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nova-is-a-writer-now · 1 day

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Hidden embers

Chapter 6

Chapter summary: They say drunken words are sober thoughts, and Joel is about to hear all about yours.

A/N: Hello hello, HE wednesday is back!!! Im so excited about this chapter, it might be the longest one so far. I wanted to wait until i had chapter 7 completed before i posted this but I can’t wait any longer for y’all to read this, i appreciate the comments and reposts you guys have been giving me SO MUCH, it fills my heart 🤍 anyways enough yapping, enjoy!!

Warnings: No outbreak AU, no use of y/n, no sarah, Age gap, DBF!Joel, Slow burn, a tiny bit of angst, Alcohol consumption.

Series masterlist

You're halfway down the cereal aisle, arms full of groceries because, as usual, you convinced yourself you didn’t need a basket. Just a few things, you thought—when have you ever had that kind of self-control?

You shift the items in your grasp, trying to keep them from toppling over, when you hear a voice behind you

“Oh, bless your heart, need some help with that?”

You turn to see a blonde girl about your age, her smile warm and her Southern drawl as sweet as honey. She’s holding a basket in one hand and offering you the other

You chuckle, a little relieved. “Please. I thought I could manage, but I clearly overestimated myself.”

“Here, take mine,” she says, handing you her basket. “I’ll grab another.”

Before you can thank her, she’s already grabbed a new basket from nearby, her movements quick and effortless.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” you say, feeling the weight lift from your arms.

“No trouble at all,” she replies with a bright smile. “I’m Charlotte, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m—”

“—I know who you are,” she cuts in, her smile widening. “Our dads are friends. Your’s always braggin’ ‘bout you.”

You chuckle at that. “Yeah I think he’s mentioned yours too, Bill and Frank, right?”

“That’s them,” she grins. “We live just a few blocks down from your place.” As you both walk down the aisle together, she glances over at you with a curious look. “You just moved back, right? How’re you liking small-town life?”

“I’m… taking it day by day,” you say, half-joking.

“That bad, huh?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “You could say that.”

She gently touches your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “Got any plans this Friday?”

“Not really, why?”

She gives you a grin that could charm the pants off just about anyone. “A few of us are going out. Just some drinks, a few laughs. Maybe a fun night out is what you need.”

You think it over for a moment. Sure, you’ve kept in touch with your college friends, but since moving back, you haven’t really hung out with anyone besides your parents. And, well… Joel.

The thought is enough to convince you. “Yeah, alright. I’m in.”

“Perfect! I’ll swing by and pick you up around seven. You won’t regret it, promise.” She winks and turns down the next aisle, leaving you with a lighter heart and a basket full of groceries.

It took a while, but you finally dug out the perfect black top from the back of your closet. Paired with some flared jeans and a leather jacket slung over your arm, you had yourself a killer outfit.

You hopped down the stairs, hearing the hum of Charlotte’s car idling out front.

“Mom! Dad! I’m heading out now, I’ll be back around midnight!” you call, pulling the jacket on as you reach the bottom step.

Your mom emerges from the kitchen, a towel in her hands, mid-dry. “Heading out where?”

You sigh, already regretting the interaction. “With Charlotte, mom. I told you earlier.”

“Oh, Charlie! She’s a darling. She’s doing the pageant this year, you know? Took a bit of convincing, but she’s a star. I’ve got all my money on her winning. That body, that face—she’s got it in the bag.” Her eyes flick over you then, slowly dragging up and down your own body. “Glad you’re hanging out with her, maybe you’ll pick up a thing or two.”

You’re used to the digs—decades of practice, really—but lately, it’s been harder to brush off. The grip you have on your emotions feels like it’s slipping more every day.

Still, you hold back the biting retort on the tip of your tongue. Not worth starting a third world war over this.

“Goodnight, mom.”

You turn and walk out the door, heading straight for Charlotte’s car, ignoring the sting of her words as best you can.

The car ride there flies by. Charlotte, despite your previous judgment after your mom mentioned her being a pageant girl, is beyond fun. You do karaoke the whole way there, getting to know each other a bit better in between songs. She’s not just sweet but also insanely smart. She’s finishing up nursing school and has her entire future pretty much planned out. You envy her a little for that last part.

Once she parks in front of the bar, she turns to you and says, “You ready to wild out?”

You laugh, nerves bubbling under the surface, trying to play it off. “Always ready to wild out.”

Stepping out of the car, you smooth down your top and follow Charlotte toward the entrance. The place is a little louder than you anticipated, music spilling out into the night air along with bursts of laughter. It’s a small town bar, but it’s packed.

“Come on, let’s get a drink first!” Charlotte grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd with ease, like she’s been here a hundred times before. You feel the warmth of her energy, the way she confidently navigates the room, and you can’t help but feel a little more at ease.

At the bar, Charlotte orders for both of you, flashing the bartender a bright smile as he hands over two drinks. She passes you one. “Here’s to new friends,” she says, raising her glass.

“To new friends,” you echo, clinking your glass with hers before taking a sip. The burn of alcohol feels like the start of something good, a buzz already settling in.

Charlotte leans closer, her voice cutting through the noise. “So… any cute guys on your radar tonight?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Not really here for that.”

“Oh, come on, there’s gotta be someone.” She gives you a teasing nudge, but when you hesitate, her eyes narrow in playful suspicion. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You’ve got a guy already?”

Your heart skips a beat at the question, and suddenly, Joel flashes in your mind. You try to shake it off, but Charlotte’s quick. She catches the flicker of emotion on your face, and her smile shifts into something more knowing.

“Oh, girl… you do, don’t you?”

You can’t help the way your face heats up, and you take another long sip of your drink to cover it. “It’s not like that.”

Charlotte leans in, her smile turning mischievous. “Uh-huh. Sure it isn’t. Spill—who’s the lucky guy?”

“It’s complicated,” you mutter, feeling a little ridiculous. You came out tonight to get away from these thoughts, not drown in them.

“Complicated usually means interesting,” she says, taking a sip from her own glass. “Is it someone I’d know?”

You hesitate. The thought of saying Joel’s name out loud feels… wrong, somehow. Like it’ll make everything you’ve been wrestling with real, something you can’t just shove aside like you’ve been trying to. You shift in your seat, tapping your fingers against the cool glass.

“Maybe,” you finally admit, your voice quieter now. “But it’s not a good idea. He’s older. Like, way older.”

Charlotte raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but not judging. “Well, you’re an adult, that shouldn’t be much of an issue. If the chemistry’s there, it’s there.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just that, he’s also a family friend. I don’t even know if he’d be interested, you know? It’s just too messy.”

Charlotte gives you a sympathetic look. “I get it. Messy’s never fun.” She takes a deep breath before flashing you a soft smile. “But for what it’s worth, you don’t have to feel guilty about liking someone, even if it feels complicated.”

You let her words hang in the air for a moment, absorbing them. You know she’s right, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier.

“Come on,” Charlotte says, pulling you from your thoughts. She stands, taking her drink with her. “Let’s dance. Forget about the complicated stuff for a while.”

You give her a small smile, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah, okay.”

You follow her to the dance floor, the thrum of the music vibrating through your body as you try to let yourself go, to let the rhythm take over and drown out the noise in your head.

A little while passes before Charlotte’s friends finally arrive. She spots them first, waving them over from where you're both standing near the dance floor.

“Over here!” she calls out, her voice rising above the music. “Guys, this is the girl I was telling y’all about.”

You turn to see a group heading your way—two girls and a guy, all dressed up but casual in a way. The girls reach you first, both of them with that same easy warmth Charlotte exudes.

“This is Amber,” Charlotte says, gesturing to a brunette with big doe eyes and gorgeous caramel skin.

Amber flashes you a wide grin. “Hey! So nice to finally meet you. Glad you survived a car ride with Charlotte, without any permanent hearing loss, I hope?”

Charlotte gasps, playfully smacking Amber on the arm. “Excuse me, my car concerts are a privilege to experience.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Honestly, the karaoke was the best part.”

Amber raises her eyebrows with a smirk. “See? She gets it.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes before motioning to the girl beside Amber. “And this is Josie,” she introduces, pointing to the girl with sleek black hair and striking hazel eyes.

“Hey there,” Josie says, pulling you in for a quick, friendly hug. “Welcome to the chaos.”

You chuckle, feeling instantly comfortable around them. Charlotte then glances over her shoulder at the guy lingering behind the girls—a tall, brown-haired guy with an easygoing smile.

“Oh, and this is Alex. He’s Amber’s brother” she adds, nodding toward him.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Alex says, stepping forward with a relaxed grin. “Charlotte’s been talking about you all week.”

You can’t help but laugh. “All good things, I hope?”

He nods, his voice smooth and calm. “All great things.”

His energy is different from the girls—more laid-back—but he’s just as welcoming.

The rest of the night is exactly that—effortless fun. Laughter flows as freely as the drinks, your mind slipping into a peaceful place that you haven’t felt since you got back. It’s a feeling you cling to, desperate to keep it alive for as long as you can. Like being wrapped in a bubble where everything is light, easy, and uncomplicated. You don’t want it to burst.

But eventually, thirst creeps in, and you find yourself craving another drink. You make your way to the bar, Alex trailing behind you.

“You having fun?” he asks, once you both have drinks in hand.

You nod, smiling as you prop your head up on your closed fist. “Actually, yeah. A lot more than I expected.”

Alex chuckles, leaning against the bar, his eyes studying you in that way you’ve seen before—soft but curious. “Well, contrary to popular belief, us small-town folk know how to have fun too.”

His smile is kind, warm. It suits him. You take a moment to really look at him, now that you're out of the haze of the dance floor and the dim lighting. He’s undeniably handsome—those soft features, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins. He feels safer, easier. A lot more inviting and open than… fuck.

Even as you take in all of Alex’s best features, your thoughts drift elsewhere. To a man whose presence has been ingrained in your brain for the past month. The way his rough edges make him so different from Alex. How his gaze isn’t soft at all, it lingers like a weight, heavy and consuming in a way that you can’t shake off.

Fuck.

You’re sitting here, comparing this sweet, charming guy to Joel, trying to convince yourself to like Alex more. You should. He’s age appropriate, and your dad would love him. It would make everything so much simpler. But no matter how hard you try, Joel lingers in the back of your mind, refusing to leave you alone. You haven’t been able to escape him, not even with a handsome guy straight-up flirting with you at a bar.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. You blink, lost in the mess of your thoughts.

“Hey,” Alex’s voice pulls you back to the moment, concern etched on his face. “You alright? Where’d you go?”

You force a smile, waving it off like it’s nothing. “Sorry, just spaced out for a second.” But the truth is, you’re spiraling, and you desperately need air. Suddenly, all the drinks you've downed feel like too much and not enough at the same time. Everything looks hazy and blurry, and you just need space.

Once the bartender hands you your new drink, you turn to Alex. “I’m uh… I’m gonna go get some air. Would you let the girls know for me?”

Alex looks at you for a second, sensing there’s more to it, but he concedes. “Sure, take your time, I’ll let them know.”

With that, you step outside.

The cool midnight air hits your skin the moment you push through the doors, instantly grounding you, but it doesn’t quite settle the buzzing in your chest. You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing thoughts, but it’s impossible to ignore the weight that’s been sitting there for weeks.

Joel.

You hate that it’s him filling your mind right now, after everything. You should be enjoying this—cute guy, fun night, no strings attached. But instead, all you can think about is the way he makes you feel.

It’s frustrating, and you’re tired of carrying it around in silence.

You’re realizing now, with an empty glass in your hands, that this last drink might’ve been a mistake. Without fully thinking it through, you pull out your phone and scroll to his name. You hesitate for only a second before hitting the call button. It rings once, twice, then a third time before it goes to voicemail.

You should hang up—calling was a bad decision in the first place—but leaning against the wall of the bar, staring up at the sky, you can’t help the words that spill out.

“Hey…” Your voice is low, slurred with alcohol but steady enough. “I went out with a friend tonight, Charlotte. I’m sure you know her. We came to this small, crowded bar that I don’t feel like going back into, and there was this cute guy, dazzling smile, pretty puppy eyes, you know the kind. God, he used to be my type too—me from a couple of months ago would be screaming to go give him my number. But he was talking to me, and I just… I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. It was like he was missing something, a bit more of a drawl or a patchy beard or kicking me out of his house randomly ‘cause he started touching my leg.” You chuckle softly. “But it’s not just him, Joel, it’s all of them. Every boy I see now—they're all either too soft, or too short, or too lanky, too nice or too chatty. They're just… I don’t know, not you. And it’s funny, ‘cause you don’t care. I’m here losing sleep over insignificant glances and touches and whatever, and you’re walking into my house to watch the damn game with my dad like it’s nothing. Like this is all nothing. Which I guess it is. It makes me a bit stupid to be acting like there was ever something here to begin with.”

You pause, your chest tight, mind buzzing.

“It doesn’t matter. This whole thing is stupid. I should probably figure out a way to get myself back home.” You pause again, biting your lip. “Please delete this in the morning and let’s never talk about it again, okay? I’ll be mortified. Goodnight.”

Your breath hitches as the words tumble out, and you clench your jaw, suddenly embarrassed by your own admission. But it’s too late. You’ve already hung up.

Steam still clings to the bathroom mirror as Joel steps out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips. The day has weighed on him—long hours, sun beating down, the usual aches and stiffness creeping into his bones. He runs a hand through his damp hair, catching a glimpse of himself in the fogged-up glass, the lines on his face more pronounced tonight.

With a heavy sigh, he pads barefoot across the room to his nightstand, reaching for his phone. There’s a part of him that wants to just lie down and shut the world out for a while, but old habits die hard, and checking his phone before bed is one he can’t seem to break. He unlocks it, thumb absently scrolling through notifications until your name flashes across the screen, and a voicemail icon blinks at him.

He freezes.

Your name.

For a moment, Joel just stares at it, thumb hovering above the screen. He hasn’t heard from you since the other night at your dad’s house—since that awkward, tension-filled game that still sits heavy in his mind. It would’ve been easier to keep the distance if you weren’t always… there. But you were.

He hesitates.

Maybe he shouldn’t listen.

But then, with a quiet curse under his breath, Joel presses play and brings the phone to his ear. There’s a beat of silence, a soft crackle before your voice comes through, and he feels something knot tight in his chest.

“Hey…” Your voice is quiet, a little slurred, like you’ve had a few too many. His brows knit together as you continue. You start talking about the bar, about a guy. A cute guy. A pang of something ugly twists in Joel’s gut, though he forces himself to keep listening.

"...used to be my type too… me from a couple months ago would be screaming to go give him my number."

Joel exhales, hand gripping the phone a little tighter as he leans back against the bed frame, legs stretched out in front of him. He swallows down the strange burn in his throat when you laugh, your words sinking in deeper with every second.

It’s when you mention the comparisons—how no one quite measures up to him—that something flickers across his expression. You shouldn’t be saying this, shouldn’t be thinking this, and yet… here you are. His jaw clenches when you talk about him touching your leg. He remembers that moment, how he’d pushed you away, forced that distance between you both before it got out of hand. But the way you bring it up now makes his pulse quicken, heat rising in him despite his efforts to keep it at bay.

"Every boy I see now—they're all either too soft, or too short, or too lanky, too nice or too chatty. They're just… not you."

His heart pounds harder at that, the breath he didn’t know he was holding finally releasing in a quiet exhale. Damn it. You weren’t supposed to feel this way. And he wasn’t supposed to like hearing it.

Your voice wavers when you say it doesn’t matter, that the whole thing is stupid, but Joel knows better. He hears it in the way you trail off, that vulnerability you can’t quite hide when you tell him to delete the message, pretend it never happened.

The voicemail ends, the room falling into an almost oppressive silence as Joel lowers the phone. He’s still staring at the screen, his thumb hovering over the delete option, but he can’t bring himself to press it. He should. You told him to. It would be the smart thing to do—erase the evidence, keep things clean between you two, never bring it up again.

But instead, Joel lets the phone fall to his chest, closing his eyes as he leans his head back against the headboard. His pulse still thrums in his ears, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. He knows he should forget it, but deep down, he knows it’s already too late for that.

A gnawing worry creeps in, pricking at the back of his mind. The slur in your voice, the way you sounded just… off. The mention of getting home by yourself.

He tells himself it’s just concern, that’s all. You’d been drinking, probably too much, and you shouldn’t be out alone at this hour. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t at least make sure you were alright?

But even as he gets up, throwing on an old t-shirt and grabbing his truck keys, Joel knows it’s not just that. There’s a deeper pull, something he can’t shake, and it’s not only about your safety. It’s about you, being near you, even when he’s spent weeks trying to keep that distance. The line he keeps redrawing in the sand has blurred so many times now, and yet, here he is, crossing it again.

He grips the steering wheel tight as he drives, headlights cutting through the dark, each street he passes tightening the knot of anticipation in his chest. He shouldn’t be doing this. It’s reckless, irresponsible. He’s trying to justify it—hell, he could call Charlotte, or maybe your dad, someone else to check on you. But no, he’s out here, already halfway across town, and that says more than he’s willing to admit.

Finally, he spots you. The dim glow of a streetlight casts a faint circle around where you’re sitting on the sidewalk, head resting on your arms, knees pulled up close to your chest. You look small, lost, and it tugs at something inside of him.

Joel pulls up slowly, parking a few feet away, his eyes locked on you through the windshield. For a second, he just sits there, watching. You’re still, unmoving, save for the occasional shift of your shoulders. He debates turning around, leaving before you even notice, but he knows that’s not an option. Not now.

Stepping out of the truck, Joel takes a breath, steeling himself before approaching. His boots scuff softly against the pavement as he gets closer, his heart thudding in his chest.

He clears his throat softly. “Hey…” His voice is low, careful. “You alright?”

You lift your head slowly, blinking against the bright light of the streetlamp as your eyes meet his. For a second, you don’t say anything, and neither does he.

Then your soft voice breaks the silence. “Are you really here or am I that drunk?”

He can’t help but let out a breathy laugh. Just like that, all the worries and the guilt, the pressure to do what’s right, it’s all gone in a heartbeat. It doesn’t matter. Not right now. Because you're sitting there in front of him, beautiful as ever, looking up with those glossy, wide eyes that make your usual sweetness seem even more disarming.

So he let’s go. Just for tonight, he can enjoy this feeling instead of shoving it down.

“Come on, party girl,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Let’s get you home.”

You try to stand, but your heels betray you, and before you can fully straighten up, you’re stumbling. Joel’s right there, catching you without a second thought, just like he always is. His hand wraps around your arm, steadying you, like it's second nature.

“I need to stop tumbling down every time I’m around you,” you mumble, slurring your words with a hint of frustration in your humor. Your brows furrow in concentration as you focus on taking the small, careful steps toward Joel’s truck. “I swear I’m usually not a clumsy person.”

He chuckles, his hand still holding onto you as if it’s where it belongs. “It’s alright. I like you tumbling onto me.”

There’s a subtle warmth in his words that he doesn’t even try to hide now.

He helps you get situated in the passenger seat before rounding the truck and sliding into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t start the engine right away, though. For a second, he just sits there, hands gripping the wheel, his eyes flicking toward you and then away, not knowing how far he’s allowing himself to go tonight. He needs to say something, move this goddamn situation forward somehow.

You break the silence first, your voice softer now, pulling him back from the spiral. “Joel… You didn’t have to come get me.”

His fingers flex on the wheel, jaw tightening. He knows he didn’t have to come. He shouldn’t have. But Lord, the second he heard that voicemail, his mind spun into a frenzy—your voice all slurred and honest in a way it never had been before. You sounded… lost. He doesn’t want to admit how incapable he felt of doing nothing in that moment.

He lets out a slow breath, rubbing his hand over his face. "Yeah, I did."

You look at him, blinking slowly like you’re trying to figure him out. He can see the alcohol buzzing behind your eyes, but there’s clarity there too, something cutting through all that fog. “Why?” you ask, your voice soft, hesitant. “Why did you come?”

He swears he hears the crack in his own chest before he even opens his mouth. Why the hell did he come? He knows the answer. He knows what you’re trying to get him to say. But he can’t say it, not without giving something away he isn’t ready to give. So he falls back on the one thing that’s easy. “Because you called,” he says, his voice low, rough. “And I—” He hesitates, the words sitting on his tongue like they’ll choke him. “I was worried.”

Worried. It’s weak, but it’s the best excuse he’s got.

Your gaze softens, and it’s like you see right through him, see all the bullshit he’s trying to keep up. “You don’t have to keep doing that,” you murmur. “Act like you’re just worried about me because of… whatever. I’m not stupid, Joel.”

His heart stutters in his chest. His first instinct is to argue, to push back, but something about the way you’re looking at him makes him pause. He clenches his jaw, trying to harden his expression, but you’ve always had this way of seeing past that. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he manages, though his voice comes out more defensive than he means for it to.

But you don’t back down. You never do. “I think I do. I think you do too.”

Joel’s heart starts pounding harder in his chest. There’s a moment where everything feels too quiet, like the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for him to do something—say something that’ll either make this all blow up in his face or force him to admit things he’s been burying for weeks. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He shakes his head, trying to break free from whatever hold you’ve got on him.

He starts the truck, the sound of the engine a relief. “We should get you home,” he mutters, trying to steady his voice, even though everything inside him feels like it’s tipping over the edge.

But as he pulls onto the road, his grip on the wheel tight, he can’t stop glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. He’s trying to keep his distance, trying to convince himself this is just him doing what’s right, being a good man. But the truth’s gnawing at him, clawing its way up, no matter how much he pushes it down: He didn’t come here just to get you home.

"Can we get something to eat?" Your voice startles him, bringing him back from the place he just mentally went to. “I’m starving.”

“Um… sure. What do you feel like?”

“Anything greasy and fast. Something that’ll soak up all the bad decisions I made tonight,” you joke, but there’s something in your voice, a vulnerability that Joel doesn’t miss.

You end up at a late-night drive-thru, ordering burgers and fries. He pulls into a quiet spot and turns off the engine, the warmth of the food filling the truck. It’s quiet for a moment, the air between you heavier than it should be.

“You alright?” he asks, turning to look at you.

You don't answer right away, staring out the windshield, your fingers playing with the edge of the fry wrapper. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “I’ve just… been feeling off lately.”

Joel’s not sure how to respond. He’s used to your bratty quips and playful banter, but this—you letting him in like this—feels different.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says, his voice low, gentle. “Sometimes things just get… heavy.”

You nod, taking a small bite of your burger before setting it down, barely touched. “It’s been weird being back home. Everything’s familiar, but nothing feels right, you know? Like I should fit here, and I don’t.”

He shifts in his seat, turning slightly to face you. “Yeah, I get that,” he says, surprising even himself with the admission. “Felt like that for a long time. Still do sometimes.”

You look over at him, really look at him, and for the first time tonight, there’s no walls between you. No snarky comments, no tension bubbling beneath the surface. Just two people who’ve been through a lot, trying to figure out how to navigate the mess.

“You? Really?” you ask, genuinely surprised.

He nods, glancing down at the steering wheel. “Yeah, really. Even when everything seems like it’s where it’s supposed to be, it still doesn’t always… fit. It’s hard to explain.”

For a moment, you just sit there, sharing the silence. It’s not awkward, though—more like a mutual understanding, something deeper than words could convey. Joel finds himself relaxing, letting his guard down more than he intended.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you say softly.

He smiles at that. “Couldn’t leave you out there like that, darlin’” he replies, his tone soft but firm.

You return his smile, small but genuine. It makes Joel feel like maybe—just maybe—this isn’t a mistake after all. It’s not about crossing lines or getting too close. It’s about being there for you, like he wants to be, like you need him to be.

And somehow, that feels right.

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#dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel x reader #tlou joel #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #hidden embers

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nekohime19 · 2 days

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AITA for sleeping with the guy my girlfriend is cheating on me with?

Idk what happened but I just had the funniest idea ever and I just had to write it. So basically it's a reddit post style short story with Wukong's pov. It's an interactive story so the comments will be used as the answers. There will probably be a part two (maybe even a part three) but I don't think I'll write more than that.

Shadowpeach is the end goal and we don't forgive cheaters in this household.

Also sorry Spider Queen, love ya.

AITA for sleeping with the guy my girlfriend is cheating on me with?

Okay, so I'm not used to this internet madness but my successor once said it could help sometimes so here I am sharing drama.

So I (5000, He/him monkey immortal) have been dating this other person we'll call Venom (??, She/her, spider demon) for quite some time. And I've been quite happy with her. I know I'm not the most… upfront with things and I have issues (like a lot) but she liked me and we worked well together.

But then we got into more arguments when I began to train my successor (21, he/him, human???), we'll call him… Bud, just because.

The thing is, Venom got this whole world domination plan, which is kinda normal for demons. A lot of demons do that. And it never really bothered me because I was retired (for context I'm a retired hero who used to battle demons a lot). Besides, I had some kind of the same phase in my youth so I just thought it would pass when she'd realize it's kind of a stupid plan, and anyway she never did anything to achieve it.

But then I found a successor, Bud, and I began to train him to protect the city and fight demons, all that heroing stuff. Venom, of course, wasn't happy with that and we began to get into arguments. She accused me of betraying her and I just told her I was a hero from the start so she shouldn't have expected me to agree with her view and all.

Things got really bad when Venom decided to pull a end-of-the-world shit show on New Year when we agreed beforehand to go on a date that day. It felt like she was spiting me. Plus, she destroyed more than half of the city and gave Bud a really awful time so I was, understably I think, very angry with her.

We got on our biggest argument and took some time apart to cool off. But then Venom got back all sweet and said to leave that behind us, so I was very happy and just decided to forget our arguments entirely. I thought she just decided to stop her world domination thing. It wasn't weird for us to do that. Not the first time we got into an argument about heroing and usually we just get back together after a little bit and decide to move on.

But then I started to notice some weird stuff about Venom. Like, she was on her phone a lot more (when she always thought those mortal things were lame before) and she was kinda dismissive and distant. She forgot some of our dates and had some lame excuses, like taking weeks of vacation or something??? When she never did that before.

In hindsight maybe I shouldn't have done that but I'm a monkey you know, so I'm naturally curious. So I took her phone and snooped around a bit.

Turns out Venom was cheating on me with another guy (??, he/him, monkey demon) we'll call him Six. She was seeing him behind my back and all, planning date and calling him “darling”, 🤢. I saw red. Like cheating ???? I know we have our ups and downs but to the point of cheating on me? I was really hurt by this.

So, I don't know, to try to calm down I started to investigate on Six. Like what kind of guy he is? Is he better than me? I was kinda surprised to discover he's another celestial monkey, like I always thought I was the only one?? But also it kinda hurt because Venom was cheating with a cheap dark version of me.

So I got petty.

I wanted revenge. And info. I decided I was gonna confront this Six guy first and pull a Monkey Cop, sussing him out to see if he was aware of my existence and to clarify this situation. Maybe I should have just talked to Venom but, idk, I guess some part of me was dreading the confrontation with her.

So I got to Six workplace with a disguise and all (sunglasses and hoodie). He works in the local theater and, okay, he was kind of good on stage. I'm not gonna lie, he's also kinda cute. Just a little bit. So I approached him at the end of the show, praising him for the performance.

One thing led to another and we kinda took dinner together??? I learned he moved in recently and that he got in a relationship with Venom three months ago (which hurt). But he seemed to genuinely like her and had no idea he was the side piece here. Sooo, maybe I took pity on him, like the guy didn't deserve that? I offered him a bottle and we got waisted. In hindsight, a really bad idea, especially since I have a loose mouth when I'm drunk.

We had a fun night, doing stuff together. He admitted my disguise was shit (which, rude 🙄) and was excited to meet another celestial monkey. We talked about our experiences and we really bonded. Annnd, I got to ruin it and spill the beans, saying the truth about how Venom is in fact my girlfriend.

At first he didn't believe me, but then I pulled pictures and, yeah, he was understandably upset. He kinda looks hot when mad. We got even more waisted and cried and cursed Venom and ate ice cream then we got on my mountain, drank some more of my personal celestial wine collection, and watched Monkey Cop… Then I say “You're kinda cute.” and he says “You too”.... One thing led to another and, yeah, we slept together.

And so now I'm in my bed typing this with the worst headache on earth and with very obvious marks of what happened last night on me. Six is sleeping next to me and I'm questioning my life (and my sexuality???)

WHAT DO I DO????

AITA ??

#shadowpeach #lmk #lego monkie kid #shadowpeach fanfic #sun wukong #six eared macaque #lmk shadowpeach #Reddit post story #Wukong love life is a mess #Monkey gay awakening #AITA shadowpeach

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blackhardtt · 2 days

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Important PSA for my Mutuals:

1. Genuine Interaction Matters: If you’re genuinely interested in building a connection, please like this post. I’m looking for quality interactions, not just to be another number on your follower list. This space thrives on authentic engagement, and I want to share it with those who truly wish to connect.

2. Mutual Engagement: I highly value a mutually interactive dashboard. This doesn’t mean you need to engage with every single post I make—far from it! However, I appreciate seeing genuine interest in what I share, whether that means the occasional like, comment, reblog, or etccc! . I believe in fostering a space where both parties feel seen and valued.

3. Understanding Life's Ups and Downs: I completely get that life gets hectic and hiatuses happen. That’s not an issue at all. However, if there hasn’t been any form of interaction from your side for an extended period (and this was the case even before your hiatus), I may reconsider the connection. I always try to do my part by actively engaging with others through likes, comments, and sending in memes.

4. Memes & Comfort Zones: I’m happy to send memes and engage in lighthearted ways, but when it comes to shippy or more intimate content, I prefer to establish a sense of comfort and rapport first. It’s important for me to respect boundaries and not jump into things that might feel too forward or awkward without prior discussion.

5. Follower/Following Cleanse: In the coming days, I’ll be doing a bit of a clean-up of my follower list. This isn't meant to be harsh but rather a way to alleviate some of the anxiety I experience from having a large following without genuine interaction. I find that when I have too many followers, I tend to overthink and feel overwhelmed. If I notice that we haven't interacted meaningfully, I may opt to soft block, simply to keep this space more manageable and less stressful.

In summary: I’m here for genuine connections and meaningful interactions. I don’t expect you to engage with every single post, but I do appreciate knowing that there’s mutual interest and respect. Thank you for understanding, and let’s continue to make this space a welcoming and interactive community! 🌟

Lastly, I totally understand how consistency can be a challenge—trust me, I’m the same way! Very up and down, and that’s perfectly okay! 😊 I’m a big believer in “the little things matter most” rather than having 100 ongoing threads. Even a one-liner or a quick crack interaction can mean just as much to me.

#i will be reblogging this here and there #i genuinely just want to keep my dashboard to people who want and i do interact with!#even if our threads are on and off! that is quite alright <3 #and if i do soft block its not a permanent thing #you can always just ask me why :)#again pls dont take this the wrong way #i just think id be more active if i didnt have this overwhelmed feeling #POST [psa.]

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fionaapplerocks · 5 hours

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The Long and Winding Road That Leads to Fiona Apple

By Tyler Coates 2012-05-31

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” So goes the oft-quoted line from William Faulkner’s Requiem for a Nun. Time is circular, and our relationship with our own personal histories is ever changing. This is a concept with which the enigmatic Fiona Apple is deeply familiar.

The 34-year-old singer-songwriter is about to release her fourth album—the first in seven years—aptly titled The Idler Wheel is wiser than the Driver of the Screw, and Whipping Cords will serve you more than Ropes will ever do. The spinning wheel of time cranks back and forth for Apple, who continues to re-examine her past while trying to keep up with the present. Like most artists, however, Apple finds that her fans cherish the past more than she does.

In 2000, a 16-year-old fan named Bill Magee approached Apple after a show in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania with a request: he told her he was a member of his high school’s gay-straight alliance and hoped that Apple could write a few words of support. “[I] was much more interested in interacting with a celebrity than building an alliance between gays and straights,” he admitted on his blog 12 years later where he posted a scanned image of the letter he received less than a week after requesting her response.

Apple wrote: “All I know is I want my friends to be good people, and when my friends fall in love, I want them to fall in love with other good people. How can you go wrong with two people in love? If a good boy loves a good girl, good. If a good boy loves another good boy, good. And if a good girl loves the goodness in good boys and good girls, then all you have is more goodness, and goodness has nothing to do with sexual orientation.”

“My brother was the one who told me about it,” Apple tells me just weeks after Magee posted the letter on his Tumblr, which was then picked up by various sites like Jezebel and Pitchfork. “I was like, ‘A letter I wrote to someone when I was 22 has made its way online?’ That’s the scariest thing I could possibly hear in my life. And the subject matter was so important—I know how I’ve always felt so I knew it wasn’t going to be a bad letter, but I was like, ‘What did I say?!’”

The letter’s sudden popularity online is indicative of how much has changed since Apple released her debut album, Tidal, in 1996.

For starters, she was then a 19-year-old singer-songwriter signed to a major record label and churning out emotional and dark odes at a time when her contemporaries were singing bubblegum-pop love songs.

She made headlines after appearing in the video for “Criminal.” Shot in a seedy apartment, the video featured a scantily clad and emaciated Apple, sparking criticisms of the exploitive quality of the images (and suggesting that she had an eating disorder). In 1997, when accepting her award for Best New Artist at the MTV Video Music Awards, Apple infamously shouted into the microphone, “This world is bullshit, and you shouldn’t model your life on what we think is cool, and what we’re wearing and what we’re saying.”

While the speech was replayed and parodied on TV for years following, Apple was lucky enough to have said those words before the days of blogging and YouTube; had she given the speech 15 years later, it may have turned into a career-damaging viral video and sparked a few thousand snarky tweets.

She also has the luxury of being a successful artist who doesn’t need to promote herself online. “They want me to tweet now, but I don’t,” Apple tells me of her label reps. “It doesn’t feel natural to me. But I do find it actually more interesting to see people posting ridiculously mundane shit. I like to hear about what people had for breakfast or what they did all day. It’s interesting because I don’t know how other people live.”

While Apple is hardly a recluse, she’s made few public appearances in the seven years since the release of her third album, Extraordinary Machine. The excitement following the announcement by Epic Records of the late-June release of The Idler Wheel speaks to the loyalty of her fan base. (And as for that long-winded title, it’s a callback to the much-maligned 90-word title of her acclaimed sophomore effort, universally shortened to When the Pawn…)

The Idler Wheel does not deviate from the familiar sounds of Apple’s earlier records; the songs are still layered with complex instrumentation, and her reverberant voice still takes center stage in each tune.

The album was produced nearly in secret over the last few years—a surprising move from an established artist with the resources of a major label at her disposal. But Apple explains that her experience with the label system is what allowed her to feel free to work on her own. “It was very casual, and I wasn’t fully admitting that I was making an album,” she says. “I got to use the time in the studio to inspire me to finish other things rather than feel like I was finishing homework to hand in. It wasn’t a lot of pressure. And the record company didn’t know I was doing it, so nobody was looking over my shoulder.”

Most might take that mentality as a reaction to the restrictions of her record label, especially after the drama surrounding the release of Extraordinary Machine. After collaborating with Jon Brion (who produced When the Pawn) to create an early version of the third album in 2002, Apple then decided to rework all but two of the songs with producer Mike Elizondo.

The original version of the album leaked online, and Brion suggested in interviews that Apple’s label had rejected the demo and forced her to rerecord the songs (a claim that Apple later denied). Still, it incited an uproar among her fans. An online-based movement called Free Fiona organized demonstrations outside of the Sony headquarters in New York, and protestors sent apples to the label’s executives.

The final version of the album was released in 2005 and received positive reviews and earned Apple a Grammy nomination. “I ran into the guy who started Free Fiona after a show in Chicago,” she tells me. “He apologized to me! They didn’t get the story quite right, but they did help me get my album out. I felt so bad that he had spent all this time thinking I was pissed at him—I had a physical urge to get down on the floor and kiss his shoes!”

It’s an intense reaction (she admits she didn’t bow to her fan because “it would be weird if I did that”), but Apple is still a very intense person. Dressed in a flowing skirt paired with several layers of spaghetti-strapped tank tops that reveal her slender frame (which seems healthier than in her early days, giving the impression that she must spend most of her downtime on a yoga mat), Apple fidgets in her seat during our conversation, often giving off an infectious giggle.

But she is surprisingly comfortable to talk to, not much like the somber young woman who sang of heartbreak and disappointment. “I don’t think I’ll ever have an idea of what I look like to the rest of the world,” she replies when I ask if she ever worries that her lyrics, which are sometimes in stark contrast to the up-tempo, progressive sounds of her songs’ instrumentations, give off the wrong impression of her personality. “It’s all your own perception. I could easily be concerned with how I’m taken and then have all the good stuff filtered through to me and choose to believe that. For the rest of my life it’d be the truth for me, but not the whole truth.”

Born Fiona Apple McAfee Maggart in New York City to Brandon Maggart and Diane McAfee, Apple’s musical destiny was settled at birth. The McAfee-Maggarts are, while not reaching Barrymore-level name recognition, an entertainment family; Apple’s father was nominated for a Tony for his performance in the Broadway musical Applause, both her mother and sister are singers, and her half-brothers work in the film industry—one an actor and the other a director.

She’s a third-generation performer, as her grandmother was a dancer in musical revues and her grandfather a Big Band-era musician. While Apple’s auspicious introduction to the pop world had critics calling her a prodigy, she crafted her early songs as a cathartic necessity. (“Sullen Girl” from Tidal, in particular, is about her rape at the age of 12.) “Over the years it’s transferred more into a craft,” she says. “I use myself as material because that’s what I’ve got. But these days I write less than half of my songs to get myself through things. I have to find other things to be meaningful— otherwise I’d just be miserable all the time.”

Her songs are still extremely autobiographical, which is perhaps their charm. Following in the footsteps of other singer-songwriters, especially women who emerged in the early ’90s and expressed their emotions in particularly vulnerable ways, Apple’s openness has always had an empowering appeal. Her songs seem to suggest that feeling a variety of emotions—sadness, glee, despair, insanity—is not only normal, but, like those self-reflective musicians before her, she also gives permission to her listeners to feel the same way.

Even for Apple, her older songs are relics of another time, and she now makes them applicable to her life in the present. “They all kind of become poems after a while,” she says. “You can take your own meaning out of them. It’s been a very long time [since my first albums], and I can apply those songs to other situations that are more current in my life.” She admits she has changed greatly since she started writing songs in her late teenage years, especially when it comes to how she portrays herself. “I don’t feel comfortable singing the songs that I wrote. I used to blame other people and not take responsibility. I thought I was a total victim trying to look strong.”

And she is much harder on herself in the songs on The Idler Wheel than she ever was before. Sure, she admitted to being “careless with a delicate man” in “Criminal,” arguably her most famous song, and in When the Pawn’s “Mistake” she sang, “Do I wanna do right, of course but / Do I really wanna feel I’m forced to / Answer you, hell no.”

On The Idler Wheel, Apple examines her own solitude and neuroses as well as their effect on her relationships with others. “I can love the same man, in the same bed, in the same city,” she sings on “Left Alone,” “But not in the same room, it’s a pity.” On “Jonathan,” a somber love song layered with robotic, mechanical sounds that’s presumably about her ex-boyfriend, author and Bored to Death creator Jonathan Ames, she urges, “Don’t make me explain / Just tolerate my little fist / Tugging at your forest-chest / I don’t want to talk about anything.”

But performing, as a central requirement of her career, still takes precedence. “Some nights I’m very, very nervous, and some nights I’m not at all,” she tells me. “I think, ‘This is ridiculous. I’m not a person who does a show, I’m a person who should be on a couch watching TV.’ But then it’s like I get knocked into another state of consciousness, and then I’m left behind, and the person that’s doing the show is there and there’s nothing else in the world existing other than the note she’s singing. It’s such a joy to do, but I forget about it until I’m on the stage.”

Apple has lived in los Angeles since Tidal’s release in 1996, although she admits that she’s “not an L.A. girl.” “I was supposed to stay in New York,” she tells me. “I remember being 17 and asking if I could record in New York. How did I end up here? It’s 15 years later… How did that happen?” Apple doesn’t seem to process time like other people. When I ask when she began recording The Idler Wheel and when she knew it was ready, she has a complicated answer. “It must have started in 2008. Or 2009. I don’t know! I have no idea. It’s weird to think that there was 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011.” Her big blue eyes suddenly look to her right as she furrows her brow. “Where’ve I been? What was I doing? What was that year about?”

Maybe the solitary nature of living in L.A. contributes to her aloof tendencies. “I’m not a social creature,” she says, “I don’t go to parties all the time because I’d probably just wonder why I’m there in the first place.” Her preference for being alone may also stem from the kind of personal criticisms that people tend to throw at female musicians. “I’ve gotten so used to being misunderstood. Nobody’s ever really said anything bad about my music, but when I’ve had albums come out there are always people making fun of me. ‘Oh, she’s back?’” She didn’t even expect the comments (mostly online) when the full title of The Idler Wheel was announced. “I didn’t stop to think that anyone would call it ridiculous, but people did. I thought, ‘Ahhh. My old friends.’ I’m not sure what’s ridiculous about it, but that’s what they’ve got to say.”

I cautiously mention the infamous acceptance speech from the VMAs, a moment early in her career that defined the public persona of Fiona Apple as an angry, ungracious woman. “I’ve never been ashamed of that,” she replies immediately. It was the first moment, she says, in which she felt like she could speak up—to break free from the shyness that defined her childhood and early teenage years. “I genuinely, naïvely thought that I was going to put out a record and that was going to make me have friends. I expected to give it to people and they would understand me; no one would say to me, ‘We don’t want to be your friend because you’re too intense or too sad all the time.’” It wasn’t necessarily the case.

“Do you still think the world is bullshit?” I ask when we talk about the VMAs. She laughs. “It’s not the world!” she exclaims. “Of course people think that ‘the world’ is the whole world. I felt that I had finally gotten into the popular crowd, and I thought, ‘Is this what I’ve been doing this for?’ I felt like I was back in the cafeteria in high school and still couldn’t speak up for myself.”

These days, Apple spends more time focusing on her own art rather than the reactions to it. With age has come calm and decreasing desire to pay attention to her detractors. “I’ve decided it takes too much energy to try to avoid it,” she tells me, brushing aside her freshly dyed crimson hair. “I’m not going to hide from the world.”

Source Archive.org:

https://web.archive.org/web/20120603033544/http://www.blackbookmag.com/music/the-long-and-winding-road-that-leads-to-fiona-apple-1.49114

#fiona apple #interview #2012 #LONG #black book magazine

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codename-adler · 1 day

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when you cannot handle class discussion;

a non-aftg post still addressed to the aftg fandom because i know the aftg fam got me.

CW below: Harry Potter and JKR.

TERFs et al. not welcomed, fuck off.

one of my uni classes this semester is called Children's Literature in English. i will abstain from relating my whole life background, but here is the issue: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone is on the syllabus, due to be discussed for the next 2 weeks. other works on the program are: both Andersen's and Grimms' fairytales, Enid Blyton's The Twins at St. Clare's, The Catcher in the Rye, A Little Princess, Gene Luen Yang's American Born Chinese and Neil Gaiman's The Wolves in the Walls. (the latter is a whole other issue in itself that is not the point here)

the objective of the class is worded as followed by the professor in the syllabus:

This course will involve a critical study of children’s and young adult literature (in English) by analyzing historical and cultural connotations of childhood, adolescence, and related subjects. By analyzing a variety of texts students will explore several dimensions of children’s literature including children’s education, questions of race and identity, children’s understanding of abuse and trauma, young adult adventures and more. Literature in this course will range from the eighteenth-century concept of children’s texts, twentieth century popular school stories, as well as contemporary popular fiction including picture books and graphic novels. Students will be expected to critically engage with the texts and appreciate the sophisticated themes present in them. Children’s literature is often considered to be repositories of cultural values and deemed as agents of socialization—students will be encouraged to dissect these texts from their literary and political perspectives.

now. i've known about HP as assigned reading since the summer. initially i was very, thoroughly disappointed. and pissed. and helpless, because i did not know who the professor would be. therefore i had no clue as to how it would be handled, from what angle it would be approached. from the list of texts, i could assume a certain theme around school as a major setting for children's socialization and growth. fairytales is also always the starting point. but apart from that, no clue.

then the syllabus came, and it was grief all over again. because as you can see, nothing indicates that HP will be discussed with current events in mind. moreover, the thematic section under which it is to be read, in the syllabus, are: coming-of-age stories, adventure, YA fiction. so... nothing, you know. and so since August, i've been nursing this weird wound?

i'll admit, i was much, much, much more affected by the news than i ever thought i would. i haven't interacted with the texts and fandom for years. i actively avoid it. my ex-bestfriend who i've 'broken up' with in April was the only contact i had, because she is a die-hard fan that, although disagreeing with JKR, did not try to change the ways she engaged with the content. i rarely discussed HP with her, because i did not like it, and it was never as of major importance to me as it was to her; she has grown up with HP, whereas i only read the series around 14, never saw the movies in theatre, etc. that is not to say that i was not an ardent fan; i was immensely taken with the books, the world, that author herself. i was in awe of her genius. was.

all this to say, i have carefully curated what i'm exposed to and what i engage with. i've laid down pretty good boundaries. a little too good, perhaps, if my deep shock and perpetual grief are anything to go by. my surprise at my own feelings certainly does not help to lessen them and process them.

and now has come the time for discussion. i won't reread HP1, because i still have it pretty much memorized, and because i simply refuse to. i have so many other things to do and read and write for other classes and clubs, i cannot be arsed to give that book a single glance. but for the next 2 weeks, the next 6 hours of that class, everything will be HP and JKR. and i do not know how to handle it.

because. because the students of the class are, mostly, fans. still. and the professor too, i believe. i do not see a discussion on transphobia, homophobia, racism, antisemitism and misogyny in the cards. i'm really not getting the 'vibe' from the prof that there will be a portion reserved for those aspects. i hope i'm wrong. but i cannot prepare myself on hope.

just the discussion from some girls, during the break, about their favorite fanfics and eagerly and enthusiastically chatting about HP and the reboot and whatnot, i'm feeling awful. and, well, apart from me, these women are among the students that participate the most in discussion. (as it is, a discussion-/seminar- based course)

i understand, okay? i understand. that HP/JKR permanently changed the children's lit landscape and market. whether it was deserved/original or not, it remains that they have had a very important role in the history of kids' lit. it cannot be erased, though i wish it would. and that is, fine. nothing anyone can do about that. the mark (stain) is there to stay. i understand.

so i cannot change:

the syllabus

the professor

the students

history

i can only control the way i will handle this. i will try my very best not to engage in the discussion. though 15% of our final grade goes to participation, i have secured my full mark by now and know after HP i will pick up the work again. that is no concern to me. when i say try not to engage, i mean try not to waste energy and peace over whatever bs is bound to be said. i'm not afraid of outright far-right problematic 'opinions' or responding to them if be the case, but i doubt it will happen, which is a tiny bit of relief.

but i cannot skip those sessions. it remains that i must be present and actively listening. that is tiring and hurtful enough. and i do not know how to plan how to cope. i do have a dear friend i know i could talk to in person afterwards. and i have you guys.

so what i'm asking, after all this blah-blah, is advice, tips, ideas, to help me remain calm and well for the next 2 weeks suffering through the HP bs.

i sound dramatic af. i feel dramatic af. i don't understand why i am so affected. i don't even know for sure if the professor will skip over that crucial evil of JKR. i might be pleasantly surprised.

i'm happily open to provide any additional info if you have questions or need clarifications. i don't know how coherent i'm being. feeling real blurry rn.

yeah. that's all.

- Love, Adler xx

#adler.priv #cw: harry potter #cw: jk rowling #cw: jkr #long post

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galactic-magick · 2 days

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Be Proud: Viktor x Reader

Summary: Viktor's newfound fame as the co-founder of Hextech has taken its toll on your insecurities.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions and allusions to body dysmorphia/eating disorders

Author's Note: I starting writing this to play with the idea of how founding Hextech probably gave Jayce and Viktor celebrity status in a way and how that would affect them and people involved with them. It ended up turning into a vent fic about my body image issues as well, to the point I almost didn’t post because it got so personal. But I figured there’s people out there who relate and might find solace in reading this as I did writing it.

You’re so proud of him. Everything he’s accomplished, everyone he’s helped. He’s living his dream, creating the future, and he’s being listened to and valued by topsiders. This is all you’ve ever wanted for him, and you would never think of standing in his way.

Which is precisely why you’ve never told him how insecure it all makes you feel.

Before Viktor got involved with Hextech, life was so much more predictable. You both could live your days together in peace, never being in the spotlight and rarely interacting with the highest of powers in Piltover. Life was hard, sure, but nothing you couldn’t manage without some tasteful spite and stubbornness. Viktor always knew his background would be a stumbling block for him up here, and you really weren’t much farther ahead, being from a title-less family with half your relatives from the Undercity.

But you’re not used to being around such glamour and poise. As Viktor becomes more involved with the Council and the wealthier areas of Piltover, making Hextech gadgets per their requests and being invited to fancy events, you’re left mourning simpler times. You’ll never get used to people coming up to you on the street while you bring your husband some lunch, or people staring at you during conferences when you’re just there to support him. Everyday citizens want to know and analyze everything about you, simply because you’re married to Piltover’s finest scientist.

You don’t like to bother Viktor with how it’s affected you, especially since he’s so good at handling it all. He’s always been so proud of who he is—where he came from—because he’s had to be. He’s not phased by the new fame as the co-founder of Hextech, and he easily shrugs off any comments people make about his past or his looks. To him, celebrity status is just a slight annoyance that occasionally distracts him from doing his work in the labs. But for you, it’s brought back every insecurity you’ve ever had about yourself.

You’ve stopped joining him as much at dinners and banquets because you fear they’ll judge how you look in a dress. You’ve stopped chiming in to interviews so you don’t say something stupid and embarrass him. You’ve stopped visiting him so much while he’s working so people won’t talk to or see you on the street.

You’ve started picking yourself apart in the mirror again, fussing every morning until you might cry. You compare yourself to the beautiful specimens that surround you, perfect in face, body, and manners. You start wondering if people judge how you speak or how much you eat. You wonder if people gossip about your family origins or your marriage. You wonder if you really, really, tried—if you could look like them. If you could be like them.

Viktor has started to stay back from some events with you lately, claiming Jayce is better at being the face of Hextech anyway. But tonight marks the five year anniversary of the company, and Councilor Medarda insisted there be a grand celebration.

The feast and dance will be held in her personal mansion, with the rest of the council and all the investors invited, as well as several reporters and journalists. Jayce will give an update address on what they’ve been working on, and what they hope to achieve by the bicentennial Progress Day.

This is something you can’t get out of and you know it. You drive yourself crazy trying on every dress in your closet, hoping to find something suitable for the affair. Half of them don’t even fit, which sends you into a further spiral, and the ones that do still don’t look good enough in your reflection.

Now the floor is covered in failed attempts at getting dressed, negative thoughts taking over your mind. Thoughts you know aren’t true, but you can’t stop thinking them.

He’ll be embarrassed to be seen with me.

I’m not good enough to be here.

I should eat less.

If I tried harder I could look like her.

I should check how much I weigh again. What happened to that damn scale?

They only invited me because they have to.

They probably talk about me—

You’re so deep in your head that you jump when you see Viktor leaning against the door frame, eyes full of love and concern.

“Are you alright, darling?”

You look down at yourself, wearing the last dress you had in your closet. It fits perfectly, but that’s part of the problem.

Viktor moves towards you as tears well in your eyes. He wipes them away with his thumbs, smearing some of the makeup you put on earlier.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“No.” you reply, avoiding his gaze.

“No?” he chuckles. “Why not?”

“It’s so stupid,” you sigh. “I thought I recovered from this. I should be able to handle this.”

“Handle what?”

“All this publicity shit!” you finally look at him. “I hate being watched and talked about and judged for what I say and look like all the time. I hate being asked about personal things and nearly passing out because I’m scared to eat in front of people. I hate all these superficial gatherings that are probably just for show-”

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” he cuts you off, dropping his crutch to the floor and wrapping his arms around you. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been feeling this way? Why didn’t you tell me it was getting bad again?”

You sniffle, “I...I didn’t want to bother you with something that doesn’t seem to bother you. You’re so good at being confident no matter what people say about you.”

“You think it doesn’t bother me?” he questions. “You think it doesn’t hurt me every time I overhear insults about me or my home, let alone when they say it to my face? You think I don’t notice that most of these people wouldn’t blink an eye if I died if it wasn’t for what I can offer them?”

He squeezes you tighter before slightly pulling away to look at your face, “I’m just better at hiding what it does to me, darling. Having a drive to prove myself is not the same as confidence. Now,” he kisses your forehead, “Tell me why you’ve been in here for over an hour and still aren’t ready, hm?”

“Well,” you gesture to the piles on the floor. “Those ones don’t fit. I must’ve gained more weight but I don’t really know for sure because I can’t find the scale. And those ones I just don’t like. And this one does fit, but it’s tight and I’ve never worn something form-fitted to an event before. I don’t want to deal with comments about my stomach sticking out or my arms looking puffy or whether I’m proportioned to their tastes.”

“You truly believe they’ll say those things?”

“I don’t know what they’ll say. That’s what’s so scary.”

The tears return, falling slowly down your cheeks.

“Darling,” Viktor says softly. “No one will ever think or say anything as horrible as what you think and say about yourself. I promise you that.”

You nod, allowing him to soothe you, “I know.”

“I need you to tell me when these thoughts are getting bad. Do you understand? I never want you to go so long feeling this way ever again,” he tilts your chin. “Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now, if you really don’t want to go, I’ll make up an excuse to get us out of it. But…” he slides his hands down your curves, “...it would be quite a shame if I didn’t get to see you wearing this all night.”

“You actually think it looks good?”

“Of course,” his eyes travel down your figure. “You always look perfect to me.”

“But-”

“No buts. Listen to me,” he faces you towards the mirror. “This body has gotten you through so much. I want you to be proud. Most of these people have never known a day of true hardship, but not you. You’re strong and you’re soft and you’re beautiful, and you’re the only one I’ll ever desire.”

You smile, knowing he means every word. You try to see what he sees, remembering every time he’s showered you with praise. You know he’s never once agreed with any of the horrible things you think about yourself. You know he loves everything about you, including how your body compliments his smaller, angular one. He’s never made you feel bad about anything, so why is it still so hard to believe him?

“Thank you, Viktor,” you say, turning to kiss his cheek. “I’ll try to be proud.”

“Good,” he nods. “Now, no more worrying about the scale or falling into old habits, alright? I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll try,” you laugh a bit. “You know what happened to it, though, don’t you?”

“Of course. I threw it out months ago,” he smirks. “You think I didn’t notice you checking it every single day?”

“You’re too good to me,” you bend down to pick his crutch up off the floor and hand it to him. “Let me just fix my makeup and we can go.”

“No more crying it off, alright?” he chuckles.

Jayce and Mel are waiting for you, welcoming you both to the celebrations. You can already feel the eyes and cameras on you, but you hold your head high, squeezing Viktor’s hand extra tight.

It’s been awhile since you’ve attended an event, but they always seem to go the same. Investors and council members come up to chat, mostly directing their questions towards Jayce. Sometimes they act as if Viktor isn’t even there, which boils your blood to the point you’ve said something on multiple occasions. Viktor has told you many times that he doesn’t mind being behind the scenes, and that Jayce is better at talking anyway, but you can never fully let it go. If people are going to gossip about him and your lives but not actually talk to him, you’ll gladly take the liberty of giving people a piece of your mind. You’d rather focus on lifting him up than dwell on your own self-consciousness, anyway.

One thing is different this time though—being that Viktor is a lot more handsy tonight than usual. He’s not normally one for public displays of affection, sticking to hand-holding and a few reassuring touches here and there. But tonight he can’t keep his hands off you.

It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, whether it be listening to the conversations, answering questions, or participating in the feast and drinks. He always has a hand on your waist or your thigh, gliding to your hips and stomach every so often. It seems mindless, as if he does this every time you’re out together, but you know he’s putting in a special effort to make you feel good.

And damn is it working.

You feel more at peace than you ever have since entering the public eye, proud of who you are and who you’re with. Who cares if people are whispering about their opinions on the Zaunite inventor? Who cares if there’s pictures of you in tomorrow’s tabloids with unflattering angles? Maybe all that matters is you’re having fun with your husband, and he’s making you feel oh so beautiful.

The night goes on for hours, attendees fizzling out until there’s only a handful left. You convince Viktor to dance with you before you leave, leaning against you and swaying simply. You wrap your arms around his neck, wiggling your fingers into his hair. He looks at you with such admiration, such devotion.

How could you ever doubt yourself under the gaze of those eyes?

“You lovebugs ready to head out?” Jayce approaches you both. “Viktor and I have a meeting with Heimerdinger in the morning.”

“Ah, yes, we do,” he briefly looks away from you. “But...perhaps we could push it until the afternoon?”

Jayce rolls his eyes and chuckles, “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you guys are in for a long night. Have fun.”

He waves and walks away, and you burst out laughing.

“Is it really that obvious?” Viktor jokes, returning his full attention to you.

“Viktor, darling, you’ve been all over me since we got here. I’d say the entire city knows how bad you want me tonight.”

“Maybe I want them to know,” he grins, sliding a hand up your dress and squeezing your thigh.

“Viktor!” you gasp, playfully slapping his hand away.

“Alright, I suppose we can go home first,” he pivots around, moving towards the door and extending his arm to you, “Shall we?”

You nod, quickly returning to his side.

Jayce was right, it’s going to be a long, lovely night.

#viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #fem reader #plus size reader

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groggy-acorn96 · 1 day

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So here's my first official post for this blog. Just some simple Bill and Ted headcanons to start the blog off right ^^

BILL & TED HEADCANONS

TED 'THEODORE' LOGAN

Audhd

Gets overwhelmed and overstimulated easily which leads him to becoming nonverbal

It pisses his dad off but Ted doesn't let it bother him too much since he knows he'll always have a safe space with Bill

Has lived his life feeling defeated that he'll never find someone to understand him until he met Bill (I headcanon they met around the start of middle school) and now it's his favorite feeling to have Bill understand him when others can't

When he does go nonverbal he never writes down what he wants to say. He always points and grunts until Bill is able to understand him or just wraps himself up in his favorite blanket of Bill's and turns the lights of to decompress until he's able to speak again

He's a heinous nail biter, and while it's not the best solution Bill had always found himself carrying things like erasers and pen caps for Ted to gnaw on instead

It's also his most most used coping mechanism to tell himself 'Bill understands me, Bill understands me' when he gets weird looks or someone fails to understands him

Seeks a lot of tactile stimulation, loving to touch rough and bumpy surfaces or Bill's curls. Also has a habit of rubbing his face over Bill's clothes like a cat when they hug

BILL S. PRESTON

adhd

When he's working on school work or really anything he needs to focus on that doesn't require two hands to do, he grabs a piece of notebook paper and a pen and draws mindless doodles and swirls with his left hand while he works with his right

Mindless scribbles turn into mandela sort of things which morphed into actual drawings

That's how he found his love for art and picks up an extracurricular art class during school

Has a temper but it takes a while for him to lose it, but the fuse shortens when he gets overstimulated

Hates when he blows up on Ted, immediately pulling him in for a hug and apologizing but the guilt still doesn't go away for a while

Keeps multiple fidgets in his pockets and back pack at all times for both himself and Ted when they get restless

Voila! First post done ^^ could've possibly shaped it up a bit more but again- I'm excited to share hehehe. If you like what you see interact and follow for more duders! :)

#bill and teds excellent adventure #bill and teds bogus journey #bill and ted #bill x ted #bill s preston esquire #ted theodore logan

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meownotgood · 2 years

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Heyy, hope you’re doing well mags <33 I’m excited to read your upcoming fic and I hope you’re taking care of yourself in the process :)) Don’t stress yourself out and remember to take breaks when needed… lotss of love from me and aki 💖

hey!!! it's so nice to hear from you 🥺💞 I'm doing okay, and I'm glad to hear that, I hope you will enjoy it!! I really appreciate your kind words so much. I will try my best! 💪 thank you for being so kind <3 <3

#I appreciate you so much #I ALWAYS SEE YOU WHEN YOU INTERACT WITH MY POSTS YOU KNOW #when you don't like the post I feel like I miss you!! 😭😭#love ya so much thank you for always supporting me and being so kind #and I hope you've been doing well!!! don't forget to take care of yourself too!! 🤲💖#big biiiig hugs for you #ask mags

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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i have... ✨Danyal Al Ghul Headcanons✨ but specifically for my yaelokre danyal oneshot

There's also the tumblr post here but I recommend the link in the title because its the ao3 version, and that one is edited and has some stuff in it that's not in the tumblr post, and will be the version I'm using.

So for summary: this Danyal is also from a Demon Siblings Au where Danny is five years older than Damian. However, things turned out a bit differently, and Danny and Damian had a fantastic relationship with one another. Danny loved music and regularly came up with songs to sing to Damian with. Specifically the folk band Yaelokre's EP "Hayfields" (seriously go fucking listen to it its sooo good. Harpy Hare is the second song but its my favorite. Special shoutout to @gascansposts for introducing the band to me)

He falls off a train when he's twelve and Damian is seven while the two of them and Talia are on mission. He ends up with magically induced amnesia and wakes up in Arkansas while the Fentons are on their yearly Divorce-iversary visit to Aunt Alica, and since he can only remember his name, he ends up being taken into their care.

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Yaelokre Danny has the same facial scar as Things in Threes Danyal, since he was initially another version of him where things turned out better. I'm debating on whether or not I should take it away however, and give him a different scar (maybe from when he fell off the train?), just because the scar is a pretty key identifier for Ti3 Danyal.

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Danny frequently visits Aunt Alicia in Arkansas! Well, only after he gets settled in and stuff. He doesn't really like the city that much and prefers the countryside where Alicia lives. I know she lives in a cabin but I'm changing it to a farm, so she puts Danny to work and gets him to help her.

I don't want to confine his hobbies to only being star stuff, because people tend to have more than one hobby and I feel like it reduces him to one-dimensionality, so he likes to garden, and learns guitar. His room becomes filled with plants, and he turns their roof into a rooftop greenhouse right below to OPS Center.

He has a complex relationship with the weapons from his past, but he's not... like... appalled by it? When he finds his weapons in the Fenton attic all he thinks is that they're his weapons, and he starts carrying a knife on him afterwards. Essentially he becomes fascinated with weaponry because its one of the few physical ties he has to his past, and while he's not training like he is in the League, he allows his strong muscle memory to guide him through his katas.

Danny likes climbing things. This causes Problems For Everyone Else.

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Danny was not the "kinder Al Ghul" in the League. His kindness extended to his brother and family, and that's it. To everyone else he had high expectations out of them, and the pride you'd expect from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and trained by its top members. While he wasn't like, unnecessarily cruel or anything, he wasn't merciful either.

This transfers post-train fall as him coming off as no-nonsense and unforgiving. He's not fond of the idea of giving people second chances, and is skeptical of the idea. He's disgusted by incompetency and views it as an unforgivable offense, especially if he thinks that the person should know better, although he's not sure why. Some egocentrism for the soul.

He doesn't like being touched by anyone who isn't family, and gets irritated when anyone grabs him or holds onto him for extended amounts of time. Dash has gotten hit so many times. With Jack Fenton's tendency for abrupt physical affection, it doesn't make it any better. I'd argue it'd make it worse because Danny doesn't want to be touched more often than not.

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Danyal had a red scarf in the League that he wore on his last mission, it came off before he fell off and caught itself on the roof. Damian still has it and took it with him to Wayne Manor. He's got it locked in his room and takes it out when he's alone and missing Danny the most. One time he forgot to put it away before leaving his room, and Dick was visiting the manor for something and found it. Damian found him holding it and freaked out.

Dick could only say "I've never seen you wear this, Damian, this is really pretty--" before Damian shoved him to the floor and stole it out of his hands, before screaming at him; "Don't touch this! You don't ever touch this! This is mine! You hear me!?"

It caused such a commotion that the rest of the family present came to see what the fuss was about, and Damian kicked them all out of his room. Dick is the one brother Damian's the closest with, so the fact he reacted so strongly shocked them all.

This is likely what leads to the "Danyal" conversation.

#dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover #danyal al ghul au #yaelokre danny #yaelokre danyal al ghul #the yaelokre danny post didn't really go into him interacting with other people but i'm trying to figure out his personality post amnesia #just know this: he's not canon danny. im spitefully refusing to make him a Cookie Cutter of canon danny because the idea pisses me off lmao #he's complex and confused and morally gray even with the amnesia bc memories aren't stored in one part of the brain they're stored #in different parts depending on the memory and muscle memory exists and danny might not actively remember the things that shaped him but hi #body does. and somewhere deep in his mind so does his brain. his memories weren't destroyed theyre locked away in a place where his active #conscious can't reach. plus its magic amnesia and i have comic AND cartoon realism on my side.#danny's personality from the league doesn't get challenged that much by the fentons because danny's learning this about himself just as muc #as they are. Jazz can't “Fix” what's wrong with him when neither of them know it and Danny is always the first to figure it out and then #keeps it to himself. Also. Jazz has a fucking life? she's not the family therapist she has friends and hobbies even if we the viewers don't #see it. But also i just really deeply despise the idea that Jazz “fixes” danny's league issues just by existing and being the therapist #because it waters her down into a one-dimensional character who only exists in the context of providing emotional support and life advice t #danny. also therapy only works on someone that's actively trying to change. otherwise its just psychoanalyzing and people tend to hate #being psychoanalyzed without consent. which as a result may have them refuse help. anyways point is: i believe that growth is slow and #complex and danny would hide a lot of the stuff he discovers about himself because if there's one thing he still retains from being an #assassin. it's how to hide. he likes jazz but there are some things you just hide from people.#damian also told dick to “keep his filthy hands off his things”. which was also a shock because it sounded something he'd say more to tim #damian was distraught the entire time.#okay thats all i have for now.

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