#its probably just because hes a complicated dad

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part Eight

You and Ellie grow closer in Joel's absence. Jackson holds its breath for the return of the second expedition.

Words: 6k

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, angst, no smut I'm sorry

A/N: So this is the last big chapter of Touch. I'm planning a smutty epilogue because these two need a proper send off, but the main storyline ends here. Just want to thank you all for your support of this story, which was my first foray into writing fics for a long time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Part Seven | Series Masterlist

You and Ellie fell into a routine of sorts, occupying yourselves while waiting for news. In the morning Ellie would go down to the stables to ‘check the horses’, which you knew was code for her looking to see if Joel had slipped back into Jackson overnight, but he was her dad, and you didn’t begrudge it. You hated when she came back with her shoulders slumped.

Ellie had already decided she didn’t have to go to school given the circumstances, and you had no authority to fight her on it. Occasionally you would mention that Joel probably wouldn’t be pleased when he got back to discover she’d missed classes, and she had been so dismissive of the very idea that it took you right back to eighth grade, trying to hang out with the cool kids and being summarily ignored. You were basically her roommate. Roommates don’t nag each other to do their homework.

You were doing your own maths, anyway. If Marla had ridden through the night with Jacob strapped to her back it meant that the site of the ambush was a two-days ride away at a normal, non-life-threatening pace. It also meant it was a two-day ride back. If they encountered any nastiness on the way there or the way back that could waylay them for a few days, maybe more if there were injuries. And then, of course, there was the infinitely more complicated mathematics of how it would tally if they died. You weren’t sure what you would count, if that happened, if it wasn’t the days until they came back.

You wondered, if none of them made it back, where you would go. You would obviously have to leave Jackson, the destruction you, Ray and Marla wrought on the small community complete at that point. You just weren’t sure where, in which direction. Salt Lake sounded bad, and you were getting tired of the cold. You wondered if you would be able to make it down to the Gulf of Mexico, if you just headed south for as long as you could until you hit ocean. You knew it was unlikely you would be able to do it on your own, and you also knew that you would have to. That at the end of all this it was always going to be you, alone.

It didn’t hurt to think about. You were matter of fact about it. If they didn’t come back, you didn’t deserve to stay. You were pleased with the almost complete detachment you felt at the thought of it. At the freedom.

--

Maria and Robin dropped by while you were teaching Ellie the muscles of the back and neck, in the hope that she would have some kind of education upon Joel’s maybe-return. She was good at it, too, getting the hang of the Latin despite the language now being even more dead then when you leaned it. When they arrived, Ellie took Robin from Maria and cradled him in her arms, Maria showing her how to support the head while he dozed. For the first time since Ellie had arrived she was still, quiet, over-awed by the tiny, precious life in her arms. You took Maria into the kitchen and poured her some tea.

‘This takes me back,’ she said, and you grinned at her, offering to massage her feet. She demurred. ‘You don’t need to see what I’ve got going on under here,’ she said. ‘I mean, I haven’t seen it for months.’

You knew that Maria was checking on you, and you loved her for it and hated that she had to do it. Robin was only weeks old, barely a month, and yet she was nurturing you. You had barely seen her since the birth, since she had made you feel so necessary, so wanted, and your cheeks burned at the thought of it. The last two friends you had ended up dead or banished. You were just bad at it.

‘Hey,’ Maria said, like she could read your mind. She reached out and put her hand on yours, warm from the tea. ‘It must be weird…no, awful, to be the one left. I can’t imagine.’

You weren’t going to cry in your kitchen with Ellie in the other room holding Maria’s baby. That just wasn’t a thing that could happen. You swallowed hard, heard your jaw click under the strain.

‘I really like Ellie,’ you said, pain blooming from your temple into your eye socket. You consciously stretched your jaw, your hand over your mouth to try and cover it.

‘She’s a good kid, been through a lot,’ Maria agreed.

‘She’s a good distraction,’ you said, and Maria smiled at you.

‘I want you to know you have a place here,’ she said, and you wondered how she always knew the right thing to say, wondered if she could actually hear your thoughts. ‘Tommy…and me, well both of us, Tommy’s worried about you because…not just because of the expedition and the pharmacy and all of that going wrong, he’s worried that…’ Maria gathered herself for a second. ‘He’s worried that you only think of yourself in terms of what you can offer other people.’

You felt the sting of it, the little nerve Maria had unearthed, opened up to the chill of the air. You flinched away from it, but she was still holding your arm, and you realised you hadn’t noticed she hadn’t yet let you go. ‘Listen,’ she said, but kindly, and so you did. ‘When you came here, and we made you stand in front of the town council and basically said you could only stay if you contributed to the community…’

‘I understood that was how it works, of course it does,’ you said, and she raised her hand to shush you. You obeyed, again. She was growing into this mother thing.

‘I realised, we basically told you that all you’re worth to us is what you can do for us. Yes, its important everyone can contribute because that’s how we keep the place running. But I need you to know that’s not your value. I need you to know that.’

It was getting really hard not to cry. You could see her eyes misting over, her mouth in a grim line to bite back the tears. ‘I asked you to help me, to help with Robin, not because I wanted you to do something for me. It was just because…I just like you, is all.’

You didn’t even really think about it, you just grabbed her into your body and held her, and you felt her shaking a little, like she had been so terrified to tell you, and you didn’t want the Gulf of Mexico. You wanted her in your kitchen and Ellie in your loungeroom with Robin. You wanted Tommy chopping wood or storing coal or doing whatever the fuck manly shit needed doing around the place. You wanted Joel standing in his socks at the counter burning the toast and swearing under his breath about it. You wanted what you had always wanted, which was just to belong.

You pulled back from Maria, rubbing furiously at your eyes. She wiped the tears from hers.

‘I like you too,’ Ellie said, from the doorway, and you both startled, which made her jump a little, which jostled Robin, who delivered several pointed arguments about his thoughts on the experience.

‘Fuck, sorry,’ Ellie said, the panic written all over her face. ‘Oh fuck, I said fuck,’ she said, looking at you for help. You looked to Maria, who regarded you both with an amused expression on her face.

‘You two are as bad as each other,’ she said. She took Robin from her, and Ellie settled down at the table. For a second there was just the sound of Robin, grizzling in his mother’s arms.

‘Hey, Maria,’ Ellie said, lifting her hand to point to the muscle at the side of her neck under her ear. ‘Levator scap-yew-lay’ she said. You applauded her; genuinely, warmly, proudly.

--

You weren’t really ready to emerge from your cocoon, would have stayed hermitty and weird forever, except that Ellie wasn’t having it. For one she couldn’t sit still in the house for days on end, but she was still only fourteen and the idea that something might happen to her because you let her go out while you let yourself rot on the couch was even less palatable than having to be social.

The first time she took you to the mess hall you felt the anxiety at the bottom of your lungs, your sternum feeling like it had shrunk in your chest cavity. You were convinced people were staring, resentful of you and all that you brought with you. You didn’t want them to worry for Ellie, didn’t want them to wonder how you were going to corrupt her, end up with her dead or thrown out of the gates. You wanted to sit at one of the back tables, but Ellie was determined not to make any of it easy on you, and steered you over to the main table, the long one in the middle of the room, where a bunch of townsfolk were already chatting. You joined at the end of the row, feeling how you retracted into yourself, feeling your shoulders round over. Ellie sat opposite you and smiled at you, brightly. You realised she was treating you like some kind of project, a rehabilitate-the-crazy-lady experiment, maybe some kind of pet.

‘This is the soup they had the other week,’ Ellie said, gulping it down so fast you were worried she’d give herself indigestion. ‘The chicken one? Do you remember?’

You had no idea what she was talking about, and you stared at her.

‘I brought it round with half the loaf of bread. The kitchen ladies did not want me to have it. So, I swiped it while they were washing up.’

You felt something heavy roll in your stomach. ‘That was you? You brought the food?’ you asked, and you weren’t sure if – when you were finished being flawed – you were disappointed or relieved.

‘Yeah, didn’t you know?’ she asked, and you shook your head.

‘You didn’t leave a note or anything,’ you explained, feebly.

‘I guess not,’ she conceded.

‘I thought it might have been Tommy,’ you lied, unconvincingly, but Ellie wasn’t paying attention.

‘I mean, you were close. It was Joel’s idea,’ she said, and what you now realised was a full-sized boulder turned again in your gut.

‘It was?’ you squeaked, and she nodded into her nearly empty plate. You pushed your soup around, your mind trying too hard to digest this new information to turn itself to eating.

‘Did he say anything else?’ you asked, but you were interrupted by Tommy bursting into the mess hall, his eyes wide and scanning over the crowd.

‘They’re back!’ he called, and several people immediately rose, hustled for the door.

‘How many?’ someone yelled back, and Tommy nodded, but there was something wrong, something grim on his face that you didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to even consider.

‘All of ‘em,’ he said, but then he faltered, and swallowed hard, and you knew, then, were already getting to your feet. ‘Some of them are in a bad way,’ he said, and he was looking at you and then looking at Ellie, and you were tucking her under your arm as you pulled her towards him at the door.

‘She shouldn’t see,’ he said to you, quietly, and you shook your head at him.

‘Try and fuckin’ stop me,’ she said, before you’d even had a chance to speak. He sighed, but you were past him then, your arm on the door pushing it open for her, shoving her through first.

--

The infirmary was only three rooms connected by a short corridor, and in times of serious outbreak or multiple injury it was woefully understaffed, under resourced.

There had already been some kind of make-shift triage for the returned residents, two of the men assigned to one room since they only needed looking over and could then be let go, but Dougie told you, pulled both you and Ellie aside to murmur in your ear, that Joel had his own room. The one next to the surgery.

‘Is he dead?’ Ellie asked, and if you didn’t know her as well as you now did you would have mistaken her bluntness for coldness, for desensitisation, but you knew instead that she was steeling herself, that if there was going to be pain she wanted it now, fast and hard, to rip into it with bared teeth.

Dougie shook his head, and you exhaled for maybe the first time, ever, in your life.

‘He’s not in a good way,’ Dougie said, but Ellie was already marching down the hall to see him, and you were already trailing behind her, your head over your shoulder to offer Dougie your whispered, harried thanks.

But you stopped when you got to his door, let Ellie slip through without you, suddenly considering that you could be intruding, that he had no interest in your being there, didn’t even know you’d been caring for his daughter while he was gone, or that she had been caring for you. You didn’t even really know him, weren’t sure how you felt about him, weren’t sure that you wanted to see him bleeding and broken, weren’t sure that you could handle not feeling his touch on yours again, his whispered encouragements as you came undone underneath him, the rise and fall of his chest under your ear as you both fought back sleep to stay awake together for just a little bit more increasingly precious time.

You’d marched down to the infirmary without even thinking about it, and now you were trapped in thinking too much about it, and what if he woke up and was angry at you again, found something else to throw in your face, and had you forgiven him for that or did that not even matter when he had nearly died, did arguments and anger and hurt just become nullified when the other person endangered themselves to protect you and the community you lived in, because that seemed like a dangerous precedent, and-

Ellie wrenched the door open and stared at you, paralysed, three steps away.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she said, reaching forward and pulling you in. ‘Get the fuck in here.’

It wasn’t like the movies. There wasn’t a beeping machine, a screen counting out his heart rate, his breaths. He had a little tube up his nose feeding him oxygen but he wasn’t in a white gown, wrapped up neat and tidy under a woven blanket. He was lying, still in his boots, crooked on an old, rusted gurney. Your eyes travelled over him, taking stock; the left eye swollen shut, the abrasion to the cheek suggesting a fractured orbital bone, the red and purple swelling across his brow and up to his temple. The blood under his fingernails, the makeshift splint trying and failing to straighten his obviously broken wrist. You stepped forward and opened his shirt, scanning for more injuries across his skin, found a deep gash in his side and countless bruises, something mottled and purple underneath his ribs. Like he’d been kicked while he was on the ground, while he was already down.

You felt a flash of anger, tears spilling over your cheeks. He was out cold, pale and shivering, and you raised your hands to his midsection, felt the wound there, deep and angry and so close to his spleen.

‘We checked him already, he’s not bit,’ Dougie said from the doorway, and you wiped at your face, set your mouth in a line, intended to turn and address him but couldn’t move from Joel. You felt Ellie standing at your shoulder, observing you as you checked him over. ‘He’s going to need half the supplies they brought back with them,’ Dougie said, laughing a little as if this was funny.

‘They got them?’ Ellie asked, and Dougie nodded to her.

‘Some are dangerously expired, but others are just…expired,’ he said. ‘I gave him some of the morphine, even though he was already out.’

‘He has a head injury,’ you pointed to his collar where dried blood was staining the pillow brown. ‘Are you sure that’s safe?’

‘I stitched him up,’ Dougie said, defensive. 

‘What if there’s internal…’ and you stopped yourself then, because Ellie was in the room, and her eyes kept swivelling back to Joel, back to his body, back to the blood. ‘The mottling,’ you said, without further explanation, in the hope that Dougie had managed to find that part of the textbook.

‘We don’t have many options, if there is,’ he said, and you felt yourself get woozy.

‘What have you done so far?’ you asked, and Dougie just stared at you for a second, and you were going to throttle him, actually kill him in this place of healing, if he didn’t answer at least one question properly in the next twenty seconds.

‘We can give him a transfusion, keep his blood pressure up.’

‘Tommy,’ Ellie piped up. ‘They’d have the same blood right? They’re brothers.’

You nodded at her, and she ran from the room. In her absence, you turned to Dougie.

‘Tell me,’ you said, simply, and he sighed.

‘It’s a wait and see game,’ he said. ‘If there’s serious internal bleeding we’d need to operate but…’ you looked around the room, observed the notable absence of a sterile field.

‘I can’t,’ you said, and you weren’t totally sure what exactly you were referring to, but that didn’t make it any less true.

Joel stirred in his sleep, just enough for you to swivel around to him, plant yourself down on a chair and grab at his hand.

‘Joel,’ you said, not sure if he could hear you, hoping he could, hoping he wasn’t in any pain and knowing it was impossible that he wouldn’t be. ‘Joel, I have Ellie, and she’s doing so well,’ you said, murmuring into his unresponsive face. ‘I have her, Joel, so you just rest, OK? You just get better.’

You reached up and gently, carefully, put your hand in his hair, rested it over his right temple, seemingly more intact than the left.

‘We just need you to get better, Joel,’ you said. ‘We all do.’  

You thought for a second you heard a grunt under the gentle rhythm of his breath. ‘Be OK, baby,’ you said, one hand in his hair and the other gripping his. ‘Just rest, and be OK.’

--

Tommy’s transfusion raised Joel’s blood pressure, which was good but also indicated that he had lost a lot of blood. Dougie showed you how to check his blood pressure manually with a cuff and a watch, and you kept an eye on it every hour. If it kept dropping, there was likely internal bleeding.

It remained stable through the night.

What had happened out there became clearer as the morning progressed, as the other riders were patched up. The group from Jackson had managed to find the pharmacy, had cleared it out and secured the perimeter, before turning back the way they came.

The remaining raiders, those who had managed to escape their pet clickers, had been tracking Marla’s path back to Jackson. They had seen how well-equipped Marla was, how strong Jacob had been, how well he had been able to muster up a defence. They’d figured that meant they were well fed, well stocked, that there would be somewhere worth pillaging if they could get to it.

They were young but they were clever, probably only just born on outbreak day, and they’d managed to circle the group before Joel had noticed them. He’d shot one of them point blank, rearing his horse back to try and get to the others before they could clock what was happening, but the younger men had been quicker. He’d fallen from his horse, or maybe shoved off, it wasn’t clear in the chaos, and they’d tried to drag him, pulled him by the arms away from the group, stomped on his ribs a few times. He’d fought them the whole way, scoring a couple of gashes to his chest and abdomen in the process. It was only when the dust had settled, when the three raiders were dead and Joel was struggling to mount his horse, seemingly unable to coordinate his limbs, that they noticed the blow to his head. He’d been woozy, then, stumbling over his words, but they’d managed to get him upright on the horse enough to limp back to Jackson. They’d almost made it back when Joel blacked out completely, falling forward into his horse’s neck and not sideways, this small stroke of luck possibly saving him from an even worse fate.  

You listened to all of it, this breathless retelling of actual and near death. You could hear, even through the exhaustion and the pain, the awe the second expedition party held for Joel. That he had seen the raiders, maybe heard them, maybe smelt them, that he was so fast on the draw, so accurate with his shot, so quietly deadly. That he had gone down swinging. That he had come back up.

These stories drifting down the hallway to you, to where Joel lay. Your eyes raked over his body, his wrist now properly splinted and bandaged, his wounds sewn up. He drifted in and out of consciousness, aided by the expired morphine, but he tended to come back to the world fighting. The first time he’d nearly knocked Ellie off the end of the bed, had ripped the breathing tube out of his nose so hard he’d permanently bent it, had been wild eyed and terrified and so lethal, so deadly, as you grabbed his face and turned it to yours, told him where he was, told him who he was, while Dougie injected more drugs under his skin. After he had slipped back under, you liked to imagine that before the drugs he had been relieved to see you, that you had eked out a measure of comfort for him, that he knew you were there, that he wanted you to be.

The second time you sent Ellie away. It was late and Joel was finding new and creative ways to swear the infirmary into the ground, and you could sense the worry in her. You reassured her you’d stay with him, that you didn’t need anything to eat, could sleep in the chair by the bed. That she shouldn’t have to see this, that she didn’t need to hurt herself just to keep him close. You would do that for her. You would reach into yourself and carve away a space for him. Keep yourself hollowed out and aching, should he decide to make a home between your ribs.

You had already decided that when he woke properly you would leave him there, go and get Ellie and Tommy. Not intrude on the family. Go and sit in your little kitchen and run your fingertips over the kitchen table, let the wood grain catch on your skin, scrape the cells from you where you had held his hand.

You didn’t expect to sleep, so you startled awake, confused and aching in places you didn’t know you had from the stupid fucking chair, when Joel stirred again. Judging by the darkness it could only have been 3 AM, maybe 4. You steeled yourself for whatever destruction Joel was about to bring down on his own sick bed, lifted his hand in yours to your cheek, rested your face in his palm, hoped the weight and the heat of it would settle him, would ground him. You heard him clear his throat. This time, however, he was just exhausted, just himself.

‘I can go,’ you offered, too quickly considering he was still orienting himself, and you cringed, started to backtrack. ‘You’re in the infirmary,’ you started again, collecting yourself, watching his face for any hint of fear, any hint of anger.

‘Ellie,’ he croaked, his voice dry.

‘She’s staying with me, she’s OK,’ you said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and then pausing, doubting, dropping it instead to the pillow.

‘Thirsty,’ he grunted.

‘Oh,’ you said, immediately snapping upwards and nearly knocking yourself out on the lamp over the bed. ‘Right, of course.’ Dougie had brought you water and a packet of dry ramen noodles approximately seventeen years past their use-by-date. You poured him a glass, cradling his neck to help him angle himself to drink it. You felt the heat of his skin on your arms as you lifted him. You didn’t think about it. Not at all.

‘Do you hurt anywhere?’ you asked, and he grunted at you. You knew it was a stupid question, and you tried again. ‘Do you want me to get Dou…the doctor, to get you some more drugs?’

‘Not yet,’ he whispered. You leant in close to him so that you could hear, and he fixed you then with a gaze sharper than anyone who had been unconscious for as long as he had should have been able to. ‘Makes me fuzzy and I want to…’ he trailed off, his eyes scanning your face.

‘I didn’t come to you about Marla because I think you’re a killer,’ you said, realised you had been waiting to say it to him, hoping he would wake up so you could finally set him straight. ‘I came to you because I knew you wouldn’t be cruel. I knew you’d do it well. Respect her.’

He lifted an arm as if he was going to cradle your jaw in his hands, but his face shifted into pain the moment he moved. You realised his ribs would be screaming in protest, and you grabbed his arm and forced it back to the mattress. ‘Don’t,’ you said, ‘it’s OK, I’m here.’

Joel turned his eyes to the ceiling, and you could tell that he was hurting. ‘I’m going to get you the drugs, you can’t just lie here like this…’ you said, standing up again. He grabbed your arm to stop you turning away from him, his grip strong, as he kept his eyes on the ceiling.

‘Ask me why,’ he grunted, through gritted teeth.

‘Why what?’ you asked, and saw the way he was bracing against the pain, felt a shot of frustration with yourself for prolonging it with your stupid fucking questions. ‘Why?’ you asked him.

‘Wanted to be a good man for once,’ he said. You sucked in a breath. ‘For Ellie,’ he went on, closing his eyes. ‘For you.’

You could feel something coming loose in you, a snapping of a hinge, the whine of a rusted and long-abandoned cellar door.

‘Joel,’ you said, because there wasn’t much else you could say in that moment, trying so hard to hold down the stirring turmoil in your chest. He held up his hand to stop you, almost waving you away, and you knew it was because it was hurting him to stay awake, hurting him to say it out loud, hurting him to hear you upset and not being able to soothe it for you. So much hurting in this bruised, bloodied body.

‘Let me…the drugs,’ you said, pulling yourself away from him, feeling his fingers grasp for you. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up,’ you reassured him, his eyes closed and his jaw tight. ‘I’ll be here,’ you said again, saw him nod, took the permission to finally, finally relieve him.

--

You weren’t there.

Couldn’t bring yourself to be, unnerved by the way his gaze snapped to yours, the way he had grasped for you, the way you felt the fracture of something vital, something that had kept you alive all these years. You sent Ellie in first thing in the morning, told her that he was calmer overnight and that you needed a proper sleep, set yourself up on the couch and tried not to think about it, tried to close your eyes and let sleep take you, felt it abandon you like you’d just done Joel.

You figured he wouldn’t remember it, what you had promised him, what he had said. The morphine would wash it away, would cleanse it from him. You would need to carry it, feel it sloshing around against your legs as you walked, but you were OK with that so long as it was only yours.

You busied yourself, cleaned up a little around the house because living with an un-housebroken teenager was a challenge in itself, went to the mess hall and bartered for a loaf of bread and a parcel of butter no bigger than a quarter, wrapped up in grease paper. That butter was going to cost you two massages but you knew Ellie preferred it, that without it there was so little flavour you could offer her.

You thought about going to Maria’s, thought about lifting Robin’s forehead to your lips and feeling his gentle, simple warmth thaw you out. But you worried Tommy would be there, that he would ask you why you weren’t with Joel, that he would ask you why had been, why you’d spent nearly three days at his bedside only to abandon him the second he was vaguely aware you were there.

You didn’t know how to explain. You couldn’t even get it straight in your own head. You wanted to cower from it, the strength of it, the weight. You took the back way back to your house, hoped you would slip out of everyone’s mind if you stayed out of sight.

Tommy was on your doorstep when you got there. Of course he was.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ he said, simply. You felt your shoulders drop, the defeat ripping up your spine, and you shrugged at him, your bottom lip wobbling.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you said, simply, the six words that could kill you in an apocalypse. Tommy didn’t pretend not to understand. He took the packages from your arms, left you standing on the porch while he went inside and set them down. Came back out carrying a warm jacket for you and a cushion from the couch.

‘That damn ‘firmary chair is awful,’ he said, and you gave him a watery smile. ‘He’s askin’ for ya, so that’s what we’ll do,’ he said. You nodded at him. He took your elbow, led you down into the town.

‘It’ll be Spring soon,’ he said, making conversation, as you sniffed into the midday cold. ‘Jackson’s so beautiful in Spring, the wildflowers, the new leaves on the trees. You’ll love it.’

You nodded again, barely listening, wondering if you would ever be able to form actual sentences again. ‘S’new life,’ Tommy went on, ‘everything feels new. Like comin’ out of somethin’. Like a crack under the door where the light gets in.’

‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ you said.

‘Which part?’

‘All of it,’ you answered, sweeping your arms in front of you.

‘Well, you gotta do somethin’, so it might as well be this,’ Tommy said. It occurred to you that Maria’s ability to drop truth bombs at exactly the right moment was rubbing off on Tommy. You’d need to have a word to her about it.

Tommy led you into the infirmary, as if you didn’t have the place mapped like the back of your hand at that point, and down towards Joel’s room. He stopped at the door, and you realised he’d come as far as he was going to go. You looked at him, hoping for some final wisdom that might push you over the line.

‘What if he’s mad at me?’ you asked, feeble and weak.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ Tommy said, one last time, and you finally understood. You felt prickling heat at the back of your eyes, but Tommy had the good grace not to mention it, not to try to comfort or soothe, knew that it would make it worse somehow, bring it too close. With a shaky hand, you pushed open the door.

Joel was propped up, awake and gazing out the window at the street. He turned to you as you walked in, and your breath left you. The swelling around his eye had gone down, he was already looking less purple and bloodied than the night before, was more alert, was more him. You paused in the doorway, took him in as he waited for you.

‘Hi’, you said, barely above a whisper. You were gripping your hands in front of you, shivering in the doorway. You waited for him to yell, to thrash, to chew you out for leaving him to wake up alone and in pain.

You didn’t expect his eyes to mist over, for his bottom lip to tremble. For him to be soft, for him to need you.

‘C’mere,’ he said, lifting his good arm up to beckon you, and you fell into the four steps to him, launched yourself at his bed, gripped him by the waist and lay your head on his good shoulder, ignored his sharp intake of breath as you jostled him. You felt the tears spill over, your face tucked into his elbow while he ran his hands through your hair, and he held you as you sobbed into him.

This time, you knew it was for all of them. For the entire balance sheet, for the grand tally. For your parents, for Marla and for Ray, for Maria who so very much reminded you of your sister, for nearly losing Joel, for Ellie tucked up in your bed pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds until his return. For the love you held for all of them, your collection of losses and grief, for the realisation that all this time you hadn’t been feeling the absence of love but the presence of it, its full force, that it hadn’t gone anywhere, that so long as the love stayed so did they, in just enough of a way to sustain you.   

‘M’sorry,’ you muttered after a while, trying to pull back. He held you firm to him, his chin on the top of your head.

‘Scared ya, I guess,’ he said, and you could only nod.

‘There’s so much that scares me,’ you whimpered, and he grunted his agreement.  

‘M’scared too,’ he said. You raised your head to look at him, to understand, and he gazed down at you. ‘This is somethin’. Right?’ he asked, his voice giving out on the question.  

‘Think so,’ you said. He smiled, warmly, down at you, lifted a hand to rub at his face.  

‘We did it arse-backwards,’ he said, and you waited for him to explain. ‘Haven’t even dated ya, and here we are clingin’ to each other like…’ He trailed off, and you weren’t sure how you wanted him to finish that sentence, were sure you just wanted to continue to rest your head on his chest while he spoke, wanted to hear the timbre of it, feel the resonance.

‘Like it’s the end of the world?’ you finished for him, eventually. He chuckled.

The two of you fell into a silence, a warm one, a silence filled with all the words you were going to get to say to each other, when the time was right.

‘Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?’ you asked, after a long while.

‘Don’t need you to do anythin’ more than you already have. Just be patient with me, baby. S’been a long time since I felt this’ he said.

You reached over and took his hand from where it rested on his belly, turned his fingers over in the grey light from the window, examined the cracks, the swelling, the cuts. You lifted a knuckle to your lips, tasted the copper across your tongue, the tang of it, the life under his skin.

Gently, so gently, you held him there, felt his pulse against your skin, felt his body give, the tension in his muscles unspool. Heard his breathing slow, his other arm gripping tight around you. You let your eyes drift close, not having to see him to know that he was right there, in this moment with you. That he was with you, that this was the two of you.

That you had his touch. That he had yours.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

@pedropascalsbbg

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

[devotedlystrangewizard]

haytham kenway at some point stopped being a ubisoft character to me. i stole him from ubisoft back in 2019 when i decided to devote my entire existence to the exploration of this one middleaged british dude in the american revolution and also his relationship with this irish freak. shay is also mine.

#ramblings #going through some of my old stuff #2019 & 2022 i was possessed by the spirit of a fictional middleaged bisexual man in the late 1700s #like i like shay a lot & exploring him through the lens of a gay man in that era is fascinating #but something about haytham just. pulled me in #its probably just because hes a complicated dad #and the joy of exploring a queer relationship in that era

[todayisafridaynight]

It's been wonderful being able to talk about these things for me too! I haven't really had the opportunity since Y7 came out, so I'm positively buzzing. And no worries about the tone of your post about Daigo's article haha, I appreciate it when issues are pointed that I might've missed otherwise since that's at least something actionable.

But I'm obviously not going to stop anyone from venting frustrations with the wiki or with Fandom as a platform; I frequently find myself frustrated too! It's one of the things that keeps people editing the wiki. I'm honestly fine with whatever as long as it's not accusing us of being fujoshi for the billionth time lol, but for better or worse I do like to clarify what we're trying to do if there's any confusion.

Speaking of, Mine's relationship tags are kind of a funny story! So a lot of them have these dotted underlines and question marks, right? You're supposed to be able to hover over underlined terms to see a short definition (on desktop) and click the question mark to see an article with all the definitions on mobile, since hover actions aren't possible on a touchscreen.

But since the article was and still is under construction, Fandom doesn't show the link to logged-out users. So I had no idea it just looks like we're saying the tag is ambiguous lol. It's up now though, so it's hopefully easier to understand what we're trying to do!

I just found it funny I specifically added that feature to reduce confusion. Half the grief we get over Mine's "romantic interest" tag is because people assume we're saying it's mutual (we chose the term to try and avoid the "mutual" connotations of "love interest," but I guess that didn't work out). I also thought it might help with somewhat esoteric tags like "co-parent" (which was put in place for Jo and Arakawa and then I kept thinking of others) and "surrogate son." Turns out it's tough to boil complex relationships down to one term!

I definitely have SO many questions about New Year's Day and I probably always will; for the space of only one night, it's a huge blank. I certainly do have to wonder if shipping Masato off to America was decided then and there. There's a lot that could possibly be expanded on in RGGO (further interactions between Arakawa and Jo included lol), so I've got hope for that too now that we're back to random events. I'd be really interested to see how you'd portray it someday!

Talking about Nakai and Tsutsumi reminded me, Nakai mentioned he read the whole script in a day so he "wouldn't do a disservice to Arakawa or Sawashiro's characters." That kind of stuck out to me precisely because there are so few scenes between them compared to like, Arakawa and Ichi, and they're all relatively low-impact in comparison.

Of course, it could be marketing on account of him and Tsutsumi getting to co-star again, or the scenes could simply have stood out to him more for that reason, or he could've had a different impression of the ratios having read the script rather than played the game. But the part of me that makes me want to go Off The Deep End speculating is kind of wondering if there were other scenes planned?

And absolutely! I'm not able to reblog often because the post editor's been crashing whenever I try to tag my posts, but I hope you know I love your work and I'll support pretty much anything you put out! I'm very excited to share my findings as well.

A lot of it's to do with Mine's relationship to Western culture vs. Japanese culture (his "westabooism," basically), so that's specific to him, but there a lot of interesting concepts and theories in Japanese psychology regarding familial bonds, met and unmet emotional needs. They work as an explanation for his probable feelings of alienation from Japanese culture, but I feel they would make for an interesting lens to examine the Arakawas through as well.

I actually hadn't ever considered the similarity with regard to Mine and Jo's dads, but that makes so much sense! If I were to take it a step further, I think feelings of "abandonment" by their fathers have had long-lasting effects on both them and Masato. Jo we've been talking about, his father was technically still "there," but he wasn't in his corner, which feels much the same as abandonment to a child.

I think Mine's internalized a lot of the same feelings even though his father never meant to abandon him (I guess Jo's may not have, necessarily; alcoholism can destroy a family whether the individual wants that to happen or not). Like, unfairness, displacement, lack of control, the loss of the only support you have and so on. I think dwelling on that is what sent Mine's mental state spiraling, and what made it imperative to just believe Daigo was "dead" to try and move on as soon as possible. He didn't want to be hurt the same way again.

It's also probably what he was projecting in his ridiculous villain speech during The Orphanage Scene; the reason offering kids support in the way Kiryu does is a form of "victimization" in his eyes, at that moment, is because that support can be ripped away from you at any time. The scene is kind of hilarious to me because it's like, "okay we need Mine to have a kick-the-dog moment, his actions have been too understandable," but I do get it from that angle.

Similarly, I think those feelings of abandonment are why Arakawa faces the brunt of Aoki's abuse, because it's like, "YOUR negligence is why I had to go through all of that." So I get why Jo, like your sister, wouldn't want the finger pointed at him, but at the same time… damn. Perhaps if Arakawa had never had that talk with Masato, things might've been different. I get the impression he wouldn't be able to endure keeping things to himself for as long as Jo, though, given things like the letter he sent Ichi in prison.

Oh, yeah, Jo is CRAZY protective of Masato too! "If anything happens to him, killing you a thousand times would be insufficient!" I think part of his overreaction to having Masato's money is also that if Ichi can't listen to orders that fundamental, who's to say he listened to the orders to keep Masato safe? I guess if you see Ichiban as incompetent to the point of almost being a malicious actor, you might think that.

I'm sooo so glad you've noticed the rest of those similarities haha, I've been rotating them around in my brain like a cube for ages. A Venn diagram would be so fun to see! That's such an insightful look at the differences between Mine and Jo's offices too. I was a little confused about the placement of the social spaces, or even that they're there, but if you look at it as clearly separate from his personal spaces, it does make sense.

Also, not to harp on the books in the offices too much, but I compared the textures a little earlier. Mine's are basically all (very expensive) encyclopedias and language phrasebooks in English, Italian, French, and German, in contrast to Jo's discrete hardcovers and series of art history books. They're probably all stock assets lol, but I think they're surprisingly good fits; Mine dumping considerable time, money, and energy into his fascination with Western culture and Jo being the type to not want people to know what he's reading totally works for me.

But yes! It's kind of funny, because Yokoyama wasn't much of a Mine fan in his early days, but I hope he and the others keep on writing characters like him. I think of it as Mine's "legacy" in a series where past characters aren't acknowledged too often; the most I can recall are that Hakuho mention in 4 and the fencing around the Touto roof perimeter.

Speaking of, I love Mine's missed shots in the finale specifically because he's an excellent marksman in his Okinawa character story. Why? How? Who Knows, He's Perfect. (Probably not as good of a shot as Daigo though lol)

And yeahhh, there are other interviews, but it ain't the same! It was the most in-depth one I know of. I think this is one of the only remnants, and I shall entrust it to you.

But yes, exactly! And I'm also glad Y7 introduced more people to them (myself included), Tsutsumi's my favorite actor of all time and Nakai's brilliant. They make a great combi! Of the things I've seen where they co-star, I think Princess Toyotomi and Hero SP are both solid; the latter is a special for a longer show, but I honestly didn't even notice lol. Musashi I wasn't personally able to get through even though I've read the book, so I'm not sure how it plays out between them.

Also I DIDN'T KNOW TORU DIED IN PURE??? That came out of nowhere oh my god T___T But if you're ever looking for anything rare, feel free to ask! I might know a guy (gender neutral) with a stash, Fly, Daddy, Fly included.

OH MAN MINE'S WIKI ENTRY I've definitely made my opinions about it known, but now knowing the truth behind it it's kind of funny and still so unfortunate. I'd almost want to recommend a section dedicated to the topic since it's such an integral part of his character, though I also understand wanting to keep the wiki strictly to factual information and to exclude speculation (or "speculation" anyhow- it's definitely more of a concrete situation, especially going off of the information provided in your pinned post on the topic. If anything, that sort of information would belong to the "Trivia" tab wouldn't it- but again, it's such a deep situation it can't really be summarized in one or two sentences) and the topic being too niche to have a page dedicated to it. It's nice to know that the subject isn't trying to be brushed under the rug though and it's just a matter of awkward formatting/incomplete work!

Furthermore on The New Years Event, I would LOVE RGGO to expand on the topic since they've been so liberal with the stories they make and the depth those stories add to the characters. Honestly, I was expecting Masato's card to have that as its accompanying character story, so it's unfortunate that he doesn't get it or any story as far as I'm aware (or maybe he does have one and my poor pull luck has just prevented me from getting the card to find out myself, but I've looked as much as I could and couldn't find an upload of it). Oh well, I guess it's the old "if you want something done you gotta do it yourself-" not that anything I could make could ever be up to scratch, so I'm glad I do have people interested in what I have in mind :)

About Nakai, I wouldn't feel wrong trying to accredit his comment to a time before he knew the full plot or saw the full game and was just debriefed on the general story/character relationships, and I also wouldn't put it past RGG to have deleted scenes/ideas (if those do exist, RGG please let me in your vault I'd like to take a peak...)!

The psychology of Mine is another topic I've been wanting to officially tackle for a while now, so I'm glad I have this chance to share some of what I have mental bullet points for.

Moreover, Mine's dad and how he "left" Mine undeniably impacted him significantly beyond physically leaving him alone, and it definitely manifests in The Orphanage Scene and his idea that killing Daigo would be "putting him out of his misery". In those instances, he sees Daigo and the orphans as victims of an unfair reality, Daigo being comatose, and the orphans having the endure the struggles of being orphans (and that added-on, projected anxiety that their comfortable lives now could vanish at any second like it did for Mine). Mine's mustache-twirling villainy is funny for its absurdity, but I also genuinely appreciate it since it lets us peak into his warps philosophy better. It doesn't justify his actions by any means, but it explains to us why he can justify his actions as from a place of love or pity as opposed to thoughtless evil.

To add on, Mine's relationship with his father, from what we're allowed to gather, was healthy and positive. Because of their positive relationship, the removal of such adds credence as to why Mine's desperate to get that love again. It especially makes sense considering Japan's horrendous attitude and negligence towards orphaned children that was even demonstrated during Mine's childhood while his father was alive.

And as an inverse aside, Jo's relationship with his dad was toxic, whether it was due to blatant abuse or combined negligence. It's fair to assume that Jo never got to experience genuine, secure love growing up, so as a result, it's not something he actively seeks out. He's been without it long enough that it's not something he necessarily craves like Mine who used to have it until it was taken from him.

Masato certainly makes it clear he felt isolated despite the efforts Jo and Arakawa repeatedly went through for him, and it's apparent it's an unfortunate side affect of internalized ableism. It definitely doesn't help anyone's case that Masato had seemingly been informed of the night of his birthday's events (from Arakawa's point of view, obviously), and it's clear that knowledge gives ammunition as to why he resents him.

You're right on Jo potentially seeing Ichi as a bad actor, it's not as if he has disdain for him for no reason! Like even if Ichiban hadn't taken Masato's money the way Jo could have imagined, the idea that Ichi can't be responsible in one avenue can easily lead back to Ichi having the potential to look after Masato, especially when he seems to be the one who predominately looks after him when he's tasked to.

I've already got my program open to make my little chart and have my reference pictures ready, so hopefully I can have that silly thing out soon haha- I'm glad you're interested in seeing it, and I hope other people will like to see it too! Jo and Mine really are my favorite antagonists, so it's funny (and I guess not surprising) that they have parallels to them.

To add on to that though, I think it's fun to look at the extra details, no matter how small; I'm probably more happy than I should be that you looked at their office's books, but I can't help be a fan of the details you found (whether they're generic models or not, I'm running with them- I've done more with less before lmao)! Mine having language books is definitely in-line with his interests, but Jo having art history books is weirdly endearing (and dare I say another point for "these are the same picture" comparing it to Mine's own love for art). Jo being so private to the point of blocking out the binds of the books he owns is so accurate to him and his secrecy, and the concept that he likes to read about art in his spare time is a new favorite concept for me.

Mine really isn't acknowledged much after 4; in comparison to Ryuji and Nishiki, he's remembered throughout the series the least (you can argue the same for Ryuji, but considering he gets a whole new life in Dead Souls, I think it's fair to say that makes up for the mainline series forgetting about him. Though I guess the same could be Mine getting a prominent role as Hijikata in Ishin... Definitely not as cool of a spot as to be a playable protagonist with a machine gun arm if I'm honest). In that, it's great that his likelihood can exist in future characters, and I hope they continue the trend of phenomenal antagonists in LaD8 and onward!

I'm eternally grateful for this frame you've gifted me thank you so much- Nakai's smile is such a blessing honestly, I'm glad if anything survived from the interview it can be this shot at least.

I've got Princess Toyotomi and Hero SP added to my watch list, DEFINITELY something I'll be excited to check out as a reward once I have all my important business taken care of this week! Honestly, I haven't seen Musashi either: while I was looking through their filmography I saw it was a project they did, but I've always been bad at watching long series so I didn't take the time to see their performance together.

For things I have seen though... yeah he dies SORRY IF THAT WAS HOW YOU FOUND OUT </3</3 Honestly I didn't expect myself to love the series as much as I did (admittedly it was predominately because of the leads and their relationship), but when it happened I was both- dare I say crushed- a little humored a little funny in a dark-comedy way.

And if you do have access to harder-to-get films, I'd absolutely be interested in hearing about it. One of Nakai's movies Good Morning Show has been haunting me for weeks: it sounds like such a fun movie yet I can't find it anywhere </3

#long post #fave #i have to fave these now because i be putting my essay notes in these OOPSIE #snap chats #the state of the arakawas is probably one of my favorite things to explain to people BECAUSE its so complicated #i showed my sister the ending of Y7 despite her not knowing anything about the series since i was talking about how upset it made me #and i tried to explain the whole family situation since it was relevent #just... yeah so the guy in blue was put in a locker by his dad and then he got saved by another guy #and he did that because he thought the guy in blue was his kid- who is actually the guy in red #because /his/ mom put him in a locker because of yakuza business and she couldnt take care of him #but now dad-who-put-a-baby-in-a-locker came back so now he co-parents alongside the guy who took his baby #but theyre not together they just. raise 'their' kid but the other guy doesn't know that his co-parent is the /actual/ dad #i know i already made a parody of it but it genuinely has the set up to some goofy slice-of-life manga i love it ☠️☠️ #its SO funny to try to explain its easy to understand if you put it down on paper or write it out but to verbally do it 😭☠️☠️ #moving on tho i'd love to know more about that japanese psychology bit #im asian myself and tho obviously not all asian cultures are the same they overlap #so im curious to see if i can recognize any of the issues i notice in my own culture with that which can be applied to the arakawas + mine #the bit on his western idolization is something im interested in too ! esp based on the books in his office it could be an interestin topic #man i just keep looking at that interview picture and it really does have the energy of a proud dad and his son #maybe thats just because nakai's smile reminds me of my dads #but yes yes thank you again for writing it ! i know i keep saying it but i cant stress how nice it is to take this extensively #especially because not only do i learn a bit more and learn some details i missed but it also helps me expand my own thoughts #that i hope to make into bigger posts #on that note though i have one more quick post to make after this one then i have to tend to some of that Important Business.. #and thank you for being a supporter of me and my work ! sometimes i get a bit self conscious about it #i know i post a lot too and i never expect people to interact with my things so im grateful for the knowledge you enjoy it !

[kkoct-ik]

i can def relate to having an abusive mother, the worst part is that people always assume mothers to be good people. thankfully my dad and mother don't live together so i chose to stay with my dad permanently but my dad's girlfriend is constantly talking about how i should make up with my mother because "you only get one mom" and she completely ignores me when i try to talk about how abusive my mother was

yeah. ugh. sorry about your situation anon. it sucks and im sending sympathies

#ask #i just dunno what to do with myself #as if complex trauma isnt enough im now dealing with a lot of complicated situations regarding what to do now #i dont live there anymore. but my siblings do. hi guys i have 4 younger siblings #and me as much as everybody else just wishes there was a nice family to help us develop stable and normal #so im doing my damn best. im trying to stay in contact with the kids. im hoping they have a better support system than i did #but family policy means the teens get no texting privacy no internet time. so as if i can fucking stay in touch and look out for them anywa #i dont think i can do anything. it feels inevitable that every kid is gonna get completely fractured like me #and the only other alternative risks making it worse and uncomfortable when its none of my business anymore #(taking up my therapist on calling cps. lol) #i cant talk about it with my siblings (no real access to them) and it makes me insane #i cant talk to my dad because he has enough shit and i dont want to drive the family to pieces #i cant talk to my mum because she has a habit of abusing the kids and then telling them its because *I* made her mad; blame me #what am i meant to do #as if the past isnt a lot to process right now. im also dealing with the present that this is probably ongoing and theres fuck all i can do #sorry for venting. im in hell. im trying to be normal and failing spectacularly #abuse #domestic abuse #for cw #i wish i didnt have to worry. i wish this was never a problem in the first place

[lovecatsys]

wait i just realized

Charles and Cain are both homophobic homosexuals.

I don't know what to do with this information.

#AND. THEYRE BOTH MOSTLY ESTABLISHED AS HOMOPHOBIC IN AUSTEN'S RUN. #charles xavier #cain marko #x men #the gay homophobia brothers..... #tbf the way i see cain's internalized homophobia is like. his dad was probably very homophobic and included that in his abuse towards him #so him saying homophobic shit is probably just echoing what his dad told him #which like. gets complicated because he definitely knows very well that he is gay and he is in love w black tom #but like. i dont think he ever Acknowledges hes gay out loud like its just kind of a thing that he keeps repressed inside #while also being homophobic to JP lmao #he and tom need to get back together and tom needs to slap this sense into him tbh #but yeah charles is just. charles

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for wring amputees: its ok if your amputee can't repair their own prosthetics

There's a trope in fiction for amputees to always be these mechanical geniuses who can make and repair their own prosthetics, endlessly tinkering away and improving them. This isn't a particularly trope, and i dont think its harmful or anything, but in reality, prosthetics are REALLY, REALLY complicated, and a lot of amputees cant do their own repairs. And thats ok. Like, prosthetic creation and repair is way, way harder than I think people expect. Well outside the skillset of your standard mechanic, handy man or craftsperson.

People who make and repair prosthetics are called prosthetists. To become a prosthetist, most countries around the world today require you to have completed a bachelor's degree in specifically in prosthetics and orthotics, which covers not only how to make a prosthetics (and orthodics) but a great deal of medical knowledge, physics, how different forces impact "non-standard" bodies, the additional biological wear-and-tear that comes with being an amputee and so much more. This will qualify you to do the job of fitting/making the prosthetic socket (the part that attaches to your body) and putting premade components together to make a functioning device. On top of this, many prosthetists are also expected to have artistic skills, sewing skills, good physical strength and dexterity, IT skills, and more recently, knowledge of 3D modelling and printing.

You want to make all the high-tech components the prosthetists put together to make the full prosthetic? The requirements for that vary country to country, but most will require at least some level study in the field of engineering and/or medicine, on top of what was already required for the prosthetics course.

The reason for all this is because even "basic" prosthetics are extremely finicky, and messing up one thing will have a domino effect on the rest of the body, especially in more complicated prosthetics. It can also result in people getting severally injured if anything is even slightly off. many leg amputees for example end up with spinal issues due to extremely minor issues with their prosthetic that weren't caught until years later, and by then the damage had been done.

Some amputees do learn to do basic repairs. This is most common in places like the US, where a visit to the prosthetist can cost hundred to thousands of dollars (depending on your insurance), but it's also quite common in rural parts of countries like Australia, where cost isn't an issue but access is due to vast distances between major cities. I was personally in this category; as a kid, my nearest prosthetist was 6 hours away. My prosthetist was able to teach my dad, who later taught me, how to do some of the simple repairs, but we still needed to go in every few weeks for the more complex stuff (Kids prosthetic need more adjusting than adults because they're still growing. Also I was rough on my prosthetics and broke them a lot lol).

But even after being taught how to do repairs and having my prosthetics for 20+ years, I only ever did these sorts of repairs to my below-knee prosthetic. I will not do any repairs of any kind to my above knee leg, which is much more technologically complex. Every time I tried, I made it worse to the point where the leg was unusable. I just leave those repairs to the guy who went to university to learn how to do it, and sometimes even he needs to send it off to someone with even more specialist knowledge when it's really badly messed up lol. Last time that happened Australia post lost the package. Not really relevant to this post, I just find the idea of it being sent to the wrong place by accident hilarious, it was one of my more realistic legs too so someone probably had a heart attack when they opened that package lmao.

Anyway, back on track lol.

This isn't even touching on the fact that on some more advanced prosthetics, many features are actually locked behind a security barrier only prosthetists can access. My prosthetic knee has an app on my phone I can pair it to, that allows me to change certain settings and swap between certain modes for different activities that tell the leg to change its behaviour depending on what I'm doing (e.g. a mode for running, a mode for cycling etc). but most of the more in-depth settings I can't access, only my prosthetist can, and he can only gain access to those settings with a security key given to him by the manufacturing company that requires him to provide proof of his credentials to receive it. I don't really agree with this btw, something about being locked out of my own leg's settings makes me feel a bit of an ick, but it's set up like this because people used to be able to access these settings and they would mess with things to the point their leg was virtually unusable. Because altering one setting had a domino effect on all the others, and a lot of folks weren't really paying attention to what they were messing with, all their prosthetists could do was factory reset the whole leg, which causes some issues too. Prosthetic arms are often similarly complex, as I understand it and have similar security barriers in place for more advanced arms. I don't know for sure though, so take that with a grain of salt.

All this to say these are incredibly delicate, finicky and complex pieces of equipment. There's nothing wrong with having a techy amputee character who can do their own repairs, but in reality, that is pretty rare, and its ok to have your character need to see a prosthetist or someone more knowledgeable than them. It's a part of the amputee experience I don't see reflected very often in media. In fact, the only examples I can think of in fiction (meaning not stories based on real people) where this is reflected are Full metal alchemist.

technically I think Subnautica Below Zero also mentions prosthetists are a thing in that world, but its a very "blink and you'll miss it" kind of thing...in fact I did miss it until my last playthrough lol.

#Writing Disability with Cy Cyborg #long post #id in alt text #amputee #writing disability #disability #disabilities #disabled #actually disabled #writing advice #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #disability representation #authors of tumblr #prosthetics #disability aids #mobility aids #amputee life #amputee problems #full metal alchemist #automail #amputee representation

[scaredycatqlt]

hey so how do you think Donnie rise would deal with having a s/o who is the common sense one of the couple? Like donnie over thinks and s/o is just like “sweetie. April’s just busy with work. She’s not avoiding you”. And s/o ends up being right. Or when he’s trying to fix something tech related and he goes over all the complicated variables and s/o is like “Have you tried putting it backwards?” He is none believing at first, but he puts it backwards anyway and suddenly the machine works and he laments in his head about classic donnie overthink. The times when he is right though s/o’s like “Fuck it up! I support you!”?

I like this idea. It’s an interesting dynamic to think about, especially considering how unhinged Donnie is…

Donnie X Logical! Reader [ROMANTIC]

Donnie usually has the most common sense out of all of his brothers, which honestly isn’t a lot. At all. It’s a very low bar to beat.

But you’re the voice of reason in the relationship. You may not be as tech smart as him, but you’re a hell of a lot more logical in other ways.

Donnie overthinks A LOT. So having a partner who’s reassuring and reasonable is something that he would benefit from immensely.

even if he puts up a bit of a fight first…

He doesn’t like the feeling of people being smarter than him. That’s HIS thing, HE’S the smart guy. So sometimes your tendencies annoy him.

He’s not really mad at you, more so mad at himself for not seeing how obvious it was.

His brothers appreciate you because you help calm him down. While he can never truly be tamed, you help keep him in line, in a way.

And the times you agree with him are the BEST.

As soon as you give him the ‘OK’ he is grinning like a maniac.

When you’re not there, he probably thinks ‘what would they do?’ And either do that or completely ignore that. He’s chaotic neutral you guys.

If you’re not with him when he needs advice, he also might just text you. You probably get random texts at ungodly hours of the night.

“Is it really that bad to test my weapons on my brothers?”

Seriously though, his brothers are big fans of you. You help him control his chaotic side. (And also a bit of his brothers too, bc duh.)

He’s not the most emotionally available in general..but he tries to express how he’s feeling further along in the relationship.

At first in the relationship he mainly brags and shows off WAY more than he used to. He wants to impress you.

And maybe hear you say your proud of him

ITS NOT JUST HIS DAD HE WANTS APPROVAL FROM OKAY??!!!

He definitely texts u a lot <33

You guys are a duo and bring out the best in eachother, that I can say with confidence.

Hope you liked these!!! They took like 40 mins to come up with 😭

#rottmnt x reader #rottmnt #asks open #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt donnie #rise donnie #donnie tmnt #donnie x reader #rottmnt headcanons #headcanons #rise donatello #donatello x reader

[meshlasolus]

Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: Listen… I don’t have any excuse for ditching my other three active series except for tiktok made me do it… That, and the CLM series by @macfrog has ascended me to a new level of crazy and I just needed an outlet for it somewhere. Another shoutout to @theatrelove3000 who keeps putting up with my dbf joel shenanigans, they are indeed insane.

Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, light smut, uncomfortable situations with readers father… probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am

Please be kind to this chapter, I actually like it, despite the horrors.

Decided on the song ‘Mary On A Cross‘ by Ghost for this one bc it fits ig.

MASTERLIST

Age gap is approximately 15 years or so, reader is over 21 and joel is about 37

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

It had been almost three days.

You looked out the window to the front of your house repeatedly to try and remember it clearly. The drive home, the kiss, and how abruptly it ended with a promise to see each other around. You thought about it so often you almost wondered if it happened the way you perceived it, if any details had been skewed in your mind simply because you wanted to keep it there, fresh, untouched. Maybe he thought of it differently... but maybe he didn't.

"Did you bring home the stuff I asked ya?" Your dad came into the kitchen with a smile, embracing you with a side hug and turning to help you unpack the groceries.

"Course' I did, Pa," you handed him the bag with the six-pack of bud and the other one full of snacks.

It was the first Rangers game night, and as per tradition, that meant the company of the next-door neighbors. It had been a while since you'd been around to enjoy it, but now that you were back, there were quite a few more reasons why you were on edge to now participate. It would look weird if you came up with an excuse not to be there, and you knew that. You also knrw that you'd gotten into a rather complicated entanglement with your father's closest friend, and weren't sure what the outcome really was.

Had that driveway light not spooked you both apart, and had that little black stray cat not made an appearance, how far would it have gone? Things were pretty heated, but even still. Would he have said something? Maybe along the lines of 'I've known you since you were sixteen, and this isn't appropriate at all.'

You didn't have time to think about it, you were set to work on helping your dad cook dinner for the soon-arriving neighbors. Dinner and a baseball game, once a relaxing and enjoyable time to bond with your dad, now turned into an anxiety fest where you were convinced you'd have to walk on pins and needles around every topic.

"So," your dad piped up from his silence at the stove, stirring the pot of chili he'd been prepping. "Joel told me he gave you a ride 'few nights back."

You knew it was harmless, and that he wasn't asking for any reason, other than that he was probably curious. You hadn't seen Joel in a while, not since two Christmases ago. Your dad had driven up to Dallas to spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas with you last year, and you didn't come home for summer break given an internship opportunity. You must have seemed different to the man in some way. All grown up.

"Yeah, gave me a ride n' saved me at the bar," you chuckled, trying to seem playful and unsuspicious about the encounter.

He seemed to be confused, his brows furrowed and a funny look on his face.

"Whad'ya mean he saved ya?" he of course was continuing to speak all the while dumping his favorite spices into the pot of chili, looking across here and now to keep engaged.

"Just scared off some weirdo who couldn't take no for an answer," you let a sweet and genuine smile fall across your features, but didn't let it get out of hand. Your relationship with your father was airtight, and he could read you pretty damn well. You weren't going to give anything away, not with what was potentially on the line.

"Glad he was there," he replied with a chuckle, sending you a soft glance. "Never thought you'd have grown up so fast, now I gotta carry a shotgun whenever we go places. Fend off the wild beasts."

His jokes were only so funny now, because in this situation, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot Joel if he found out what had happened. All in the nature of protecting you, but it made you sad to think of the situation that way. Joel wasn't just another weirdo following you around at a bar.

"It's only because I'm so pretty," you did your best to respond lightheartedly, making a quip that would soothe the silence. "And I believe that's yours and Mama's fault, givin' me the genes and what not."

You'd finished chopping a nice garden salad by the time the doorbell rang. You ran upstairs to change your shirt to the Jersey your dad bought you for your birthday, claiming it was good luck for the team. Truth be told, you didn't wanna be downstairs when Joel and Sarah got here.

Sarah was here, too. Her, you could easily handle. You were almost hoping that she would be in a rather talkative mood, that way the attention could be swayed to her inconspicuously. You doubted Joel would even try to talk to you, anyway.

"Lovebug, come on down, Millers are here!" Your dad shouted up, even though he saw you run upstairs right when the doorbell rang to change your shirt.

"I'm comin', hold on," you replied sassily while heading for the staircase.

You got to the bottom and had to take a breath before turning the corner into the entryway. Joel stood there with a sweet smile to you, and you tried your best to hold back the one you wore. It was too bright, too happy to see him. All despite your nerves.

You were quickly embraced by Sarah, whom you paid immediate attention to.

"My lordy, girl," you held up your hand by your shoulder to show the height difference, "last time I saw you, you must've been this tall."

"Dad tells me I'm growing like a weed," she tossed a finger over her shoulder to where he was standing, and you gave him a small glance and a smile.

"Us daughters do have a tendency to grow up," you laughed, slinging an arm around Sarah and pulling her along to the kitchen as your dad and Joel did the same behind you.

Why had you been so anxious? Joel is happy to see you. He makes causal conversation with your dad, but he catches your eye every chance he gets. His expression doesn't change, except for the tug of his lips in a smile that's barely there. Joel doesn't smile too often, except apparently when you and Sarah are around.

It doesn't take long for everyone to get situated with their food at the table, playful banter between Joel and your father filling the air as you made less rambunctious chatter with Sarah.

She's doing pretty well since last you saw her. She was always a bright girl, but as she grew it became more apparent that she would probably excel further than anyone in her graduating class. You were sitting across from a future valedictorian, you were sure.

You'd tried to ask her about her out of school interests before your dad interrupted with a question.

"How about you, lovebug?" He watched your eyes flick over to him with a turn of your head. He added context, given you hadn't been listening to them earlier. "Are you gonna look for a summer job?"

You really should, if you're being honest. There's not much work in your aspiring profession located here, but you weren't as lucrative as you used to be, given your educational expenses.

"I've thought about it," you tilted your head back and forth, and your dad seemed to need more from your answer. "I need to earn some cash before I get back to Dallas, but I'm not really sure where to apply."

Sarah seemed to know where this was going before you did. She'd been around the last time your dad was begging Joel to find some help for the contracting team they worked with. But surely your dad doesn't expect you to build houses, does he? Your dream job is to dig holes in the ground, not fill them in and put homes on top.

"We got some spaces to fill, you should come work with us 'few months. The pay's good and you don't have to stay on long, probably just till the end of July."

You gave him a look, and he instantly knew you weren't interested, but you figured you'd try and justify your reasoning. It was an argument either way.

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

Did he just-?

"S'not much more fun than what your dad's been doin,' but at least it's out of the sun, and easier to learn."

You were almost dumbfounded. Your dad offering you a job that potentially could give you heat stroke with your lack of experience seemed like the worst idea in the world... but working on interior projects? With Joel of all people? Well, that didn't sound so bad.

You didn't want your dad to catch on, of course. Being so protestant of his suggestion, but then falling right into it as soon as Joel was the one to offer would be a dead giveaway to some sort of favoritism to his best buddy. It simply wouldn't look right.

"What kinda interior stuff?"

He smirked. The motherfucker was smirking. He knew you'd changed your mind, but couldn't exactly just come out with it. He understood, but it was still slightly amusing to him.

"Flooring, cabinets, countertops... 's things like that," he explained, knowing you really didn't care what all it entailed. He was still happy to play along. "S'not as fun as archeology, but it pays alright."

You nodded, acting as though you were turning the thoughts over in your head.

"Well, if you're sure I won't mess it up, I'd be happy to try it out," was your final response. You figured it left some leeway in case your father became suspicious, but gave a good enough answer to end the conversation on.

"That's my girl," your dad clapped a hand on your shoulder in excitement. Truth be told he would very much enjoy your presence on a work site. "I'll go ahead and call Eddie in the morning, let 'im know I found someone to replace Charlie for interiors."

It was said more to Joel, you figured, because you didn't really know who either of those people were. He'd nodded to your dad, taking a sip of his beer and then looking back to you. You smiled sweetly, nobody catching it but the one it was meant for.

"Game's gonna start soon," Joel spoke aloud, drawing everyone's eye to the clock over the stove.

Sarah cleared her throat before jumping in on the conversation.

"About that," she looked to her dad with the same puppy dog eyes she used to use against you. He was just as poor at saying no to her when she pulled those bad boys out. "Sammy texted me to ask if it's okay to stay over at her place tonight?"

Joel sighed. He knew that no matter the attempts he made for her to like baseball, it wasn't her thing. It was summer vacation, and he had no reason to say no, so he didn't.

"Is she coming to pick you up?" He began, fishing his keys out of his pocket to drive her if need be. The girl lived five minutes away, he'd be back only a few minutes after the game started, but he didn't really want to leave.

"I can ask her," she pulled her phone back out of her jeans, opened her screen, and checked her messages.

"No need, I can take you," your voice rang out, standing from the table and taking your bowl to the sink. It was a genuine offer, but it was also to get out of the house and process what just happened with the job situation.

Joel was the first one to stand up with you.

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," you cut him off, leaving no room for discussion. It was lucky he liked you, otherwise, Joel Miller might have put up quite the argument for such a small dilemma. As was his way, of course. He huffed, but accepted he had been overruled.

"Thanks, then." It was mumbled, but there was gratitude in it.

"We gotta hop over to ours real quick and grab my stuff," Sarah told you, waiting for you to return from the kitchen before beginning to head out through the front door. You'd grabbed your keys off where they hung on the wall before going behind her.

"I'll be back soon," you called over your shoulder into the house, and got a chirped 'alright' reply from your dad.

You walked out passed your driveway, seeing the light flicker on as you both went passed the censor on the ground.

"Y'know, I didn't think you'd have caved so fast on that job thing." She had piped up once you were almost to her porch. You found it only slightly funny that she chose the exact topic which had been swirling in your mind since it happened.

"Not sure I really wanna do it, but your dad made it sound better than every time my dad's talked about it, guess he just convinced me," you chuckled, playing it off in a way that she absolutely was about to use against you.

"That's another thing," she turned to you as she backed into the house through the door, only turning once she was inside. "Since when are you friends with my dad?"

She said it in a joking tone, but having known a few things she didn't about interactions that occurred between you and her father, you felt constricted to answer seriously. Probably with a lie if need be.

"I've always gotten along with your dad," you gave her a confused look, accompanied after by a playful smile.

She grabbed her backpack and opened it, checking to make sure she'd taken all the school stuff out before starting to shove things in, her charger, headphones, etc.

"Yeah but... you're just all young and cool and stuff," she shrugged, turning around to walk towards the staircase. "My dad is all old and boring and only talks about baseball."

"Thirty-seven isn't old, babe. My dad is two years from fifty, and I don't even think he's old, yet. Boring? Maybe..." you reasoned, hearing her laugh before she sprinted up the stairs, giving you time to think of some answers before she asked any more questions. Had she really caught onto you that fast? You didn't think you'd acted noticeably. If Sarah was able to see it, then maybe your dad did, too. You needed to be more careful, in that case.

Sarah returned a few minutes later, her backpack now stuffed and her pillow under her arm. You nodded out the door and headed back to your driveway to open the door for her, seeing as though her hands were full.

-

The drive after Sarah had been dropped off felt so much longer. Maybe it was just your thoughts, or maybe you consciously drove slower to avoid getting home too quickly. Your dad was waiting, but above that, Joel was there, too. Probably sitting back on the leather couch, relaxing with his feet kicked out on the floor. He usually leaned onto the armrest with his elbow, and held his face against the hand it supported. You'd noticed it years ago. He only ever spoke up when your dad did, usually in reply to him.

He was content simply watching the game in the presence of a friend. It was endearing.

When you pulled into the driveway, you had come up with an excuse to not remain downstairs for the duration of the game. It was too risky, and you weren't apparently as good with self-control as you'd thought you were.

You went inside and hung up your keys on the hook, immediately passing the living room on the way to the stairs.

"Hey, lovebug, you missed the top of the first," your dad called. He knew you liked baseball, so if you were to lie and say you didn't want to watch, he'd know something was up.

"Y'know, pa, I think I'm just gonna watch it upstairs, I forgot I still got some stuff to unpack," you peaked your head into the room to respond, and saw that Joel, just as you had pictured, was sitting in his most usual position on the couch, feet out on the floor, arm up with a hand holding the side of his face.

"Can't you do it later?" Your dad pleaded, but you knew, seeing as how your father occupied the recliner, you would have no where else to sit but on the floor or next to Joel. You didn't trust yourself with that.

"I could, but I might fall asleep if I wait too long."

He sighed, throwing an arm in your direction and shooing you away. He wasn't annoyed, but he'd admit he missed watching these games with you. It had been like a tradition, but if Sarah wasn't here either, he wasn't gonna make you stick around.

"Sure you don't wanna stick around? We could use your lucky jersey down here," Joel piped up, lifting his face from his hand and giving you a pair of soft eyes. That was exactly the reason you would not be staying. He didn't even realize how much he affected you, but you'd make sure he did at some point. Maybe you could just tease him a little.

"You're right, it would be a shame to take the lucky jersey with me."

You walked behind your dad's chair, out of his sight, and tauntingly stripped the jersey over your head, revealing the tight black tank top beneath it, just like that night at the bar. Joel's jaw clenched and his eyes turned darker, even under the bright light of the flatscreen in the living room. You never took your eyes away from his as you slung him the jersey.

"Hey pa, can I get you anything from the kitchen before I go upstairs?" You leaned over the back of his recliner, looking at him upside down. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to move your hair from obstructing his vision.

"We're all good, lovebug," he spoke in addition to his physical response, his laughter dying down as you stood back up. "Come on down if you change your mind."

"I'll probably be down later," you spewed a half-lie. You weren't sure if you would be or not, especially if Joel was still lurking in the living room.

You gave those brown eyes one last look before heading straight upstairs.

You grabbed your remote and flicked on the TV. It was already on the right channel, so you tossed the remote aside onto your bed and flopped back into it. You didn’t actually have anything left to unpack, but they would never have known.

Your phone buzzed beside you, and you lifted the screen to your face to see a text from an unsaved number:

Missin you down here…

You’d never put Joel in your contacts, because in highschool, your friends thought it was weird to even text or call him regularly, but you had his number for years, always just as a backup. You’d known it by heart, now, and nearly had it memorized back then, too, for the times you needed his help.

I’d come back if there was an open seat.

A bit sassy of a response, maybe, but you were hoping he’d understand the hidden meaning behind it… Although, Joel didn’t usually pick up on those things very easily.

Open seat right next to me

Yeah, that’s why I’m up here…

You huffed, realizing it wouldn’t be that easy. The three little dots indicating his next response was on the way slightly nerved you. Maybe he took the last text you sent the wrong way. You didn’t mean it to sound badly.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Means that I can’t keep my hands to myself.

You quickly rectified the situation, although you might have gone too far. He was taking far too long to answer, now. The little dots that before nerved you would now be your saving grace if it meant he would just fucking respond, already. You dropped the phone on your chest, raising up and down in a scattered rhythm while you wiped your hands over your face. Your phone vibrated over your shirt and you immediately opened it.

I can’t either. Stay up there.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. He was thinking the same things you were, and likely was under more stress for it, given he sat right across from your dad, responding to his comments about the game here and there. Your dad had no idea what was happening right under his nose.

Wasn’t thinking about leavin.

This little back and forth went on, the majority of the game, in fact. It was more-so about the plays then on, because you didn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

Joel thought it a bit funny, your dad would say something oddly specific about one of the players, and then you’d text him right after saying the exact same thing. You’d been a product of watching baseball with your old man for just about ever.

“I’m thinking about gettin’ some tickets over the summer for a game or two. They’re always cheaper in them group packages, you n’ Sarah should come along,” your dad was barely paying any attention to the words he spoke, but they came flowing out anyway, clear and cool. “Could be fun.”

Joel knew that there was only so much group interaction he could handle with you, and you with him. It stands to why you’re upstairs, an he’s down here, fist wrapped tightly around your lucky jersey. All out of your father’s sight, of course.

“It could be. Don’t think Sarah’s much for baseball anymore, though.”

He’d hoped that your dad would drop it. Halfway through his third beer, he hoped the man was a little more than tipsy, and maybe didn’t even mean the words he was saying.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still tag along,” your dad was definitely still sober enough to keep it up, although the way he spoke became slower. Maybe he was getting sleepy.

“I’ll think about it.”

His response was followed by a hum, then a lull of silence that endured the rest of the game. He sat all the while and thought about his predicament a bit more.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was insane… like you’d leeched yourself to the inner workings of his mind and he wouldn’t be able to pull you off without hurting himself, too. You were just upstairs, and had been texting him. You were within his vicinity, and yet… so unreachable.

He’d wished for you to be down here, or for him to be up there with you. Obviously, that wouldn’t go too well with the man sitting next to him, but he’d be asleep soon. If he could just touch you again, just kiss you one more time, maybe his cravings would be satisfied and he could go about his days… but what would happen if he kept feeling the addictive urge to do more? What if he was never satiated enough to quit you?

The game was called, and you’d texted him a small ‘victory’ at seeing the Rangers had won.

It was wrong, and the presence of his friend beside him was a constant reminder that you were his kid, and he would have a final say. Even though you were an adult, he understood this was completely taboo, and you should be off with guys your own age... but he’s made up his mind about the thoughts spinning in his head.

He didn’t respond, though. Your dad stood up out of his chair, his arms stretching outwards with a loud yawn as he took a few steps forwards, clapping his hand down on Joel’s shoulder.

“I hate to kick you out…” your father joked, a low and tired chuckle under his words.

“It’s alright, I got some stuff to sort out anyway.”

They started making their way towards the door when light but fast footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.

Joel turned quickly, a smile on his lips and in his eyes when he saw you trying to catch your breath after sprinting down here.

“Leavin’ already?”

They both laughed heartily. As if Joel hadn’t been here almost three hours, most of which you spent upstairs. Your heart was beating far too fast for your liking, but there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it. Now that you were present again, in the room with him, you didn’t know what else to do.

“Your dad’s half asleep as it is, if I stay any longer I’ll send ‘im into hibernation,” Joel’s response made you giggle softly, although you withheld most of the laughter, because in all honestly, it wasn’t that funny, and you needed to learn to control yourself.

“He’ll be over next week, we’ll talk about gettin’ you into that job.”

You nodded, turning back to Joel as your dad opened the front door. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t hug him, could you? That’s too much… maybe just wave, or maybe-

He held his hand out… for you to shake it. A hand-shake. Yeah, sure, fine.

You shook it, but he pulled you in half way, tapping your back once and then letting go.

He just bro hugged you. This man just-

He turned and did the same to your dad, giving you one last glimpse as he stepped out the door. Your dad closed it behind him and you were almost clean out of words to say. That had to have been the strangest interaction you’ve had.

“I’m beat, love-bug. I’m gonna head to bed,” he slung an arm around your neck and kissed the top of your head before turning and going down the hall to the stairs. “Don’t be up too late.”

“I won’t, just got a few things to do.”

You waited approximately ten more seconds before running to the garage door, going as quickly and as quietly as you could through to your front yard. Joel was still on his porch when you got out there, but was about to go inside.

You ran out to the sidewalk in font of his house and called out to him, all the while still barefoot.

“Hey Miller,” you crossed your arms, watching him turn around and lean in one direction. “Did you just bro-hug me? Or did I imagine that?”

He stepped closer to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams closest to him.

You slowly walked up to him, tilting your head to side as you observed his stance. he looked rather good. Hair tousled, body adorning a black t-shirt and some dark jeans. He was a sight, even in the dark light of the neighborhood.

“I reckon I oughta’ try again?”

"Seems like the fair thing to do."

“You’re takin’ your sweet time, baby,” he irked, grabbing gently under your elbow and pulling you up onto to porch once you were close enough.

You smiled to him, and wrapped your arms round his neck, over his broad shoulders. He pulled you close, tucking a head into your shoulder. The anxiousness you felt before fell apart, the rapid beating of your heart slowed, because you were comfortable. You felt immense peace in his arms like you’ve never felt before.

He backed away too soon, but still kept you relatively close to him.

“Was that better?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

There was a moment of silence, of contemplation, but it wasn’t stiff, and it wasn’t awkward. It was just there, a nice and pleasant quiet, and you standing still with Joel Miller on his porch.

“You wanna come inside a while?”

Sarah wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be till morning. Your dad was probably passed out in bed by now, leaving the opportunity completely open. You had nothing to lose, no risk to be had.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

He didn’t let you go, he just walked you both backwards until he was able to reach the door, reaching with one hand to open it before stepping slightly to the side to allow you entrance first.

“Ever the gentlemen,” you smiled, walking inside before he followed you in.

“Gotta make up for all that nonsense earlier,” he closed the door, taking your hand and walking to the kitchen. He pulled out a stool at his counter and let your hand fall to your side as he made his way to the fridge.

He pulled out two beers and uncapped them with the tool hanging on the side of his fridge. You think you remember your dad buying it for his birthday one year. You can remember sitting in this exact seat many times before, actually. Never alone, though. Never just you and Joel, and nobody else near.

He slid you one beer an you smiled at him in thanks, taking a sip.

“Last time you had one of these, I didn’t know if you liked it or not,” he gestured to his own bottle, drinking some and setting it down on the counter.

“I don’t know, I think it’s growing on me.”

He looked straight to you, leaning both hands on the edge of the counter. You leaned forward, mimicking his more stern face of features before he said anything else.

“I didn’t wanna say so with your dad around, but you look awful pretty tonight,” he spoke the compliment smoothly, but he had to drop his head after he said it. Seemed that giving you compliments alone in the night was something of a struggle for him, since he was blushing still even when he looked back to you.

“I seem to be feelin’ a lot prettier as of late whenever I’m around you. Think you’re just good for my self esteem,” you paused, leaning back onto the stool to take a drink of your beer. “That, or it's just nice to be complimented by a handsome guy like yourself.”

He didn’t seem to believe you. His scoff was loud and heard immediately after your compliment returned to him.

“You think I’m handsome?”

He’d always thought he was average. Maybe even slightly below. As he got older, that notion grew until he felt that maybe he was beyond trying for a woman on behalf of his looks. Perhaps there were women from time to time that would agree to a date, but there were none since Sarah’s mom who actually stuck around, not until you… but you were different as far as relationships go, because technically, you shouldn’t even be considering one with him.

“Absolutely, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” You were curious, because he was clearly attractive. Maybe you’d spent too much time around the more traditionally preferred young men in dallas, but something about Joel intrigued you that never did with anyone else. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of what you two were doing, but before that, it was something else. He was rough and rugged, and good looking in a mature way that the boys your age couldn’t mimic if they tried. Those dark brown eyes with little crows feet at the edges every time he smiled were a dead give away to his age, but it was so appealing somehow.

“Don’t know. Guess I’m just old,” he spoke, trying to hide the insecurities that phrasing brought about. He was too old for you, he shouldn’t be sitting here with you you alone and calling you pretty, and yet…

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Too many boys my age are still very immature these days.” And it was very much true. Too young, too immature, and too stupid to see what’s in front of them and really appreciate it. Older men have a tendency to take care of the things they have, because they know that with time they can lose them.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“They don’t even realize what their missin’ out on, do they?”

You shook your head in reply. Nope. Not a single one of the younger guys you’ve dated has treated you with the care you know he could. He’s always treated you with care, before… why would that change now?

“They probably figure there’s a million girls linin’ up after me that they can take a shot at,” you raised your eyebrows and drank some more. Maybe it was just a thought of some past experiences, but this beer was tasting better and better to you.

“I pity them,” he said nonchalantly, without really thinking about it.

“Who, the girls? I mean, I kinda feel bad, but other times, I think we all know what we’re getting ourselves into n’ we just try to ignore the red flags.”

It was meant as a joke, but he was being genuinely serious.

“No, the guys. I pity ‘em.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I do,” he nodded, thinking of the right words to say. “They lost you, didn’t they? Biggest mistake of their lives and they didn’t even know. Pity ‘em just for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You figured the wide smile you wore was doing a fine enough job, but he wasn’t looking like he had anything else to voice yet.

“You think I’m somethin’ special, Joel Miller?”

He set his bottle down on the counter and walked around it to stand right in front of your barstool. He took both your hands and pulled them to his chest, just holding them there and looking to you with the sweetest expression you’ve ever seen from him. He’s so different than what you remember in your earlier years. He used to be so stoic and serious. Sometimes even a little grumpy. Guess time changes things.

“I wouldn’t be gettin’ myself into sum’ this crazy if I thought anything else,” he mumbled it almost, but he definitely meant it. His words rang true in every aspect of the implications they made. This was crazy, it was very unlikely in the first place, but even still, it was happening. Neither of you backed down, neither of you said no.

“If it helps, I happen to think you’re pretty damn special, too.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned closer towards you, nudging his nose against yours, before letting your lips meet in a kiss. it washed rushed and hazy like the last time. It wasn’t forceful or fast or anything of that sort. It was gentle, and it was meaningful. All the years he’d known you, but never like this. You knew this attraction was new, but it was still real. You wondered how many women pined after him over the years, only for you to now gage his attention when clearly no one else did. The man’s been single since Sarah’s mom left, and otherwise, you didn’t know him to be much of a ‘dating around’ kinda guy. Standing here with him, now, you felt such excitement in knowing he’d pursue you, the off limits woman, over anyone else. It was a true victory, or at least you thought so, sitting on a stool in his kitchen while he kissed you softly, his thumbs going over the backs of your hands that still lingered in his.

When the kiss broke, you inhaled deeply, the scent of him so close to you, surrounding you. He was like a warm blanket you just pulled out of the dryer. He was comforting, and soft, and his skin was currently hot to the touch. You could only hope that you had something to do with that.

“Baby,” he breathed, hands letting go of yours and finding a new home at your waist. You left your hands on his chest, feeling his heart rate fluctuating. “Gotta know something before this goes any further…”

You hummed in response, still trying to even your breath intake. He backed away a few inches to be able to look you in the eyes correctly. He’d spent enough time with you in the past to know if you were telling the truth, and he was going to use it just this once to his advantage.

“What we’re doin’, you sure you’re okay with it?” He knew better than to jump into this without clarification. “Don’t want you feelin’ pressured if you’re not.”

“I want this,” you spoke softly, just loud enough that he could hear. “Promise.”

You had thought you’d been the instigator to this, if memory serves you correctly. Even still, you know now that whatever happens, he won’t take it somewhere you don’t want it to go. This show of good faith was something you could put trust in him over. He’s a good one, you always knew that.

And again his lips were on yours, differently this time. It was a bit more hasty and fervent like the first time, but there was still something different from then that you couldn’t quite decipher.

You absent-mindedly opened your legs and he instantly came between them, letting your bodies become flush with one another. His hands ran up and down your sides, every once and a while dipping to your hips and somewhere below on your thighs.

There was a heat between them that you didn’t realize was there until he came so close to touching it. He never actually did, though, and you were both endeared by and upset about it. He was the one making that heat spread, he can’t just leave it there… but he’s testing his limits, and you think it’s respectful that he is.

He doesn’t want to cross any lines… as if this entire entanglement has not already done that. This situation in every sense of the definition, has crossed the line. Him hugging you that tightly on his porch, him inviting you in after dark when it’s only you and him alone, having a beer with some very personal conversation, and now making out with you in his kitchen. They all crossed the line of what should happen between a man and his best friend’s daughter.

“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled against your mouth, almost as if reading your mind. His hand on your thigh drifted between your legs, just barely caressing the heated pool sitting there, waiting for him. It was still very reserved, and you had to buck against his hand for more friction, but at least it was something.

The taste of him somehow made it worse, the feeling growing inside you without an end in sight. The arousal was evident, but you weren’t sure he would be able to do anything about it, yet. You could tell it was weighing on his mind, what was okay for him to do, and what wasn’t. You would beg him if you had to, you just needed more.

He had an idea, one that could allow both of you to explore this dynamic easier, and one that could potentially keep him from overstepping like he was afraid to.

He removed his hands only for a minute, bringing yours up and over his shoulders before he settled his back down below your ass.

“Hold on,” he told you, lifting you from the seat and walking until he got to the living room. From there, he let the space guide him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch. He sat almost abruptly, and when you relaxed your weight onto him, you felt the stirring between his legs as well. You moaned into his mouth at the mere size and feeling of it, beginning to slowly grind down onto him. He encouraged your movements, and used his hands to guide your hips as you went, back and forth, getting into a rhythm.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, tearing himself away for a moment to expel his breath from his lungs at the new feeling. Your head fell against his, and suddenly it was the movement of your lower half taking you over.

He let his hands move over your body a bit more freely, now, but still careful not to make any harsh movements, or grab in places he felt he shouldn’t linger too long. He knew you wanted this, but something inside him questioned how comfortable you really felt… that was until you started doing the same, roaming his body with your delicate touch, making him feel like the most important man in the world. You could have sworn you marked the exact moment he snapped, rolling his hips upwards into yours shamelessly. It was so deliciously addicting, the feeling of his body pleasing yours, and vice versa. His rough and sturdy hands, though still gentle, ravished any part of you available to him.

The air between you was hot and thick, and you could swear that by breathing it in, you were drawing even more arousal into your body.

The motions kept going until there was a quickening of pace brought on by you both simultaneously. You couldn’t mark a distinction of when it increased, you just knew that the speed you were going wasn’t where you started. All you could think of was that your spend was fast approaching, and you wondered if his was, too.

“Gettin’ close,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out for the moans that slipped passed your lips. “M’gonna…”

He heard you, and understood. Truth be told, he’d started getting hard since that moment on the porch, so this was just nothing but sweet relief to him. He kept on, trying to meet you at your finish.

“Let go , baby.”

You had no qualms about being told twice when it came to him. You gave it up easily, the muscles in your body contracting when you felt the wash of utter ease through every inch of you. He tensed beneath you, but relaxed with a groan of relief right after, and you could feel his length twitch in his jeans.

You just dry-humped Joel Miller on his couch. Like a horny teenager. What the fuck.

The dawn of realization was cut short by his hand softly coercing the back of your neck, bring your lips back for him to claim as he did earlier. Soft, and gentle, no rush, no heat. Just that feeling between you both that started this mess.… and it was indeed a mess.

“You wanna stay over?”

-

Tags (open):

@justanothersadperson93 @moonchild-warrior @hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof @untamedheart81 @just-someone-broken @joelalorian @xybil @yvonneeeee

If i tagged you wrong, or you want to be taken off at any time, just lmk!!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel the last of us #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf! joel miller #joel miller age gap #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

[luffyvace]

Undertaker wants to Court you! ~(Headcanons)~

Can’t wait for the public school arc who’s with me?!

this dude is so silly 🗿 enjoy some hcs of this ridiculous little man

Undertaker is funny. He uses that to his advantage when courting. Well, it actually depends on what type of humor you have- most of his are usually those jokes that are kinda funny but at the same time your like ‘That’s outta pocket! 🤦‍♀️😑😂’ yk?

he always wants to hear jokes. He asks you randomly and no matter what type he laughs at them. Rude humor? Hilarious! Dad jokes? That one really tickled his fancy! 😂 why did the chicken cross the road?? To get to the other side? 🤣🤣💥

now usually I feel he has a specific sense of humor but with you everything’s just kinda funny. It’s that moment when your with someone who you can laugh at the most unfunniest stuff ever and still be cackling at it anyway 😭💕

he’s always telling them as well. Might I say, at the worst times 😏 you just watched someone run over a stray animal? Oh he’s got a joke for that hear him out- LIKE BRO 😭⁉️

HES THE TYPE OF GUY WHO MAKE YOU LAUGH BEFORE EVEN TELLING YOU THE JOKE BECAUSE YOU KNOW ITS GONNA BE STUPID 👍

Let’s also talk about hiiiis…! weird side! (I’m saying ‘side’ like he’s isn’t always weird..) This is pretty much him just being a creep? Ish? Like that scene where he was in the barrel licking salt…🤨 or how he’s always in coffins (which tbh seems more normal for a grim reaper but still..) either way this dudes’ real weird and he doesn’t tone it down, even around you despite the fact that it may or may not (you decide) push you away

He���s a very mysterious dude, so how ever you met him I guarantee it was eerie and somewhat strange. Therefore you were likely intrigued by him, so when you went on your first date it was, well, very interesting! There’s so many layers to unravel with this guy! Ngl even now you’ve only semi unraveled this incomprehensible man but at the least you do learn more as you get to know him :P

his past is….complicated is an understatement- gimme a new word.

literally no one but him knows his full past all the way up to this very day. Looks like no one has stuck around long enough! Since you will I guess you’ll be the first to figure it out! ;)

now I’ll say this, he won’t sit down and just tell you everything, no. That won’t be any fun! 😄 you’ll have to have the intelligent to sit down and decode it piece by piece with the tidbits of information he gives you randomly. Yes! It’s going to be comical seeing you try and put this whole thing-a-ba-jig together! (^_−)−☆ 🤣

his nonjudgmental yet opinionated personality is scary if you don’t like folk who come off too strong. Or if your sensitive- 😄 he’s a ‘tell-it-like-it-is-and-I-don’t-give-a-ship’ type of guy. Buuuut! If your similar to him in that sense you’ll probably understand him a lot more. Him being nonjudgemental is perfect for peeps of all types so that’s a plus!! 💗

ranting about his fascination with humans during your dates comes with the package! ☝️He just does, it’s always one of his topics, and ngl it’s nothing boring either, he’s got quite a few stories to tell with even more jokes in between, which is sure to make for a lovely date <3 plus at some point all species in black butler experienced being a human, and idk about y’all but the study of human nature, psychology and how the brain works is a very interesting thing for me! I’d definitely be able to keep a conversation like that up for some time, me personally.

He puts up a front of a funny weird guy when there’s more to him if you read between the lines. Which, don’t get me wrong that certainly is a part of the real him, he just makes sure to highlight it so you don’t look at the rest 😃👌

he’s a real creepy fellow..even towards you 😭 (on purpose) and whether he’s trying to court you or not there’s no escaping it- if it starts to push you away he’ll find a way to incorporate laughter into it to make it more appealing, but no, he won’t change his ways 😭

WHY DOESN’T HE WASH HIS HAIRRRR

(yes it’s canon 😞)

you force him to wash his hair 😘💋 pls he needs it. or at least do it with him so it’s more fun. It’ll probably be easier to convince him that way

Time to talk about his work as a grim reaper!!! :3 (retired anyway) if you are reaper you get to follow each other around doing tasks! human? You both go your separate ways to work, whatever that may be. A demon? The same as a human really! Just this time you might have a contract with somebody. Buttttt!! A perk of all three is getting to work in the funeral parlor with him ;3 it’s a good disguise if your a demon/reaper and also some good quality time for you and your reaper 😘 (i mean, I hope you don’t mind morbid stuff cuz he’s a mortician after all 😅)

his little Russian roulette with the phantomhives 🕺 (LOL) no seriously I have no clue what type of relationship he has with them besides the fact that he serves them for the price of top notch laughter 🧑‍🍳💋 but you might! I’d say he’s more willing to let you in then anyone if he’s trying to court you! That obviously means he wants to trust you with his heart! So yeah! You likely know a thing or two—more about Ciel than Vincent but any info will do at this point 😭 it’s a start right? 🤷‍♀️

whenever Ciel comes over you get to witness him or Sebastian try to make undertaker laugh, it’s not like they can kick you out, you work there! Perks 😏 You can pretty much tell the one time Ciel made him laugh himself it was just a whole bunch of tomfoolery 😂 (why did it take so long⁉️😭) Sebastian is also able to make undertaker laugh really hard immediately so I wonder what he does 🤪 guess you’ll get to see! 😋

undertaker opening up to you is a process that requires patience. And don’t be pushy!! I mean this for your sake, by the way. You’ll drive yourself crazy since you’ll never get an answer that’s not riddles or straight up jokes. 🤦‍♀️🤷‍♀️

yeah overall his way of courting is really strange but when it comes to making things official he’s poetically blunt. The type of blunt where you have to process for a second like ‘wait what does that mean- oh. OH-’

Anyway I’m gonna talk about the actual dates now cuz I’ve pretty much just been mentioning the madness that comes with it this entire time :3 and yes as I said that’s a way of courting to him. He’s weird and blunt but doesn’t wanna do things the traditional way. So getting you involved in his antics is his way of saying ‘hey i like ya and I want ya to stick around’. And jokes. HAHAHAH 😂

dates with undertaker normally consists of tea, jokes, human psychology and gossip 🗿 ever since I saw ciel in wonderland I couldn’t get over the fact that undertaker was at a tea party and now I headcanons him to like tea LOLOLOL! I mean I know that’s how the plot goes in the actual slice movie and he was just playing the role of the character but, think about it—don’t it kinda fit???? Like?? Okok Hear me out hear me out- imagine sipping on some tea with Undertaker and gossiping on the latest drama from the underworld, ‘I heard a rare case is happening where blah blah blah *giggle* *giggle* chatter chatter..’ ETC! like idk how to explain it but do you see the vision???

I can also see him doing that dramatic anime thing where they sip they’re drink majestically then say something intelligent sounding (☝️🤓) (about psychology, for him) as the wind blows 😂😂 YK? LOLL even worse if your in a outside background and his eyes shows (cuz the character who never shows they’re eyes always show them when they get serious 🤣)

i love how shameless this guy is

why don’t we know this guys’ real name⁉️ Can’t even give him a nickname because ‘undertaker’ isn’t nickname material!! What am I supposed to call him???? Taker’ ⁉️😭🗿

ENJOY @doudouma HERE’S YOUR SURPRISE~ 🤗

#anime #anime and manga #luffyvace #anime headcanons #fluff headcanons #fluff #black butler x reader #black butler #black butler x y/n #black butler x you #kuroshitsuji #yana toboso #black butler season 4 #black butler undertaker #undertaker kuroshitsuji #undertaker black butler #undertaker x reader #black butler public school arc #undertaker #undertaker x you #cute headcanons #cute prompts #fluffy prompts #fluffy

[wilwheaton]

These were definitely dark times for you, but are you able to take pride when you see comments like these knowing you helped bring it to life?

I've spoken about this a LOT in the last few months, while I've been promoting my book. Short version is that I'm incredibly grateful to have had the experience, and for that performance to be part of my legacy. It's complicated, but it's okay.

It's hard to watch, because 36 years later, after escaping my abusers, Just about all I can see and remember the pain, the sadness, the insecurity, the overwhelming certainty that I was worthless, all because of the way my dad treated me and my mom used me.

But I'm so grateful that it opened the door to Star Trek, which opened the door to the life I have now, the life I love. Actors can go their entire careers (most do) without a single movie like Stand By Me on their resume. Not only did I get to be part of something that means so much to so many people, I've had the privilege of standing on its shoulders ever since (once I stopped trying to get out of its shadow).

I'm still friends with Jerry. I just saw him on my birthday, as a matter of fact. Rob goes out of his way to always make sure I know how proud of me he is, and how much the movie means to him.

But here's the thing that's probably most valuable: I was Gordie. I was the invisible kid. I was the scapegoat. My brother was the one our dad loved, and our dad didn't try to hide it. Neither of my parents gave a shit about me as a person, and my mother only cared about what she could use me to get for herself. I didn't believe in myself. I thought I was no good. I believed in my heart that I was worthless.

For decades, people lauded me for being a great actor in that movie. The truth is, I was just existing as the person I was, translating my lived experiences and feelings into Gordie's experiences and feelings. And I did that with the guidance and help and gentle support of Rob Reiner.

To this day, my parents lie about me and my life. They lie about his abuse, they lie about her manipulation. They gaslight me about things I lived through.

And I can point to Stand By Me, fifty feet wide and towering over the seats in the theatre, and show the world the child they hurt and used, because it's captured on film for the world to see.

Like, I'm a fine actor. I can get it done. I'm absolutely above average. But I'm not that good. I'm not good enough to create that stuff. I was just in an environment where it was safe to feel it and express it for the very first time.

Stand By Me is a wonderful movie that means more than I can imagine to at least one generation all over the world. Even though I cannot ignore the pain in my eyes, or forget the uncomfortable way I felt in my own skin, I'm so grateful to have been part of it, and honored that so many other people who worked on it feel the same way.

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: lo'ak x male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: It seems no one gets to know anything about Lo'ak—no one except you.

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1563 ~ established relationship

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, injuries and blood - little suggestive

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: i will tell y'all i like neteyam better but i wanted to write this one first

☾⋆☆⋆☽

"Lo'ak, what happened to you?"

Said Na'vi winces, not at his background pain, but at the disappointment in your tone. To think he'd come to you specifically too, because he knew you wouldn't judge him... or at least, not as hard as anyone else. He wasn't entirely wrong. "I..."

He only pauses for a little while, just to think, but you find the silence too long. "You what?"

"I was riding on my ikran, like always."

"Uh-huh?"

Lo'ak closes his eyes, awaiting the barrage of scolding that will surely follow his words, "I was doing circles."

The reckless action, simply named "circles", had become something the two of you were used to talking about. It entailed riding your ikran in, well, circles, but it was a bit more complicated than that. They weren't horizontal, level circles per say; they were fully vertical. For many moments, he'd fly upside down, leaving him to clutch onto his ikran for dear life (the sort of thing that gave him a thrill) as it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

Instead of teaching him another lesson he won't listen to, or slapping him upside the head, you give him one single word, his name. "Lo'ak." The way it is said displays shockwaves of disappointment, but nothing more follows. "Sit down."

Lo'ak behaves obediently, regardless of his lingering anticipation. He still, however, has the guts to ask. "What, is that it?"

"Do you want me to say anything else?"

Your viper-like, sharp response shuts his questions up quickly. "No."

You laugh at it, though, at how easily you can shut him down. The sound interests him, makes his eyes follow you curiously. "I suppose you came here so I could patch you up?"

Shame burns in his cheeks, knowing that he's disobeyed your previous pleads for him to be more careful yet he still seeks your help. "Yeah."

"You know I'm not as good at this as, say, your sister."

"I know, but she can't know." He says adamantly with a gesture of the hands.

"Why's that?"

"Well, I–" His eyes continue to watch each of your moves intently, even as you turn your back to him in order to collect some things that may help. As such, he sees you cease in your actions when you don't hear his response. He moves to fill in the gap of silence afterward, "Dad would know. She'd tell him." And she's much rougher on him than you would ever be.

"And he can't know?"

"Of course not."

You catch his eyes once you make your way back to him. They don't back down, anyway, even when you challenge them with your own. He holds your gaze, watches your face retain its passive look. He can only imagine how his own looks right now. Probably stupid.

He's forced to stop looking at you when you move behind him to work on his back injuries. Even so, he tries dumbly to catch a glimpse of you. It's cute.

He stops, however, when you slap his shoulder lightly. It forces him to straighten up and look ahead stiffly.

The tips of your fingers, which feel ghostly against his skin, apply healing salve onto his back. The solution stings a little, its pain a reminder that this comes after he injures himself, that pain doesn't stop after all the wounds are made. But your gentle touch helps soothe him, in a way, helps him forget.

He doesn't notice, but he leans into your touch. You chuckle at it.

"What?" He turns towards you curiously.

"Nothing, Lo'ak." You slap his shoulder again and he straightens up.

"I mean, it's got to be something." He mumbles with the roll of his eye, not that you could see it.

Lo'ak barely registers the sound of you shuffling forward even closer until you press a kiss under his ear. He tilts his head in your direction, hoping for another. "I wouldn't lie to you."

You wouldn't lie to him. "About that..."

You can already hear the shame in his tone, and concern raises in yours. "About that...?"

Lo'ak turns towards you entirely, showing you his wrist. He unties his necklace from it. Its beads, slick with blood, nearly slide off his fingers.

"Lo'ak..." He bites his lip and averts his gaze. "How are you supposed to hide this from your dad?"

The necklace had been hiding a particularly ugly gash on his wrist. It looked really painful. You're not sure how Lo'ak even managed to cope with it.

You hadn't asked for explanation, but Lo'ak provides one anyway. It helps keep his mind off the pain. "I fell off. My ikran tried to catch me, and well, this is the result. I don't blame it. Just please," He groans, turning to meet your eyes again. "help me hide it."

"Lo'ak, I don't have two-hour healing shit."

Shit. Shit? His eyebrows furrow, and the revelation that comes to him helps distract him from his impending dad-ly doom. "Who taught you shit?"

His confusion spreads to you and you mirror his expression, "What do you mean?"

You don't let it deter you, though, as you stand up to gather more healing supplies, as well as plants stronger than the ones used to heal the chafe wound on his back.

Lo'ak just then realizes that what he said probably does not make any sense, like, whatsoever. "The word "shit"."

"Oh, well," You chuckle, "you did."

"Fu–" He cuts himself off before you can learn that too. "I mean–Dad can't know about this."

"Oh, is that another thing he can't know?" You ask playfully.

"Yes." He replies without a thought. If he had thought about it, he would've realized that you were just joking with him. It only serves for more amusement on your part. "If he knows, he's going to kill me."

You turn back to him, solution in hand. "Worse than knowing you've been doing circles again?"

"Yes." He only thinks about it after he's said it. "I mean, well, maybe! Probably. He doesn't like the idea of giving us more swear words."

"Well, we have Spider to blame for that." You settle down next to him again, grabbing his arm carefully and preparing to apply the new salve.

"Wha–?" He's interrupted by his own groan as you squeeze his cut skin as close as possible. He almost curses again but abates the urge when he sees you mouth an apology, Sorry, should've warned you. He shakes his head and continues on. "How do you know that?"

"I figured your dad was never going to teach you any of those words and Spider spends much more of his time around human language."

You were right, and now that he thought about it, so was your reasoning. "Mom cannot know about that."

"Tewti!" You snicker, "Your parents can't know anything about you."

"Oh, come on," He groans dramatically. "my mom already hates Spider. What do you think? Dad doesn't like the idea of us cursing, and mom detests it! If she finds out, she's gonna gut him!"

So maybe he was exaggerating a little but seriously, something was going to happen for sure and Lo'ak wasn't taking any chances.

The small banter allows him to be distracted, which helps him to ignore the even harsher sting that comes with the application of a stronger salve. He thinks that, perhaps, it was part of your plan. "Besides, it's better if others don't know some things about me."

"Oh really?" You question, leaning forward interestedly. Heat begins to rise up his cheeks.

Lo'ak knows that what he's about to say is so smooth that he would absolutely fall for whoever said it to him. "Well, all except you."

Though he knows it, he's not quite prepared for the outcome. One of your legs stretches in front of him, causing his knee to meet your inner thigh. Your other leg, behind him, keeps you stable on the log, pressing slightly against his side. He was hardly coping with you simply leaning a little closer to him, but now your touch is driving him nuts.

"That's sweet of you."

The proximity leaves him dumbfounded; and like the gravitation between planets and moons Lo'ak does not care for, he leans forward mindlessly to catch your lips.

He had hoped that those words would make you fall in love with him even more. In that, he was successful. What he failed at was keeping himself calm in order to look smooth—but he knew either way that you would always think of him as that totally not cool (in behavior) pretty boy.

When you part, he keeps leaning forward, chasing after your lips, and it is so embarrassing that he makes up an excuse to go immediately. "I think I should head back to the village."

He finds himself watching you intently once again, particularly at the way your lips move. "With the very clear healing salve on your aching injuries?"

"Oh." He gulps, seeing your tongue dart out to wet your lips. "You're right."

#oh my god im writing for the fucking blue people #🤬 // swearshirt #🎟 // avatar #🎫 // lo'ak #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak x male reader #loak x reader #loak x male reader #avatar x reader #avatar x male reader #💞 // darlings #🌸 // success!

[makeyoumine69]

Call Me Babydoll 4

PAIRING: DBF!Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Anything that seems too good to be true probably isn't. After a dinner with Patrick that didn't go well, you realized that your relationship with him is more complicated than you initially thought.

CONTAINS: Angst, mentions of food, cursing and use of pet names (babydoll), smoking, gaslighting & manipulation, humiliation & mild bulling.

WORDS: 4.1k

A/N: This chapter is a bit long, but I hope you enjoy it!💕

LINKS: [Ch.3]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [MASTERLIST]

God, you couldn't imagine a worse situation than this — being stuck in the limo with Patrick Bateman after he discovered your little secret about your virginity. Panicking from the lack of oxygen, you looked down at his deadly grip on your wrist, your brain overloaded with thoughts of a possible escape route.

"Patrick, I should go," you tried to release his grip when you noticed that the car had stopped, but he kept holding you tight. "My Dad is waiting for me!"

"Your father can wait a little longer," he demanded, pulling you a little closer, forcing you to raise your shy eyes to him. "Tomorrow we'll have dinner and talk about...this whole thing."

From the raspy sound of his voice, it was obvious that Bateman was doing his best to save what was left of his self-control, his skin burning yours with its heat.

"And what if I say 'no'?" You snapped at his cheeky way of speaking.

With a soft chuckle, he let go of your wrist and grinned as he saw you rubbing the spot where he was holding you a moment ago. "You don't want to upset your Dad, do you?" When Patrick met your confused gaze, the corners of his lips turned up. "I mean, the last thing you want is for your dear father to find out about all the nasty things you did…with me."

Your nostrils flared with anger, but you tried to play it cool. "What? Are you really trying to blackmail me?"

"No," Bateman grinned at your irritated stare. "Just a little reminder not to try to play games with me. It's pointless anyway."

Uh yeah, sure. We'll see who laughs last. 

Saying nothing in return, you looked at him one last time before opening the car door and getting out.

"I'll pick you up at six. Wear something nice...something that hides your tattoos." Patrick ordered through the half-open window, the wide, smug smile never leaving his face.

The urge to turn around and show him your middle finger was so damn high, but as you faced the facade of your house, the memories of your father occupied your mind and stopped you at the very last moment.

"I don't have any of those clothes you're talking about," you simply replied, spinning around and crossing your hands over your chest. "Because I—"

"That's not a problem, babydoll. We can buy you some fabulous dresses or skirts," his brown eyes traveled over your body like a scanner, making you feel completely naked, you even shrugged off the shiver. "By the way, does your father forbid you to wear skirts or dresses because he knows someone would kidnap you? You have such pretty legs."

You closed your eyes and counted to ten to calm yourself. "I love my jeans, and pants are just much more comfortable for me!" Your voice trembled with embarrassment and anger. "If all the girls around you look like sluts in their skimpy dresses, that doesn't mean I have to! Jesus, why am I even trying to justify myself?!"

Your little tantrum only made him chuckle in pure satisfaction. "I have no idea why, but I like it," his arrogant smirk made you sick. After checking his Rolex nonchalantly, Bateman added, "See you tomorrow, (y/n). And tell your father that my old man has approved those investments we talked about a week ago."

Wait, what?

Now it was your turn to try to stop him, but just as the last word fell from his lips, the limo pulled away, leaving you with an unspoken question stuck in your throat like a lump.

The air of your house greeted you with a sharp smell of smoke, signaling that your father was home and not in a good mood — he had taken up smoking since your mother died, and now you knew pretty well that when he was feeling down only a cigarette could bring him some relief.

Walking slowly through the halls of your not-so-luxurious but spacious house, you found your Dad sitting in the living room with a glass of his favorite whiskey and a pack of cigarettes that he twirled nervously in his hand.

"Hey, Dad," you called out quietly, halting in the doorway — the strange pangs of guilty causing your heart to pound painfully against your chest. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I didn't hear you coming," he turned to you, his wrinkled face lighting up the moment he saw your apprehensive expression. "I'm fine...just had a busy day," he put the cigarette in the ashtray and got up from his comfortable armchair. "How did you make it home?"

His sudden question caught you off guard, as your father didn't usually ask such things. Frowning, you stepped into the living room and looked at his tired face — he seemed to have aged even faster in the last few months, when his business had stopped being as profitable as it used to be.

"I'm fine, thanks," you carefully took a seat on the couch next to him, noticing that the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table was half empty. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my dear," your father smiled at you and poured himself another glass of alcohol before sitting back down in his armchair. "What is it?"

"Did you really ask Pat—" you stammered and coughed a little. "I mean, did you really ask Mr. Bateman to pick me up after work?"

Right after you asked, you tried to catch a glimpse of your father's reaction, to notice any strange expressions or anything that might discredit him, but to your surprise, your father just gave you a sympathetic grin, sipping his drink and looking at you adoringly.

"Maybe I did..." he tilted his head thoughtfully. "...or maybe I didn't. Forgive me for my bad memory, it gets worse every day."

Sighing, you couldn't help but smile at his words, as your father was always the one who could warm your heart just by saying a few simple words.

"All right, all right," you paused, rubbing your tense temples. "He asked me to inform you that the investments you discussed some time ago have been approved and..." as you noticed your father's face changing so quickly, you had to pause for a second. "...is it something important?"

Your father took a quick drag on a cigarette, blowing a few rings of smoke to the side to keep them away from you. "Did he really say that?"

"Yes," you fidgeted nervously in your seat, seeing your Dad's reaction. "Yes, he did."

"That's...that's one of the best pieces of news I've had in a long time," your father stood up again, looking for something. "I need to make a call..."

Nodding, you decided that now was not the best time to ask more questions, so you just decided to leave and go to your room, but as soon as you strolled away, you heard your father's enthusiastic voice again: 

"(Y/n), wait," he stopped beside you, holding a phone in his slightly shaking hand. "I know I've always been too strict when it comes to you, but I've always tried to give you as much love and care as I could...since your mother..." His words cut right through your heart, and you even had to grit your teeth from the itchy tears that welled up in your eyes.

"Father, please...let's not talk about it." You interrupted him, not wanting to open up your old wounds.

"Uh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you that...Patrick Bateman seems like a good man," you almost lost your sense of orientation in this room at his sudden statement. "I haven't allowed you to hang out with boys much, but you can get to know him better since he's been asking about you a lot."

Fuck, you couldn’t believe it. 

First, Bateman had his eyes on you. Then he tried to seduce you, break you and make you forget your morals, and he fucking succeeded, because in the end Patrick managed to get his hands on you, and now his farther suddenly approved the budget for your Dad's business. Was this just a coincidence or another way to manipulate you?

"Well, you tried to protect me from...everything and everyone, I can't judge you..." you murmured as you reached the door. "You always want the best for me, so... I promise I'll think about it."

With that, you closed the door behind you, leaving your father alone in the living room. A wild cocktail of emotions swirled in your chest, as if you had drunk something extremely hot — you wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream. How on Earth did that happen? That your own father was directly encouraging you to get close with Patrick Bateman? Was that someone's bad joke?

As soon as you got to your room, you opened the closet, looking for some "fabulous" dress Patrick wanted you to wear. 

"Fucking narcissistic idiot," you cursed aloud as you flipped through your clothes, getting more and more annoyed by the second. "Why do I even care what he thinks about my appearance?"

You exhaled tiredly and hid your face in your hands, feeling the strong shudder in every inch of your fragile frame. This man, damn it, this man was a devil himself, and your father just called him 'a good guy'.

Unbelievable. 

"All right, I have to pull myself together." You moved quickly to the mirror, breathing steadily and rubbing your cheeks. "I'll do it for Dad, I'll figure it all out."

Winking at your reflection, you returned to your search for a suitable dress, not realizing that it was getting late.

The next day started with a heavy rain which woke you up with its sound, so loud that you couldn't fall asleep again. So, you decided to get up earlier and write a bit before your work. 

Your father was already gone when you got downstairs — the memories of your earlier conversation were still running through your mind, leaving a bitter aftertaste. As you made yourself a cup of coffee with your favorite organic milk, you couldn't stop thinking about what might happen tonight — the unknown made you feel a little nauseous, but the breathing exercises your mother taught you always helped you in such moments. Uh, what would your mom say to you if she were here, if she knew the situation you were in? 

Would Patrick be able to enchant her so easily?

The workday went by so quickly that you didn't even realize you were rushing back home in the taxi. During the ride, you tried to distract yourself with your poems, some of which you had written during the break at the café where you had been with Patrick the day before. After many attempts, you noticed that whenever you tried to describe the feelings Patrick evoked in you, it seemed as if your mind was losing touch with reality. The pen he gifted you was burning your skin as if it were some cursed relic, but yet this phantom pain was something you probably missed in your life, it didn't feel like grief or sorrow — it was something completely new.

Even though you were not a huge fan of Manhattan, you couldn't deny the fact that it looked absolutely breathtaking at night, with all its lights, mesmerizing atmosphere, and soaring skyscrapers that made your head spin whenever you looked at them.

There was no doubt that the restaurant Bateman was taking you to would be exquisite and luxurious, so when you entered the establishment, you were not surprised that most people were paying attention to your persona, as you had no jewels, no beaded clutch — just your modest but tight black dress, which was one of your shortest. The maître d' escorted you to your table, and from that moment on, the game began between you and Mr. Bateman, although your conversation didn't flow at first.

"So, do you like this place?" Patrick asked a little indifferently after swirling his drink — J&B Whiskey, that seemed to be his favorite.

"Mmm, yeah, it's pretty good." You replied, avoiding his gaze and staring at the napkin on the table that you were nervously crumpling.

Bateman couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Pretty good?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Uh," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose briefly. "Do you even know what this place is?"

Finally, you left a poor napkin alone and looked up at him. "This is Dorsia, right? I saw a sign outside."

For a moment his face remained blank, but the next moment a deep, prominent line appeared between his knitted brows.

"Yeah, this is fucking Dorsia," he spat out his words and took a sip of his whiskey. "Nothing special."

Actually, his suddenly confronting tone was embarrassing. "Well...I'm not a frequent guest in these chic restaurants. Come on, you know that."

Unfortunately for you, your voice sounded more sad than irritated, and Bateman didn't miss it. His warm palm touched yours gently, but he didn't dare to look at you.

"Huh," he mused, drawing an invisible line across the back of your hand with his soft fingertip. "It's pretty hard to impress a girl like you, since you just don't understand—"

"The taste of luxurious life?" You cut him off, causing him to raise his brown walnut eyes to your face. They looked so mysterious in the dim light of the restaurant hall. 

Patrick pulled his hand away as if struck by the electric shock, clenching his jaw in tension, and this sight was something you never thought you would have to witness.

In a few minutes of awkward silence, the waiter brought your food, and since you refused to take any alcohol, you asked him to give you a dessert menu — maybe something sweet would cheer you up and help you get through this strange dinner that was hard to identify as a date or whatever it might be.

"We have amazing cheesecakes, good choice." The waiter replied as you handed the menu back to him.

"Thank you," you made yourself comfortable in your seat and gave Patrick a warm smile, which left him a bit confused. "I need something to compare with the desserts I've had in my favorite café."

Although you hadn't intended it to be a joke, you weren't irritated at all when you heard his soft chuckle for the first time during dinner. "Just don't tell anyone about this," he crossed his arms and looked at you with a mischievous grin. "I don't want the local chefs to end their lives."

"Oh, God," you laughed, looking at his drink. "Why do you all have to drink whiskey? My Dad can't work without a bottle of his favorite drink next to him," as soon as Bateman heard about your Dad, he straightened up in his seat and fixed his Rolex. "Speaking of him...can I ask you a question?"

"You can try, babydoll." Bateman sneered in a mischievous voice and looked around quickly as if he noticed someone familiar.

"I want to know about the investments—"

"Hey, Halberstram!" An unknown male voice echoed from behind you, shamelessly interrupting your conversation. "Haven't seen you for a while, how have you been?"

A handsome man with light brown hair — wearing a stylish suit that was one hundred percent overpriced — came closer to your table and offered Patrick a handshake, which he accepted, but you couldn't help but notice a glint of anger in his hazel eyes.

"Allen," Bateman shook his hand and then quickly glanced at a woman next to him. "I didn't expect to see you here, I heard you were on vacation in Paris."

"Well, Meredith didn't really like it, so we decided to come back a little earlier," Paul replied, pulling a beautiful blonde girl closer to him. "I thought Halloween was over." Allen chuckled and pointed at you, making you palpably uncomfortable. "Nice manicure, so gothic."

Frowning, you checked your black manicured nails and then looked up at him, suppressing your inner battle to tell him to fuck off. "Thanks." You replied coldly and noticed Patrick clenching his fists in tension.

"And where's Veronica, Marcus? That big-titted chick you were hanging out with at the last yacht party?" Allen asked, continuing to stare at you with undisguised interest. 

What the hell was going on? Why did he call him Marcus?

"Veronica?" Bateman interjected, pretending to try to remember. "She's probably with her family in South Hampton."

"Oh, and who is this punk girl?" Paul's question made your nails claw at the soft skin of your knee. 

Patrick closed his eyes for a second, definitely trying to find the best answer. It was obvious that a man like him didn't want to ruin his reputation, since you were not a person from his circle. This seemed to be a dead end until an unexpected idea came to your mind.

"I'm a journalist," you explained in a confident voice. "And I'm interviewing...Mr. Halberstram because I'm writing a book about Wall Street."

"Wow," Paul seemed to be surprised. "That's...pretty impressive."

"Yeah," Bateman cleared his throat and unclenched his fists. "She's one of the best journalists in New York, and she wants to write a book, too."

Oh my God, please shut up!

"It's pretty impressive that you were allowed to come here," Meredith suddenly blurted out, giving you a disgusted look. "There's a dress code, you know?"

"I'll leave you for a while, since you have things to discuss." You fumed and got up from the table — Patrick didn't even try to stop you.

In a few minutes, you found your way to the outdoor terrace on the upper level. As you stepped in, you noticed another blonde woman — she looked gorgeous, with her elegant, red-manicured fingers wrapped around the burning cigarette.

"Um, excuse me," you approached her from behind. "Could you pass me a cigarette, please?"

As soon as she turned around, you could see her sad blue eyes, cold as ice. "Sure."

Carefully, she reached into her black clutch to find a pack of cigarettes and offered you one.

"Thank you." You smiled after she lit your cigarette. 

"No problem," she grinned back, looking away to see the lights of New York city. "It's so beautiful here, isn't it? I wish he could be with me right now."

Her question left you speechless, because you didn't know how to react, but just as you were about to say something, you heard the door open and the unknown man with the red hair joined you on the terrace.

"Courtney, you're here. I was looking for you," he chirped with an affectionate intonation. "The cocktails are ready."

Unlike the guy, the woman — that apparently was named Courtney — didn't seem happy, you would even say she was getting sadder — her previous words puzzled you, because now it was obvious she was talking about someone else.

With the last puff of smoke, Courtney took a quick glance at the night city and turned to you. "Take care."

Even a few moments after they left, you could still feel the wisp of sharp sadness in the air. Shivering with cold, you came closer to the railing, looked down and smoked, the signals of passing cars distracting you a bit from your train of thought — that fucking snobbish bitch and her supposed boyfriend pissed you off completely and you didn't really want to come back. Her behavior reminded you of why you hated yuppies, Wall Street, money, luxury. You hated it all, while your father tried his best to give you such a life so you could turn into a heartless ghost with no emotions except greed and...disgust?

A sudden touch of soft, warm fabric made you almost flinch. "Are you trying to catch a cold?" A familiar voice asked, and a jacket was wrapped around your trembling shoulders.

No way that could be him. "Patrick?"

The next moment, the owner of the familiar voice — which was indeed Patrick — deftly snatched the cigarette out of your mouth, eliciting an irritated groan from your chest. "You don't need this, believe me."

As you turned around, you watched him puff on your cigarette, but when he blew out a few rings, his face cringed in disgust. "Jesus, this is some girlish shit." Patrick ranted and quickly put out the cigarette.

"What are you doing here?" You crossed your arms in a defensive gesture and stepped away from him.

Patrick chuckled softly, your eyes accidentally glancing around his broad chest and the fashionable suspenders that looked so good on him.

"You could have just told me that you wanted to suffer alone on the terrace like a crybaby. Then I wouldn't have had to look for you all over the fucking restaurant." His voice became slightly stern as a sign of the high level of irritation — his patience seemed about to snap.

"I didn't ask you to come after me," you retorted, but didn't take off his jacket because it was so warm and nice. "Besides, what the hell was that? Why did that guy call you Marcus? Is that your real name? God, maybe you're a fucking scammer trying to deceive my father?"

His loud laugh echoed in the fresh air, Bateman couldn't help but applaud because your theory was fantastic. "That...that was hilarious, babydoll," he theatrically wiped away a few tears and came closer. "We stopped at your question about your father, as I recall."

"You know what?" you suddenly charged at him, almost bumping into his solid torso. "You should have hired several hookers instead of taking me to this useless dinner. At least it would have been a lot cheaper!"

"What?" He asked, still giggling as if you had told him another joke.

"My father has been waiting almost a year for some extra funding," you started, shortening the distance between you to a mere inches. "And just like in fairy tales, the necessary investments were approved as soon as you got your hands on me. What a great coincidence, don't you think?"

Patrick hummed to himself, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. "Go on."

"You won't get it," your voice wavered, as if your nature refused to utter the words. "I know that rich guys like you can buy anything and everything — houses, cars, yachts, corporations, girls..." the more you spoke, the darker Bateman's eyes became. "Girls of all body types, ages, virgins or not, and so on. But for me — money is nothing, and I won't do it even for my father".

"You're done?" Patrick asked, pressing a finger to his lips and looking at you with an unreadable expression. When you nodded, he took you by the chin and tilted your head to the side, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as if by accident. "Now, listen to me, babydoll. I invited you to dinner because I wanted to apologize...for the things that happened between us..." your heart skipped a beat at his last words and your legs went weak, but you stood still, looking straight into his dark hypnotizing eyes. "I must say, you're a really cute, sweet girl, pretty even," he smirked as you shivered from his finger sliding down your neck. "But I don't want to be a babysitter."

"W-what?" You gasped, your voice barely audible as your breath hitched from the hard lump in your throat.

"(Y/n), listen, your father's business can be profitable enough, that's the only reason my Dad and I decided to finance it," Bateman removed his hand and stepped aside. "The long wait was caused by bureaucratic processes and my old man being away on business all the time."

There were no words to explain the feelings you were experiencing — frustration, deception, embarrassment? 

"I…I understand," you bit your lower lip to keep the tears from forming in your dejected eyes. "Thank you for telling me the truth." 

Just as you were about to take off his jacket, Patrick stopped you and after a small hug, he added: "Unfortunately, I don't like messing around with little girls because I'm pretty demanding when it comes to sex.” His arrogant grin was about to become the last straw of your self-control, but you kept fighting. "Let's go back to our table, your dessert must be waiting for you."

With a quick flick of your hand, you wiped away any traces of your tears when he didn't look at you. "I'm not hungry. Go, I'll join you soon."

Bateman gave you a worried look, then glanced at the railing and shook his head. "No, we'll come together, I'm responsible for you tonight and I don't want your father to be nervous."

How fucking cute.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

[machinesonix]

Somehow I have made it this long without realizing that none of the screen adoptions of Dune so much as mention the Butlerian Jihad. Like I guess it's burned into my brain so hard I sort of assumed it was part and parcel of the universe. Don't get me wrong, I think that's probably the first thing you learn if you want to dive deeper into the setting, but it still hits me like if the LotR movies showed us the big flaming eyeball tower and was like ‘Oh, that's why there are bad things, but don't worry, that's just background stuff.’ Yeah, you can understand the movie, but if the story is just like Frodo vs. The Witch King you are losing out on any of the conversation about the corruptive allure of power or theological undertones. So without further ado let's pretend this is for the benefit of interested new fans roped in by the movies and not part of my desperate attempt to silence the howling specters of literary analysis that live in my blood.

The Butlerian Jihad is an event set ~10k years prior to the events of Dune in which humanity won their freedom from the machines that they had enslaved themselves to. As a result, it is a religious taboo to create a machine that thinks like a human. That's frankly the bulk of the information presented by Frank Herbert in the text without dipping into books 7+, but whether or not those are canon is frankly an enormous can of worms, which really makes sense when you consider the size of the worms. But boy howdy, Frank loved his subtext and parallelism. Everyone has a foil character, every theme is hit from multiple angles, and Villinueve has been doing an excellent job of capturing a lot of that in repeated imagery and dialogue. The Butlerian Jihad happens off camera, but it's themes are absolutely critical to the big picture.

The Butlerian Jihad was a holy war. It was not merely a rebellion against the machines, it was a crusade against them. The prohibition against thinking machines isn't just a law, it's in the pan-universal Bible. Absolute psychopath Pieter DeVries himself claps back at the Baron for insinuating he might have a use for a computer, and this is a guy who has been hired specifically for his preternatural absence of morals. Let's hold onto that idea for a minute. 

Probably my favorite scene in the first book is the one where planetologist Liet-Kynes is dying out in the desert. As the last of his strength fades to dehydration he hallucinates conversations he had with his father concerning terraforming Arakkis for human habitability. He's told that the means are not complicated. There is already enough water on the planet, the Little Makers just have it all trapped deep underground as part of the sandworm reproductive cycle. You just need to isolate enough water to start irrigating plant life, and once it's established that'll keep the water on the surface on its own. The hard part is making sure everyone on the planet is environmentally conscious enough to foster a developing ecosystem. Nobody can drink any of that water while it's being collected, because they'll just introduce it back into the water cycle where the Little Makers are. It's going to take generations, so that sort of water discipline is going to have to go above and beyond a social convention. People need to be willing to die before they'll take a sip and compromise the plan. Ghost Dad Kynes concludes that the only mechanism in the human experience to enforce this consensus is religion. 

In the context of this whole parallelism thing, you have probably noticed that the Butlerian Jihad is not the only holy war in the narrative. Paul sees a new jihad as the only way of creating a future where humans can flourish. Now you might be saying ‘Wait now, Machines. I thought the point of Paul’s holy war was to avenge Leto and disempower established power structures by taking away the control of the spice!’ And you’d be right. The thing is, without getting into spoiler territory, Dune Messiah is not going to be about how everything just gets so much better now that Paul has destroyed the economy, government, and untold billions of human lives. This isn’t the endgame. Dude can see the future and the way he does it involves looking into the past. Paul lives in a society defined by a holy war and his goal is to redefine society. 

Putting it all together you can see what I mean about the Butlerian Jihad being essential to the themes even though the story never shows us a thinking machine or a narrative beat where the absence of computers changes the outcome. It helps us see the big picture. I’ve seen a lot of dialogue lately on whether Paul is a tragic hero or a consummate villain and I’m not here to answer that, but I am here to underline the critical detail. Paul intends to be seen as a tyrant. Just like Kynes’ hallucination says, religion is the lever to make a value stick around forever. He wants to traumatize humanity to hate chosen ones and emperors the same way the machines traumatized humanity to change them forever. The Water of Life ritual doesn’t invert his values, it lets him realize these visions of war are the means, not the ends. He is absolutely not happy about it, but this is Paul’s terrible purpose. 

#dune #paul atreides #dune meta #dune part two #butlerian jihad

[rozugold]

Ok ramble time

Ok imagine you’re Tubbo. You just got your distant brother figure and your bestie off that damn mountain, though not in the most ideal way (I will make those comics eventuallyyy)

But that’s beside the point. You saved your best friend! You did something right for once! Except sike! your best friend hates you now, and you kind of hate him too (you let him know as much) then you guys stop talking. Which is fine, i mean, it’s not like he was your entire world.

You return to Snowchester! It’s a ghost town, obviously. There’s a memorial of you, decorated with fresh flowers and dusty knick knacks. The flowers are from Ranboo, he’s pretty sweet. He’s also been the one to upkeep your town while you were gone. You hang out with them a lot, they’re the only one who sticks around these days. They’re pretty sweet.

You try to go back to doing the things you did before you died. There’s those nukes you never finished making, so you work on them. And you work on them. And you work on them. And you get nothing done. Your brain feels scattered and far away, it’s impossible to focus. So you give it a break, you can afford to. It’s pretty safe these days with Dream gone, you know because you keep tabs on everyone on the server. There’s some strange things going on here and there but nothing too concerning. You hang out with Ranboo more.

Ah fuck, you two find a baby. It’s a piglin, infected but not fully zombified as it has enough thought to run up to you two for help. So you take it back to snowchester and give it potions to stop the infection. Ranboo is worried it won’t work, you tell him it probably won’t. But you reassure him that if it doesn’t, you’ll take it back to the nether to let it “live” out the rest of it’s days. (Do zombies live?) Ranboo spends the night in your attic with the piglin. He’s pretty sweet. Regardless you tell him to not keep his hopes up too high.

Next morning, it worked! You “dub thee Michael!” Ranboo is relieved. There’s a kid living in your house now.

There’s a kid living in his house now. The timeline becomes unclear at this point since I’m still figuring it out. But now that Michael is in the picture Tubbo starts getting worried. He realizes he has no way of protecting him. Maybe the syndicate come visit Snowchester and that shocks him into thinking about the nukes again. And so Tubbo starts throwing himself into projects again. And it starts getting ✨bad ✨

Honestly, It’s been really fun figuring out how Tubbo deteriorates because everything is so internal with him compared to Tommy. It’s obvious with Tommy, you could see him visibly fall apart (think his exile skins, he stops feeding himself, he doesn’t care when he takes damage) But with Tubbo it isn’t so obvious, atleast not right away. Sure his eye bags get darker and he stares off into space for a little too long. But he still looks put together. (Habitable maybe. Or a learned skill.)

Maybe he eventually gets the nukes working but they’re not as successful as he wanted them to be and that guts him. He takes it as another failure. What if he’s just cursed? Is everything he cares about forever doomed to feel like holding water in his hands? What is wrong with him?

I’m gonna share a song and explain this next part using its lyrics because I’m so ILL over it, it’s the most di!tubbo song ever. Throw on …Well, better than the alternative by Will Wood 👍

Tubbo’s feelings towards Michael is complicated… He absolutely loves him to death but he’s really apprehensive about being a dad. He has this fear that he’s going to somehow corrupt Michael and or fail to keep him safe. So he ends up becoming emotionally distant from him and at his worst he gives him up completely to Ranboo.

I think Ranboo and Tubbo get married as a joke at first. But Ranboo continues to love him so unconditionally and honestly and Tubbo catches a crush, which is absolute HELL for him at first sjdhdj. I imagine him being arospec so this crush is a completely new and surprising feeling and he doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t, and keeps playing it as a joke even as their relationship develops.

Also the repeat of “everybody’s up on everybody’s business” is very fitting for describing the server. There’s things to be developed here I just haven’t yet… I’m just thinking about the possibilities like the egg, the syndicate, las nevadas… hmmm

This song is begging to be made into an animatic because I can imagine Tubbo screaming at Tommy during this part. He was just trying to help the best way he could… yet things still end badly, and everyone ends up hurt… di!clingy oh di!clingy, they’re such a mess. A bitter, angry, grieving mess. Wait ok i wasn’t planning on writing grieving there but then my next thought was “who are they grieving?” EACH OTHER. THEY’RE GRIEVING EACH OTHER. o(-(

Ok that’s it. Phew that was a lot of writing. Here’s some drawings for your time

#distorted illusions #rozu thoughts #I’m so normal about my aus I swear

[factual-fantasy]

27 asks! :00 Thanks ya'll!! :} 💖💖💖

Nope! Sorry, I don't take direct drawing requests or suggestions. <:/

Now I hear a few people saying; "But you've taken requests before" Now I do draw things in response to asks sometimes. But its rarely a direct request that I'm responding to. Usually its someone complimenting me on "something" and I feel so flattered and inspired that I draw that "something" again for them..

Would you think less of me if I said I legitimately was? For what I think is a very valid reason? Hypothetically of course-

@wolfie-777

:DD Oh hey!! Thanks!! Happy early Easter!! :}}} 💖🥚🥚🐺🥚💖

Oh there's no need to worry Anon, my body is kind'a forcing me to take a break... 😅

@yourstrulylightstar283 (In response to this post)

Thank you! And no worries, I'm sure I wont have to deal with all of this forever <:}

Happy late reply Friday! <XDD

@midnight193

Aww! Sweet widdol baby!! :DD

And thank you, I'm doing my best to take it easy.. <:}

Woof. That is quite the sentence to say to someone who's grieving their late wife-

Its especially strange considering that my Bowser isn't in love with Peach at all and isn't interested in replacing his wife-

I've heavily considered Louis having a crush on Ellie... 👀👀

The biggest eater is probably Louis, followed by Seafoam. Now Seafoam is no glutton mind you, he just eats a ton because he's so big and tall. He's got a lot of muscle that needs to be fed and maintained. Louis however just loves food and loves to eat <XDD

The pickiest eaterr.... couuuld be Red. Kids am I right? <XD Or maybe Spidercrab. He's rather thin so I imagine there isn't much he likes to eat. <:/ Or maybe Spidercrab isn't picky, he just doesn't have much appetite--?? <:DD

Aww! What a fun idea! :D I wonder if the game has anything like that.. and I wonder how a land animal like that would fare out on the ocean :0

(In response to this post)

Y-You realy mean all dat?.. Thank you.. 🥺😭💖

@manybrokenquills

XDD I am everywhere

(Also if you ever feel like getting those photos those would be hilarious to see XDD)

@rubyplayz12

YA- AWWWW... :(( sorry about the lost progress! I hope you catch back up to where you were pretty quick :( But YAY YOU HAVE IT BACK! XDD

A marshmallow cookie and a S'mores cookie already exist in the game :( so I shan't make my own 😔

I'm still working out the order of their ages.. So far I have decided that Ludwig is the oldest. And I'm leaning on Iggy being right below him, the second to oldest.

I'm solid on Bowser JR being the youngest, and Lemmy being right above him, the second to youngest. As for everyone else though..? I'm still trying to figure it out.

Thinking that Roy and Morton are on the older side, and Wendy and Larry are on the younger side. I just don't quite know what the order will be-

Hmm... I want Larry to be very different looking from Lemmy, maybe a bigger age gap would help. And I made Roy rather mature.. he could be older.. hmm...

Mayyybe.. in order from oldest to youngest, it goes,

Ludwig - Iggy - Roy - Morton - Larry - Wendy - Lemmy - JR..? I think I'll go with that for now <XDD

Now Bowser is complicated. Originally I wanted Bowser to be this ruthless monster. Both as a King and as a Dad.. But I made that Bowser around when the Movie trailers were all the hype. And boy, I hated how Bowser was shaping up to be. So my rotten Bowser was mostly just to make him more intimidating then the movie Bowser.

Since then I've settled down and thought that a purely evil Bowser is not that interesting.. or lore accurate. So I began to lean on him being a rather good dad, if not emotionally awkward.

....buuut then I saw the movie, and now I'm back on the Bowser hate train <XDD I guess right now its up in the air. He's not meant to be intentionally abusive or awful to his kids though. I'm thinking that maybe the gentle fatherly side of Bowser was usually brought out by his wife.. Since she's gone now.. well.. I guess he's a little emotionally absent at the least-

As strictly a King, I'm thinking that he's pretty rough. At least he's more ruthless than he may have been before. I guess a way to describe him as King would be.. The health and safety of his people are not his #1 concern. The strength of his kingdom and his position of power however, is. Though this Bowser is subject to change.. :/

XD He'd probably look like this 👇

@kaiserdarken

I'm not sure if the Pizzaplex would have decorated the place for Easter or not.. In present day or in the past.

But if they did in the past, I imagine it didn't feel much different compared to any other time of the year..

And if the present day Pizzaplex celebrates it..? I imagine its hard for the animatronics to see all the bunny imagery everywhere.. 💔

@beryl-shade

Google seems to suggest that there are no sirens in the games.. :( So Blue Beauty wouldn't be one, 😔

@hazardhazel20

Thank you!! I'm glad you do! :DD

You mean my Refinedtale Toriel.?

Man.. I'm sure she does.. (Though heck if I know what their names would be or any of that stuff-- but I'm sure Toriel would know <XDD)

Ooooo that's a good idea! :00 I haven't thought about it that way before..

@collisionofthestars-newblog

That sounds really fun actually! And normally I could see that happening.. though unfortunately, some of the structures I have set up in my AU make this scenario less likely..

For one, I intended for healing magic to be extremely complex and very difficult to master. And its intended to always leave a mark of some kind. A warning that Kamek gives to Lemmy and Iggy is something along the lines of "Whether you are healing, or destroying. Magic will always leave a scar." That's why Iggy's eyes look so strange and half of Lemmy's face and hair is discolored. The act of repairing their eyes left a mark on them..

What I mean by this, is that Kamek couldn't just turn around and heal them after every sparring session. Because it is very challenging to heal with magic and they would both be left with scars.. So they would both have to heal naturally over time after sparring. And considering that the Commander has a very important job, it would be wise to not tire him out or injure for the sake of some emotional relief.. :(

Although.. there could be a more mild version of this perhaps? Where the commander is involved in Bowser's training.? But not as his opponent. Perhaps he flies up high and chucks projectiles at Bowser for him to deflect. But not really getting involved on a way beyond that where he becomes overly exhausted or inured.

...Now for the Koopalings?? Dude, that's genius. Bowser is a hefty opponent and is sure to exhaust Commander and possibly even injure him.. But the Koopalings?? Commander would make a GREAT sparring partner for nearly all of them! :00

Specifically I can see him sparing with Morton, Roy, Ludwig and possibly Iggy. (The older Koopalings primarily) Whether its just muscle against muscle or being Iggy's target practice, I think he'd make a great sparring partner for the youngins :}}

It started with being inspired by my band-aid covered hands (due to dry hands and cat scratches) and adding them into my sona

Nowadays its maintained by me having reaaaaally dry hands 💀 (I wash them way to often/harshly and don't rehydrate with lotion often enough-)

You mean the factual fam? Aw, I'd like to think so. :}}}

Bold of you to assume Jangles doesn't have hair

@ghfhgkfngjvfnvfnvmfkf

<XD Yes, Bibi is around 2 years old-

#my response #super mario bros #fnaf security breach #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs #factual fam

[papastarion]

Thinking about (Dad) Astarion related to pregnancy/birth itself as an experience and how he reacts and how it affects him, because that’s what my research is focused on right now, so that’s where my brain is. (So, obvious warnings for pregnancy/birth.)

I’ve been reading some of the older material connected with D&D/lore, to get a sense of how Astarion would instinctively react to fatherhood—regarding his elven nature, not just his trauma, because I think about that enough. Even in my own canon, where that baby is very much discussed and agreed upon (but happens way faster than either Astarion or my Durge anticipated, with both of them doubtful on whether or not they could have biological children or not), there’s a lot to unpack, and it’s not always easy for him to work through it.

I’m a sucker for Astarion relearning or reconnecting with his elven attributes that have been pushed down by Cazador for so many years, so much so that he surprises himself quite often.

For instance: Elves, both male and female because gender roles are whatever to them, are very involved in pregnancy, per some old sources like Dragon Magazine. It’s almost a natural response for them. And having the baby is a group activity if born in an elven community, because it’s something they take as a chance to come together. Tav/Durge (regardless of race, but bear in mind that my Durge is a half-elf, so a lot of my writing and research has that bias to it) and he are their own little community, and his elf brain is clear on what he needs to be doing before he even really has time to process.

Astarion himself is shocked by how involved he is from the moment he finds out that they’re having a baby.

Of course he was always going to invested—it’s his baby with the first person he ever truly cared for. And of course he’s terrified, who wouldn’t be? Even standard pregnancies aren’t simple, he knows this one is undoubtedly going to be even more complicated thanks to his vampirism, which is a delicious vein (no pun intended) for angst and character study. But, like so many people have pointed out, especially with a Durge partner, he can be and is very supportive, especially during tense moments.

Is he going to be dramatic about everything? Absolutely. He’s still Astarion, after all.

He also starts making concerted efforts to learn more about vampirism in general, because there’s still so much about his condition he doesn’t know, and if he doesn’t know about himself, he’s not going to very helpful when their child is older. Sure, dhampirism will have its own nuances, but he has to start somewhere. And there’s a lot more text out there about vampires than their rare instances of producing children.

He learns early on in the pregnancy that dhampirs can crave things other than blood to feed their hunger (spinal fluid, even dreams being among them), though they can also eat as any non-vampire can. However, some sources seem to insist that blood during fetal development is good for them, regardless of what diet they follow later on. Most sources are confident that a dhampir can feed from a vampire, but if a vampire were to bite/feed on a dhampir, the vampire would be left unsatiated, and the dhampir would likely not survive, the act sending their genetics into shock (*note: this isn’t strictly lore-compliant, because I’ve read too many conflicting things, so I’ve developed my own canon.)

Astarion absolutely starts bleeding himself for them to have blood on hand, just to be safe. After all, Tav/Durge has given him so much of their blood over the course of their relationship, if his can be good for something, he’ll gladly share. Besides, if we’re talking Durge, they’d probably be fairly thrilled to try his blood. It’s not the first time they’ve consumed flesh/blood, after all.

And with their medical proficiency, a Durge partner has a field day finally getting to stick his veins. He’s just happy they’re happy. If it helps the baby, and if it entertains Durge enough to distract them from all their aches and pains, then all the better.

Astarion does his own fair share of needlework, too. He starts teaching himself how to make blankets, the idea being that he wants something warm for the baby to associate him with, given how could his touch is. He isn’t sure how reactive they’ll be to body temperature, but he doesn’t want his son or daughter not liking him because he’s too cold. Besides, his scent will be all in the material, and he knows that’ll be good for anyone with any kind of vampiric nature to make associations.

Of course, he sees to altering Tav/Durge’s clothes over the months, too. If they’re self-conscious about everything happening, he’ll even do it exclusively. No need to pay a tailor or seamstress when he can do what they can better, by candlelight if needed, and he only charges in kisses, not gold.

He also tries to learn different ways to help physically. Someone teaches him the bump-lift trick for back pain at about seven months, and if Tav/Durge wasn’t hopelessly in love before, they are now. He takes bribes for foot rubs, but he’s always available for back rubs. He’ll make tea when they don’t feel like getting up to do it. He’ll lay in bed all day if that’s what they want to do. Snuggles? They’re already wrapped in a big old blanket together. They don’t want to be touched that day? He’s got books to read and a quip about being too beautiful to be ignored, but he won’t mean it.

He tries so hard not to panic when labor starts, but he’s so convinced all his good fortune is finally going to catch up with him if things have gone smoothly. And, in his subconscious, there’s been at least some illusion regarding the reality of it all, even as he’s watched his partner change physically and felt the baby move over the months.

But there’s no more hypotheticals.

Still, he would be insistent on being involved during the delivery itself (with bells on, no doubt, if you’ve seen my previous post.) He’s more scared than he’s ever been before, but he knows Tav/Durge is scared, too, and they’re the one in pain and doing all the work. The least he can do is be with them, and he can definitely do that. If he can offer them comfort when they’re actively trying to kill him thanks to Bhaal, then he can certainly put his own nerves aside when they’re having a baby.

He’ll make jokes about blood and the mess to cover up the fact that if he wasn’t already pale as a ghost, he’d be absolutely blanched, but he won’t let go of their hand, he’ll do whatever he can to make it at least marginally better, if it’s possible. He’ll crack jokes (“You put up with me everyday, this should be nothing.” “You’re going to be fine, because if you’re not, I’m going to kill you myself.” “It’s probably too late to back out of this now, but, I mean, we could try.”) All the back rubs. Hand holding, no matter how intense that gets as things progress. He’ll even share random relevant facts that stick out in his mind from months of research. (“Did you know dhampirs do have pulses despite popular belief, they’re just so faint that they can be hard to feel? Which is good, because if a vampire were to try to bite them, they’d have a hard time finding a vein and initiating paralysis and—” “Astarion, let’s have the baby before we start thinking about their camouflage tactics.”)

Hells, if the preferred attendant (I’ve seen Halsin, Shadowheart, Jaheira, an unnamed midwife, a combo of them—I’m partial to Miss Former Head Physican herself, Dalyria), tells him he’s catching the baby when it comes, then he’s doing it. (And he’s going to be crying more than the baby afterwards.)

It’s A Lot, for sure. And there’s a lot more nuance to it all than I can fit in one post, and this one is already getting too long, but I couldn’t help myself.

Bonus: Tav/Durge cuddled up and getting in those new baby snuggles and skin to skin after everything is cleaned up and everyone’s more or less at ease, and Tav/Durge looks at him and goes: “Well done catching him/her, by the way. It was very twee.”

No, he’s never living that one down.

#elven births are also fairly easy so sorry Thea that you’re only half-elf AND having a dhampir it’s just going to suck babe #Astarion #Dadstarion #Durgestarion #bg3 #Papastarion #Tavstarion