silence with hysterical laughter as she watched Stephen struggle to get his underwear back on.
“Can't you just stay here with me?” Rose said cheekily flashing Stephen who stood still admiring her before snapping out if his enchantment and continued dressing.
“As much as I’d love to, duty calls.” He said, throwing her bra at her playfully.
“For a sandwich?” She asked sarcastically.
“Best in the city” he said as he opened the door
“At least get me one!” She shouted
Wong waited patiently outside the door trying to forget what he had seen before Stephen appeared from his room dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Wong smirked, nodding as if he was congratulating his friend as he spoke.
“Not a word, now let's get those sandwiches.” Wong followed him as they walked down the sanctum's main staircase.
“Yeah, about that i don't have any money so looks like you’re buying” Wong said as Stephen tutted.
“Seriously? You don't have any money?”
“Attachment to the material, is detachment from the spiritual” Wong said
“I’ll tell that to the guys at the deli, maybe they’ll make you a metaphorical ham and rye” Stephen replied
“Uh oh, wait wait i think i have two hundred” Wong said as he pulled a note from his pocket
“Dollars?” Stephen asked
“Rupees” Wong said disappointedly
“Which is?” Stephen asked again
“Um about a buck and a half” Wong guessed as Stephen replied knowing he would have to do something to keep Wong quiet.
“What do you want?” Before Wong could reply, the pair were interrupted by the sound of a large crash through the ceiling creating a deep whole in the floor, it was a very scared looking bruce banner who could only say one thing.
“Thanos is coming”
It had been about an hour since Rose sent Stephen to try and fix things with Wong and she grew curious to his whereabouts so she ventured down the corridor where should hear Stephen talking about the protection of the time stone as she shouted.
“Stephen? Is it okay if I leave those panties here? i’ve got to get to lunch with my dad” she was stunned when she found a large whole in the floor and a now very angry Tony Stark, an embarrassed Stephen and a shocked Wong and Bruce Banner. She didn’t know what to say all she could say was
“Heyy guys, how's it going?” Tony looked at Strange who tried his best to keep a serious face.
“Okay so what is it your job actually? Besides sleeping with my daughter and making balloon animals” Tony asked, Rose watched as Stephen failed at keeping his mouth shut as he said angrily
“Protecting your reality, douchebag.” Tony stood irritated as he stepped forward Rose got in between them stopping Tony in his tracks.
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Today went ok. I didn't feel quite as sick as I did yesterday so it made it easier to get through the day. I was super anxious this morning but it wasn't as bad after I took my lunch break.
I got really irritated with the morning team lead. I've worked with her for a long time and I was there before she even started. She acts like she owns the place and is more important than everyone else, which isn't true. She always has to be right about everything. Technically she and I both have leadership positions so she isn't above me but she acts like she is. She has always been a bully, usually for no good reason. She and another group of girls used to gang up on me years ago and I've never quite gotten over it. I'm generally nice to her most of the time unless she crosses a line. Sometimes it seems like we're sort of friends now but I know I can't trust her. I think she just pretends to be nice a lot of the time. I asked her if she cared if I went to take my lunch break. She said she needed to run downstairs and then I could go but then she changed her mind super fast for some reason. I had no problem waiting for her to come back. She suddenly snapped and told me to "just go to lunch" in a very angry tone. Some other people noticed and later told me that they didn't think I did anything wrong. It was confusing because I didn't feel like I did anything to warrant that kind of response from her. I am always very polite when I ask her things even when she isn't that way towards me. I try to help her a lot. I got back from lunch and she wouldn't speak to me and I still couldn't figure out why. She can be very hostile. I wonder is she's jealous of me or something. I'm not sure why she would be but I can't think of any other reason that she would be so mean and bitter towards me. It's almost like she enjoys seeing me miserable and bossing me around. Sometimes I can't sit down for 2 minutes without her barking orders at me so I have to be out of her sight in order to do that. Sometimes it feels like she is trying to get me to quit even though I've told her I probably won't be there much longer due to my health issues anyway. She knows I've been having a hard time but she doesn't care about anyone but herself. She's not very empathetic towards anyone. She knows I don't have any other options right now either. I really don't want to be around her tomorrow if she's going to be like that so I will try to just stay in my corner when I get there in the morning. I shouldn't have to put up with that shit at work. Sometimes it feels like I'm back in high school again. I'm going to try not to worry about it anymore tonight because there's nothing I can do about it.
I did get invited to go fishing in a few weeks with some people from work so that was surprising. I'm excited about that. My mom and I used to go fishing together when I was a kid but I haven't gone since then. I'm not sure if I remember how but it should be fun anyway. I'm looking forward to getting some sun.
I'm proud of myself because I went the whole day without having a soda and I made a conscious effort to drink as much water as possible. I was really sleepy and got kind of grumpy but I survived. I also made myself eat a lot. It's a weird feeling to have a belly again because I was just bones for such a long time. I probably don't look that different to most people but I can tell a difference and I feel like I look a lot better. I'm hoping my skin will clear up more once my liver function improves. I just need to continue to make better choices and I think I will be ok.
I took a shower and I'm all ready for bed now. It was a long day so I'm not sure how much longer I will be able to stay awake. I also took my medicine so I'm having a tough time focusing. Tomorrow is going to be another busy day so I hope I can get some decent sleep tonight.
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Episode 7: The Fey Realm.
If high fantasy's your thing, have we got a show for you today. Cursed swordsman, mysterious faerie realms, and grappling with destiny. Just make sure to get your seat before the lights go down.
The Good.
I appreciate Keyleth's freak-out after they realized they were separated from the gnomes and Grog. Too often, when characters don't get a moment to be distraught, it makes the stakes feel lower than they should. Or makes it feel like the cast doesn't care about each other all that much. So that was refreshing.
Also, good call to split up the group. That makes it easier for the show CRew; no need to figure out how to write and animate seven characters at once. Plus, that divides the audience's attention, making the plot easier to follow. And in smaller groups, it gives individual characters more time to shine.
Serious kudos is deserved for the design of the Fey Wild itself. Young Heller, episode director, and guest for the watch along, nailed it on the head when he described the Realm of the Fey as a character unto itself. Honestly, it comes across as even more alien and other here than it can in the game. Unless the DM wants to change things up, the game mechanics don't vary that much when you hang out there. So it can feel like only another weird area among many, depending on the story you're trying to tell.
Watching Craven Edge soak up Pike's blood from a distance while she's trying to heal, without even a wielder, is disturbing. It gives the impression that if left unchecked, this thing could turn into something even more dangerous than it already is.
Getting rid of Craven Edge was more involved in the stream, so they knew they had to make its destruction here brutal enough that it felt like death for the sword. For my money, they managed it; Grog breaking the sword had the visceral impact of a bone breaking in half. And the small ocean of blood it expels is like all its power and evil being released back into the world.
Holy shit Billy Boyd as Garmelie. He is perfect; the design and Billy's performance are just spot on what I would imagine a native fey creature to act like. Whimsical, self-interested, sort of smart ass, charming as all hell....everything about it is fantastic. I only wish we could've seen more of him. No notes.
Well, except for Garmelie's notes which....yeah, exactly right. Absolutely accurate to the stream. What a fabulously gross, cheeky little gremlin man.
My reactions to Pike and Scanlan's song, in order:
Oh, is this the song Sam hinted at during the pre-season interviews?
Wow, Ashley and Sam sound great together. They should do more duets.
...Wait, what are those lyrics?
These ridiculous little shits. (<-affectionate)
If you know, you know. But if you don't, it's just a good song.
Don't think we didn't pick up on those nine eyes Vex saw when she was sliding into a bad trip. It's weird and ominous to think that, in this universe, that's still around. And that the person who will trigger the confrontation with that whole thing....technically isn't even born yet.
I can't say enough about how pretty the Fey Realm is. Just....so gorgeous at every point.
And, of course, Cheech Marin is Trinket. Of course, he is.
The Bad. (Or at least not great.)
One thing that bothers me is that there are two angles they tried to hit in this episode that, due to poor execution, just...don't work. One is Percy being a more ineffective guide to the Fey Realm than he thinks he is, and the other is that the Realm Does Not Like the Matron's Champion in general on life vs. death principles.
When Percy warned the half-elves that the forest they were traveling through could pick up on a poor mood, we all knew what would happen. Vax has, understandably, been in a funk for days. So it wasn't hard for the audience to guess that the negativity-detecting plants would take one look at this boy and collectively go: get his ass.
Percy wasn't wrong about the vines; Vax was never going to be able to pass through them unscathed.
Likewise, when the rest of the group seems to think Percy doesn't know where he's leading them or is lost, that idea is undercut by the fact they've just reached the upside-down waterfall. The very same waterfall from Scanlan's vision of where Fenthras was. So the visual tells the audience Percy is actually on the right track, no matter how skeptical of him the group is in-universe.
As for Vax, the encounter with the mood forest muddles the idea that the Fey Realm is against him because it doesn't like death-aligned individuals in general.
Because Vax was initially attacked due to his emotional state, the potential takeaway was that the Fey Realm doesn't like bad vibes. And Vax is nothing but bad vibes right now.
It's another case of the script and the dialogue telling us one thing while what's actually happening tells us something contradictory. It's frustrating.
More Grog nerfing....eh. Makes a little more sense than some of the Season 1 moments, and it makes the fight in Episode 10 go even harder, but it still feels a little cheap to me. If I'm going to be nitpicky.
And that's about it. Next is a good one folks. See you there.
#Critical Role#the legend of vox machina#tlovm#tlovm s2#tlovm s2 review#the legend of vox machina season 2#the legend of vox machina review#Keyleth#vax'ildan#percy de rolo#vex'halia#grog strongjaw#scanlan shorthalt#pike trickfoot#garmelie#matt mercer#liam o'brien#sam riegal#taliesin jaffe#travis willingham#ashley johnson#marisha ray#laura bailey#billy boyd#The Fey Realm#tlovm s2e7#improvements to awesomeness#titmouse
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I know I've been promising to articulate my opinions on anarchism pretty much since I joined Tumblr, but seeing as that's not happening today, I'm instead going to complain about complaining.
In particular the "ha the US is unique in its evilitude and it ought to stop being a thing, remember that time it did xyz" brand of complaint. Notably, this particular brand of weird political stance is almost exclusively seen in Canadian, Western European, and Australian leftists.
It is not particularly commonly held among US leftists. (This is not to say there are none who hold that opinion, there definitely are some, if just by osmosis of opinion, merely that they are far less commonly seen than ones originating from other countries, often ones with very similar colonial legacies.)
As that parenthetical says, every country that tried to be a world power and many that never made it have remarkably similar skeletons in their closet. Further, the individuals in question often make no effort to understand the US political system. This ties back to the myth of the All-powerful executive branch, the President being in charge of everything. They usually buy this wholesale, which, as said in some previous post I made is certainly an appealing idea, but a broadly wrong one. They also make no effort to follow the news beyond the headline, or occasionally the first article.
This often leads to "The US is axiomatically bad and thus any force that opposes it (even nominally) is axiomatically good." It doesn't always go there, but more often than I think anyone should be comfortable with, it does. That way lies support of authoritarians and occasionally actual fascists simply because they oppose the US out of a xenophobic nationalism, or, if they're a LatAm populist, used the specter of past US intervention (which was broadly a disaster, and pointlessly installed many authoritarians who did nothing helpful, for the record) to claim that any problems they're having came from the apparently all-powerful and illusive CIA, and not from poor management choices that necessarily come from incoherent populist policy platforms which are either ill-defined to the point that anything can be claimed as part of the policy, or a mess of contradictory ideas that don't actually work because the smart ones almost invariably rely on the perpetual existence of a macroeconomic money sink in a naturally unstable global economy or a misunderstanding of the problems raw extraction countries face in the international market, and then when they are technically workable, they trip over the really bad unworkable ideas (see what happened to Venezuela's healthcare system when they attempted to run two parallel ones at once to preserve jobs while also trying to fix inefficiencies in the old system. Essentially, it became more inefficient and more expensive to run, which dumped an enormous amount of money into an economy with few actual money sinks because taxes had been cut and the money sink that high oil prices provide to a petrostate disappeared when oil prices crashed. It would have been more effective to either fix the first system or completely restructure it if that seemed too hard)
The point is, I don't actually think it's a coincidence how in many of these cases, it's the authoritarians and populists with no coherent policy platform being praised or at least grudgingly accepted. Notably, those are both strongman positions, and strongmanism is broadly popular, pretty much wherever you go politically speaking. (Interestingly, you can find it even in many branches of anarchism!) It's also often a messianic belief system, a "someone, one person who leads, they will do it right, defeat a great evil, and then everything will be good forever" sort of thing.
The reason the US in particular is targeted, I think, is less because of its particular legacy, (After all, remember, nearly every country that didn't get colonized on heavily and several that did all have similar legacies if you're willing to look, though not necessarily to as great a recent extent simply because they haven't been major powers for a while, or haven't made it there yet) but simply because it's visible. It is THE power in the world. It is not a hegemon, nor has it ever been, but it is very capable in its own right and has been economically dominant for nearly 150 years. Incidentally, this, (and some racism) is why the US right is obsessed with China, a country that's apparently the second largest power. It's visible. In practice, there's actually plenty of evidence China has been struggling with the problems authoritarianism brings, and has been overreporting its economic strength for years, and it will probably be overtaken by India soon economically, but this is irrelevant to their position. China is visible, so China is the target. Much the same, the US is visible, certainly culturally (it has a culture so dominant that many people don't even realize they're in it. This is not a unique issue to the US, most non-minority groups in a given country don't realize they're in a distinct culture. Part of this is the "white as default" thing, but this is also much more broadly true than that particular phrase implies) so the US is the target for people who aren't in it.
It is in fact, closely related to the all-powerful executive I brought up earlier. It is very, very easy and fun to ascribe all or many problems to one position or one country or one people. It is also very easy when you're doing that to start to believe in strongmanism, because whether they know it or not, strongmen (who are almost invariably isolationist nationalists) will win international acclaim for pretending to be an underdog against the biggest power they think they can get away with taking issue with, and for many places, that's the US.
And strongmanism and more general authoritarianism, as I'm sure everyone knows by now, don't actually work very well at achieving their intended ends (not to mention the ends they intend are often bad to start with)
There could be the criticism of this made that the US school systems do not teach of everything bad the US has done, and this is why the US left broadly disagrees in the way brought up in the start... Except oops that's true of pretty much every country's education system. They very rarely go into much detail about all the various terrors their country wreaked until college level, and occasionally not even then. Further, the US left is broadly just as aware about all the past atrocity as international ones. Often more so, in fact, because people tend to know more about their own country than others. There is, in truth, no one target that must be hit to fix everything, whether it be a country as in this particular complaint, or something else, and the pervasive belief in that is a major issue across nearly all political groups that goes largely unaddressed.
This actually leads into another whole long post that I'll probably make some day about how systems of government, economic systems, and baseline happiness interact to create a whole situation where the events of the Great Disappointment of 1844 but for anticapitalism is going to happen in slow motion if capitalism ever stops being the dominant economic system, but I'll save that for another post. And maybe someday I'll actually talk about my feelings on Anarchism.
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Today is a confusing day for my gender. I want to (genuinely) thank some people on Tumblr for that, but I don't know how. I know many people consider their blogs as being a sort of public diary, but I've never used mine like that before. I reblog art and memes, and sometimes ramble in the tags, but almost never make posts of my own, and certainly don't talk about anything important when I do.
However sometimes the best way to get ahold of something slippery that's swimming around in your head is to first get it out of your head. I may not even post this, though contrary to how I present myself on this blog, I do very much love talking about myself (especially when I can indulge my inner 12yo-fanfic-author and be a bit dramatic and poetic about it) so we'll see.
However, to the anxiety of making a long, eventually emotional post I will cede the small victory of a readmore:
I guess the place to begin is with the lovely @dduane. In particular with the recent post she reblogged talking about @redgoldsparks's book Gender Queer. I was reading through the comic therein when I remembered that I actually had the book e was talking about sitting on my "to-read" shelf... okay, one of my "to-read" shelves. No avid reader with disposable income should be surprised I have so many such books, nor that any book could get lost in such a pile, no matter how... personally relevant it is.
I picked it up one day, not at my usual book store, but actually at a local comic book/board game store. It caught my eye of course by presenting the words "GENDER QUEER" in big, bold letters, and and further enticed me when I flipped through it briefly and saw it didn't censor itself unnecessarily. In a graphic novel that's largely about gender, it was relieving, for example, to see bodies being addressed without fear that showing them was too obscene.
So I bought it but, as I mentioned, it sat on my shelf for at least months, probably a year or more, if the time dilation typical of the pandemic period can be assumed.
Then today, after seeing that post, I decided to finally take it out. It only took a short while to read, maybe an hour or so. Unless you include the time it will spend lingering in my mind, in which case I may never finish reading it.
I related to it in many ways. In ways that were the same, but upsidedown – since I was amab, but could still feel a connection to the ideas within. Technically a different wavelength, but... a harmonic of the original. But one point in particular is the whole reason for this post. Page 189.
If you don't have the book, well firstly I highly recommend you go get it now and simply read through it to see the page in question. But in case you can't, I'll describe it here:
In panel 1, the author laments about wanting to switch pronouns, but that "they/them" doesn't feel quite right. In panel 2, e asks eir conversational partner what e uses. In panel 3, as you have probably guessed, e tells the author that e uses "e/em/eir" and, important to my story, uses them in a sentence: "Ask em what e wants in eir tea." In panel 4, e reacts with a huge smile and starry eyes.
Here is where I'll pause and mention that reading that passage gave me a shiver down my spine. I love seeing people explore their identities – or in this case, eir identity – and that especially goes for things I could never wrap my head around, such as neopronouns. As much as I respect them, I never could understand. To me, gender has usually been a nuisance. Something that I have to perform. If I don't, people will assume some performance anyways, one which is usually wrong. I wish I could just work backstage. Or maybe it's more like I wish everyone had a program guide, so instead of having to constantly tell people I'm not a man, they can just see the description in the guide for themselves. I'm just so tired of it. So tired.
But! That's why I get shivers like this, since it warms my heart to see people like me, also pushing through. E shouldn't have to struggle to be known. E does. But that strength inspires my own, which I hope inspires others, in a cycle of propping eachother up!
Then in panel 5 e says "I love those pronouns! I just got the biggest tingle down my spine."
And I recall my spine tingle.
And I'm really confused.
Do I want those pronouns? I've been using "they/them" for a while now, and I've known about (and had friends who use) "e/em/eir" for some time now. Surely I would've realized they fit me sooner than this, right?
Then again, I think, I have been kinda growing dissatisfied with "they/them" for a bit now. But I always just felt tired of gender as a whole. I don't want pronouns that even fewer people will understand, I said. At least with "they/them" I can point at the neutral usage everyone uses them for. Anything more obscure would just be all the more effort. All the more tiring.
...but does that make it untrue? Or simply unfair? Everything to do with being queer is unfair, sorta' by definition. If I wanted it to be easy, I could stick to "he/him", but that would only really be "easy" for other people, I realized. Neither "he/him" nor "they/them" are easy for me. Neither "male" nor "female" nor "non-binary" are easy for me. Neither the old gender binary nor the new gender trinary are easy for me. I'm just so tired.
I wish I had an answer to finish with. Not for your sake, but for mine. I have a sort of modus operandi I like to use: "prepare for the worst, but hope for the best, and expect something in-between." It's a bit of a compromise between the phrase"high hopes, low expectations" and my optimism. Well, I forgot to do that here. I had hoped that I would've found my answer by the end of this post, but I forgot to "prepare for the worst," and as such had no middle ground to set my expectations.
Maybe the answer is to stop caring so much? But that seems like it would be a disservice to myself and my wants and needs. Also it seems impossible. Or at least like clinical depression, which shouldn't be anyone's goal.
Maybe I should try using different pronouns? None of my friend would care. But they would make mistakes. It's extremely rare for one of my friends to slip up now, but it does still happen. And using something new would give me those small rock-in-the-shoe, scratchy-shirt-tag irritations that @redgoldsparks mentioned in eir book all over again.
...or maybe "they/them" is dorta' doing that now, and I've just gotten used to it? I remember when I switched I hadn't realized that "he/him" wasn't great until then. Not because I felt bad hearing it, but because I suddenly felt good hearing "they/them." I still think I don't feel especially disphoric over "he/him," but now that I know the euphoria I could have, it feels worse in comparison. Maybe the same would happen if I switched again?
My how many thoughts I have about this. I want an answer. There is no simple answer. Life is work. I love life. I hate work. I'm so tired. But it's worth it.
I think that's most of my metaphorical brain-fish on the topic disgorged for now. If you listened, thanks for listening. If you're confused, imagine how I feel. And if you think you felt like you resonate at some harmonic of this, please go read @redgoldsparks's book Gender Queer. It probably won't have clear answers, and the feelings it evokes probably won't be exclusively positive ones, but if you've read this far into my ramblings, then I can promise you it will be a valuable read.
Thanks for your time! -Kai
#yes I realized I signed off on this like it was a letter or email when tumblr posts are anything but#however when I rant for long enough I feel like it turns into something more formal in my gut which makes me what to do so lol#but ya I had a lot of feelings. and feelings are hard. and tiring. but important#so please do with this what you will#and if by some chance the author or dduane read this – thanks so much to both of you for all you've done for me!#I barely mentioned dduane in this post for lack of immediate relevancy but she's been such a force in my development!#the yw series did wonders for my current fierce optimism and love for life#but the most recent tornado in my brain is reading Gender Queer today so that got the spotlight here#anyways I usually follow my tag rants with tracking tags but I'm not so sure what to put when it isn't fanart#I guess#gender queer#maia kobabe#books#gender#genderqueer#my ramblings#my posts#my feelings#diary entry
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