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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 6 months

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Going flower picking with Sebek, Vil, and Rook, seperately please, headcanons or just a drabble is fine! gn reader :3

Flower-Picking the Heart

Characters; Sebek Zigvolt, Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Rollo Flamme

Content; Gender-neutral reader, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings

Word Count; 1.4 K (headcanon format)

Author's Note; I included Rollo since you mentioned that you also wanted to include him. I included some of the symbolism behind the flowers, but may miss some; so do be mindful of that! Also deviated a bit, but still stayed on prompt!

Do not put my work into AI. If you would like to read more of my work, please see my masterlist

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was standing by your side in the flower garden; this was supposed to be a relaxed day with no duties or responsibilities demanding your attention. Yet, his back was as straight as ever as the both of you slowly made your way through the botanical garden.

You nudged him in the arm, trying to get his attention, only to garner him giving you the side eye and letting out a quiet grunt.

“Hey, you were the one that wanted to come to the botanical garden,” you offer, giving him your own side eye to rival the one he was sending you.

Sebek sighed, silently questioning why Lilia recommended the garden as a hang-out spot (no, it wasn’t a date as Lilia taunted, that’s what Sebek told himself anyway).

“I don’t need to explain myself,” he said in a clipped tone, but he was eyeing the floral displays.

For today they could pick a single bloom, and he was set on getting the best flower for the dorm; a rose that could belong back at the queen’s rose garden! That’s what Sebek had originally thought he was going to do.

That was until you went over to one of the displays and plucked a flower, and gave it to him with an expectant look.

“What is this for,” he nearly shouted, paying mind to control his voice since others were also attending the showcase and he didn’t want to bring prying eyes to this situation.

You tucked a bright blue bloom into his chest pocket, a bright, cheery, contrast against the black of his jacket. A single morning glory blossom.

You hummed, “No reason. It just spoke to me is all.”

A simple honest answer. But why did it cause his ears to burn?

A favour. I cannot owe them a favour for this! So he did the same, looking among the vast amount of blooms until he chose a pale pink peony, shoving it into your hands.

You eyed the flower, and put it into your chest pocket, to match with him. “Alright then, where to now?” Where will we go? Will we continue in this or will we grow into something else?

Flower Language - Morning glory; willful promise, affection - Peony; bravery, bashful, happy life, shame

Vil Schoenheit

Vil had received flowers countless times before, so many times that he had honestly lost count. He was also versed in both flower and overall plant toxicology, but also flower language itself.

This flower-picking trip was originally supposed to be for him to restock for both the school (since Professor Crewel trusted him) and his own stock for potions.

And you just so happened to be there, giving him a small wave from where you were collecting your own flowers.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Vil offered, walking over to where you were. “Hard at work I see.”

Vil took note of the flowers in your basket, as well as the dirt on your hands; it was charming. Daffodils and pansies? That’s odd, I didn’t take them as the sort to make poison… Hopefully, they do remember that daffodils are toxic and pansies are fine—

“Good to see you too,” you chirped, dusting off your hands from the dry dirt. You took note of his own basket and patted the ground next to you. “Come on then, join me.”

Vil looked at you and without much thought or other prompting, he knelt beside you in the sea of yellow daffodils. “What are you planning to do with those,” he asked, gently clipping a yellow bloom from its stalk.

You paused, a white flower in your hand. “I was going to give them to someone special to me,” you said quietly, deciding to be honest.

“Hm, you must hold this person in high regard then,” Vil eyed you curiously since the long stalks of the daffodils looked quite awkward next to the pansies. “Respect, regard, unequalled love,” he said, holding a daffodil. “Thoughtful and caring,” he looked at the pansies, before looking to you.

“I do, and he is,” you answered, hoping that he hadn’t caught on to your little plan.

Well, he didn’t until he came back to the dorm to find the flowers in a vase. For Vil; I suppose you already know what these mean. And he did.

Flower Language - Daffodil; respect, regard, unequalled love - Pansy; thoughtful, caring

Rook Hunt

“Rook, where exactly are you taking me,” you asked him, facing in his direction (or at least you hoped you were facing his direction since he had handed you a blindfold to “make the surprise be meaningful”).

Rook just gave you the answer he had given you the entire way, “You’ll see soon, Trickster.”

Eventually, the two of you did stop and Rook took off the blindfold.

Flowers, flowers everywhere. Of every shape and colour. They were blooming everywhere.

You were silent for a few moments, just taking everything in. The slight irritation that you were blindfolded slipped to the back of your brain (you could be annoyed with him later) and you watched hummingbirds and fat bees flit from flower to flower.

“What do you think,” Rook asked you quietly, not wanting to break the spell you seemed to be under.

You looked back at him, and a breathy chuckle left your lips. “What do I think? It’s stunning,” you say in awe.

Rook smiled brightly; either at your reaction or that he was correct in that he thought you would enjoy this.

He didn’t say anything though, and just watched you go about the flower field. Even though he wanted to say so many things, he found that he was for once, speechless.

Looking down for a moment something caught his eye; violets. Next to the gardenias, most would not pay them much mind; but Rook gently plucked a few, alongside a gardenia.

“Rook!” Your shouting snapped him out of his own thoughts, and he looked up. “Am I allowed to pick some?”

He blinked before regaining his usual cheery mask. “Oui, but only a few.”

He eyed the flowers he held in his hands before ultimately setting them back down. For although they spoke the truth, Rook wasn’t yet ready to lay his heart bare; not yet.

Flower Language - Gardenia; you're lovely, secret love - Violet; honesty, watchfulness, modesty, faithfulness

Rollo Flamme

Rollo hated that he could feel his heart beat like a bird trying to escape a cage, yet he found himself next to you again, the very person who caused the anomaly; like a moth to flame.

You were taking a path on the outskirts of the city, silent. And while Rollo was often used to the quiet, it only heightened his nerves, causing his heart to beat faster.

“Why did you invite me along,” you asked, breaking the silence.

Rollo faltered in his step before regaining his composure. “While the city is our main attraction, I do find the quiet walkways to be more enjoyable.”

You hummed, eyeing one of the numerous hydrangea bushes that lined the walkway, separating it from a lavender field. “It is rather nice, thank you. Although you can stop your sales pitch on your city.”

Rollo blinked at you, brow slightly furrowed. “Sales pitch?”

“Yeah, like selling all the good points? … Damn, I’ve been spending too much time around some people, sorry.” You felt embarrassed, that you had distrusted him when he was most likely just being proud of his city.

“Hmm,” was all he said, moving along. The silence returned, as Rollo was not the type to make simple small talk or force a conversation where one wasn’t needed.

“Pft,” your sudden outburst of near-silent laughter caught his attention and he stopped, turning to you with a curious look.

“What seems to be funny?” He meant it in a genuine manner, but you just started laughing more which only made him more perplexed. Perhaps the fresh air can do you some harm?

You got a hold of yourself, eyes watering from the wind and your little chuckle fest. “Fleur City, your city is literally flower city, and look what we’re surrounded by; flowers.”

Rollo looked at the flowers and then at you. “It is a bit on the nose, I guess.”

You plucked a hydrangea cluster from the nearest bush and tucked it behind his ear. “But it’s fitting nonetheless.”

If his heart was beating fast before, now his face was sure to be red, and not from the brisk breeze.

Flower Language - Hydrangea; pride, gratitude for being understood, frigidity and heartlessness - Lavender; faithful, distrust

~~~~~~~

Tags; @azulashengrottospiano @bloomstruck @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @ithseem @krenenbaker @lucid-stories @moonsoup01637 @ryker-writes @syrenkitsune @the-v-lociraptor @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

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hoeforhao · 8 months

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🌙 Fated Under The Rain ☆ Wonwoo Oneshot ☆

↝ pairing: ex boyfriend! wonwoo × fem! reader

↝ genre: explicit language, smut with little plot, minors dni!!!!!! mutual pining but mainly from wonwoo, fluff, slight humor, overall nothing heavy just a small sensual drabble.

↝ warnings: unprotected sex(wrap it up kids), creampie, breast play, fingering, marking. Tell me if I missed any!

↝ summary: will offering lift to the man who left you in pieces amidst heavy rain lead to something your heart has been craving for months?

↝ word count: 2k(am sorry😭)

↝ author's note: was driving back home yesterday while it was literally pouring down outside, my favorite song playing on spotify and all i could think of instead focusing on the road was this plot!

Lemme know if you enjoyed the drabble! Feedbacks always make me feel warm♡

Permanent taglist : @feat-sun @joonsytip

Amidst the rain seeping it's path down the glass panels, the heaven clan's haze shielding your view from the mundane maneuver of the blurred out world, your glistening beads have found their long craved spot onto the tall, broad shouldered man standing by the signal, hair and shirt completely soaked up from the pouring skies, while his eyes were desperately searching for a way back - was it to his brick stoned house or his lost home?

"Going back home?" thrusting on the clutch and then the brake to bring your car to a halt at the blinking bloody lights, you roll down the passenger side's window as a way to offer some sort of help to the seemingly distressed man on top of the pavement.

A familiar voices grazes wonwoo's ears as his eyes shoot up in anticipation,looking for the owner of the claimed voice, only to land them on you. Did rain cloud his vision? Cuz there's no way that you were now parked beside him, asking whether he's struggling to get back home or not.

"Y-yes" the older nervously scratches the back of his head, not sure of what to say to the person he has pained so deep.

"I can drop you off, if you don't mind obviously" only you knew how hard it was for you to maintain an indifferent composure before the one man you've cared for and treasured so dearly, being fully aware of the fact that he's highly sensitive to rainwater; 'typical cat behavior' you laugh at yourself!

"No its fine. I'll find a cab soon" wonwoo tries to be as polite as possible, even though every vein of his body wants to jump into the car right now.

"I've been watching you clawing onto your scalp in frustration for the past 30 minutes and you think i'll still believe in your 'will find a cab soon'?" you genuinely didn't realise when the old habits took over the new persona and you started acting as the protective girlfriend you were, visualizing that one time he fell severely ill for days after getting poured onto on his way to the office; a memory you never wanna revisit ever again.

"Hop on quick if you don't wanna end up amongst the white walls for the second time!! Only 10 seconds are left to go" eyes quickly deviating towards the beeping timer of the signal, while you shift up the gear and slowly start bringing up your feet off the floor, ready to drive out as soon as the light turns green.

All of wonwoo's self control leave his body seeing the same old care flash by on his lost lover's face, as he swiftly pulls onto the door's latch, positioning his nearly drenched body onto the leather seats.

The defeaning silence between the two past kins were filled by wonwoo's occasional glances at the strong independent lady sitting beside him and the radio playing your favorite songs, those which you constantly looped onto spotify throughout the entire spell of your heart longing for wonwoo.

Looks like even the gods are against you today as a warm wet hand lands on yours that were stationed onto the gear beside. As much as you wanted to engulf those palms into yours instantly and never let them go, you knew quite well that he was now not yours, not your to claim, not your to hold onto. Thus the only thing you could do was keep your eyes fixed onto the slippery road infront and drive him home safe.

But the heavens knew better. Your plans were currently going for a battle with you as wonwoo kept on grazing his soft gentle digits onto the back of your hand, everytime you shifted them to change the gear, drawing small circles on them occasionally.

The sensation now reaching the threshold of your body, making your skin call for the touch of his lips and your insides craving the warmth of his body, it was time for you to slow down your car by a deserted road and park the black shiny carrier under the moonlight.

"What do you want wonwoo?" a stern yet begging pair of eyes turns towards the passenger seat, where the big man was resting his wet body on.

"I miss you y/n. I've always missed you" wonwoo now completely engulfs your palms into his, squeezing them hard from the anticipation of what's about to come his way. "Can...can i feel you for one last time, pls?"

You see the desperation behind those black boba balls, the way those droplets of tears are being held captive in the backroom; besides it was gradually getting hard to ignore the pained screams of your body to feel him beneath you. Abandoning all the huff,anger, hurt that made their home in you for so long, you fleetly jumped out from the driver's seat while pushing back wonwoo's to make enough space for you on his lap.

Startled by the sudden presence of your wet clothed cunt over the tent in his tight jeans, wonwoo's body jolts up in the heat flowing through him, dulling his morals and senses as he only wants to fuck the life out of you right now ; and he shows no delay in his endeavor as he clings his mouth onto your neck like a beast deprived of his meal for months, loitering the supple skin beneath with his marks.

"I missed you so fuckin much y/n" he whispers into your nape, hands roaming up your waist, under your satin shirt, caressing the soft pillowy tummy he has always preferred laying on, pawing onto your boobs over the black lacey bra you wore to work, for lord knows what reasons; while his lips now clutched themselves to your plumpy vanilla lips.

"May I, please?" there's literally not a single person on the earth who can say no to those pleasing kitty eyes. So you just hummed against the kiss - not a passionate one but a longing one; wonwoo's lips were moving on yours in such insatiable hunger that it seemed like he wanted to imprint the taste onto his mouth forever, who knows if he'll ever get to feel them again....as if his lips have finally found their twin flame they've been craving for months now!

One single go signal from you and wonwoo wasted no time in tugging onto the buttons of your flowy shirt, ripping them open in just a matter of seconds. His eyes lit up like an excited puppy upon seeing your bare skin, glowing under the moonlit rainy sky....oh how he has missed this sight of yours so much, you whimpering on him, all vulnerable and begging for his touch against your heated core.

"Fuck you're still so sweet my love" he moans into your jiggly soft boobs, mouth fixed onto one of your hardened nipples, while he pawed at the other one.

The words 'my love' from the mouth of the one your heart still belongs to, still craves for and still wants to be claimed by, does no good in controlling the dripping from your already soaked pussy, as you start roughly grinding against his clothed length.

"Hmmm so impatient for my cock, aren't you pretty baby" a wide smirk creeping it's way onto wonwoo's face as he notices you getting impatient to feel him inside you. Finding it exciting and a prideful moment for him, the hand that was kneading onto your doughy mounds now trails down to your panties under the very convenient skirt your were harboring ; drawing his cold fingers over your sensitive clothed clit sending your head thrown against the windshield of your car.

"Pls..pls stop teasing and fuck me already wonu" you were yourself amazed at how desperate you seemed for his cock in your throbbing pussy.

"But I don't have a condom sweetheart" wonwoo knew absolutely well that you didn't give a damn about having unprotected sex with him as he smirked onto the skin around your nipples, teasing your wet sticky fold with his free fingers ; pulling out a string of slick from your pussy infront of you, he proudly shows you how much of a slut you're for his touch.

"You..ahh...you think...I....shit...fuckin care about having a condom right now? Just go in raw please....haven't felt your cock in me....for so long....fuck" lord if anyone ever got near to the black beauty parked on the roadside and heard the lewd sounds escaping your lips, they would surely be traumatized for days, but that was the least of your concerns now.

"As my princess wishes" and with that wonwoo quickly moves his limbs towards his pants, shoving down the chain of his trousers in the flick of an eye, while he finally releases his strained hard cock from its restraints, precum leaking down its tip as he tries to slightly palm down the pain before sheathing them into your walls.

"Just as tight as I left it" he growls onto your neck as his cock now thrusts into your slick walls at a inhumane pace, as if he slowly down, he'll forever lose the warmth of this pussy. "Fitting me so well into the mould u created only for me to fill"

The rain outside and the haze of all the juices leaking from the two bodies inside the car, creates a mystical world bounded within the tinted glasses of the vehicle, while wonwoo keeps on fucking you dumb onto his lap.

"I...I'm near wonw-- ah fuck" you lose control over your core muscles at the sensation of wonwoo's tip hitting your womb, as your core's glistening cream paints his black jeans white ; not to mention you were now embarrassed at the fact that he has to go home with such stained pants....or maybe not-

"My pretty little whore, so glowy after ruining my new jeans huh" you can feel wonwoo's pace slowing down a bit, knowing quite well what's about to follow. "Lemme return the favor and ruin your insides, ruin your pussy so that no one can get to bury themselves in you, except me.....only my hole to fuck"

Wonwoo's body falls limp onto the headrest of the seat as he shoots his entire load into you, cock still moving amongst your walls, fucking his seeds deep inside you.

"Can i have another chance, please?" wonwoo finally looks you into your pleasure coated eyes while shifting you on his lap to wrap your arms around his neck, resting his sweat forehead onto yours.

"At what? Fucking me?" you were seemingly confused at his words as you didn't think he would be wanting anything else other than sex, after how he let go off your hand in the middle of you two's promised path, 8 months ago.

"No...no...at l-loving you, pls" his voice suddenly portrays a cast of regret and pain, "I know I fucked up, I hurt the one I've loved with all my might all this time. I...I could never get you out of my head y/n, my eyes and my heart kept looking for you at every corner of my messed up life. Pls, will you give your catto one last chance?" something unexpected rolled down wonwoo's cheeks and it was none other than tear drops. Was...was he really crying for you, begging you back into his arms again?

"This time if you leave, I'll make sure to castrate you, so that you can't ever get a girl around you after me" you laugh onto his skin while placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, your fingers wiping off the dried out tears on his cheeks.

"I'll happily place my dick under your guillotine, my highness" wonwoo hasn't felt this happy since months, heart fluttering at the thought of walking beside you again, fingers locked into one another's.

Your heart swells looking at the misty scene outside, remembering how the first time you two decided to date, it was raining cats and dogs as you were pulling him under a tree to sheath yourselves from the rain...and now when the skies decided to grant you another chance at healing your soul with the one you loved, it's raining heavily - again!!!

"Eh but what about your pants wonu, how will you go home with these...ummm...stains" a genuine question you've been dying to ask him, as you surely don't have a change for men's jeans in your car.

"Who said we are going home baby"

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burr-ell · 1 year

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I'll preface this by saying that I don't by any means begrudge anyone their own personal headcanons or interpretations, but I kinda have to get it off my chest that I'm personally not very comfortable with significant deviations from canon character design on CR, and I really tend to side-eye people who have declared their fanart to be "better".

And sure, some of that is because i'm a cranky old bastard. But some of that is that I also have an animation degree and have studied character design. Creators generally give artists a fair amount of input as to how they want their designs to connote the characters' personalities—not just in terms of clothing or hairstyle, but in the overall shape of the silhouettes and body structures. And in the case of CR in particular, that's coming from a place of much closer familiarity with the characters because the creator is actually going to be embodying them for a fairly long period of time, so when the fan response is heavy deviation from that, I think it can feed into some unhealthy fanon perceptions and projections.

Like, for example, it's not so much that I think fanartists are "disrespecting the creators" or whatever when they keep giving Imogen a sweet little round face and big hips/breasts and cute circular glasses, but I've also studied shape language in art. You're communicating something when you design her this way; if a character's silhouette has a lot of circles, visually that connotes being friendly, sweet, and cute. The person who first suggested drawing her with glasses explicitly said they thought it would look cute—and no shade to them! They can like whatever they want!

But canonically, Imogen is a woman in her 20s who's been dealing with unanswered questions, abandonment, loneliness, and sheer exhaustion from trying to hold back and control powers that she never asked for—and who simultaneously uses those powers even when it isn't necessary if she thinks it'll help her achieve a goal or prove a point. She isn't unfriendly, and she wants to do the right thing, but she's also someone who's consciously chosen to keep to herself for most of her life, and yet simultaneously she's quite adept at persuading and deceiving people. I think we're meant to pick up that sense of world-weariness and cynicism from her angular facial features and thin frame. That's...kind of just how character design works.

I think the trend of disregarding the official art and giving her softer features has had an impact on the perception of Imogen as a character. I see a lot of views of her that really remove a lot of her agency, treating her like she's only ever been a victim of circumstance who's never put a foot wrong. Some fans got pushback for pointing out that it really wasn't cool for Imogen to openly contemplate whether or not the Ruby Vanguard might be right in front of three people who were killed by Otohan, insisting that imogen was just dealing with a lot right then. And yes, she was, but that doesn't mean that the way she was dealing with it doesn't say something about her as a character. I don't know if I'd call it coddling, necessarily (even though perhaps there are some very coddling takes I just haven't seen), but there seems to be some resistance, in some circles, to the idea that Imogen isn't a put-upon martyr. And in those same circles, round friendly-looking glasses-wearing Imogen abounds, to the point of editing the official art itself to "fix it".

Truth be told I'd be willing to bet that the rounder cuter Imogen actually came about because of the initial impression of her, given how much fanon at the start of c3 revolved around poor baby Imogen with her scary nightmares needing the wiser, worldlier Laudna to comfort her and kiss it better, but those visuals also proliferated rather quickly and well beyond past the point where that fanon was feasible anymore, and I think both aspects of that fanon ended up informing each other. It's not lost on me that the rounder and cuter-looking Imogen performs the literal function of sanding down her harder edges.

And like I said, I'm not here to be needlessly negative toward what other people want to do. If you want to draw the characters differently to their official art, I don't think either the cast or the artist are especially offended by it. But I personally dislike it, in part because I think some of these trends are a way for fans to claim a certain amount of ownership over the characters, whether they intend it or not. And the ultimate outcome of that is that when creators inevitably assert their ownership over a deeply personal story in a way that fans don't like, the backlash is much stronger than it reasonably should be, which is something I think the CR fandom has seen often enough not to continue doing as often as it does.

#cr meta #critical role #cr discourse #cr wank #i think chubby jester vs skinny jester also falls into this #and don't get me wrong i 100% support representation of body types and the cast does too #but there's a certain amount of overlap between chubby jester and weird fanwanky c2 stans #it's. usually the folks who cling to fanon art interpretations who get the most angry at the cast when things don't go their way #like i don't have StatsTM or whatever to prove it but i've noticed some trends #also it's always the female characters and particularly laura bailey's characters who get hit with this attitude the most #like! just say you don't like a call laura made! i promise you no one's gonna call 911!

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dissociacrip · 8 months

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i'm gonna spare the op of that post my adderall-fueled ranting but tbqh i wouldn't say being disabled affects how i perceive my gender identity so much as its impacted how other people gender me, and then that informs my perception of my gender identity. it's not purely an internal thing.

autism and ADHD, for example, are associated with things like poor volume control and generally "boisterous" behavior (though not every person with these conditions exhibit these behaviors, of course.) a lot of behaviors i exhibited as a child (and still do today) in relation to being autistic and having ADHD are ones that are considered "masculine" and this is part of the reason that i've been read and i'm still often read as not-female or at least not feminine/girly/womanly by my peers. and that is something that has definitely affected my gender identity (aside from the fact i have various bodily features that are conventionally understood as "masculine.")

that's just scratching the surface though. i've seen this mentioned sometimes on here before but not often. there are some disabilities that i would say are very much gendered while others are kind of degendered instead (or in addition to), in that people who are disabled in certain ways are pushed out of womanhood or manhood or "acceptable" understandings of gender by external forces for a variety of reasons related to their disabilities.

intellectual disability. other (neuro)developmental conditions. certain intersex variations that lead to disability. other conditions that affect the structure or functioning of the sex organs (because gender is also wrapped up in one's ability to sufficiently "perform" heterosexuality, which is also wrapped up in normative ideas about how to perform intercourse.) reliance on mobility aids. limb differences and other structural differences. paralysis.

that's not even close to a complete list.

Because I'm a wheelchair user, people see me as incapable of having a gender identity, so often they will correctly avoid using gendered language or pronouns to refer to me, but it's not because they're recognizing and respecting my identity as a nonbinary person — it's because they think my wheelchair automatically makes me genderless. It's not misgendering as such, but it's degendering, and it's a different kind of harmful and it's part of a larger system of ableism that considers me less of a person because I'm disabled and a wheelchair user.

( "Here's What Transgender People With Disabilities Want You To Know," Buzzfeed )

idk where i'm going with this. generally the ways in which disability impacts the way someone is gendered or someone's gender identity are super complex and difficult to map out + something that is very wrapped up in the way external forces affect us in relation to gender.

there's a multitude of ways to have a "wrong" body (or "wrong" behavior in terms of how behaviors are gendered, which is more often the case when we're talking about psychiatric disability) and both womanhood and manhood are wrapped up in normative ideas about bodies, bodily functioning, and what someone does with their body. perceived deviations from normative ideas about those things irt disability are not only punished on the basis of being a "failed" person (not being abled) but often also being a "failed" woman/man.

#cripple punk #cpunk #this post mainly focuses on physical disability so i think that tag is appropiate but--#j #ableism

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rafestar · 1 year

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LUST FOR LIFE | Rafe Cameron

WARNINGS: DUB-CON +18 smut, dominance, semipublic sex, unprotected sex, spitting, dirty talking, etc.

SUMMARY: rafe and reader doing a bike race that ends badly?

A/N: english isn’t my first language so be polite. if there’s any mistakes, i will gladly welcome any advice or help, enjoy♡

"I'm sure that shit doesn’t run"

"Wanna bet?" I sneered with a smile.

Topper's party wasn't over, but I was already leaving, until a certain dirty blonde approached me.

I recently started riding a bike, but from my experience, I was pretty good at it, but of course, Rafe doubted it.

He brought his bike closer to mine to be at the same height, and moving away from him his gaze narrowed on mine. I licked my lips while he tried to intimidate me. His tongue rolling down the inside of his cheek.

Rafe's focus remained against me and I straightened my back with a soft smile that made him narrow his eyes. Jaw and teeth clenching, i could practically hear my head ticking and the music playing in the background.

His chest almost touching mine while we breathed the same air.

But I knew he hated me. He hated the way I always responded to his short temper and how strong I seemed next to him.

He could never control me.

"And what exactly would you like to bet on?"

His pupils were dilated, perhaps from the alcohol in his veins, or some white powder.

“You are the one who should say it. After all, you are the one who doubts my specialty”

His eyebrow rose, I could see how he was trying to read something in my gaze or as if he doubted his own thoughts.

Assuming that the few neurons that reached him had connected, a mischievous smile appeared on his face.

“Good…” Bracing myself for his stupid bets, I shifted, crossing my arms over my chest, which certainly didn't take its gaze from him.

"If you win, I'll pay for all your Mai Tai for the whole summer."

I returned a nod.

"But if I win... you will be my slave for a whole month."

The mockery on my face was real. My eyebrows raised and my face lighted in surprise, I waited for him to say that he was joking, which he didn't, and he made me burst out laughing.

His face remained serious, too serious for my liking.

"Your slave?" The pain in my stomach from laughing was uncontrollable.

"We will talk about that later." He put on his helmet before pulling away from me.

I did the same and got on the bike. I laughed knowing that wasn’t going to happen.

Rafe was crazy if he thinks he's going to win.

We both started the bike and Rafe gave some directions before removing the kickstand. "The first person to reach Tanny Hill through the forest wins"

I nodded, twisting my wrist on the handle and opening the throttle. Rafe did the same and counted down.

Emotion ran through me, I was nervous, not for fear of him winning, but of showing him what I was capable of.

"One"

Our heated engines started rolling Figure 8.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as we both accelerated. We were practically at the same distance, sometimes he would overtake me and vice versa.

Arriving at the residential area, Rafe positioned himself in front of me, opening the way between the people and the cars.

"What’s wrong with you!?" a man yelled.

In order not to continue with more obstacles and traffic, we deviated towards the forest as planned. Rafe was trying to brush me out of the way, which backfired because he helped me pass him and get way ahead.

Leaving him a few meters behind, I led the way through the woods, jumping small potholes, and dodging overhanging branches.

Something that I may not have seen coming was the big corner that we had to do.

I lost control of my bike trying to turn, and I turned, but too late. I fell from it while my bike crashed into some branches. My body lay on some leaves.

Rafe saw the fall right before his eyes. He slammed on the brakes and almost throwing the bike, he ran towards me.

“Y/N?!”

My nil response filled his body with concern.

“Fuck Y/N! No-” His voice trailed off.

Grabbing my face and his big hands shaking me, he made me burst out laughing. I opened my eyes as Rafe's face changed completely. Even being at night, in the middle of the forest, we could see each other the same given the focus of his motorcycle.

His hand was still on the side of my face as his face turned from pale white, to furious red.

Releasing me, he got up.

To which I get up too. "You should have seen your face!"

While I couldn't stop laughing, Rafe looked like he was about to commit murder.

Clearly I've seen Rafe angry, but this time was… different?

"So… this means Rafe Cameron cares about me?"

His gaze burned holes in my body. He didn't let out any words, no breath, nothing, he just looked at me. I knew he disliked seeing me laugh, so I guess seeing me laugh at him was worse.

My smile faded the moment he began to approach me with quick steps. "What-"

"You better shut the fuck up unless it's to scream…"

Now the one who looked pale was me. With his arms he grabbed me by mine and threw me towards his motorcycle. Struggling, I tried to let me go. “Rafe what…”

He grabbed my arm to place it on my lower back and lean over the saddle of his bike.

His pelvis crashed against my ass and I gasped when I noticed him.

"Do you know why the fuck it makes me mad to see your fucking smile?"

I whimpered back, being in the middle of the woods, with no one, being held by Rafe, could make me die of anxiety.

Rafe leaned into me and grabbed my neck to speak my hate. I looked at him from the side as I could.

"I asked you a fucking question, so be a good girl and open that pretty mouth." His touch ended on my pulse, “unless you want me to use it for something else.”

His heel grated on my skin. "W-Why Rafe... Why does it make you angry."

A lopsided smile spread across his face. His hot breath breezed against my ear and my skin prickled. He settled his thick lips against my earlobe. His hip pushed against me and I felt him again.

"You feel that huh? That’s why"

I whimpered as he pulled away from my face and began to touch me through my clothes, caressing each part of me. It felt like my top and my extremely short shorts were crying out to be ripped off.

My core ached like never before and I felt a fucking ocean in my panties.

His touch reached the end of my shorts, which, being bent over, had risen a bit, so a little of my ass was peeking out. His hands circled my waist until he undid the button and unzipped my shorts. My hands tightened against the saddle and my fingers dug into it.

I swallowed hard as he pulled my shorts down, scratching my legs in the process. They fell at my feet, and I groaned as Rafe slapped me hard.

“Now… you can cry, scream, whatever. As you can see, no one is going to listen."

I whimpered at that. It's Rafe, so I'm clearly scared.

He caressed me over my underwear, and my core clenched at his touch. My knuckles whitened from how hard he was gripping me. His other hand rested on my hip, while with the other, he brushed aside the little cloth that covered my sex and snorted as he made skin-to-skin contact.

“Leaning over my bike made your little pussy wet?” he mocked. “such a slut for me mh?”

Rafe covered my wetness with his middle finger, causing me to moan in return. A noise so euphoric that he could make it on his own if he could.

He inserted a finger causing me to scream. Each thrust resulted in a curl against my sweet spot.

I rocked my hips against his hand and once he inserted a second finger, his thumb reconciled with my clit, rubbing it in circles.

And when his pace quickened, I felt like I started to float. Leaning over a cloud avalanche in the middle of nowhere.

Like a trip to heaven, he stretched me a third and profusely pushed me.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head as he brought me closer to climax, repeating his name under my breath, begging for mercy.

The second I tightened around his fingers, my orgasm began to peak at him causing him to pull back abruptly.

More frustrated than ever, if it weren't for my cramps I could get up and slap him. But without another movement, Rafe ripped off my underwear and continue on getting rid of his pants along with his boxers.

I felt him tease his tip against my entrance and I rocked my hips back, trying to get more friction. A strong slap against my cheek made me press closer against his bike. And with one strong push, Rafe was inside me.

Rafe rocked inside me, both of us gasping for air as I tightened around his cock, my walls fully secured.

My stomach filled with lava as he filled me in all the right places. Bruises on my hips something I didn't care if they showed up. Instead, he held on tighter. Expertly driven waves of euphoria.

Our hips bumped and moans filled the silent forest. It started to accelerate. Skin to skin, his grip on my hips sank so hard that the claw mark on my skin began to bleed.

A screaming mess, my back arching and he grabbed my neck pulling me into his chest as he continued to implode.

"Tell me to stop, I dare you to tell me to stop Y/N"

My eyes closed shut as my moisture lathered him with excitement. Rafe's head flew back, the familiar sensation shooting greed through his veins.

He was a vampire and I was the blood he needed.

“R-Rafe-"

Each thrust cruel as the next, he turned animalistic, never relaxing at all. My throat is in the palm of his hand, leaving bruises on my porcelain layers.

"That's it, moan my fucking name, love." Rafe gasped.

A yearning throb, the bike lurched along with his movements.

With my head on his shoulder, I twisted my neck as far as I could to keep my gaze on him. Mouth open, Rafe refused to let out a moan. He just gasped. Beads of sweat dripping down by one side of the hair and jaw.

He felt me move closer to the edge, my walls contracting and my moans fading more and more. My hands gripped the bike tightly.

“I think I'm going to…” I complained.

Leaning back, my lungs fluctuated rapidly and the glossy layer of sweat glistened on our pearly skins.

Brows raised, Rafe rolled his tongue against his cheek and his devilish grin only confirmed it for me.

I will not able to walk after this.

"Shut..." He leaned into me, his ornate grip on my neck going up to my jaw and clenching it open. He spat his saliva into my mouth. “that damn mouth.”

My legs started to shake and Rafe pushed me back onto the saddle of the bike. He grabbed me by both arms keeping them on my lower back and began to thrust with brutal force.

Rafe slowed his movements and pulled out his phone. I heard him call someone, and he approached the phone to my mouth while he put it on speakerphone.

"It's Topper, tell him we've had an accident and to come over"

My eyes rolled back, it was obvious I wasn't going to be able to ride my bike after this, and Rafe knew it.

His movements sped up again and he dug his nails into her begging him to stop.

"Yeah?"

“Topper… oh please… I-I'm Y/N…” I tried to suppress my moans.

Rafe instead hit harder as he taunted.

“R-Rafe and I… uhmm… we had an accident in the woods…”

"What? Are you ok?"

"Y-Yes but we c-can't ride-" I couldn't finish my sentence as Rafe slapped me hard.

“Y/N?! What was that?" Topper claimed.

“I-It hurts Topper… C-come please.”

Before continuing, Rafe put the phone away and brought it to his mouth before hanging up.

"Bring a trailer for the bikes."

By the time he hung up, his movements were animalistic, and my core ached more than before. I squeezed into him so hard that Rafe grunted.

I felt him getting to his point too, as he began to contract inside of me.

"Come on baby, let it go" he groaned.

And with that, we both came into each other. My nectar drenched his cock and his head lowered to my back.

We take a few seconds to calm our breaths and come down from our euphoria. Rafe helped me to get dressed before Topper arrived.

He raised me up on his bike and we stood face to face for a few seconds, in silence, until I broke up.

"I fucking hate you" I whispered. Tears from the previous pleasure kept falling from my eyes.

Rafe with his thumb, immediately dried them for me. "Yeah… I know you do."

♡

taglist: @cecespeach @fullkookrafe @rafescameronbabe @housekeeperjjswife

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spiteless-xo · 10 months

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eren getting a boner while he's spooning you but being uncomfortable because it hurts but he really just wants to cuddle 🥺

i'm so grateful for this ask because i'm in the mood to write something and i don't feel like editing tbaw rn 💀

i kinda deviated from the original prompt but anon, may i present to you:

╰┈➤ cuddling with a boner

ft. eren/gn!reader cw. explicit sexual content, explicit language, unedited, oral, second person pov, cuts off before the good part. 642 words.

you're supposed to be watching a movie together. some cheesy bank heist movie that eren's been wanting to watch for weeks and you finally caved.

you're laying on top of him, chest-to-chest as the two of you watch the main character recruit their band of misfits for the job. you've only been watching the movie for twenty -- maybe thirty? -- minutes when you notice something poking into you.

"eren..." you start, and you can feel him tensing beneath you, shifting a little as his eyes stay determinedly focused on the tv screen. "what is that?"

"what's what?" he hums, but you can see the tips of his ears turning pink.

you squirm on his lap, grinding your hips down on the growing budge in eren's shorts and he lets out a throaty groan in response. "what's this?" you ask, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him with a smirk.

"i want to watch the movie," he whines, eyes darting to yours for a second before returning to the screen. "i can't control little eren when you're laying on me like this, but i'm serious -- i want to finish this movie first."

you snort, "do you want me to get off then?"

he responds by wrapping his arms around you a little tighter with a whine. "no, i want to cuddle."

you roll your eyes in amusement before resting your cheek back on his chest, eyes focused on the tv. but now with eren's cock pressing firmly between your legs, you can't help but gently rock against it.

"baby, please, i'm serious," he whines, hands shifting to hold your hips still. "i really want to watch this movie."

this time, you ignore him. you slide a hand down his chest, between your bodies, and grab him firmly through his shorts. he groans, hips bucking up against you in response, but he insists, "you can do whatever you want, but i'm not taking my eyes off the tv."

you take that as a challenge. he removes his hands from your hips to lace them behind his head, gaze still fixed on the tv even when you sit up on his lap.

you stroke him through the thin material of his shorts, watching his jaw tighten to hold back his moans while his weeping cock leaves a wet patch on the fabric. you slide your hands up to the waistband of his shorts, hooking your fingers underneath before tugging them off completely -- eren even lifts his hips to help you, despite his instance that he's "watching the movie".

his cock is already thick and hard, the head shiny with a layer of precum from your teasing, and looking at it like this has your mouth watering. you shift your position and gently inch your way down the couch until your mouth is level with his crotch. eren's hands shift from behind his head to rest on your arms, gently stroking you up and down as he breathes through clenched teeth.

"i thought you were watching the movie?" you hum, hot breath ghosting along his cock and his twitches against your palm.

"i am," he insists, jaw tight as he stares at the tv.

you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, tracing the thick blue vein running along it, and hear him groan from deep in his chest. his hand moves from your arm to the coffee table, reaching and stretching until he grabs the remote and thumbing the pause button.

when you look up at his face, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are half-lidded, chest rising and falling rhythmically as he looks down at you.

"keep going," he says, rolling his tongue across his lower lip. "i paused it so we wouldn't miss anything."

"oh, good," you scoff before wrapping your lips around his soft, swollen head.

#eren #eren jaeger #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #aot smut #tiff.fic #tiff.ask #eren.drbl

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transgamerthoughts · 23 days

Text

Abandon All Delusions Of Control

this is another cross-post. which is funny because I've paid for a domain name redirect to my tumblr since like 2016.. i never know what site is gonna explode these days. less people follow me here than anywhere but this write ups been passed around so...

I've been playing Dragon's Dogma 2 and while I'd love to talk about gameplay or interesting moments, the game's found itself something of a cultural lightning rod. It is a game with many friction points arising in a cultural moment where gamers are, perhaps more than ever, convinced that "consumers" are kings.

Dragon's Dogma 2 is not readily "solvable" and you can't min-max it. You will make mistakes. You will be scraped and bruised and scarred. Pain is sometimes the only bridge that can take us wher ewe need to go. And gaming culture, fed the lie of mastery and player importance, does not understand that scars can be beautiful. I love this game. I think it's a miracle it came out at all.

I also think in spite of the success it's found… that 2024 might be the worst possible year for it to have released.

Let's ramble about it..

It's easy to feel like Hideaki Itsuno and his team miscalculated the amount of friction that players are willing to endure and while I don't think that's true (he didn't miscalculate moreso stick to his particular vision) it certainly appears that we've reached a point in gaming where players, glutted on convenience, don't really know what to do when robbed of it. I've heard folks complain that they can't sprint everywhere or else balk learning that ferrystones required for fast travel cost 10,000 gold as if these shatter DD2 into pieces. I'm vaguely sympathetic to these concerns but at the same time they seem to spring entirely from a lack of understanding of the game's design goals. Much like how folks demanding a traditionally structured RPG narrative from an Octopath game misunderstand what that team is trying to do, players asking to sprint through the world or teleport with ease fundamentally misunderstand what Dragon's Dogma wants. The world is not a wrapper for a story. It is the story. Dragon's Dogma is a story factory whose various textures create unprecedented triumphs and memorable failure.

It is crucial to the experience to allow both of those to occur and live with whatever follows.

I'm always cautious of talking like this because it can come off as smug or superior but I think ultimately that's the truth of the matter here. This was not a well-played franchise before now and even if it's a AAA title, there's a way in which this game is meant to elide most AAA open world trends. You are expected to traverse. If you want relatively cheap and faster travel, you're meant to find an oxcart and pay the (quite modest) fee to move between trade hubs much like you would pay for a silt strider in Morrowind. Even if you do this, you could be ambushed on the road and in the worst case the ox pulling the cart can be killed. Something being "possible" in a game doesn't always mean it is intentional but Dragon's Dogma continually undercuts the player's ability to avoid long treks. Portcrystals, which act as fast travel destinations, are limited and ferry stones (while not prohibitively expensive compared to weapons and armor) are juuust expensive enough that you need to consider if the expense is worthwhile. Once is happenstance. Multiple times is a pattern. And the pattern in Dragon's Dogma is to disincentivize easy travel. It screams of intent.

Something I could not have imagined playing games growing up is the ways in which even a decade (or two) could lead to radically different attitudes on what games should provide. That's an audience issue to an extent but it's also something games have brought upon themselves. The "language" of an open world game has been solidified through years climbable towers, mini-map marked caves, and options to zip around worlds. When a game deviates from that language, the change is more noticeable than ever.

Hell, even Elden Ring (perhaps the closest modern relative to Dragon's Dogma) allows you to warp between bonfires and gives you a steed to ride. But that's also a much larger game! DD2 is not a large game and the story is not long. Yes, you can spend untold hours wandering about into nooks and crannies but a trek from one end of the world to another is still significantly shorter than bounding through most open worlds and a run through the critical path reveals a speedy game. Not as speedy as the first but brisk by genre standards.

exploration is the glue that binds the combat and progression system in place. Upgrading armor and weapons requires seeking out specific materials and fighting certain monsters. Gathering the funds for big purchases in shops mostly comes from selling your excess monster parts. The entire game hinges on the idea of long expeditions where you accrue materials and supplies on the road and then invest that horde one way or another once you return to town. It's not simply a matter of mood and tone for you to trek throughout the world without ease. The gameplay loop is built around it.

There's another complicating factor that I'm less interested in diving into and it's the presence of certain microtransactions at launch. Principally I'm against MTX in single players games, particularly conveniences of which most of DD2's microtransactions are. But I also think there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of what many of these are. Among the biggest things I've heard (repeatedly!) is that you can pay real life money for fast travel but that's not true. You can buy a single portcrystal offering you one more potential location to warp to. It's a one-time purchase and the only travel convenience offered. This has transformed, partly because of people's lack of familiarity with Dragon's Dogma's mechanics, into a claim that you can pay over and over to teleport around. I think that assumption reveals more about the general audience than anything else.

I think it is worth entertaining a question: does the existence of this extra port crystal signify a compromising of the game's goals regarding travel? That's not a discussion that folks seem to be interested in having—instead opting for more emotional and reactionary panicking—but it is the most interesting question. On face the answer is yes and that raises the follow up question of whether or not the developers had knowledge this convenience (though one-off) would be offered to players. If so, did that knowledge affect how they designed the game? Even slightly? It seems rather clear to me that these purchases are a publisher decision; there's nothing in the game's design that suggest the dev team wants players to have access to an extra portcrystal. As we've established it's quite the opposite!

They want you to haul your fucking ass around and get jumped by goblins, buddy.

Which is many words to say that as much as I care about microtransactions from a consumer standpoint, the way in which they undermine Dragon's Dogma 2's goals is a fair reminder of the ways in which they hurt developers. Ultimately, I do think that these purchases are ignorable and in that sense (combined with the misinformation surrounding them) I'm a little burned by the consumer-minded discussion. Doubly so because of the way it feels, at least in part, tied into a certain kind of rhetoric that's been on the rise lately. Instead, I find myself drawn to the question of the damage they do the devs and if more onerous plans actually would force their hands into undercutting portions of their own designs. The shift of many series into live-service chasing suggest so but even as I entertain these thoughts I don't get the sense that Itsuno and his team were forced to reshape their game world to encourage these microtransactions. The world is as they want.

If it wasn't, they wouldn't make it so failing to act quickly in a quest to find a missing kid stolen by wolves could end with you being too late. They wouldn't make it so buying goods from an Elven shop without an interpreter was a hassle. It's present in Every Damn Thing!

More interesting to consider is why this particular game became such a lightning rod of passion when I'm going to assume that most people caught up in the discussion have no particular fealty to the series. The answer is a combination of factors but there's something about the genre that ignites the panic we're seeing as much as the culture moment we're in. When people try to explain that these MTX purchases are not needed, it's confused for approval of their inclusion but that's not something we need to grant. I don't think anyone wants these things here and when they say "you don't need them" they are referring to the more complex thought that the game is better played without them. But this is not heard because the idea that you'd want to opt into friction and discomfort is not something that the general audience is likely to understand. They're wired against it. They crave ease.

not everyone, mind you. DD2's enjoyed a lot of excited reactions (there's tons of folks who like this game as it is and are happily playing it) but it has faced plenty of folks railing against "bad" design choices but the fact remains that those "bad" choices were intentional.

I'm writing about this stuff instead of, say, the wild journey I took solving one of the Sphinx's riddles because the immediately interesting thing about Dragon's Dogma 2 has been what it's become as a cultural object. It is a game suffering from success. Never designed for a general audience or modern standards but thrust into their hands due to Capcom's ongoing renaissance. Dragon's Dogma is a fine game whose cult status is well earned but the reason DD2 garnered this attention (and therefore becomes a hot-topic game) has as much to do with Capcom's ongoing success rate as anything else. In some ways, it actually IS a good time to release a game like Dragon's Dogma 2. There's certainly a curiousity in place. Partly borne of goodwill and also from folks' genuine desire to try something new.

and yet, we're in a odd moment in games. consumer rights lanaguge, having been fundamentally misunderstood and reconfigured by gamers as a rhetoric for justifying their purchase habits (I'm paying the money! why can't the game do exactly as I demand!?) has stifled many people's ability to have imaginative interpretations of gameplay mechanics. they don't ask "what is this thing doing as a storytelling device" (which mechanics are!) and rather default to "what is this thing doing to me and my FUN and my TIME". which are not bad questions but they also misunderstand the possibility space games have to offer. While we can attribute some of the objections that has arisen to players' thoughts about genre itself and the way in which Dragon's Dogma positions friction as a key gameplay pillar, the fact of the matter is that we would not be having such spirited discussion about these things in, say, 2017. not that things were great back then, but I think the audience is worse now in many, many ways. sarcastically? I blame Game Design YouTube.

Even if there were no microtransactions, we'd still be having a degree of Discourse thanks to a key game mechanic: Dragonplague. It is a disease that can afflict your Pawn companions which initially causes them to get mouthy and start to disobey orders. If you notice these signs (alongside ominous glowing eyes) then your Pawn has been infected and you're expected to dismiss them back to the Rift where that infection can spread to another player. The game gives a pop up to the player explaining this the first time they encounter the disease. However, some players have ignored that warning and found a dire consequence: an untreated Pawn can, when the player rests at an inn, go on an overnight rampage that kills the majority of NPCs in whatever settlement they are in. This includes plot-important characters. The reaction's been intense. Reddit always sucks but man… just look…

I understand some of the ire. It's a drastic shift from your pawn being a bit ornery to instantly killing an entire city. On the other hand, the game does warn of potentially dire consequences if a Pawn's sickness is ignored. Players have simply underestimated the scale of that consequence. Surely no major RPG would mass murder important characters and break questlines! We're in post Oblivion/Skyrim world. Important NPCs are essential and cannot be killed, right? Well, wrong and this is another way in which Dragon's Dogma chases after the legacy of a game like Morrowind more than than it adapts current open world trends. This is a world where things can break and the developers have decided that they are okay with it breaking in a very drastic way. It's hard to think of anything comparable in a contemporary game. We don't really do this kind of thing anymore.

The result has been panic and a spread of information both helpful and hopelessly speculative. Is your game ruined? Well, maybe. There is an item you can find which allows for mass resurrection but that's gonna require some questing. But some players also say that you can wait a while and the game will eventually reset back to the pre-murder status quo. What's true? Hard to know. Dragon's Dogma doesn't show all of its cards and won't always explain itself. We know entire cities can be killed. We know that individual characters can be revived in the city morgue or else the settlement restored (mostly) with a special item. Dragonplague is detectable and the worst case scenario is, to some extent or another, something that the player can ameliorate. Those are facts but they don't really matter.

That's because players issue (panick? hysteria?) with dragonplague is as much to do with what it represents as what it does. Players are used to the notion of game worlds being spaces where they get to determine every state of affair. They are, as I've suggested before, eager to play the tyrant. Eager to enact whatever violences or charities that might strike their fancy. They do this with the expectation that they will be rewarded for the latter but face no consequences for the former. Dragonplague argues otherwise. No, it says, this world is also one that belongs to the developers and they are more than fine with heaping dire consequences on players. Before the dragonplague's consequences were known, players were running around the world killing NPCs in cities because it would stabilize the framerate. They're fine with mass murder on their own terms. they love it!

This is made more clear when we look at how Dragon's Dogma handles saving the game. While there are autosaves between battles, players are expected to rest at inns to save their game. This costs some gold, which is a hassle, but the bigger "issue" is that they only have one save slot. Which means that save scumming is not entirely feasible though not impossible with a bit of planning. What it does mean, however, is that the game is saved when a dragonplague attack happens. you have to rest at an inn for this to trigger. which saves the game. They cannot roll back the clock. The tragedy becomes a fact. It's not the only time Dragon's Dogma does this. For instance, players can come into possession of a special arrow that can slay anything. When used, the game saves. Much like how players are given a warning about dragonplague, they're warned before using this arrow: don't miss.

If you do? that's a real shame. The depth of this consequence is uncommon in today's gaming landscape. Games are mostly frivolous and save data is the amber from which players suck crystallized potentialities. Don't like what happened? No worries. Slide into your files and find the frozen world which suits your proclivities. You are God. In Dragon's Dogma, you are not god. The threads of prophecy can be severed and you must persist in the doomed world that's been created. The mere suggestion is an affront. The fact that Dragon's Dogma has the stones to commit to the bit in 2024 is essentially a miracle.

It's easy to boil everything I'm saying down to "Dragon's Dogma is not afraid to be rude to the player" but that doesn't capture the spirit of the design. It invites players to go on a hike. It makes no attempt to hide that the hike is difficult. But that's the extent of it. It offers little guidance on the path, doesn't check if you're a skilled enough hiker. Your decision to go on the hike is taken as proof of your acceptance of the fact that you might fall down.

This is not unique to Dragon's Dogma. In fact, this is part of the appeal (philosophically) of a game like Elden Ring. The difference being that even FromSofts much-lauded gamer gauntlets (excepting perhaps Sekiro, conincidentally their best work) offer more ways to adjust and fix the world state to the player's liking. Even the darling of difficulty will offering you a hand when you fall. Dragon's Dogma is not so eager to do so. In a decade where convenience is king for video games, that represents both a keen understanding of its lineages and a shocking affront to accepted norms and expectations.

The core of Dragon's Dogma, the very defining characteristics that earned it cult status, are the same things that have caused these modern tensions. It is both a franchise utterly consistent in its design priorities and entirely out of touch with the modern audience. Dragon's Dogma 2 has come into prominence during a time where imaginative interpretation of mechanics is at an all time low and calls for "consumer" gratification are taken as truisms. It is a game entirely at odds with the YouTube ecosystem and the very things that give it allure are the tools that have turned it into a debated object.

This flashpoint of discussion is proof of Dragon Dogma 2's design potency. It's also a sign of the damage that modern design trends have done to games as whole and the ongoing fallout that's come from gamers learning design concepts without really understanding what designing a game entails. And, uh… I dunno respond to that or how to end this. That's both very cool but it also bums me out. Dragon's Dogma 2 is a remarkably confident game but games are long beyond the point of admiring a thing for being honest.

#dragon's dogma 2 #games criticism

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fizzyxcustard · 2 months

Text

Covert Eyes (22)

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

Amy has now gone missing; will Lucas get her back home safely?

Official soundtrack list: here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

Key words/terms which people may not understand:

DVLA - "Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency' which is a government department in the UK and handles all driving licences, registrations and car tax.

ANPR - "Automatic numberplate recognition"

Amy was bound at her wrists and ankles and perched on a chair, with the rope around her wrists, binding her to the chair. She grimaced and squinted as the bag was pulled from her head and an intense light was shone in her face. Had she been knocked out? She couldn’t quite remember what had happened once she’d passed The King’s Head and felt someone drag her down the adjoining backstreet. Everything turned black and then she woke in this place. There was a dull thump in the back of her head and she had a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Amy Holland,” a voice came.

She could see the outline of someone from behind the light and they began to move closer towards her. By now and the light was hurting her eyes; every time she blinked and it felt like a stab of raw pain behind her eyelids.

“If you co-operate then you’ll be fine,” the voice came again. It was an American man’s voice. “I want Lucas North. He’s the reason my sister is dead. She tried to warn you against him but, of course, you wouldn’t listen. So maybe this will wake you up.”

“Wake me up to what?” Amy replied. “How horrible of a man he is? It’ll take a lot more than that to make me think anything but that Lucas is an amazing man and I love him. You can’t take that away from me.”

“He’ll definitely come and look for you though, won’t he? Play the doting fiancée and the hero so he can impress you.”

“He’s already impressed me,” Amy hissed. “What exactly is your plan here?”

“See how far Lucas will go for you, and then I can kill him with my bare hands.”

“I think you underestimate…”

“I don’t think you’re in the prime position to tell me I’m underestimating MI5. I have far more experience with the British security services than you. You started in November, and you seem to think you know everything about them. I’ve worked in intel for most of my life, and I know how your team work, darling.”

The adrenaline was pumping in Amy’s body as she looked up into the grey eyes of Sarah Caulfield’s vengeful brother. Her fight or flight system had come online, ready to push her into further danger or pull her from it. She could feel tears stinging her eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks. Her heart was racing, but she inhaled deeply, trying hard to somehow relax herself. Pulling against the bindings was of no use.

‘Caulfield’ as Amy referred to him in her mind, soon left her alone in the darkness again. All she had was her thoughts of Lucas, whom she knew would have realised she was missing. Their living arrangement and schedules was something both of them had become so used to now, that Amy knew Lucas couldn’t have overlooked any changes or slight deviations.

In the darkness and she replayed the times when they laughed together in bed, and he would tickle her under the duvet. But it would soon turn into a more serious moment and they would eventually make love. Caulfield surely could only go by what his sister had disclosed to him, and had no idea just how loving and gentle of a man Lucas North really was behind closed doors. She knew with her whole heart that he would get to her. Nothing would stop him fighting to save her. She had no place for doubts at this point. She kept her mind focused on Lucas and the words dum spiro spero: while I live, I hope.

***

Back at the grid, Lucas had been working constantly for nearly two days. He was running on pure adrenaline now, unable to let any kind of fatigue take over. All that mattered was Amy. He hadn’t showered, shaved, changed his clothes and barely eaten. All he had managed to eat was a chocolate bar out of Amy’s desk drawer.

“Lucas, go home tonight,” Harry said, coming to his desk. “And that is an order. We’re all on this.”

“Harry, how can I?” Lucas said, looking up at his boss with dark circles growing around his ice blue eyes. “I know Sarah’s behind this, or at least someone connected to her.”

“At least go and have a shower, change your clothes, get something to eat.”

Lucas travelled back to his and Amy’s flat upon Harry’s final demand. He entered the quiet flat, sighing as he did so. Everything made him think of her: the Disney figurines, the Tinkerbell mug which was still on the coffee table, the pair of pink, fluffy slippers which had been left in the hallway. The hallway – the place he’d made love to Amy for the first time. He could feel her gripping onto him, hear her gentle moans against his ear, feel her soft skin and smell her honey shampoo.

If she dies, what else do I have?

Lucas sat down on the edge of their bed and picked up a jumper of Amy’s, and as he lifted it to his nose, he could smell her perfume on it: Olympia by Paco Robbane. It was the very thing that made him aware of her presence in the coffee shop over a year ago. The sweet scent had hit him suddenly, and he turned to see her, sitting alone in the back corner of the café, doodling in her notebook. Then it was her green eyes that attracted him first; large and bright. For a few days and Lucas had battled in his mind with why he had become interested in her. She was not the kind of woman he would have normally become interested in or involved with. Sophisticated, independent and sharp women were the ones he normally found himself in relationships with. Amy was independent, yes, but she didn’t possess an obvious air of sophistication and was not sharp tongued, unless angry. She was softer, non-assuming, and unique.

Lucas bowed his head and wept. His one chance at a normal life, and it was being ripped away from him again, threatened by someone who could not let go of the past.

***

Amy had no idea how much time passed. She was left in a dark room, with her captors only coming to her to allow her to relieve herself in a bucket, or to offer food and drink. Lucas’ face was the main thing that Amy saw in her mind; he was smiling at her, his voice wrapping around her, telling her how strong she was. She held on to that, knowing that he would come for her. One way or the other, Lucas would come.

Caulfield came back to Amy, and once again, she had no idea how long it had been since he last spoke with her. As soon as he spoke, she felt her ears prickle as her hearing had become heightened due to the lack of light. The only noise she had had as company was the odd tap of someone from another room, or the sound of her breath.

“MI5 should be aware of your disappearance by now, Miss Holland. And no doubt your boyfriend will sweep in to save the day, giving me the opportunity to take him down. This is personal, and it’s just a shame you got caught in the crossfire.”

Amy remained quiet. Nothing she said would be of any use; this man seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice, spilling his revenge talk bullshit.

***

Everyone on the Grid worked long hours to get Amy home. It had been two days now since she was last seen. Lucas was quiet, with his jaw clenched constantly. No one dared approach him, unless it was something helpful to the case.

On the afternoon of day two, Lucas’ phone rang. ‘Unknown number’ flashed on the screen.

“Yes?” Lucas asked, inhaling sharply. This could only be in connection with Amy. Why else would an unknown number call his work mobile?

“Lucas North.” Not a question. A fact. Whoever was calling was only stating that they knew they had the right number. “Will send coordinates. Come alone. If anyone else comes with you, we’ll shoot her. Leave your phone behind; we’ll know if you have it.” The accent was American, and the voice male. This was someone connected to Sarah Caulfield. He knew it.

Before Lucas could muster words, the line went dead.

Lucas rushed into Harry’s office, relaying the details of the call. “I need to go on my own, Harry.”

“We need to make sure you can be tracked,” Harry demanded.

“This is the CIA. I know they’re connected to Sarah Caulfield. Whoever was calling, is American. They’ll have metal detectors and know if I’m being tracked. This is between me and them.”

***

Amy was sat in darkness. The bindings had started cutting into her wrists and her arms ached, being pulled behind her back. The pain had been getting worse in the last hour or two and it was beginning to spread up her back and into her neck. The only time she was free of the bindings was when she needed to relieve herself or was eating, and even then, a man sat directly in front of her wearing a balaclava, making sure that she couldn’t run.

She let out a groan and tilted her head back. Her eyes focused on the darkness, her gaze falling further into it. In her imagination, she could feel Lucas stood just behind her, his lips trailing down her cheek and his arms wrapped around her middle. “I love you, angel.”

Time continued to pass. People came and went; that much she knew from the sound of doors opening and closing. There were muffled voices from the other side of what she felt was a metal shutter door. Whenever there had been any light shone toward her, she’d made out what seemed to be a factory-type environment. Voices in the room echoed, signalling that she was in a large space. More than likely she was still in London somewhere, stuck inside a factory unit.

More waiting. Food was served to Amy; porridge, later followed by a cheese sandwich. She’d had at least two lots of breakfast now, so she’d been in this place for two days.

Suddenly, a door opened from behind Amy. Voices drifted through into the open space and one of them she immediately recognised. “Lucas?!” she called.

“Amy?” he called back.

“Shut up, Superman!” Caulfield snarled. “Just get the fuck in there.”

Lucas cried out in pain, his calls echoing.

Amy whimpered for him.

A light was shone again, blinding Amy. She gasped and lowered her gaze away from the light. Slowly she opened her eyes again, wincing against the ache. She could hear scuffling, grunts and could see the very vague outline of figures, all haloed by the light.

Lucas was dragged to a seat and bound to it, just like Amy was. He could see Amy sitting a short distance away from him, and as the men walked away, he pulled himself up, the chair hanging against his bindings and he scooted over to her.

Amy heard him whisper her name and just before the light disappeared, she saw the outline of his features, immediately recognising that profile. She pulled toward him and drew her cheek against his, immediately beginning to weep. Just the sound, touch and smell of him made an innermost peace wash over her. His cologne wafted up her nose and she felt the tickle of his growing stubble against her cheek. Unable to embrace, Lucas and Amy kissed in the darkness.

As Lucas kissed down her face, he could feel her tears against his lips. “I promise to get us out of here, angel.”

“He said he wants you,” Amy said. “But don’t you dare play some heroic so we get split up. We’re getting out together, or not at all.”

Pride and love swelled inside Lucas’ chest. “I love you so much,” he replied.

***

Back on the Grid, Malcolm and Tariq had been going over every piece of CCTV footage they could find, piecing together a partial vehicle registration number from a white van that was seen one street away from Amy’s abduction point. That was all they had to go on. Lists of vehicles with that same description and last three letters on the plate were run through all DVLA databases. This line of enquiry came to a dead end. Until Ros noticed a small van, only just visible at a junction in a southerly direction from the street where Amy disappeared.

“There! I can just see the very edge of a light from the back of a vehicle. Malcolm, try and get footage from the angle looking down the junction and straight at the back of the vehicle.”

“On it,” Malcolm said.

A short while later and Malcolm had found that it was a small van which was registered to a window cleaning business. Also, it was noted that five minutes after Amy disappeared from view, the van moved. Two men, wearing all black clothing were seen getting into the van.

Malcolm continued digging into the details of the vehicle and the paper trail that it was leaving behind. “The van is registered to Ace Window Cleaning, operated and owned by Robert Anderson. I’ve mapped out through ANPR data where the van has been and which properties it’s been seen doing business with. One of them was the ground floor flat of Martin Page. And with a little more magic, I can confirm that Martin Page is an alias that is used by CIA agent Randall Blanchard, known colleague and field partner of Simon Caulfield, older brother of Sarah Caulfield.”

“Lucas was right,” Ros said simply. “Track the ANPR data of that van. Get everything you can on where it’s been the last two days since Amy was last seen. One of the agents obviously paid off Robert Anderson for use of the vehicle, hoping it wouldn’t be traced back to either one of them. Little do they know, we’ve got a lot of fancy tricks up our sleeves.”

***

Amy rested her head against Lucas. Every now and again, she would feel him kiss her head.

A night vision camera was hovering above them, and in another part of the building, in a sterile-looking white room, Simon Caulfield watched on. He stared at the monitor and then turned to his partner, Randall Blanchard. “Have you sent the package yet?” Simon asked. “First class?”

“All done,” Randall replied, taking a mouthful of bitter coffee from the paper Costa cup in his hand.

“We all know how doting Mommy and Daddy are with their little girls.”

“What exactly do you want to do with them?” Randall asked.

“Play with them a little, I guess. And then kill him. We’ll both get our revenge for what he did to Sarah.”

***

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#Lucas North #Richard Armitage #MI5 #Spooks #Lucas North x Original Female Character #Lucas North x OFC #Original Female Character #Fanfiction

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sleepyfan-blog · 4 days

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Displaced

Author’s Note: Cedric’s debut in Space Marine Husbandry Sentience! First and Latest part of Cedric’s 40k adventures

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets

Warnings: panic attack

Summary: Cedric wakes up on the forest floor of a world he doesn’t recognize and wanders until he finds people.

Cedric blinked rapidly several times as he stared up at the dense forest canopy he found himself in. The young Astartes slowly got up from where he'd apparently been laid out on the ground as confusion warred with unhappiness within his heart. The last thing that the young apothecary remembered was falling asleep in his bunk on The Sigismund to the sounds of his brothers and squad mates sleeping - and their newest squad mate's snores (he had a deviated septum from when he'd broken his nose in training as a neophyte. It hadn't quite healed correctly and it wasn't worth it to correct the minor defect, especially when there was a good chance that Munse was going to get his nose broken in a brawl and Cedric would re-set his nose properly then). He would have been woken up before being ordered into a drop pod…

Which meant that this must be a dream… Or more likely a nightmare of some kind. He looked carefully for his Brothers, straining his ears for any sounds of enemy fire. He knew who he would see crawling towards him on his hands, legs dead weight dragged behind him, looking up with him at hope that he might be able to save him this time. Sometimes he was even able to save the injured brother within the confines of his own mind, only to wake and realize that it was only a bittersweet dream. Other times he watched as each of his squad mates was hunted down and killed by the Tau, before he was captured - spared because he was a medical professional.

Or maybe he would be subjected to the last cries of the… Many civilians he had tried and failed to help - or who were too far gone for what first aid he could spare them on the battlefield, and to grant them the Emperor's Mercy, in order to avoid a lingering death that risked Temptation by the Ruinous powers, or being captured and tormented by xenos until they died. Either way, this was likely to be a miserable dream - unless… He usually wasn't so aware during his dreams, perhaps he could control things in this dream? Unless he had somehow been translocated from the Sigismund to… Wherever the fuck this forest was. It was sunny, and as he breathed in and out deeply, he could catch the faint scent of woodsmoke on the breeze. He couldn't see the smoke, which meant that he was either too far away from the fire to see even the smoke, the fire was too small, or had recently been put out. Or perhaps a combination of all three.

He looked down at himself, frowning a little. Most of the time in his nightmares he was wearing his full armor - but he was currently wearing what he'd gone to sleep in; his black and red tunic, pants and socks. The ground beneath his socked feet was dark and rich. Cedric hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to take his socks off or not. It was unlikely that he was going to find anything in this relatively peaceful-seeming forest. He began to jog at a comfortable pace (after having removed his socks) into the wind, the scent of wood smoke becoming more intense as the day wore on.

A handful of hours later, and Cedric found the source of the smoke - a medium sized cooking fire, surrounded by a dozen or so civilian humans. They were laughing and speaking to one another in a language that the Primaris marine did not recognize. From what he could tell, this was a family group of some kind, as many of them shared similar facial features between the different age groups he could see. There were several older humans - grey and white in their hair with age. Several adults of varying ages, and six… No, seven children all under the age of twelve, laughing and playing with one another.

A deep, aching sense of loneliness threatened to drag Cedric down to his knees, and he was utterly unaware of the distressed whine that escaped his chest as he stared at the clearly joyous group. Their carefree, happy faces. The way that the young ones chased each other around - some sort of sphere made of leather being tossed from child to child.

One of the adults closer to where Cedric was standing and watching them looked over in his direction.

The young Astartes, painfully aware of the transhuman dread that often afflicted the mortals who encountered him, hid behind one of the very large trees, hoping that they wouldn't investigate further. In part because he had no way of communicating with them, and because… He wanted to watch the little ones play without being potentially chased off by the adults. Not that they could really stop him from watching as none of them appeared to be an armor and all Astartes were living weapons - and Primaris Marines such as himself were (according to the Mechanicus) even better… But he didn't want them to leave, either.

He had no way to contact his brothers if this wasn't some very strange, semi-lucid dream, and no way to converse with these civilians either - unless they did speak Gothic, and preferred whatever language they were speaking in when interacting with family members.

Cedric waited several minutes before peering around the trunk of the massive tree (the reddish-brown bark was spongy to the touch and had a delightfully earthy scent. It's tree branches were dozens of feet up in the air and had flat green needles) once again. The adult humans had not changed positions, and the children continued to run around the forest clearing, throwing the ball at one another, as half of them chased the others who were in possession of the ball. Eventually the chasers versus the being chased would change when the ball would change hands, and back across the forest clearing they would go.

One of the youngest children mis-aimed their throw, though the strength with which they threw the ball was admirable. It bounced off one of the gigantic trees inches from one of their teammates and ricocheted passed where Cedric was lurking and out of sight of the young ones. The ball bounced off a couple of trees before rolling to a stop in front of Cedric's feet.]

The young apothecary swallowed hard, suspecting that the children would charge into the forest after the ball - whether or not they were allowed to by their adult family members, and he had nowhere to hide in time - hiding behind the tree from the oncoming children would reveal himself to the sitting adults. Maybe… Maybe he could roll the ball back towards where the assembled children and adults were, and they would assume that it had bounced back towards them, while hopefully keeping himself from sight? Another anxious whine left his lips as he stared uncertainly at the ball, starting to reach for it.

Before Cedric could make a decision, four of the children ran to his hiding place. The child who'd thrown the ball not even noticing Cedric's half-crouch as they gleefully dived for the ball, scooping it up in their tiny hands, raising it over their head victoriously.

… The other three children had stopped running and were staring up at him, a mixture of emotions that Cedric was unsure as to whether or not he was identifying correctly on their faces. The oldest - or at least the largest of them - stepped forward and said something to the other three, who scampered back to the group.

Fuck! Now what? Should he run? No, it's not like he was doing anything illegal or sinful… right? He's just… Lost. Maybe one of the baseline humans did speak Gothic? Or at least enough for them to communicate? Another anxious whine left his lips as the baseline human child looked at him directly in the eyes and said… Something.

Cedric hunched his shoulders, trying not to seem threatening as he… Found himself unable to look the human child in the eye. As carefully and clearly as he could manage, he spoke in Gothic "I do not understand you, young one. Do you know this language?"

The child stared at him uncomprehendingly for several seconds before pulling out a small metallic object that reminded Cedric somewhat of a data slate, though much smaller. The child focused on the tiny slate for several seconds before a neutral voice with a Maccragian accent spoke "Hello, I am Amicus De'leth, Brother-Sargeant of the seventh Company of the Ultramarines. One of my humans has called me, asking for help as an interpreter?"

Cedric had no blessed idea who this Brother-sergeant was, but a wave of relief that nearly caused him to cry washed through his body. "I… I am Primaris Brother-Apothecary Cedric of the Black Templars, sir.. I'm… I don't know how I ended up on one of the worlds of the Realm of Ultramar, the last thing I remember was falling asleep on my bunk on The Sigismund."

"… Do you have any of your brothers with you, Cedric?" The Brother-sergeant asked from the square communicator.

"No sir. I woke up alone, without my armor… Or weapons… Or med kit… I don't even have boots on sir…" Cedric responded, another anxious whine leaving him as he started to realize just how woefully underdressed and unprepared he was. The world began to spin unpleasantly beneath him, so he grabbed onto the large tree he'd been spending the better part of twenty minutes hiding behind as he desperately tried to fend off a panic attack.

"Little brother, Cedric! I need you to focus on me, on my voice. I know that you're feeling overwhelmed, but I need you to keep calm, alright? I've asked one of the adult humans in the group you found to bring you to me, alright? There are several Astartes bases in the city I live in… Black Templars are a successor chapter of the Imperial Fists, right?" The Ultramarine asked his voice firm and grounding as Cedric tried to claw his way to some sort of emotional equilibrium.

His head was swimming - and he wasn't sure if it was just because of the confused panic trying to stop his hearts. Something felt off- wrong. He couldn't put his finger on what. But he had to answer the brother-sergeant's question. It would be insubordinate of him if he didn't… Fuck, why couldn't he stop whining wordlessly? It wasn't helping him regain some sense of emotional equilibrium in the slightest, and the human child was looking at him with open concern on their tiny face. "Yes sir, The Black Templars are a successor chapter of the Imperial fists." Cedric doesn't know why that matters.

"Alright, there aren't any Black Templars that I know of nearby, but there are several Imperial Fists, and I figure having an older brother or two around to explain… Everything that we currently understand about what's going on - which isn't life-threatening or dangerous, near as any of us can tell - will help. Forgive me for the assumption if I am wrong, but you sound… Young, Cedric. Am I correct? How long has it been since the rollout of the Primaris Marines? This posting means that getting reliable news is… Difficult." Brother-Sergeant De'leth inquired.

"I… I've been training under my mentor for about… Four years, sir? After the holy resurrection of the Imperial Regent he gathered all of the primaris marines ready for deployment and brought reinforcements to those chapters who knelt before him and swore loyalty to him and to the Imperium once again. Those who refused to kneel were slaughtered by the Ultramarines and Lord Regent Guilliman, sir. The Lord Regent himself spoke to High Marshal Helbriecht. I'm not sure how old I am, sir. The Mechanicum never put much stock into measuring our ages in such a way, sir. Only how effective we were in learning combat and our specialized roles, if we tested into them."

"Father… Father lives. Of course he does. I'm going to ask the young one who's comm device we're using to talk to each other to get their father, so that he can drive you to the base. Cooperate with them." The Ultramarine ordered "The father speaks some Gothic."

"Yes sir." Cedric responded, unable to stop himself from saluting the strange comm, snapping to attention at the stern voice of command, ducking his head a little.

"Good lad. Follow Amira to her father." The Ultramarine brother-sergeant ordered, which Cedric dutifully obeyed.

The vehicle used by Amira's father to get Cedric to the Astartes base reminded him somewhat of one of the ground-tanks used in skirmishes against xenos, but it was much less well-armored, didn't have any weapons on it, and the engine was distressingly noisy. The baseline human had greeted him in heavily accented Gothic and spoke little on the drive, for which Cedric was grateful, as it allowed him time to try and figure out why he felt so strange. His mind was still clouded and his thoughts were somewhat sluggish and hazy. He had managed to more or less calm down, despite how utterly without any of his gear he still was, especially after Amira's father had handed him a small, soft toy that vaguely resembled some of the terrestrial creatures found on Feral and Death worlds. It had two black plastic eyes, soft yellow-brown faux-fur. It had two small rounded ears, and was dressed in a facilimile of ultramarine armor - though the fake armor was slightly less soft to the touch than the faux-fur.

Irrationally, Cedric wished that the armor was the white, black and red of a Black Templar Apothecary, with a red cybernetic eye in it's left socket, and jagged scars across it's lower jaw. Still, the small toy was a surprising source of comfort as the young primaris marine buried his face in its' plush fur. he'd had to nearly fold in half and was laying down in the back of the car in order to fit, his knees against his chest. Cedric stayed curled like that until the vehicle came to a stop and the baseline human called out.

"We are here."

"Thank you, sir." Cedric responded, carefully setting down the toy and using a single finger to carefully open the door of the vehicle with it's handle, not wanting to accidentally break part of the mechanism when the human had been kind to him, more than he had needed to be. He carefully shut the door and gave the other a salute, watching the human drive off.

An Ultramarine - a sergeant from his red helm and markings - was walking alongside an Imperial fist as the two of them made their way over to him.

The Imperial Fist whistled as he took off his helmet, looking Cedric up and down "I've never meet a Primaris marine before. You're a big lad, aren't you? I am Brother-Captain Yonnas Bilnes. I'm in charge of the Imperial Fists - and our successor chapters - in this territory. Let's get you a pair of boots and something to eat, and I'll explain where you are - and as far as we've been able to discover - how any of us appeared here. I'll introduce you to our head apothecary o nce you've settled in. It's always good to have another medic around. How long have you been a battle brother?"

"Err… Six months, I think? Sir." Cedric responded, dutifully following the silent order to follow the two into the large building, keeping a respectful three paces behind the higher ranking astartes.

#space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #oc: cedric #oc: Amicus #oc: amira #cw: panic attack #my writing #warhammer 40k #oc: Yonnas

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pandorasboxoftreasures · 1 year

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Ok I know I’m not just overthinking this so hear me out : RECOM QUARITCH SPLIT-BRAIN THEORY

(aka “Colonel Sméagol”)

Avatar has its eye symbolism, right? “I see you?” Waking up from dreams, etc...

But has anybody else noticed this? It’s been bothering me since my first watch.

It’s to do with Recom Quaritch’s eyes and how they are highlighted from scene to scene and character perspective to character perspective and what that implies for which Quaritch has primary or dominant control at each given moment, the implanted one (Human) or the innate one (Na’vi).

Ritch when following the programming from his implanted memories (mostly noticeable when he has his PTSD moments, repeats routines that the human Ritch did like drinking coffee and squad briefings, observes things of interest to the implanted personality and goes berserker or highly emotional), left eye in clear light and/or focus, right eye in shadow or hidden.

Ritch when deviating from his programming and thinking individually (Mostly noticeable when he’s interacting with Spider or contemplating his next moves or observing and interacting with his environment through Na’vi enhanced senses/technically new eyes), right eye in clear light and/or focus, left eye in shadow or hidden.

They have full damn control over the lighting and it doesn’t fully follow the lighting directions from the same scenes or sometimes even shots and in many ways the opposite eye is considerably darker than ambient lighting without additional stylistic control would have it be. There’s no way these are accidental. Same goes for the composition.

There’s a symbolism here. There has to be. Maybe highlighting that there’s two people or halves of them in his head fighting for equilibrium or supremacy and they can each have turns taking over as well as working together as one (which is when we see barely any difference in how the eyes are lit or shown or they match the ambient lighting accurately the other exceptions being from the perspectives of characters who are unaware or couldn’t care less about which Quaritch is which). But also indicating that he may have a sort of split-brain but for personality. Two consciousnesses sharing one brain. One in each cerebral hemisphere.

Interestingly the main key behavioural differences between Recom Ritch and Human Ritch most noticeable so far when you watch them closely, are in aspects of the brain (regulation and comprehension of speech and language, working memory, cognitive flexibility, planning, inhibition, abstract reasoning, selecting specific actions in a list of possible actions, mediation of decision making, reorienting of attention, collecting and processing environmental information among many demonstrated) that belong to the left hemisphere that controls the right side of the body and therefore the right eye.

It gets better...

WHICH SIDE OF THE BRAIN GOT DAMAGED WHEN HUMAN RITCH GOT WRECKED BY THAT VIPERWOLF SO BAD IT WENT THROUGH THE GODDAMN BONE?!

THE RIGHT SIDE THAT CONTROLS THE LEFT EYE!!!

EYWA, YOU NEON MACHIEVELLIAN CHAD DID YOU SEND THAT DOGGO AFTER MILES QUARITCH SENIOR FOR A TARGETED LOBOTOMY KNOWING WHAT WOULD HAPPEN?!

Now, with this hypothesis in mind, what can we do with it?

Look at each scene to determine who is who when, of course. If that left eye is like a street light take note that you’re likely dealing with the implant. If the right eye has it, it’s probably the innate, if it’s both, neither or barely noticeable, you’re looking at them in equilibrium or near enough.

Taking all that into consideration (again it is just a theory for now I will have to take notes next time I watch from beginning to end like I have every time since I started getting suspicious of this but now I have even more research and possible context behind it), who has Kiri by the throat, who has a gun to Lo’ak’s head, who is telling Jake Neteyam “didn’t have to die”, and who lets Kiri go to save Spider?

It also opens up the possibility if this is a hint towards future events (unlikely but again who knows) THAT THERE’S TECHNICALLY WAYS TO ERASE THOSE IMPLANTED MEMORIES AND PERSONALITY AND GIVE FULL CONTROL TO THE INNATE OR THE IMPLANT because people can still function mostly if not completely normally with a lot of parts of their brains removed or disabled.

________________________________________________

BONUS: Another interesting thing to see that I’m following up with and taking notes on is whether Ritch is left or right handed or a combination of both. Because that is very difficult to actually determine and also has additional possible implications.

Stephen Lang can deliberately play a left-handed character. James Cameron is left-handed. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that it could be a deliberate choice and I need to check through both movies again to see any signs of it.

I’ll keep putting examples and further delvings and discussions under #quaritch split brain theory if people want to go deeper into this with me or follow along.

I might even make some memes with it, who knows?

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dancingtotuyo · 9 months

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If my Hands Could Fix It (Joel Miller)

Part 4 of Build You the World Joel X Reader Rating: PG-13 (Language and some sexual references) Warnings: fluffy, angst, talk of pregnancy related things, trying to conceive, struggling to conceive. Tags: pre outbreak/no outbreak, fluff, craftsman!Joel, we're in the 90s folks... but wait... also the year 2000! Words: 4260

Series Master List | Author Master list

You and Joel got married in April in the backyard. Joel built a pergola that you covered in wildflowers and baby’s breath. It was a small ceremony, only about 35 people, but you preferred it that way.

You went to Mexico for your honeymoon. A week on a beach full of sand, sun, and sex. A lot of sex with no children to interrupt you or for you to accidentally wake up. Panic hit on day 3 when you realized you hadn’t taken your birth control pills and only ensued when you realized the pills were still sitting on the bathroom counter at home. You rifled through your bags for a fourth time just to be certain.

“Darlin, what's wrong?”

You looked up. Joel already had his swim trunks on and a towel over his shoulder. His farmer’s tan was fading from just a couple days on the beach. “I think I left something at home.”

“Can’t be that important-”

“My birth control.”

“Oh.”

You looked at him. He seemed to recall the events of the past few days but said nothing else.

“Just “oh”? That’s all you have to say?” You stared at him.

He smiled at you, taking your hand. He pressed them to his mouth. Your shoulders dropped. “I can go buy condoms.” His thumbs worked slow circles into your palms. “Or… we could just see what happens.”

“What about our plan?” The five-year one. Baby-making wasn’t a part of that for another year.

He laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re really bad at planning shit, baby.”

You couldn’t help it as your lips ticked upward. It was true. You and Joel didn’t plan things. They just happened. The five-year plan the two of you started was your biggest attempt thus far and here you were, less than 2 months later talking about deviating, or maybe you’d already ruined it.

You let the thoughts of another kid wash over your mind. Pregnancy hadn’t been this wonderful, carefree experience for you, but it hadn’t been all that bad either. You decided not to dwell on the 36 hour labor experience. Sweet baby snuggles, late night feedings, smiles, first steps, temper tantrums, and I love yous all drifted through your mind. You weren’t sure if you were ready for it all right now, but you could be if you had to. Lord knows you weren’t ready the first time.

Releasing a deep breath, you nodded. “Okay, let’s just see what happens.”

Joel grinned. He kissed you, hands wandering over the skin your bathing suit didn’t cover. “Now let’s get you onto the beach.”

You didn’t get pregnant on your honeymoon. The relief you thought you’d feel upon seeing the negative test was replaced with disappointment. You tossed the test into the trash can.

Walking out of the bathroom, your eyes landed on Joel, reading in bed. You cocked your head to the side. He wasn’t a reader like you, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to read about woodworking techniques or the history of construction. Boring topics to you, but he could and had gone on for hours about both. You enjoyed watching the way his eyes lit up when he started on the topic, but the book he currently held was one of yours.

“Watcha got there?” You smiled but you felt its lack. It pulled at your face awkwardly.

Joel’s eyes darted up over the book, an eyebrow raised. “This is pure filth, darling.”

You laughed, straddling his abdomen. “Where do you think I learned all my tricks?” You took the book from him, checking the cover. “This is nothing, baby.”

“And here I took you for an academic, readin all the time. Is our whole relationship a lie?” He grinned, hands settling on your bare thighs.

“Yes, I’ve just been scamming you so I have a place to store my many filthy books.” You winked.

He chuckled, pulling your palm to his lips. He always did that to soothe you. Were you that readable?

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Guess the answer was yes. “Nothing, it’s nothing.” You shook your head.

His brow furrowed. “Baby…”

You shrugged, splaying your palms on his chest. His fingers trailed over your knee and up your thigh. You showed tremendous interest in the logo on his shirt, biting your lip. You felt the pressure behind your eyes. “It’s just…” You sighed. “The pregnancy test was negative and it’s stupid.” Moisture pressed to surface level. You wiped it away. “I mean, I thought I would be relieved, and now I’m crying.” You wiped more tears away with a small laugh.

Joel continued to rub your thighs. His brown eyes met yours. “I think I’m a little disappointed too.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in your chest. The skin around Joel’s eyes crinkled, his dimple popping out. You leaned down, touching your forehead to his. “So that means…”

“Fuck the five-year plan.” Joel grinned.

You repeated it back and pressed your lips to his.

You threw out your birth control the next morning.

You’d heard about women tracking their cycles and taking ovulation tests and postponing sex until ovulation, but all of that sounded a bit overwhelming. You’d conceived Asher while taking birth control religiously. You thought it would just happen.

But three months and 4 negative pregnancy tests later, you found yourself staring at the ovulation kits. Did you go with the cheapest option? How many did you buy? Before going on birth control, you’d been very aware of when you were ovulating and since coming off it, you were fairly certain of when you were as your sex drive kicked up roughly every four weeks.

“Go with the brand in the blue box.”

You turned around. Marcia Crawly, a mom from Sarah’s soccer team, smiled at you. You were pretty sure she was on the PTO as well.

“Oh, thanks,” You forced a smile.

You grabbed the recommended box, cheeks heating up. This shouldn’t be embarrassing. You were a grown married woman with children.

“No problem. You and Joel are trying?”

Oh lord, not grocery store small talk in the family planning aisle. “Uh… yeah.” You tossed the box into your cart. Marcia didn’t seem like the kind to spread the word, but you didn’t know her that well.

“If you want any tips, just reach out. I know all the things to do.” She smiled.

You thought of Marcia's 4 children all born within 24-28 months of one another. She’d mentioned that fact several times in passing as if it was some kind of accomplishment. It never occurred to you until now that perhaps she’d meticulously planned it that way.

“Um… yeah, sure. I will.” You wouldn’t.

“See you at the soccer game this weekend.” She waved. “And good luck.” Marcia winked at you before continuing on her own.

Joel was working in the garage when you got home. Sarah had asked for a bookshelf “all for herself” for her birthday. In the summer boom of work, Joel hadn’t been able to start on it until tonight. Sarah’s birthday was a week ago. You knew he felt bad, but there were other gifts to unwrap, and Sarah got to stay up late that night helping Joel design it. You were pretty sure it was twice the undertaking Joel originally planned.

With the groceries put away, you went to investigate the lamplight from Sarah’s room. You noticed it when you got home. Her door was cracked. You tapped on it before entering. Sarah peeked up over the cover of her book. You smiled. “It’s past your bedtime, Sarah Joy.”

“Dad said I could read.”

You glanced down at your watch, soft laughter contained. “It’s 10:30.” You laid down next to her pulling her into your side. “Watcha reading?”

Sarah cuddled into you. “Box car children- Haunted Cabin Mystery.”

“Is it any good?”

Sarah nodded. “Not as good as the original series.”

“Well, nothing can beat the original series.

You took an extra minute to hold her. She was getting so big. You didn’t know how long she would continue to let you hold her like this.

Sarah nodded, pressing her back into you as she continued to read. “15 more minutes. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, kiddo. I love you.” You kissed her cheek and tickled her sides.

Sarah’s laughing squeal filled the room. “Mama!”

You laughed. “Sarah!”

“Okay, okay!” She struggled to catch her breath and you relented. Sarah kissed your cheek. “Goodnight. I love you.”

You crawled out of the bed laughter still in your movements. “15 minutes.” You reminded

“I know.”

You took a mental picture of Sarah, freshly 10 years old snuggled in bed with a book, and filed it away.

You peeked into Asher’s room. He slept curled up over a pillow, just like Joel did when he fell asleep before you made it to bed. You tiptoed in, pushing back his sweat-damp curls. He ran hot when he slept. Something he also got from his daddy. Pressing your lips to his forehead, you pulled the covers down to keep him cool.

Opening the fridge, you grabbed a drink before joining Joel in the garage. He shot a smile your way as he marked measurements onto the boards, but said nothing. You returned his smile. You forwent the stool, opting to sit directly on the workbench. The condensation from the bottle was slick in your hands from the late July heat.

You swung your feet back and forth noticing the absence of the radio tonight. The cicadas and crickets chirped in harmony. The quick buzz of the table saw joined them as Joel made a single precise cut. He looked hot with the pencil behind his ear.

“You’re gonna get sawdust all over your shorts.”

He walked over leaning against the workbench. He smelled like pine and dirt. Your favorite. You couldn’t help it as you leaned toward him.

“Guess you’ll have to clean me off then.” You winked sipping on your drink.

Joel eyed the bottle in your hand. You’d pretty much stopped drinking since the two of you decided to have another baby.

“Somethin happen at the grocery store?” Joel reached behind you, grabbing his drink. He rested his other hand on your thigh.

“I ran into Marcia Crawly as I was getting ovulation tests. She offered to give me all the tips and tricks if I needed them.”

Joel paused, bottle mid-air. His face read somewhere between amusement and concern as he swallowed his beer. “The whole PTO gonna know now?”

“Doesn’t seem the type, but I guess we’ll find out.” You shrugged.

“So what’s buggin you?” His hand crawling up your thigh.

You rested your forehead against his running a hand through his curls. He leaned into your touch further. “I’m neglecting my wifely duties. Your hair is getting long.”

His eyebrows raised expectantly. You couldn’t deflect with him.

“I just don’t like other people up in our business,” you said. He tilted his head, kissing the palm on his cheek. “Especially people we’re not really friends with.”

“Me either.” Joel moved between your legs. Easing his hands on either side of your thighs.

You rested your chin on top of his head as the two of you enjoyed the summer night noises. It wasn’t silent by any means, but it felt peaceful.

“Sarah is still up reading. I told her 15 minutes.”

Joel smiled. “Think she’ll remember?”

“Fuck no,” You said. Joel laughed. “But if Sarah staying up late to read is our biggest issue, I’m not worried.”

“Until she starts stealing filthy books from your shelf.”

You laughed, head tossing back. Joel kissed your neck. “Get back to work. I came out here to watch my hot carpenter husband do carpenter things.”

Joel smiled, giving you a solid kiss before moving back to his project. You picked up his journal. You’d given him a new one, much like the original, for his birthday after he filled all the pages in the first one.

“This is quite the bookshelf.”

“She wants fairies on it. Not sure how I’m going to do that yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“They don’t cover that in your books?”

“They cover it in yours?” Joel grinned.

You flipped him off.

You laid out across your bed still in your work clothes. Your abdomen cramped as you waited for the ibuprofen to kick in. Tears streamed into your ears, and for once it wasn’t your period that brought on the tears.

Work was shit. The company you worked for switched hands last year. Ever since, you hadn’t enjoyed work. The co-workers you were close to slowly quit one by one and your boss was an overbearing, asshole.

You heard the click of the bedroom door. The bed dipped beside you. His warm, calloused hand covered yours. His lips touched your forehead. You hummed softly.

“Rough day?”

“Carl’s an ass.”

His finger traced over your face and then he noticed the tears running between your eyes and ears. “Shit, baby.”

“Sorry.” You wiped at your tears, finally opening your eyes.

“Don’t apologize…”

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep working there.”

“Then don’t.”

“What?”

“You’re already keepin the books. Tommy and I were talking about hiring a couple more people. Business is good. We’re filling up through the winter. That’s never happened before.”

It was all a part of the five-year plan. Miller Construction, LLC was growing. What used to be just Joel and Tommy had grown to a crew of 5. You’d been doing the books for a couple of years now. The longer-term plan was for you to quit your job and run the admin side of things full-time. You would be able to stay home with the kids so daycare wouldn’t be needed. There were plans for office space, two crews, all a part of the 5-year plan. You quitting your job was still 2 ½ years away.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You’re thinking about that damn timeline.”

“So? We made that plan for a reason.”

“And we said fuck it, did we not?”

“Joel this isn’t deciding to have a baby a year earlier.”

“Darlin, you’re miserable.”

“Even if it all worked out, what about health insurance? We’re trying to have a baby. I don’t think we want to get the uninsured medical bill for childbirth.” Health insurance was the main reason you stayed at this job. Your 30 hours a week, enough to qualify for benefits, turned into 40 more often than not.

“You don’t have to work to get insurance.”

“Joel.”

“Miller Construction can offer you great benefits.” He kissed your neck.

“Oh? Like what?” You smiled. He was distracting you and you let him.

“Flexible schedule, bring your kids to work.” His lips trailed lower. “Private meetings with the boss.” His breath was hot in your ear.

You hummed soaking in the feeling of the idea until reality crashed back down. “I can’t quit my job so we can have a midday rendezvous.”

“I want you to quit so you’ll be okay.” He took your hands in his, kissing them. “We need you to be okay, baby.”

You stared up at him, relishing the warmth of his hands. “You’re sure?”

“I’ll call Carl up myself right now. Tell him you’re done. You can sleep in tomorrow.”

You thought about it, making the decision quicker than you wanted to admit. “Fuck the five-year plan I guess.” You laughed, feeling like a weight was lifted off your chest.

Joel chuckled, pressing his lips to yours.

On the first day of November, you woke up feeling nauseous. Your heart lept at the thought that this was it. You managed to wait until the kids were asleep that night, your anticipation growing with the mild heartburn you felt throughout the day.

No second line. In fact, the test strip was so fucking white you couldn’t imagine a faint line. You threw it in the trash can, fighting the urge to scream.

You turned on the shower and let the hot water wash it away.

Joel had just turned out his lamp as you crawled into bed without a word. The sheets felt cool against your skin. He kissed your head before turning on his back.

You faced Joel, laying on your side. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong?” You laid a hand on his chest. The only time Joel slept on his back was when he fell asleep on the couch, you insisted on cuddling a certain way, or he was stressed.

He covered your hand with his. “Nothing babe, just work stuff.”

“Something that’s gonna affect the books?”

He looked at you with the one eye that faced you. “What happened to no work talk in the bedroom?”

“Well, you’re clearly stressed in our bedroom.”

Joel rolled over kissing you softly. “Better now.”

“You cheeseball.”

Joel chuckled. He kissed your forehead. “Now it’s your turn.”

You furrowed your brow.

“I can hear your thoughts, Darlin.”

“You cannot.”

He touched his head to yours, the moonlight reflecting in his big brown eyes. “They’re racing faster than NASCAR.”

You sighed. “I thought I was pregnant. I’m not. Must’ve eaten too much damn Halloween candy last night.”

Joel managed a soft smile. His hand threaded through your hair. “I’d tell you not to overthink it, but we both know that’s not possible.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong?” You bit your lip.

“It hasn’t been that long, baby.” You leaned into his touch.

“I thought it would just happen, you know.” You wanted to swear as the tears started.

Joel pulled you into his arms. “I think I did too. I mean… I’m kinda 2 for 2 in that department.”

You managed a laugh and he kissed your head.

“I love you,” He said.

“I love you too.”

The holidays came and went in a blur. Thanksgiving with Tommy and your mom. Your mother had warmed up to Joel over the years. So much so, she’d let him handle the turkey. He’d been so excited. Christmas morning was just the four of you. A new bike for Sarah and a train set for Asher. New Year's Eve at some big fancy house hosted by Joel’s biggest client just the two of you. In the rush of the holidays, the two of you realized it was your first date night in two months. Joel had fucked you in one of the many bathrooms, the idea of baby making the farthest thing from either of your minds for the first time in a long time.

It was the third week of January before you realized your period was late. You reeled your mind for the last time you’d had it. Did you miss December too? Your heart picked up. You had.

You glanced in the living room. Sarah was reading and Asher playing with his trains on the floor. You took the steps two at a time quickly locking the door. This had to be it. There was no way it wasn’t.

You watched the test process, confused when the second line never appeared. The test must have been bad. You grabbed two more from your drawer. The second came up negative as did the third. You just stared at them lined up on the bathroom counter. The acceptance hit you like a semi-truck, the wind knocked from your lungs.

You swiped the tests into the trash can. Angry hot tears streamed from your eyes. Your bedroom door slammed behind you and you fell into the comforter as you let the sobs wrack your body.

You didn’t know how long you’d been in bed when the door creaked open. You glanced up, eyes heavy expecting to see Sarah or Asher. Joel’s frame filled the door making you realize how long you’d actually been in bed. “Sarah said she heard the door slam a couple hours ago.”

“Shit.” You groaned. There was an ache at the base of your skull. You buried your head into the comforter.

Joel sat on the bed, his hand on your back. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy.”

“Darlin…”

You sighed, rubbing your head as you rolled to your back. You knew if you opened your eyes, the headache would get worse. “What else, Joel? I thought for sure I was pregnant. New flash, I’m not.”

Silence ensued. You were too preoccupied trying to rub your headache away. The bed beside you lifted. Joel huffed shuffling out of the room. You sat up. Your brain felt like it was going to implode. Your sinuses were stuffy from crying. You couldn’t think straight.

Joel barged back in, garbage bag in hand. He yanked open the top dresser drawer where you kept the pregnancy and ovulation tests. “What are you doing?”

“Throwing this shit out. We’re done.”

“Done? What are you talking about?” You were worried you might be getting a migraine as you rubbed your temples.

“This whole cycle tracking and taking tests every month. We need a break.” He shoved the tests into the garbage bag.

“Joel.”

“It’s tearing you apart!” He turned around. Your vision tunneled to his eyes. Tears pooled in them. “It’s tearing me apart.”

He dropped the garbage bag and climbed into the bed. His hands felt cool against your hot skin. “We need a break… please.” His voice broke.

“Okay.” You whispered.

You climbed into his lap. He kissed your head and you nuzzled into his neck. A few of his tears dropped onto your cheek as yours slid down his neck. He held you like that until you fell asleep.

You didn’t tell Joel you bought the pregnancy test. A part of you felt bad not telling him, but if it was negative, he’d see it in your face. He’d know what was going on without a word.

You’d only taken one other pregnancy test since you and Joel hit pause on trying last year, and that was at your annual physical. You’d expected the negative result and when the doctor told you, you felt okay.

You two still talked about having another child. Both of you wanted it, but the active trying was paused. You agreed your family felt incomplete. You discussed going to see a doctor just to make sure everything was okay, but that still felt overwhelming.

For the most part, you’d been able to unweave the constant baby think from your brain. Life felt like it was flying by at breakneck speed. You celebrated Asher’s 5th birthday in March. Sarah’s spring soccer season was well underway. There was talk that they could make it to states this year, and Sarah had been named captain. Asher started t-ball. Between the two kids’ sports, most of your weekends were full. Business was booming for Miller Construction. So much so that you were in the market for an assistant, and You and Joel celebrated your 2nd wedding anniversary earlier this month.

Your period was almost 2 weeks late. You tried not to overthink it. It wouldn’t be the first time, but the nausea had hit three days in a row now. The first day you could write it off. The kids had caught a stomach bug last week. The second day you tried to let it go, and then this morning you actually threw up, twice, and then recovered. It brought you back to when you were pregnant with Asher.

You paced the bathroom wringing your hands as you watched the second hand on your watch tick in two slow circles. You refused to look before it was time. Your mind raced. You flipped between sure and doubt.

Two minutes. You steadied your breath as you prepared to look. No matter what it said, you would be okay… you hoped.

The test lay on the bathroom counter. Two lines, clear as day, stared back at you. There was no doubting it. Shock settled in your bones. “Joel…” He was downstairs with the kids. “Joel!” Your voice steadily rose.

About the third time, his heavy footsteps rang through the house as he took the steps two at a time. He burst into the bathroom. “What’s wrong?” Panic raged wild in his eyes. His chest heaved

You looked up at him, tears brewing in your eyes, hand over your mouth.

“Darlin, what is it?” He walked over to you. You pointed to the counter.

He looked over, brow furrowing. Then he saw it. The test sitting there. He didn’t even have to look at the results to know what it said. His head whipped around. “You’re?”

You nodded still suspended in disbelief. He laughed, picking you up and spinning you around in the already tight space. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, laughter mingling with his.

Emma Grace entered the world on December 13th at 12:03 am with much more urgency than her older brother. Joel narrowly avoided catching her as the doctor arrived no more than 30 seconds before she was born.

Joel settled next to you, his arm around your shoulders. Emma stared up at the two of you. He brushed his finger against her cheek. She felt so small in your arms, and compared to her older brother, she was, weighing in at 2 pounds lighter.

“She was born after midnight?”

Joel nodded and the tears welled in your eyes. “She has my dad’s birthday.”

Joel kissed your head and then hers. You leaned into him. Staring down at your baby girl, you felt it in your souls. Your family was complete.

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

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