#did everyone used that method in the past | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ragingbookdragon · 3 months

Text

Price finds her in the equipment room doing a rather meticulous job of cleaning their weapons, but he also notices that the only set she currently has out, is none other than the side-arm and knives owned by their resident Lieutenant.

“Quite rare to see you here on a Friday night,” he says, taking a seat across from her, grabbing an oiled rag to start cleaning with. “Shouldn’t you be going out with Gaz and Soap for drinks?”

She pauses, looks up and then lowers her gaze back to the firing pin she’s cleaning. “Didn’t feel like going out tonight, Captain.”

“Didn’t feel like it or didn’t feel like seeing ‘you know who?’”

“You know?” She asks and he shrugs.

“It’s my job to know everything that happens within the one-four-one.”

“I thought that was Miss Kate’s job?”

Price smiles. “We share responsibility.” He methodically rubs the rag along the parts of the side-arm, his expression and voice becoming rather calm but she feels the air turn a little stern, if almost a fatherly stern. “You’ve been avoiding him.”

She makes a noise in her throat. “I can’t exactly talk to him. Look what happened last time.”

“He feels bad.”

“I’m sure he does,” she retorts, looking at him. “He really hurt my feelings. What am I supposed to do, tell him it’s okay? That we can move on like he didn’t tell me I’m clingy?” She stops, looks down at her hands. “I sound like a fucking child.”

Price hums. “You actually sound like a person who’s had their feelings hurt and you’re not sure how to proceed.” He dips the rag in a big more oil. “I know it doesn’t equate what he’s said to you, but allow me to fill in some blanks you might have on Simon.”

She cocks a brow. “Okay?”

“Simon was the oldest child of two. Abusive dad, terrified mom. Younger brother used to terrorize him too.” He goes back to cleaning the gun parts. “Nine-eleven had Simon enlisting, came back after a lull, kicked his dad out, got his brother sober and even found himself the proud uncle of a nephew named Joseph.”

“Where are they now?” She asks. “Simon’s from Birmingham, right?”

“He is,” he answers, but his face and voice are void of any hope. “But they’re not anymore.”

She blinks, feels the shift in temperature. “They…moved?” She hopes; he meets her gaze, and she knows instantly. “Oh…I…how did it…”

“I don’t want to divulge Simon’s past without his permission, because it’s also his own choice to tell you what happened, but I can tell you that Simon had a personal vendetta against the man and others who hurt his family. And he took care of it.” Price inhales and exhales. “In doing so…Simon sacrificed himself. He made himself—“

“A Ghost,” she finishes, and he nods.

“Simon, when it comes down to what he truly is beneath his cold stoicism, my dear, is simply a very tired and even more broken-hearted man who believes that if he keeps everything and everyone at a distance, then nothing can hurt him.” Price sets the weapon and rag down. “He likes to think he’s incapable of feeling but don’t let his demeanor or words fool you, Simon feels more deeply for the people he loves more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Something aches in her chest, rising up to close around her throat as she asks, “A man like him…he can still love?”

He smiles half-heartedly. “I’ve seen the man run back through a burning building to pull Gaz out. I’ve seen him run through gunfire, take a bullet to the thigh and keep going to carry Soap.” He nudges her under the table. “I’ve even seen him pull your ass out of even stickier situations. If we viewed Simon how he wanted us to view him, it’d be easy to call him a heartless bastard. But he isn’t as heartless as he wishes he was.”

“That just shows he’s doing his job as our superior officer,” she counters weakly. “He’s doing it because it’s his duty to get his subordinates out.”

“Does it ever just feel like that?”

“…no.”

Price gazes on her like a father to his daughter with her first heartbreak. “What do you feel right now, puffin?”

She purses her lips, looks down at the various weapons on the table before she admits, “I’m still hurt. His words keep replaying in my mind. I’m clingy and I’m always around.” She fiddles with the fraying hem of the rag. “That I’m a bother.”

“Would it make a difference if I told you that I don’t think such things?”

She shrugs.

Price blinks, reaches up and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You can be very excitable. Sometimes, I think you let it get the better of you and you often forget that others don’t always have the same personality as you.”

“Excitable is the polite way of saying annoying.”

“If I wanted to say you were annoying, I would’ve. You genuinely are a good and wholesome person, my dear. But you have to remember that everyone has a different level of extroversion. Sometimes, we have to tone it down a bit.” He meets her gaze and she knows his is full of honesty. “Simon doesn’t actually hate you. And he probably feels a tad bit of annoyance, but then again, he always does regardless of who it is, because Simon hates anything that makes noise. But I also know that he feels bad for what he did and said to you—and he wants to make it right.”

She takes in his words. “Do I need to engage him first? Extend some olive branch for peace?”

Price rises from the table and smiles, walks around and pats her shoulder. “Nah, let him come to you.”

“You really think he will?”

“I do. He knows what he’s gotta do and he’ll do it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. But he’ll be skittish. He’s like a newborn deer.” He winks. “Let him mull over how he wants to do it. As for you,” he points at her. “You’ve gotta move on from this. Learn from it. And stop ignoring him and avoiding him like you’re a ten year old. Be a grown-up. Act professional and be polite. I will not let this effect the team any longer than it is. Am I understood?”

She swallows thickly and nods. “Yes, sir, Captain Price. I promise.”

Price smiles and pats her again. “Go on. Soap and Gaz headed to Purecraft.”

“But the Lieutenant—”

“Is in the training room working out,” Price waves her off. “Go. Have some fun. Get some drinks, talk to Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

As she gets up, she pauses and looks at him. “Captain?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Price’s eyes crinkle around the edges. “You’re welcome, Puffin.”

1K notes · View notes

tia-222 · 4 months

Note

My void sucess story

HII TIA!!! I can barely contain my excitement as I type this but I got into the void and manifesting my dream life. You @gorgeouslypink and @charmedreincarnation are my absolutely favorite blogs, and I couldn’t have done it without y’all. I think charm and pink are on break so I’m gonna send this to you I hope that’s okay.

Quick backstory: I’ve been in this community since the OGs, angel, Cleo, maya etc. I’ve seen all the dumb drama, the liars, the successful people, the exposing, and etc. I’m just sharing this because people think having bad experiences can hinder you from getting your desires and I’m here to remind you nope that it can’t. Nothing can. I had a phase where I would ugly cry trying to make sure all the success stories are true….I became a cop and started looking for inconsistencies on pages and liars to help me feel better. Which it didnt, It drove me mad, and I lost faith.

Until… I read pink’s doubt post which was God sent. Her entire page is God sent tbh and I recommend it to everyone. After I felt better and realized outside of tumblr people have gotten into the void, I decided I’m gonna be the next success story. So I went on your lovely page because I don’t think there isn’t a method you haven’t talked about.

You’re so educated and conduct amazing research on everything, we truly don’t deserve you Tia. Thank you for all your hard work. Anyways I was feeling good! I had so many methods to choose from, I felt like a fat kid at a candy store. And I decided my logical brain needed a logical method so I went with lucid dreaming.

This is where charm comes in. I read her lucid dreaming guide and it is literally also God sent so thank you so much for that. She had a method I had never heard of called SSILD, and even made a post about that as well… like I felt like the universe was handing me everything on a silver platter. And I saw another post that her and pink talked about using a reclining chair. So I combined SSILD with that method to make an ultimate one. And on the second day of trying I entered a lucid dream, asked a dream character to take me to the void and then manifested my dream life.

What I manifested: my dream house, dream family, dream body and face, dream amount of money, money always coming to my family and I’s bank account out of nowhere (but it’s natural and normal ) socialite Status, 25k insta followers (my lucky number) famous loyal dream athletics boyfriend (I was so scared this wouldn’t work but it did!), master manifesting abilities, dream college acceptance, (future) good self concept, a great fashion taste, never gaining weight, clear glass skin, revising my abusive past, and so much more. My list was like a whole ass essay, I obviously can’t list everything but my life is perfect now.

This was last week and I immediately booked a trip to LA with my family to look at the USC campus because that’s where I want to go and where I will go next fall, (I’m a senior). I was also looking at apartments around my school and I found my dream one so I’m manifesting no one leases it 🤭

Quick note: a lot of my desires were weird or I wanted them to manifest a specific way, or they weren’t realistic to happen immediately so I was afraid it wouldn’t work out the way I envisioned. Not only did everything work out the way I envisioned but it worked out even better and exactly how I would want them to apply to life but in a realistic way. So if that’s something you worry about don’t worry, you are God, and it will work out perfectly.

Anyways, I just wanted to share this because I failed for a while and everyone on this app was so supportive. Tumblr is genuinely like a little magical family so now everyone will see my succeed… though this on anon mode bc people have been attacking success stories lately. And honestly it doesn’t matter bc I just want to live my new spoiled life but I want to express my gratitude because my life was in shambles and you three helped me so much. So thank you again and I hope everyone who read this. No, I know everyone who reads this will get what they deserve.

HII LOVE!! WOW CONGRATULATIONS (⑅˶ᵔ ▿ ᵔ˶) ~♡

I'm very excited for you!!! And yes, void Tumblr has definitely changed rn and I feel there's many blogs on here that's good and no more liars. I'm so glad you gained faith back in the community and now you're living your dream life, love.

Aww pink and charm have the best posts on the void too <3.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Gorgeouslypink doubts post

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Charms lucid dreaming guide, SSILD method

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Gorgeouslypink recliner method

I LOVE YOUR MANIFESTATIONS AND EVERYTHING SOUNDS SO FUN OMGG!! LLYSM <33

1K notes · View notes

wrioluvr · 4 months

Text

christmas with your sub yandere boyfriend ❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

short drabble for today's occasion! merry christmas and happy holidays, everyone! ♡ gn reader, suggestive content

stumbling back to your apartment in an exhausted state, you can't help but lament the fact that you had to work so late on christmas eve, of all days. every hour that passed, came another distressed text from your boyfriend, desperately asking when you'd be back home. when he video called you during your break, he was so excited to spend your first christmas together, he was practically bouncing all over the place. given that he'd been trying to win your affections in any way possible over the past year (especially using his favourite method of clinging to your thighs and begging while sobbing), this was quite possibly the second best day of his life. the first being the day you accepted him as your boyfriend, of course. opening the door, his usual overly enthusiastic greeting, wearing nothing but an apron lovingly stitched with "[name's]" was replaced by an unusual silence. the room was lit by the soft, romantic glow of candles only he'd take the time to carefully set down, but yet he was nowhere to be found. looking at the clock, you realised that it's already past midnight, which meant that it was christmas already. he probably just got tired waiting and went to sleep. seeming to read your mind, your train of thought was interrupted by a bashful, familiar voice coming from the christmas tree the two of you had put up together a few days ago. you look over, and there he was in all his glory. he was naked, the only thing adorning his skin being the pretty red ribbon he'd tied himself up with like a gift, rendering him helpless to your every desire. "hey.... i'm here." he says shyly, looking up at you as you crouched at the base of the tree to meet his eyes. "what in santa's name are you doing?" you sighed, reaching over to loosen his binds. "w-wait! i did this for you... i'm your present! you can do whatever you want with me." his lust-filled eyes shimmer as he fantasises about you having you way with him, while his arms and legs are tied, unable to resist. "merry christmas, darling." he whispers, imploring you to do something to him, anything. this was going to be a long night, wasn't it...? ❆

#sub yandere #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #gn reader #male yandere #yandere x male reader #christmas smut

2K notes · View notes

colleendoran · 1 year

Text

How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

#snow glass apples #chivalry #neil gaiman #drawing

3K notes · View notes

the-final-sif · 2 years

Text

Hello everyone!

I've said it several times, but I wanted to take a moment to illustrate exactly why screenshots are absolutely worthless as evidence of anything on the internet. Some friends volunteered to help me out!

Go look at the two screenshots I provided, can you tell which one is the original? Take your best guess after studying both, and keep that guess in the back of your mind.

You can sometimes spot fake screenshots if the image itself has been edited, but if if a person is clever about how they go about it, it's impossible to tell real screenshots from fake ones. Discord is one of the easiest sites to create perfect fakes on, as you can see above. Creating the fake screenshot took me about a minute and 30 seconds. I opened discord's web app, then used the console to change the text people wrote. I then took screenshots of both the original and my edit. I could even create a video scrolling past the fake messages with new ones coming in if I felt like it. Doing this in the desktop application is a bit harder, but still no longer than a 20 minute project.

This is what I mean when I say screenshots are meaningless as evidence. They are trivially easy to fake, and mean nothing unless they are coming from a trusted source with other methods of verification. You can do this with any social media site, any dms, etc. Do not trust a screenshot to mean anything on it's own, because at this point it's literally as reliable as saying "dude, trust me."

And if you're thinking: no, no, I've clearly spotted a difference and know exactly which screenshot is the fake?

Well, alright, which one is the real one? Which one did you pick?

No matter which one you picked, it's wrong. Because neither of those screenshots are real. I lied to you. Here's the actual original:

That's how easy it is to trick people with fake screenshots.

#sif speaks #internet safety #psa #internet culture #fandom culture #I just thought a visual example would be helpful to get this point across #you cannot trust screenshots for anything

14K notes · View notes

auraworkshop · 1 month

Note

I ENTERED THE VOID

Through a lucid dream 🎀 !!

HOLY MOLY...shit ??

Okay so, I would like to start off by saying a big THANKYOU to Aura :)

Aura? Do you have any idea how powerful your lucid dreaming sub is ?? 😭 You sub literally gave me the vividest ( idk if that's a word or not lmao ) lucid dream I ever had.

I slept with your sub playing in the background when I woke up, o relized I was in a dream, A LUCID DREAM?!? 😭 It was surreal. It was so freaking vivid like it was more real than the real world 💀 In the past I have tried countless methods like WILD, WBTB, MILD etc. and never had such vivid dream that your sub gave me.. I'm literally being honest here 😭<3

Okay so after that, Without wasting a literal second I fell down so that I would end up in the void, but unfortunately it didn't work idk why, maybe I did it wrong or something but then I asked a stranger in my dream to take me to the void. They literally pushed me so hard and I fell into a dark place, YEAHhhhHh IT WAS THE VOID.

It truly felt like heaven !

Gonna mention few things that I affirmed for :

- IMMORTALITY

- GOOD HEALTH AND PHYSICAL PRESENTATION

- GOOD IMMUNE SYSTEM AND NATURAL DEFENSES

- NO DISEASE FOR LIFETIME

- POSITIVE ATTITUDE AND MOOD DESPITE THE CHALLENGES

- ENERGY, JOY AND VIBRANCY

- FEELING OF INVINCIBILITY AND PEACE OF MIND

- DESIRED PHONE, JOB, HOME, FRIENDS, DF, DB, WARDROBE, WHOLE APPERANCE

- TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE

- RELATIONSHIP

- MONEY

- PRINCESS TREATMENT

- LIL CLUMSY

- FEW CUTE HABITS

- ALL THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD

- EVERYONE'S CRUSH

- CHANGED BIRTHDAY, NAME, AGE

A piece of motivation for y'all :

It's not over until you win and yes, you could fail but you are not giving up GOT that? You will succeed and that's it PERIOD

And lastly "BE STRONGER THAN YOUR EXCUSES"

Just gonna deactivate now, and live my life. 🎀

SUCCESS STORY ♡

I am so very happy and proud of you. And yes, I designed the sub to be as powerful as possible, although I did tone it down a little bit because I was actually afraid I may make it too powerful in a way.

Your experience sounds incredible and I'm happy to know that I was a part of your journey.

I love your list !! ENJOY YOUR LIFE with those manifestations of yours <3

And I loving the energy, motivation and positivity from this message, I believe the last part of your ask will motivate a lot of people.

I also want you all to know that just be sure to always continue and never give up. Remember that your power is far greater than any circumstance or challenge you may be facing. You are a winner, a victor, and you are living your ideal life no matter what. You are always living the life you wish for, the question you have left to answer is whether or not you are aware of that fact. You can and will do it, there is no other possibility ! 🤍

Here's the LUCID DREAMING SUB they used

#void #void state #void success #void state success story

573 notes · View notes

modawg · 24 days

Text

it’s so sad to me that nico like never learned how much percy tried to help him yk

like percy literally rounded up his closest friends after being the only one to find out nico was the son of hades and decided to at least try to give nico a chance to live his life when the kid literally just tried to kill him, his sister just died, and through everything percy knows hates his guts - like he took all that info and decided to make a suicide pack with his closest friends in order to protect nico when giving nico the prophecy would’ve been the most logical and honestly understandable thing to do

like genuinely do ppl realise how EASY it would’ve been to just give the prophecy to nico his ONLY living relative (other than hades) just DIED they could’ve been like “listen you take this prophecy give it 6 years you’ll be dead with your sister and literally everyone else you know and you’ll be a hero for it” instead even though percy has an entire life, people who love and care for him, and a future wife infront of him he takes it upon himself to DIE in 3-4 years how fucking BONKERS is that

he also almost abandons a WHOLE OTHER QUEST putting himself and annabeth in danger just bc dumbass nico is out doing god knows what in the labyrinth and ends up getting caught (he was doing smth i’m being dramatic but still)

could you imagine being percy your going to war (and from your perspective you’re going to die in the next week or so after methodically doing everything in your power to keep this other random kid who you think hates you from suffering that fate) that kid comes up to you with a plan so you trust him just do be stabbed in the back bc that kids father wants him to be the prophecy child even tho you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to die for the past like 3 years?? id jump that kid too if he randomly came into my deep dark prison cell trying to break me out and then shun him after all that

like i read the way nico talks abt percy and he just seems bitter all the time he’s like “psh percy and his fake friendship what a dweeb can’t believe i had a crush on THAT guy🙄” like you’d be dead if it wasn’t for his friendship gay boy

i want like 5 years into the future annabeth is sitting with nico one day and is like “lol yeah i remember that one time percy made us all pinky promise to keep you safe and we all thought he was dumb bc you hated him sm but he really just wanted you to have a good life and now look at you!! :)” and nico to slow turn to her “…what”

like to this day i get that nico was mad at percy for not protecting bianca and bc of his internalized homophobia or whatever but why not hate on the actual people who sent her on that quest rather than a random kid you just met who said he’d try WHICH HE ACTUALLY DID DO and not idk literally any adult figure who sent her into the fire to begin with

i just want nico to realise that percy is simply just a boy who literally wanted nothing to do with any of this and was trying his best to free nico of that same burden sigh (;_;)

like those two are the fattest example of a miscommunication held together by misunderstood betrayal

disclaimer this is obv dramatic and the prophecy definitely doesn’t work like that but like think abt it ok

#hoo #pjo #heros of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #hoo fandom #pjo fandom #hoo text post #pjo text post #nico di angelo

396 notes · View notes

nightmarist · 6 months

Text

Some Zevlor Things —

EDIT 12/2/23: Added a few more things

A fellow Tiefling Hellrider, Tilses, is with him in the caves acting as his bodyguard. He sometimes calls her Tilly.

There is one bedroll in the caves shoved off in the far corner with a book titled "The Devil You Know: An Autobiography" - not sure if it's his personal writing or if he's reading it, either way it adds to the flavor of his of his tiefling pride (and/or anguish).

It reads:

Have you ever had a god change your blood? It is a horrifying thing, even for those who may desire it. Yet few tieflings wished for Asmodeus to claim their bodies, only be given no choice in the matter. It is not as if we were well-loved before the archdevil's gambit. Our people have always struggled against the notion of 'devilkin', as if a single drop of infernal ichor inescapably corrupts. How amusing, when so many others willingly sell their souls to fiends, yet their culture as a whole escapes the blame. By what method can we redeem ourselves, when the crime is not ours? I would drive a blade into every warlock that aided Asmodeus' damned ritual, but personal vengeance cannot undo the will of a god, much less one as slippery as the Lord of Lies. When every passerby thinks you a thief and heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one. (cut off) The only thing that has stopped me is knowing Asmodeus wants nothing more than for all of us to fall from grace.

Around the his table are Invasion Plans for Elturgard, Traveler's Guide to Baldur's Gate, Traveler's Guide to the Sword Coast Vol IV: The Risen Road (which aligns when he tells you earlier there are gnolls on the road), and "Front and Center: a Thespian's Memoir" that reads:

"... in fact, the greatest joy of my life hasn't been acting, but becoming. When you choose a character to play, you don't just wear a mask - you take a little bit of their soul for your own. Whoever you are in your heart of hearts, if only by the faintest note."

Zevlor aside I think this is a sweet quote for the player and player character relationship <3

Dialogue in the Caves:

Zevlor: I Hardly need a bodyguard, Tilses. This isn't Avernus. Tilses: No sir. At least the monsters there looked like monsters.

—

Tilses: Commander— Zevlor: Just Zevlor, Tilly. We're civilians now, remember? Tilses: With respect, sir — being a Hellrider is for life. They can't take — Zevlor: They can, and did. Avernus changed things — best we get used to that. Tilses: ... Yes, Zevlor

—

Tilses: The Watch or the Flaming Fist? Zevlor: Pardon? Tilses: When we get to Baldur's Gate. Where are we enlisting? Zevlor: I'm done soldiering, Tilly. I'd like a clean start. But go with the Watch. You're too honest to be a mercenary.

—

Zevlor: No word from the scouts, yet? Tilses: No sir. But if there's a clear path past the goblins, they'll find it. Zevlor: Yes, of course.

ITEMS —

in the Chest there is a bronze goblet, 46 gold, and a battle-worn blade. On his person he has his gloves (Hellrider's Pride), an apple, a camp supply pack, and the key to his chest.

The blade says:

A fine by well-used sword. It seemed to have once belonged to a holy order, but the indication of rank and patron deity at the hilt have recently been filed down.

The gloves' flavor text says:

A waft of sulphur emanates from this proudly-kept piece.

Celebration at the Camp:

"I should be out there, talking with them. In... Just a moment, maybe." "Is this everyone? Our numbers have grown so few..." "No more. I can't afford to lose any more of them." "No. Let them have fun. I'll be ruining it come morning anyway."

Mindfayer Colony:

Things he mumbles in the Pod:

The pod will show you his memories of Elturel:

After saving Zevlor, I forced myself to pick the "mean" options just to see how it goes.

If you tell him its his fault tieflings were imprisoned in moonrise, he says:

If you tell him "Do yo have a right to ask?" when he asks about the tieflings:

He doesn't argue with any of your remarks except one, when he says "For a moment I welcomed it" and you tell him "For a moment until you realized your reward would be a tadpole" he corrects you:

If you tell him if he wanted power he should live up to his own ideal:

If you tell him to get out of your sight:

When you tell him it's not his fault he was enthralled:

If you tell him "Fine. Good luck, Zevlor."

If you say you could use another blade in the fight to come:

At the Netherbrain:

(smiling <3)

"The journey has been brutal, but I stand here a Hellrider once more, and I would die a proud man if I died this day."

I know it's a Soldier thing to be proud to die for a cause but it still makes me worry for him given his background so far <:]

If you click on him, he has two unvoiced lines:

if you pickpocket him at this point, he'll have the same items on him as before (in this save he has a carrot instead of an apple for me).

His stats at this time: (Steeped in Bliss is from one of my items)

Post Game (Patch 5)

I don't know if there are other permutations of this letter, yet, but this is what I received:

I hope my penmanship has improved somewhat in the past months. When I first stumbled into this city, I shook so badly that I could scarcely hold the soup the priests pressed into my hands - let alone write and thank you as you deserve. It is only when the city itself began to shake that I felt my hands grow still. Along with the other veterans sheltering at the temple - discards of Elturel's 'unworthy' legions - I watched that monstrosity rise over the city. We felt no fear. Only anger. Disgust. Purpose - and with it, power. I do not know what oath we cling to now, or how long it will last - but we shall use it to ensure that this city will not suffer as Elturel did. Whether it wants us or not. It is more than thanks alone I owe. No words can make amends for what I did to my people, but that is as it should be. More come to the temple every day to aid in the relief efforts, and if I am permitted to work alongside them, then I am content. Come and see us, when you can. Zevlor

It's interesting — if not bitterswet, tragic, and inspiring — to hear that Zevlor and other Paladins regained their Oaths via pure, stubborn devotion to saving people when it began to look as bad as Elturel.

#zevlor #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #act 1 spoilers #act 2 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #this man reeks of self loathing i want to bathe him in love and comfort #i also want him carnally #act 3 spoilers #bg3 meta

824 notes · View notes

all-purpose-dish-soap · 19 days

Text

thinkin about ex-husband keegan p russ.

thinkin about how there's no way he doesn't show up at your front door within hours of the first ODIN attacks.

keegan fucking russ standing at your door at three in the morning without so much as a cursory greeting. makes you pack a suitcase with whatever bare essentials you can't live without. there's a lot of arguing involved but not a lot of conversation, as usual. you talk, sure, and he listens, nods, and then looks at his watch and says you need to move your ass or he's gonna move it for you.

next thing you know, you're in his passenger seat and he's driving you to his military base six hours away.

he doesn't bother to explain anything, but he does bother to ask you what happened to that fiance of yours.

you give him a heated look, one that says you're ready to square up. defensive, aren't you. that tells him what he wants to know and he scoffs, adjusting his one-handed grip on the steering wheel. good riddance.

you're one of the few civilians on base. you try to be civil with keegan, but falling into old habits is too fucking easy. you and keegan married young--it was a boot camp wedding for the benefits--and the marriage itself wasn't good. well--parts of it, certain parts, were good. really good.

none of it was healthy, mind you. just this cycle of arguing all day and then settling the argument in bed all night. sometimes well into the next day. you couldn't go twelve hours without picking a fight, and he couldn't let it go. not without putting you on your back and railing you until you forgot whatever the hell you were mad about.

something about keegan just makes you aggressive. just makes you want to bare your teeth and go for his throat. something about how impassive he is, how hard he is to rattle, makes you want to push him until he reacts.

you're in the perfect situation to piss him off on base by sleeping with some other dude.

or at least that's what you think.

keegan makes sure the other soldiers know you are one hundred percent off-limits. keegan's ex-wife? yeah, none of the other soldiers are gonna touch that with a ten-foot pole.

one or two joke around about how dumb he was to let a bombshell like you divorce his ass, but keegan shuts it down real fucking quick.

then he starts showing up at your door just to give you the chance to pick a stupid fight.

he finds himself pushing you farther and farther, finds himself craving that satisfaction he gets when you turn that heated look of pure loathing on him. he wants you to throw your barbs his way. not just the lighthearted teasing you toss out to his teammates--he wants you to lash out at him. give him everything you've got. make it hurt.

if you're glaring at him, belittling him, insulting him, you're not out there flirting with someone else. your attention is his.

he always seems to show up at your door when you're moody and listless. pent up with tension. your method of dealing with it involves this, mm, push and pull he enjoys. sometimes his squadmates send him to your door when they catch attitude from you.

"heard you got on everyone's nerves today," he tells you. "you gonna be a handful?"

you swing the door closed, wanting it to slam in his face, but you find it bangs into his boot instead. he bullies him way inside easily and shuts the door behind him.you skip past asking him what he wants and instead tell him to fuck off. straight to business. he's always liked that about you.

"keep talkin' like that and i'll really start enjoying myself," he tells you.

you retreat just to grab your cigarettes and light one up. he swipes your lighter faster than you can snatch it away.

you quit smoking after the two of you broke up. so did he. and here you both are.

"just came to check on you," he tells you. you both know that's a lie. you both know why he's here, and you both know why you aren't trying any harder to send him away. "you could use some friendly company."

you tell him in no uncertain terms that he's not friendly company.

he flips open a carton of cigarettes--your carton, you realize with a start. you didn't see him take it. he pulls out a cigarette and lights it up, but pockets the carton, a wry little smirk on his face.

"don't act like you hated it last night."

you snatch the cigarette out of his mouth and tell him he'd better not say a goddamn word about last night.

"sure, baby," he tells you, he watches your lips intently as you take a drag of his cigarette. "you know I can keep a secret."

...

this is on you @keegansshark

more Keegan / masterlist tag

#ex husband keegan #mine #cod #cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod ghosts #keegan #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ x you #snippet #keegansshark

323 notes · View notes

strang3lov3 · 10 months

Text

A Learning Process

Extra Soft!Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Your whole life, everyone told you motherhood would come easy. So far, it has not. You struggle to connect with your baby boy, Francis. You struggle to console him, to breastfeed him, everything. Joel has pretty much taken care of your son by himself in the two months since you gave birth. Today is your first day alone with your baby boy, and it ends in disaster. Does Joel also think you’re a failure of a mother? Takes place in Jackson, sometime after TLOU

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: emotional, emotional breakdown, talks of giving birth, breastfeeding, dirty diapers, taking a bath with Joel, pet names, vulnerable reader, postpartum depression and anxiety, undefined loving relationship with Joel

A/N: Just thought of this story, thought you could all use some sweet soft Joel :)

Edit: forgot to add this is loosely based on this request from @guiltgoreglory !!!

If you like this story, please leave me a comment or reblog telling me what you think!!🩷🩷

Masterlist

It’s a quiet December morning, the sunlight is just beginning to dance and sparkle on the snow outside. You’re in an old rocking chair Maria gifted you, holding your baby boy close to your chest. He’s quiet for once, usually he’s fussy when you hold him. You’re morose, wondering if it was the right choice to bring him into this world, with you as his mother.

His name is Francis. You gave birth to him two months ago in October.

It was a chilly April day when you realized you were late, not having a period since January. In a panic, you called Joel into your shared bedroom.

Those two words hit him like a ton of bricks. “I’m late,” you whispered, eyes full of worry and tears. Your words were bitter, tasting like the bile on your tongue.

“You’re what?”

“I think I’m pregnant, Joel,”

Joel sat down on the bed with you, his head spinning. He was quiet, too quiet. But not angry like you feared he would be.

Jackson was a great place to raise a child, but Jackson was still a town on Earth, which for the past twenty-odd years, has been overtaken by a brain-controlling fungus. There was no guarantee that having a baby in Jackson would be 100% risk free.

“But we’ll take care of it. I want you to come to the doctor with me tomorrow,” you started. “And we’ll deal with–”

“No,” Joel interrupted. He looked at you with his big brown eyes, so sad and worrisome. “I can’t let you do that. Not safe.”

Abortion is what he was referring to. It’s not that Joel felt abortion was wrong in any sense, he was the last person on Earth who had any right to discuss right and wrong. Abortion was risky, even in the safety of Jackson. And he couldn’t risk letting you get hurt, or worse. He was right, and you knew it. You didn’t need any convincing. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I don’t know that I’m ready to be a mom, Joel,” you breathed shakily. “I can’t do this.”

He held your hand in his own, so big and calloused from years of backbreaking work. “I’ll be with you every step of the way,” he whispered. “You didn’t get into this all by yourself.”

It was true. Joel was the one who did this to you, anyway. He was your person, or whatever you could call him. Not really your lover, not officially at least. He was just your guy, your companion in everything. And you slept together. It just was a one time, two time, okay maybe all the time kind of thing.

Contraception wasn’t easy to come by. If you were lucky enough to come by some condoms, they were most definitely expired and probably useless. You’d be better off with the pull out method, which was never that great of a birth control method.

You and Joel would often forgo pulling out, getting too caught up in the heat of the moment. You loved each others’ bodies passionately. And well, your bodies did what human bodies tend to do. They created a baby.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Since giving birth to Francis in October, Joel had taken on the role of sole caretaker to your baby boy. It’s not what you had planned, exactly. It’s kind of just how it happened.

Joel did his best to teach you how to swaddle Francis, but you could never quite get it right. He’d flail his limbs too much and you couldn’t wrap him quick enough. Joel also tried to help you learn to breastfeed, but Francis would never latch to your nipple.

You and Francis didn’t quite connect, the way most new moms do with their babies. You’d seen women around Jackson with their babies, smiling and singing to them. Their babies looked so happy, so at peace with their mamas.

And it made you feel so isolated. You could never console him, never. It seemed like he only ever cried in your arms. You and Francis were like oil and water. Sometimes you wondered if you were even his mother. He wanted just about nothing to do with you, and everything to do with Joel.

Even the pregnancy was difficult. There was no glow to your body, like everyone told you there would be. You felt ugly and swollen, and you were in constant pain. Francis’ favorite activity in utero was to do somersaults, over and over and over, which meant you’d puke your brains out, over and over and over. Joel was patient with you, of course. You were growing his child. Didn’t press you for sex or make you do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He’d just hold your hair back and promise you that everything would be alright, it wouldn’t be like this forever.

Joel, on the other hand, had no problem connecting with his baby boy. Francis and Joel were thick as thieves. Francis was silent in his arms, save for the cute little coos he’d let out while sleeping. Francis didn’t cry when Joel changed his diapers like he did with you. Francis let Joel bottle feed him, but refused to let you.

It broke your heart.

And it broke Joel’s too.

To add insult to injury, your relationship with Joel was dwindling. He was there for you, just distant. And you were distant too. You knew it could happen, lots of couples lose sight of one another after a baby. You just didn’t expect it to feel so lonesome and severe.

You didn’t play games with Ellie like you used to. Didn’t cook together. Didn’t touch each other. Didn’t even go to bed at the same time, because Joel was always with Francis. You’d go to sleep before Joel, silently weeping at all of your shortcomings as a mother and partner, or whatever you were.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You’ll be alright today,” Joel says sweetly as he dresses himself. He speaks to you in a soft and gentle tone, soothing you.

“I’m just nervous,” you admit, still rocking Francis. He looks just like Joel. He’s got big brown eyes, just like his daddy. He’s even got the same dimple as Joel on his right cheek.

“I know you are,” he says, pulling on and tying his boots. He’s nervous too, if he’s being honest with himself. He knows motherhood has not been easy on you. It’s not that he thinks you can’t handle yourself and Francis, he just knows you’re high strung and anxious. “It’s just a couple hours. Tommy put me on the short shift today.” Everyone contributed to patrol in Jackson, and today is Joel’s first day back since the birth of Francis.

You smile weakly, but wear a brave face. He’s right, it’s just a couple hours. It’ll be fine. Joel kisses your cheek, then bends down to kiss Francis’s soft head. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises.

And then he’s gone.

The silence is unnatural, almost eerie. You feel your anxiety in your fingertips as you mindlessly twiddle your fingers against Francis’ back. The sun is brighter now, and it’s time to get the day started.

Here goes nothing.

“Alright, baby. What do you think, eggs and toast for breakfast?” you whisper to Francis.

Francis just looks at you and coos with his amber eyes, his mouth suckling on his pacifier. He looks so much like his daddy.

“Sounds yummy to me too,” you reply to his lack of an answer. As you shift in your seat and maneuver Francis so that his head is tucked by your neck and you’re supporting his bum, he begins to whine a little. “It’s okay, my angel. It’s okay. Mama’s got you. We’re gonna have a good day today, baby.”

You bounce him a little, soothing him. He quiets down. You make your way to the staircase, your sweet boy wrapped in your arms.

The stairs are…daunting. They’re steep, rickety, and old. They’re hard wood, but you were smart and took your socks off to eliminate any possibility of slipping. But still, it’s scary. For a second, you consider sitting and moving down the steps the way a toddler would. But you wave that idea off. Don’t be ridiculous.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You take a step. And then another. Slowly, ever so slowly. Another now. One more.

You don’t know how it happened. You’re suddenly at the bottom of the stairs, your foot twisted and underneath your body, pinned to the hard stairs. Francis is screaming in your ear, still pressed to your chest.

You move your foot out from under you with a wince and before even checking to see if it’s broken, and hold Francis in front of you.

He’s screaming, wailing. His face is fire engine red as he cries. You quickly examine his little body to check for any scrapes or bruises or cuts. Luckily, there are none.

You do your best to soothe the little boy. “It’s okay, angel. It’s okay. Mama’s got you,” You tell him over and over that it’s okay, but you don’t know that for sure. Did he hit his head? Did you shake him?

Francis is inconsolable. You look around you for anything to grab to keep him calm, luckily his pacifier is in reach. You place it in his mouth, he spits it out. You do it again. Nothing.

You’ve got this. Just breathe.

“Okay, okay. No paci. That’s fine, baby,”

Francis’ cries never let up. He’ll tire himself out eventually. Right?

With Francis still shrieking in your ear, you check your foot. It’s black and blue, already swelling. You try to sit up a bit, put some pressure on it. The pain shoots through your entire body. You don’t know if it’s twisted, sprained, or broken.

What you do know is that you’re stuck. You’re alone, with no way to call for help. No way to move from the steps. Joel’s short shift might as well be infinite now.

A few minutes pass as you just focus on your breathing.

Breathe, is what Joel told you when you found out you were pregnant. You panicked and hyperventilated as he wrapped his strong arms around you, bringing you back down to Earth.

Breathe, is what Joel told you when you spent hours vomiting into the toilet, Frankie never letting up on his somersaults. He held your hair back, rubbed circles into the tense flesh of your shoulders.

When you were in your long and arduous labor, screaming in agony and gripping his hand. Breathe.

Breathe. When you couldn’t soothe your son, and you broke down in tears of frustration. Joel took Francis from you and walked into another room to give you a break from his cries.

You just breathe.

Finally, the ear piercing shrieks flying from Francis’ mouth subside after a while. You don’t know how long exactly, maybe an hour. He’s still crying, but it’s a different tone. He’s hungry.

Might as well give it a shot. You can do this.

You lift up your shirt, adjusting Francis so he’s flush with your body. You guide his mouth to one of your breasts, encouraging him to wrap his lips around your nipple.

You can tell he’s trying, just can’t quite figure out how to latch. You do your best to help him, maneuvering his little body and your breast to ease his struggle.

“Come on, Francis. You’ve got this, buddy,” you coo. He seems to be relaxed a little by your voice. He almost latches, but not quite. “It’s just you and me, sweetheart.”

Maybe he’s uncomfortable on this side. You flip him over and offer your other breast. He can’t quite latch there either.

He’s whining, crying. He’s frustrated, you’re frustrated. He’s hungry, you’re hungry.

“Please, please, please,” you beg him softly. “You can do this, baby. Just eat for mama.”

He still won't latch, but you don’t stop trying. Not for hours.

Francis’ hunger pangs have seemed to peter out, now. He’s asleep in your arms, most likely tired himself out from crying so much. You worry if he’ll lose his voice by the end of today.

Your ass is sore, so is your back and your foot. But you savor the peace and quiet despite the pain in your body.

You wonder how many hours it's been. You try to tell by the way the shadows on the floor change with the sun, but you can’t make out much. Maybe the shadows have moved, maybe not. You can’t tell. Time doesn’t even feel real at this point. Today is agonizingly long.

You rest your head against the banister, closing your eyes. Joel told you once to take advantage of your sleeping son.

“Get some sleep,” Joel mumbled to you. It was maybe a week after giving birth to Francis and you were peering into his crib with heavy eyelids, afraid that if you slept he’d disappear. “He’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just,” you struggled to form a sentence. You wanted to make sure your baby boy was alright. You hated leaving him.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel repeated, his gruff voice firm yet sympathetic. “Go to bed.”

Joel helped you up, your body still so tender after Francis’ delivery. You winced at the ache in your muscles. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispered to you.

You were in a trance, being led to your bed by Joel. It was like your feet weren’t even moving, just floating along and walking on nothing. Joel helped you in bed, adjusted the pillows under your head and pulled a blanket up over your shoulders.

He stepped away from the bed and made his way to the door, turning to give you one last look. Your gaze was still fixed on Francis, unwavering.

Joel sighed and walked back to the bed, this time his side. The bed creaked with each of his movements. He flipped you over gently so you couldn’t stare at Francis any longer, your head on his chest.

“Joel,” you protested. “Our baby.”

“Francis is fine,” he mumbled. “You need to sleep. I’ll watch him. Okay, mama? Mom sleeps when baby sleeps. That’s the rule.”

“I can’t sleep, though. I have to watch him,” Your anxiety wouldn’t leave. Joel felt you fight and struggle against watching Francis. You were so restless.

“Don’t sleep then,” Joel said. “Just rest your eyes. Can you do that for me?”

“Just rest my eyes?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just give them a break,”

You groaned. “Fine,” you grumbled. You’d give them a five minute break and go back to watching Francis. “Just for a little bit. And then I’m gonna watch him.”

“Alright, honey. You do that. Hush, now. Relax,” Joel commanded you ever so sweetly. “Just close your eyes, mama.”

You did as he said, and he brought his hand to your head, dragging his fingertips through your scalp. His fingers trailed to your neck, then your back. You melted into him, turning into a puddle in his arms.

Within minutes, you were asleep, snoring quietly.

Joel knew how to read people, the right words to say to sway them in the direction he wanted them to go. You were no different than anyone else. Now, he wasn't proud of manipulating you into slumber, but he felt it was justified given the circumstances.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You wake up to a putrid smell, your ass basically numb underneath you.

“No, no,” you groan. You adjust Francis, and he begins screaming when you peek into his diaper. The kid does not like being woken up. “Fuck.” you cry.

It’s a bad one, the mess in his diaper. Francis wails in your ear as you assess the situation. You can’t just leave him in his mess.

You sigh, taking off your shirt. You set it down next to you on the staircase.

Francis screams louder when you take off his diaper and set it on the ground. He hates being changed. “I know, bud. This sucks for me too,” you sympathize with him. Then, using your shirt, you wipe him clean as best as you can. It’s not perfect, but it will have to do.

“Please, don’t cry. Don’t cry, baby. It’s okay,”

Francis is relentless. He doesn’t let up. You just hold him, his excrement is on your skin and clothes. You’re gagging as your eyes begin to water.

Your ears are ringing and sore from all the noise. Your back is aching worse than it ever has, worse than when you backpacked across the country with Joel and Ellie. Your arms are full of pins and needles and going numb, you’re afraid you may drop Francis. Your foot is throbbing angrily.

And then the floodgates fly open. Your tears are spilling, hot and fast. You’re gasping for air, hyperventilating. Francis is shaking with each jolt of your lungs and you try to still yourself, but you’re powerless against your body.

You sob loudly, almost as loud as Francis. You can’t remember the last time you cried this way. All of your frustration, pain, loneliness, leaving your body and washing over it again in heaving sobs and cries.

“I’m sorry,” you cry to Francis. “I’m so sorry.” Your voice is thick and wet.

You try your best to breathe, just like Joel told you. But you can’t. You’re gasping uncontrollably and your nose is full of mucous, blocking you from inhaling and exhaling.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, holding Francis and rocking him. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’m so sorry, Francis.”

You repeat it like a mantra. You apologize to your little boy over and over and over again, for hours.

“I’m so sorry, Francis. You deserve better, sweet baby,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“I was thinking we’d do soup for lunch. Nice and warm, what do you think?” Joel’s voice is faint and muffled through the front door. You perk up slightly at the sound of him and Ellie, but you’re too drained to do anything more.

“Soup sounds good. But I’ll make it. You burnt it last time,” Ellie giggles. Her bubbly voice is music to your tired ears.

“Did not,” Joel says with disdain for Ellies recollection of events. “How do you even burn soup?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re the one who burned it,”

Ellie and Joel giggle as they make their way through the house, then both of their smiles drop at the sight in front of them.

You’re half naked, covered in feces and your face is puffy with tears. Your foot is black and blue and ugly as you sit and cry, with Francis naked and messy in your arms.

Joel says nothing, just grabs Francis from your arms and checks him. Then he moves to you, checking your body and your face.

“Oh my god,” is all he can get out. “Oh my god.”

You just cry.

“What the fuck happened?”

Your eyes meet Joel’s, then Ellie’s. They’re both so concerned.

So you explain how you fell down the stairs, right after Joel left. You don’t know how it happened. You explain how neither you nor Francis have eaten. “We’ve been here for hours,” you get out between sobs.

“Oh my god,”

Joel’s eyes are glassy, his voice is shaky. He passes Francis to Ellie. “Need your help,” he says to Ellie. “Clean him up. Please.”

She nods, holding out her arms to take Francis. “I’ve got him,” she whispers, before taking him into the kitchen.

Joel helps you up, you yelp at the pain. Your foot aches, so do the rest of your bones. “I know. I know,” Joel mumbles. His heart is broken into a million pieces, he’s in disbelief that this even happened to you.

He helps you into his arms, cradling you as he walks you both up the stairs. You hold onto him tightly, the smell of his clothes and his sweat bring you so much comfort and relief. Your person is here, and he’s gonna make it all better.

Joel takes you into the bathroom and removes the rest of your clothes, leaving them on the floor. You sit on the toilet seat as he removes his clothing. You feel like such a failure of a mother.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, now,” he says softly.

“I can’t shower, Joel. My foot,” you cry.

“I know, honey’. I’ve got you,” his voice is so quiet, so gentle. “Just for a minute. Just let me rinse you, that’s all.”

Joel lifts you up slowly, being extra conscious of your foot, then lifts you into the tub. He pulls the leg of your injured foot over his hip and wraps one of his strong arms around your waist as he uses the other to turn on the warm water.

He removes the showerhead and rinses your body, watching all of the dirt and grime leave your skin. Then he places the showerhead back in its spot and switches the water to come out of the bath spout.

He maneuvers you in his arms to sit down against him in the bath. Your back is pressed to his chest as the warm water begins to fill the bathtub. All that can be heard is the sound of rushing water and your quiet sobbing.

“Shh,” he hushes you. “It’s okay, now. I’m here. You’re safe,”

“Joel,” you cry, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know. I know,” he murmurs.

He holds you like that as the water fills, your sobs are beginning to die down. Joel leans forward to shut the water off once the tub is full, then grabs a rag and some soap to clean your body.

Only now does it hit you that this is the first he’s seen you fully since giving birth to his child. You look so different now. You curl up, bringing your knees to your chest.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispers as he pushes your knees back down. “I only wanna help you, sweetheart. Let me take care of you now.”

He scrubs your body gently, washing away the disaster of a morning you and Francis shared. He can sense your insecurity still. “So beautiful,” he breathes. He’s so delicate with his movements, washing you so tenderly. So full of love and care. “Always been so beautiful, mama.”

You relax into his touch, your head resting on his chest. He’s so warm. So comforting. He feels like home. He tilts your chin up so your eyes can meet his own, so deep and dark. His fingers trace your features, your chin and your lips and your nose. Your eyes well with tears again.

“I’m so sorry, Joel,”

“What for, honey?”

“Today. Francis,”

“Hey, now,” he says. “Wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, though,” You shake your head slightly, your bottom lip is wobbling. “I’m such a terrible mom, Joel. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Joel’s eyes fill with tears, they begin to fall down his cheeks. “You’re not a terrible mom,” he hushes you with a broken voice. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that.”

Of course, he knows why you think that. He’s been a little overbearing with Francis, not giving you the opportunity to learn to parent the way he should have. “You’re new to this, honey. That’s all,”

You mumble something under your breath, Joel doesn’t hear. All he hears are your quiet whimpers and sniffles as you stare deep into his eyes. He’s never looked so raw before.

Some silence passes, and finally he speaks.

“Sarah was an early walker,” he begins.

Your brows furrow. Joel rarely talks about Sarah, even now.

“Once she began wobblin’ on those little legs of hers, I knew she’d be trouble. She’s the reason Tommy and I built a fence,” Joel recounted. “You know why?”

“Why?” you whispered.

“Well, she was an escape artist,” he says. “I’d be out there, doin’ yardwork or grillin’. She’d be in her sandbox, building little castles and whatnot. I thought she was, at least.” Joel pauses for a second, looking away wistfully.

Joel continues, smiling now. “Anyway. I’d look back to check on her, and poof. She’s gone. And I’d look across the street, and she’s makin’ friends with the Adlers. Workin’ her charm with them into givin’ her cookies and ice cream. She did it all the time,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Constantly. She did it constantly,” Joel replies. “Girl was trouble. Nothin’ but trouble. So Tommy and I built that fence to keep her from escapin’. ‘Course, didn’t stop Mr. and Mrs. Adler from sneakin’ her treats before dinner.” Joel chuckled at the memory. You did too.

“She sounds so sweet, Joel,” you say.

“She was,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s quiet again for a moment, remembering. “I was runnin’ her a bath one night. Right after she learned to walk, you know? And I’m focused on the water, makin’ sure it’s not too hot and not too cold. She’d kick up a fuss if the temperature wasn’t to her liking. Like, exactly. Had to be perfect.”

You smile. Joel is such a wonderful storyteller, you could listen to him talk all day long.

“Didn’t even notice her leave the bathroom. Thought she was right behind me. I just heard her tumble down the stairs, screamin’ and cryin’. Tommy grabbed her, drove us to the hospital,”

You nod quietly.

“So they run tests on her, of course. She’s charmin’ the nurse into giving her suckers and toys. She was fine, thank the lord. No bruises, no scratches. Just fine,”

“That sounds so scary, Joel,” “It was. Terrifying. I cried like a baby the whole night thinkin’ I hurt my little girl,” he says. “But you know what the nurse told me?”

“What’s that?”

“She said that babies are rubber. They’re tough. Resilient. Our little boy is resilient too, you know,”

You look away from him, picking at your fingernails. The guilt is eating you again.

“You’re new to this, mama. Go easy on yourself, for christsake. You just had him two damn months ago,”

You barely reply, just kind of mumble. You don’t know how to respond.

“Hey, look at me,” he tilts your chin and to stare into your eyes. He’s deadly serious. “You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re doin’ fine, mama. Shit happens.”

You still can’t speak. His words help, but it was still a terrible day. Maybe one day you won’t hurt over it. He understands, not forcing you to say anything.

He just finishes washing your body, then dries you off and wraps you in a towel. He carries you into bed, promising you that he’ll get the town doctor over later to check on your foot. There’s a sandwich waiting for you on your bedside table. Ellie. Such a sweet girl.

Joel leaves you to clean the mess of your clothes in the bathroom and at the stairs, and you eat your sandwich. You feel so much better getting some food in your system.

After finishing your sandwich, you hear tapping at the door. “Can we come in? It’s me and Francis,” Ellie says.

“Yeah, El. Come in,”

Ellie tiptoes in with Francis, his hair is wild and curly. Just like Joel’s. His eyes are big and lost. Ellie looks fatigued. “He didn’t like the bath very much,” she says. “But I did give him a bottle.”

“I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble,” you reply. “He can be a little cranky. Thanks for feeding him, El. You’re so good with him.”

“Yeah, I can handle him. We’re best friends,” she says. You can see in her face that she’s exhausted, though. “Right, Frankie?”

You smile softly, holding out your arms. Ellie places him in your hold gently, being extra careful to support his head and neck. She can see the worry on your face. You still feel so unsure of holding him, being responsible for him.

“Guess what?”

You look up at her. “What?” You bounce Francis softly.

“I’m gonna teach him how to say fuck. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” she giggles, that signature smirk on her face. Her eyes are so playful and bright. “And I’m gonna teach him the other ones too. Bitch, ass, asshole, shit, dick, cun-”

“Don’t you dare corrupt my son, you little shit,” A deep voice interrupts. It’s Joel, standing at the doorway. “Don’t need two demented kids in this house. You’re more than enough.”

“Hey!” Ellie gasps, feigning offense. Ellie sits down on the bed as Joel walks towards her. “I’ll teach your kid whatever words I want, old man. And I’m not demented,” She punches him in the arm playfully. “You are.”

Joel just rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

You meet his gaze, smiling at him quietly. Francis is asleep in your arms, mumbling and cooing softly. He’s so sweet like this.

Joel takes Francis from your arms, places him in his crib. Joel looks at Ellie. “Out,” he says. “Mama needs to sleep.”

Ellie gets up to leave, not before giving you a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around the girl, she’s such a good big sister to your baby boy. She doesn’t often hug you, so it’s a welcome surprise.

Joel meets you on the bed, pulling you close to his body. You rest your head on his chest as he plays with your hair. “Get some sleep, honey,”

You yawn, melting into his body. “Okay, daddy,”

He feels like home.

@swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @venusdemonroe @guiltgoldglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers@angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @kyloispunk @tiredbuthappy @yuk-for-president @jazzy-music-cat @anoverhwhelmingdin @dontatmethebeasts @venus122idkpleaze @nopealoupe @blackvelveteen1339 @monboudoir @darleneslane

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou show #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #soft!joel miller #soft!joel miller x reader #strang3lov3

2K notes · View notes

carionto · 8 months

Text

We'll do it our way

Been reading a bunch of Humans are Space Orcs and the like, and got me thinking - what if when aliens found humanity and our level of technology and method of propulsion for space travel, they decided that since explosions are way too hazardous and risky, that they're just not gonna let us leave on our vessels (via BS alien magic space tech). As a sort of intergalactic rite of passing (and poor results in the past of elevating a species like that), we have to figure out on our own how to not blow ourselves up once in space. But humans can be spiteful. We "have" to go in a direction they want? Fuck that. Aliens put a dome around Earth so we can't leave? Okay, that's a clear and practical problem to solve. Let's fix that instead!

_____________________________________

It had been just over sixty local cycles since First Contact with Humanity, and exactly sixty since the Federation had unanimously deemed it necessary to position a Responsibility Barrier around Earth.

Through countless observation relays, mass field generators, warp inhibitors (and the less spoken of and even less used laser batteries), any vessel - outside of local communication satellites, unmanned research vessels, or suborbital test vehicles - were prevented from leaving the planet.

Upon discovering Humanity, the Exploratory Commission Fleet quickly discovered a very hardy, innovative, diverse, violent, and adaptable advanced civilization on the cusp of entering the interstellar stage. There was one problem. Humans used explosions. For. Everything.

Their orbital spaces were already littered with micro-debris from their regular ventures into the local system. Practically every type of propulsion utilized highly volatile solutions, and they didn't even pretend to hide or be embarrassed by their history of weaponizing, well, anything and everything to be frank.

Wars and violence were common among nearly all sentient species, but there was something… peculiar, about how nonchalant the Human diplomats were about their supposed "solutions" to "tragedies" of the past.

We explained to them the dangers of their methods, showed examples of what happens when such line of thinking, without discarding these explosive ways, leads to - impassable fields of junk around once well traveled planets, now isolated; hastily jettisoned parts causing mayhem and destruction years down the line; entire Habitation Stations and their occupants reduced to faint rings around their homeworld from an "unplanned ignition"

We explained why we could not simply give them our safe technology, as they have to on their own give up the irresponsible ways first, lest they turned what was once safe into yet another means to an end. They "said" they understood, but it was all too clear the Humans would not follow our advice just like that. Hence the Barrier. This really angered the Humans.

They said it was stifling, that it was barbaric to "imprison" them like that. We tried to explained again why, but they would not listen, but we knew better. This had happened before and we would not allow it to happen again. It was for the greater good of both the Humans and the rest of the Galaxy.

For nearly sixty of their cycles, Humanity continued to advance and develop and flourish. We watched them with excitement at every new avenue of research they steered towards, silently encouraged them to keep going with every failure. They were getting close in several fields, we could see that Humanity was on the precipice of the right track. Then, one day, with a slight shimmer enveloping the planet and an eerie silence on all frequencies, the Earth just… vanished.

The Humans kept their true activity a secret, only after careful analysis of seemingly unrelated and unremarkable records did we figure out they were investigating a long abandoned line of research by all others in the galaxy - interdimensional travel. But there were no other traversable dimensions. That had long been tested by everyone - you can twist and bend and cut through the ones we have, but you are always bound to at least one of them.

It remained a mystery as to what truly happened to Humanity. Officially it was called a tragic scientific accident on an unprecedented scale. Earth and Humanity were memorialized as a bright species with infinite potential, but a recklessness that would serve as one of the starkest examples in the annals of Galactic history.

Until, nearly a millennia later, Earth just… popped back in. Right where it would have been had it continued to orbit around their star, almost as if that's exactly what it had been doing.

There was only a memorial station close to its original orbit, and some small research outposts dotted around the local system - it was decided to not terraform or colonize any of Sol's planets or install major stations within the system, as both a sign of respect to the deceased and a warning to all about the dangers of foolish science.

By the time the scrambled and panicked messages reached the nearest Coalition world and a small squad sent to investigate, everything had changed. Not only did they find Earth and Humanity, they were met by dozens of the largest space worthy vessels anyone had ever conceived of let alone dared to construct; orbital shipyards that each would put the production capacity of whole planetary SYSTEMS to shame; and a defiant attitude unmatched even by the previously thought exaggerated tales of our brief history with Humanity before the Vanishing.

The message we received from the Humans was simple:

"Thanks for the advice, but we do things our way. Now, let's start over, from an equal footing, shall we?"

(more while we were gone)

#humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #carionto #story

928 notes · View notes

3hks · 19 days

Text

How to Avoid "Talking to The Reader"

A lot of people will often tell you to avoid talking to the reader, but why? How? And what does it mean? "Talking to the reader" is a technique used by an author when they want to specifically address the reader directly. Depending on your writing level and style, there could be several drawbacks to using this, such as a sense of informality and sudden awkwardness. However, I'm not saying that you shouldn't talk to the reader, because how you write is ultimately up to you!

But if you're genuinely looking for some tips on how to avoid talking to the reader, then I absolutely got you! As both a frequent reader and writer, I have advice based on experience and knowledge! These simple tips can seriously elevate your writing (especially if you're pretty new), or at the very least, make you aware of certain things and offer new ideas!

Replacing the 'you' with...

A VERY common factor in talking to the reader is using the word 'you' to reach out to your reader (dialogue from characters don't count). Although you should avoid this when you're trying not to talk to the reader, there is something behind it. Majority of the time, we include this word in a story when asking a rhetorical question. This creates a certain effect that reaches out to the reader while making them think, which can't be exactly duplicated.

Okay, so how do we fix this? Well, my advice is to simply replace 'you' with the word 'one'! Let's go a bit into depth, shall we? When dealing with a rhetorical question, the first step is to rephrase and reform the inquiry into a statement that answers what you're asking. Remember that this is a rhetorical question, meaning that there IS technically a right answer that you're looking for! Next, remove the 'you' and slap the 'one' on top of it! The replace-you-with-one method also works when you're not including it in a question, but instead a statement! Let's look into some examples, shall we?

Prompt: A lot of people will often tell you to avoid talking to the reader, but why?

Let's examine this example that I took from the top of this post, shall we? While this sentence is indeed in the format of the question, I am not directly asking you to give me an answer and there isn't really just one right answer. So how do we fix this? Replace 'you' with 'one' and boom! Done!

Fixed: A lot of people will often tell one to avoid talking to the reader, but why?

Alright, how about a much more direct question?

Prompt: The king's way of ruling was incredibly biased and unfair, wouldn't you agree?

For this prompt, we can see that 'you' is in "wouldn't you agree?" so it's pretty clear that we are seeking for an answer from the reader. In this type of context, the answer is almost always "yes," so we will have to take the longer route of rewording the sentence.

Fixed: The king's way of ruling was incredibly biased and unfair, one might argue.

As you can see, the phrase "wouldn't you agree" got altered into "one might argue." Why did I choose this? Well for starters, the sentence is now a statement, not a question, and it does indirectly answer our questions of "wouldn't you agree?" because it distinctly demonstrates that they agree with the opinion that the king's rule was unjust. Now, why did I choose "might argue"? Our previous question may have been rhetorical, but not everyone is going to say "yes, the king was unfair," so adding "might" and "argue" helps include the fact that it is indeed, an opinion!

Now that we have gotten the 'you' part out of our system, let's talk about another thing that can really help you improve on your writing (while avoiding talking to the reader)!

Stop Using...

Stop starting the sentences with "he/she is or has" (including past forms) when describing someone. I can safely say with first-hand experience that repetitive use of the sentence starter can feel a bit unnatural and too straightforward. In other words, you can most definitely do better!

When writing one's attributes, instead of starting with "he is" or "she is," try starting out with a possessive form of the pronoun, such as "his" or "her"! After that, it'll work itself out; let's look at an example to clarify!

Prompt: She had long, luscious, brown hair that fell over her shoulders in waves.

Fixed: Her long, luscious, brown hair fell over her shoulder in waves.

Simple, right? There may seem to be hardly any change, but this can seriously improve your writing when used correctly! Of course, continuous use of "his," "her," or "their" will also sound repetitive, but it's a good place to start! As experience follows, you'll get the hang of creating more varied sentence styles! Let's look at an example!

Prompt: He was new to the school. He didn't know how to interact with those his age because he was homeschooled his whole life. He was nervous even when thinking about his classmates and didn't know how he was going to survive.

Does it sound choppy? Too direct? Let's fix that!

Fixed: He was new to the school. Having been homeschooled his whole life, he struggled to interact with those his age, and even thinking about his classmates made him anxious. He had no idea on how he was going to survive.

Look at the second sentence; that's the most major change. As I combined a few different parts of the other sentences and rearranged them, it should seem much smoother now!

Be creative with how to form your sentences--that's all there really is to it! Experience will be your biggest guide and best friend when it comes to this!

Did this help? Keep in mind that my advice won't work with every sentence because a lot of it mainly depends on context! Happy Easter Sunday!

Happy writing~

3hks :)

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #creative writing #writing advice #writing inspo #how to not talk to the reader #avoiding talking to the reader #avoid being too direct #talking to the reader #tips on avoiding talking to the reader #tips on not talking to the reader #advice on avoiding talking to the reader #advice on not talking to the reader #thank you

313 notes · View notes