#And that SHOULD make it easier but it DOESN'T

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner

@pedrospookie made the cutest fucking mood board for this fic, she also gave me so much inspiration for this! Let's all thank her for her perfect brain.

Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose

Rating: explicit -

kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions besides having hair long enough to hold and fall into your face, the reader is actually crazy, talks to herself- hears little voices in her head. You gotta know this going into it)

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.

w/c : 9k (whoops)

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

warnings/tags: non-con/dub-con/ altered mental state(?) throughout the entire thing. stockholm syndrome, violence (reader and Joel both get hurt) Joel is an unwilling participant... or is he? cockwarming, unprotected P in V, dirty talk- more to come.

authors note: Hey! I know a lot people get icked out by the idea of non-con or dub con, and that's fine, but I like it, so I'm gonna write this. I don't think any of this should be acted out ITRL. DON'T KIDNAP PEOPLE!! This is your last and final warning just so everyone is aware of what's going on. this is unbeta'd, poorly proofread and probably incoherent. I love you all so, so, so much.

The weather is finally starting to change, it's not as hot as a pigs asshole anymore, and you wake up feeling refreshed, rather than sticky and sour from sleeping in a pool of your own sweat all night long.

The first thought that comes to your head though isn't the changing weather, or how you'll eventually need to break out your warmer clothes soon, nope— you don't give a shit about any of that.

It's just Mister-man that you're thinking about.

He might be the most pretty thing you've ever seen. With his shoulder length, brown and gray curls, and his patchy facial hair that matches so nicely. The thought of how rough and scratchy it would feel against your tongue makes your spine tingle.

Mister-man is a big boy. Hefty, broad, and looked so strong whenever he came into the mall.

You've been watching him for a while. He comes around every three or four days snooping in all the stores for supplies.

It's like he doesn't even know you're here…or if he does, he doesn't care. Rude! You're a pretty girl!

He's just coming to take our stuff, just like the rest of the monster-men out there. If he finds us, he might wanna take-

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" You put your hands over your ears, even though those voices just get louder when you do that.

Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…

Yes, he would. He's a man.

"It's too early for this," You grumble, sitting up in your bed.

The mattress store is nice and clean, just how you left it last night before you crawled into bed. You think about how it would be alarming if it wasn't exactly how you left it before you went to bed. You did your nightly walk-through to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and that there weren't any extras hanging about.

As you get dressed, you think about what the dark voice was about to say. You know exactly what Mister-man would try and take from you if he found you. What all the other men in this fucking place want from you.

It's hard to make any of that matter as you skip to your hiding spot in the rafters above the food court. That's where he always enters from, even though the easier entrance with less glass and boards to climb through is on the other side of the mall.

It's a good thing you set up a trap there too, if he comes in through that entrance, at least you'll hear the snare go off and hopefully get to him in time to get his gun and knife.

Mister-man is a creature of habit, he doesn't like to switch things up, Sug. He'll come through this door.

He might. He might not. Mister-man might be playing your game better than you, kid.

"Well then, it's a good thing I thought of everything," you murmur, climbing up the discarded scaffolding to get into the rafters.

It's not scary up here, you like the thrill of knowing if you made one mistake—

Goner!

Splat!

"I've never fallen though!" You giggle, settling in to the perch just above the now blown out glass doors. It's a comfortable little spot, and you've arranged some blankets and pillows from the mattress store up here so you can nap if you want. There are some snacks, and bottles of water in case you have to stay up here for more than just a couple hours, keeping an eye out for Mister-man.

People must have stayed here in the mall during the outbreak, or right after because the doors are boarded up the best they can be, and the tables and chairs from the food court are set up all around like a barricade.

It was perfect, less work for you to have to do, and no one else bothers to come in here anymore— it's either too far, too hard to get too, or not worth the pay out.

Not for our lovely, handsome, soon to be perfect, Mister-man; the reason he comes every week is so sweet.

You wondered why he kept coming back when there really isn't much to scavenge anymore: every single store had been picked through before you got here, and you went and took the last of whatever anyone else didn't want or need and squirreled it away in a nice hiding spot.

Mister-man came every three or four days-- so that he could sit his ass in a comfortable recliner for a couple hours.

Remember that time he took a nap?

"Of course I do! How could I forget?!"

It's the cutest thing, and you love to watch him relax. Rest. Let his guard down for a little while.

"Slept like a lil baby that day," you mumble, feeling the heat spread up your neck and behind your cheeks. It's impossible to not smile at the memory of Mister sleeping in his chair, arms behind his head, snoring loudly.

His hair was real soft...'n he smelled so..

Why does he let us get so close? It's gotta be a trap.

Oh shut up, maybe he wants us to get close!

"I don't think he can hear me too good," you breathe out to the empty mall. The sun is starting to shine directly in your eyes— which means Mister-man will be here soon. "Always lookin' over his left shoulder. He never looks over his right, me thinks he can't hear outta that ear."

Mister has been coming for a couple months. He first started when the snow started to melt. And he kept coming through the spring when everything was wet and soggy, and he'd traipse mud through the mall like this wasn't your house!

That's how you knew he had been there though, so you waited to see if he'd come back-- and he did.

Mister-Man kept coming, even when the summer got so hot it was almost unbearable. Venturing outside was almost dangerous, but Mister always came.

Just to sit in his chair.

The air is filled with the sounds of birds singing, and insects buzzing in the lazy, summer heat. The mornings aren't too bad anymore, but the afternoon is still sweltering.

The late afternoon's are even worse when the heat finally settles, and everything gets sticky, and feeling all wet even though it's not wet outside! It's hot, but the air feels thick and damp somehow.

Awh, looks like he ain't coming today, Sug.

Good-fucking-riddance.

"He'll show up. If not today… tomorrow…or the next day. Or next week! He always comes, sillies. Gettin' me all nervous for nothin—"

Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.

Mister-man is coming. You can hear him before he even crawls through the hole in one of the boards. He has to slide the table he sets up every time he comes and goes.

Once he's upright, brushing himself clean of any debris that he might have picked up on his crawl into the mall, he starts to walk.

It's not hard to stay quiet, you know exactly where the spots that creak are, and where things might break and fall apart if you were to put too much weight on them.

It's easier to follow him around as he slinks through the abandoned shopping center than you thought, as long as you stay on his right side. You've been watching and learning, and had a long time to figure him out.

Mister is so cute, walking real slow with his back to the wall, his head on a constant swivel. You wanna call out to him and tell him it's just the three of you in the mall.

He continues to sneak very quietly.

Can't hide from us.

"He sure can't," you giggle, almost silently.

Mister-man pauses, and looks over his left shoulder, as if something caught his attention. He looks all around, head twisting in either and all directions. At one point, he looks right up at where you're standing.

It's like he's looking right at you, like he can see you flitting through the rafters right above him.

Mister-man just shakes his head, as if he was hearing things, and continues onward towards the furniture store.

Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.

"He sure can't."

Mister doesn't make it inside the furniture store today, unfortunately for him.

When Joel wakes up, his head is fucking pounding and— he's upside down. Shit.

Not again.

"What the fuck?" Joel croaks, his hands feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as he tries to lift them from where they're dangling over his head. His shoulders hurt, and his back aches. His ankles feel like they're on fire.

There isn't much he can do but hang here, waiting for his vision to un-blur and for the throbbing in his head to go away.

Probably get gutted like a pig.

Finally, after blinking a million times, Joel can see things clearly.

You- a young woman- with a gun in your hand, another strapped to the outside of your thigh, and a fucking machete strapped across your back.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Joel shouts, his hands now easily flying to the holster—It's empty. The pack he had been carrying on his back is gone too.

Joel watches as you look at him like he should already know what you're doing: a half smile plastered onto your pretty lips, the crinkle at the corners of your eyes, your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, couching in front of his pack.

"Lookin' through your stuff," you croon to him.

Joel's blood boils. What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck are you? How did you manage to get him all strung up, hanging from the ceiling?

He says nothing as you stay picking through his backpack, taking out every single thing he has in there. His map, compass, the backup flashlight, the gas-mask— which you're putting on?

Why? There weren't any spores in here— were there?

"This thing is fuckin' cool!" Your voice is muffled, and you stand up straight. Then you hold your hands out at your sides, and spin in a circle.

"Hey!" Joel barks at you, flinching away from the revolving barrel of your pistol with each rotation you make. "Stop swinging that thing around, would ya'!?" Joel shouts as you continue to spin.

You stop suddenly, and stare at him through the big, dark lenses of his gas mask. "You know all about swinging around, don'tchya?" You giggle at him.

Joel literally swings back and forth as you say this, very slowly spinning around as he sways, and the throbbing in his head only makes him more angry.

"Cut me the fuck down, keep what'chya want— I don't got time for all this," Joel grumbles, lifting his head so he can look at the rope tied around his ankles. It's a good knot, and without a knife, Joel isn't going to get down on his own, not without his knife.

He reaches behind him to feel for it on his belt—

"Lookin' for this?" Your still muffled voice questions Joel as his fingers brush across the empty space on his waist where his knife would be.

He tips his head almost all the way back, and then to the side so he can see you— and is greeted by the sight of you, still in the gas mask, and now, holding his knife by the blade with your thumb and index finger. All he can do is sigh, close his eyes and wonder how a trip to sit in his favorite recliner led to this.

"Now, I ain't really wanna hurt'chya— I was hopin' you was gunna say knocked out long enough for me to cut'cya down and—"

Joel doesn't wanna hear anymore. "Just cut me the fuck down— people are gon' come lookin' for me if you—"

You apparently don't wanna hear what Joel has to say anymore either, because you start to talk over him. "—we're just gunna go—"

Joel doesn't care, doesn't want to listen to your muffled voice— he wishes you would take his stupid, fucking gas mask off and talk to him like a normal person. He's gotta be able to barter with you somehow. "—don't let me go. If it's food 'n water ya' want, I can get ya' some—"

The two of you are just talking louder, and louder, until the both of you are shouting over the other, neither one of you actually hearing what the other is saying.

"—let me go!"

"—stay forever!"

The two of you stop and stare at each other in silence for a moment. Joel can't really comprehend what you just said, "Stay forever?"

"Yep!" You exclaim happily.

Did he say that aloud?

"You 'n me, together forever, Mister-man," you sigh dreamily at him.

It's not what you say, it's how you say it— like you really believe what you've just said. Like…it was something you had been thinking about, for a while.

"Huh?" Is all he can say, still slowly swaying and spinning. He has to turn his head almost completely around before he whips it to the other side, he wants to keep his eyes on you at all times. You seem un-fucking-predictable.

"Ain't'chya so excited!?" You squeal, and it makes Joel's head ache.

"Gon' fuckin' strangle you once I get down from here," Joel half grumbles, half chuckles under his breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching you rummage around for something in his bag.

"That's why I gotta do this," your muffled voice sounds sad as you pull something out and whip it behind your back, hiding it, and that makes Joel nervous.

"Do what?" Joel tries to see what you pulled out of his backpack.

"Gotta close your eyes," you shrug your shoulders, and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

Joel blinks at you, just staring at him through the gas mask. He's not completely unsettled by the sight of you in a gas mask, he's seen women wearing them plenty— it's the fact that you have him completely at your mercy and he can barely see your fucking eyes.

He's so fucking stupid for coming out here alone all the time, Tommy and Ellie both warned him- both told him that something would happen to him out here. He'd hurt his back— or worse. And no one would know where to find him- because this was his secret hideaway. A place to escape the responsibilities of being a dad, a grandpa, and a big brother.

Joel loves Ellie, JJ and Tommy more than he ever thought possible— and loves that he got to be around them everyday— it was just starting to be a lot.

If Joel had the means to move that recliner into his house in Jackson, he would have— but it's too big, too heavy and way too fucking far.

Now look at him, upside down!

"Ya' ain't gunna wanna see it comin'." You give Joel a small warning. "Please just close them," you whine, starting to nervously dance on your tip toes.

"No." Joel growls, arms still crossed over his chest.

"'Kay!" You exclaim, running over to Joel. "Warned ya'!" You pull the brick Joel had put in his pack for emergencies.

"Wait! Wait—"

Cripes-all-mighty, Mister-Man is heavy as hell!

It takes everything you have inside of you to drag him to the mattress store. By the time you get there, your shirt is soaked through with sweat, your hair clings to your forehead and the side of your face. Every muscle aches and feels as if it's being torn from the bone it's clinging to.

Huffing and puffing, you drag him through the sea of mattresses until you get to the staircase that leads into the basement office.

"Sorry, Mister-Man," you grunt and push him down the stairs—

He's fine! You lined the stairs, and the bottom where he landed with mattresses a couple days ago-- after you brought his favorite recliner down here. All by yourself. Did it just for Mister-Man, because you want him to be comfortable! You want him to feel nice, and relaxed, and safe here with you.

Once you have him nice and secure to his chair— you wait.

He hit his head pretty hard when you snared him— you didn't think of that part. Then he had to go and wake up! Like a dumb idiot! He could have just stayed asleep, then you wouldn't have had to hit him again!

Thank goodness for that brick he keeps in his backpack, which, what the fuck is that about? It's a good weapon, but it's heavy, and made his backpack harder to carry than you would like to admit.

You were also lugging that giant of a man around, ya' did good, Sugar.

Yeah, ya' did good, kid.

You wrap your arms around yourself and sigh, "Thanks."

You wanna tell the voices in your head that you love them, but you don't really always love them. Sometimes you hate them, and wish they would shut up, and sometimes they don't talk when you need them to— finicky fuckers! And they almost never see eye to eye, and it's exhausting. So you just say thanks.

Mister-man is so pretty up close. Even more pretty than you could have ever thought or dreamed of. He doesn't look like he's shaved or cleaned up his beard in the last couple days, and his hair was combed back away from his face when he got here today— but now it's a mess, matted to his forehead in drying blood, falling into his eyes.

"Shit," you whisper, taking in the sight of him all beat up—

Sug, you gotta clean him up— make him pretty again.

The sweet voice is right!

Mister-man looks so sad all bloody and a mess.

"I'll be right back," you murmur and press a gentle kiss to his forehead through his blood stained hair, and then double check all of the ropes around his wrists and ankles. 

He's secure, time to go get him lookin' nice again. 

When you come back, your bag is filled to the brim with supplies from the the multiple stores that still have things inside them. You got him a comb, and a spray bottle that you already filled with clean water. You were able to find some clean clothes that look like they'll fit him. 

He's also awake. 

"Hi, Mist—"

"Let me go." 

"—er-man!" You finish through the interruption. "I'm gunna clean you up now, and then we can have dinner. 'Kay?"

Mister-man stares at you.

"Oh!" You rip the gas mask off and place it on his lap. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to steal it. I promise." You cross your heart with one index finger. 

"Let. Me. Go." 

You wince with each barked word. "I. Don't. Wanna." 

"If I ever get outta here, m'gon' fuckin' kill ya'," he growls. 

You frown, pinch your eyebrows together and mock his thick, country twang. "M'gon' fuckin' clean ya' up real good, 'n then me 'n ya' can have fuckin' dinner." You growl back at him. 

"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"

"Why!? So you can kill me?" You shake your head at him, giving him a small smirk. "Not gunna happen, Mister." 

His eyes go wider than you've ever seen them, as if he might be nervous. "What th'fuck you gon' do to me then, huh?" 

"Clean. You. Up. Then. Have. Dinner. Did I say it too fast the first time, or can you really not hear too good?" You cock your head to one side, and look at him quizzically.

"Th'fuck did ya' just ask me?" Joel feels his chest going tight-- this hasn't happened in fucking years. It can't be happening right now.

"I talk real fast sometimes, and I don't realize it, and so sometimes all my words come out real jumbled to--"

"'Bout my hearin'?" Joel's working overtime to suck the air in, to bring precious oxygen to his brain. His head is still pounding, and now he can't fucking breathe, and he can't even imagine what kind of sick, twisted shit you're going to do to him.

Joel watches your eyes drop to the ground by his feet, and it's almost like you pull your body in on itself somehow, retreating into a place where you're trying to hide from him in plain sight. "I been watchin' you when you come in here... just act like you can't hear all that good outta your right ear," you say in a voice so small Joel can barely hear it.

"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.

Who the fuck are you? How long have you been watching him? How come he's never seen you before? Never even seen a trace of another person around here, just the stray raccoon or possum.

Joel's blood boils when you nod your head at him, still unable to look him in the eye. "Ya' should be ashamed. Whatever it is ya' wanna do to me is probably fucked--"

"I'm not ashamed," your voice snaps, and finally you lift your head to meet Joel's gaze. "Not even a little."

"Actin' like it," Joel's voice is snappier, and louder, and it makes you flinch.

"Maybe a little embarrassed--"

"Ashamed, fuckin' embarrassed, same fuckin' thing." Joel rolls his eyes at you.

"Not really," you shake your head from side to side and raise both of your eyebrows at him. "Not at all, actually."

"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"

"Would you shut th'fuck up..." You mock Joel. "I'm tryin' to do somethin' nice for you, and you keep telling me to shut the fuck up!"

"Do somethin' nice f'me?!" If this wasn't almost thirty years after the fucking apocalypse happened, Joel would think he was on some hidden camera show.

"Yeah!" You hold out the supplies you had brought back from wherever the fuck you had run off too while Joel was unconscious.

"Doin' somethin' nice would be lettin' me go, sweetheart." Joel switches his tone- does something he wouldn't normally do in a situation like this.

Your eyes light up. They crinkle in the corners a little, like they did the first time he saw you, but you're not upside down this time. The corners of your lips are trying to curl up, but you're actively trying to stop them.

"Don't call me that, 'less you mean it."

With the comb, water bottle and first-aid kit in hand, you take your place behind him and inspect the wound. 

It's a surface wound, but dirty from the brick and still very bloody. 

It's a painstaking process, because you don't want to be the cause of his pain anymore. Not ever again if you can help it.

Really, that's up to Mister, but he'll find out on his own soon enough! He just has to play nice, be sweet and kind— be the Mister you want him to be, and he'll be perfectly happy here with you. Life here with you in the mall could be perfect! He just needs to be perfect. He's almost there, he just has to keep his mouth shut. 

He's not quiet, not at all. He hoots and hollers at you to stop, to let him go, that he's gonna gut you like a fish if he ever gets free from here.

The way he talks, his voice feels like the deepest note on a piano, or the thickest string being plucked on a guitar. It vibrates in the spaces between your ribs, and forces all the air out of your lungs when he talks.

He's taking your breath away... how romantic.

The sweet and airy voice in your head is right, he is taking your breath away. You wish he would stop saying those mean and terrible things to you-- they're making you hurt inside, where your stomach is.

Guilt. You should just kill him right now--

"Hurt him?"

Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.

Look'it those big brown eyes. Like a baby cow. All wet 'n big, kinda scared lookin'.

Ugh, shoot him right between those beautiful brown eyes, kid. You can do it.

He ain't hurt you yet, Sug...

Because she tied him up--

As she should, she's gotta feel him out a little, make sure he's really not gonna hurt her.

How is he ever going to hurt her if he's tied up?

"Okay, enough!" You almost shout-- there they go! Never seeing eye to eye, making things harder than they needed to be!

"I'll yell all I fuckin' want," Joel does holler, loudly. So loud. He's going to draw attention.

"Do I need to get the brick again?"

Joel stops shouting.

He really can't hold back the pained sounds coming from his throat as you attend to his wound.

You're being so, so gentle!

He's acting like a giant baby.

"M'hurtin' you?" You mumble as you drag the damp cloth along his forehead carefully, cleaning the moderately large gash you left there with the brick. It's swollen, and bruised now... you feel so terrible.

He'll forgive you, Sugar.

Mister-man doesn't say anything, he just flinches away from your touch for the millionth time.

"M'sorry, didn't mean t'hurt you this bad." You slowly start to work the comb through his hair, spraying it down with water when you needed to. You're careful to never pull on his hair too hard, and work the tangles out meticulously so you don't bring him any more discomfort.

"Got'chu some medicine." You reach into your pocket and pull out two white pills.

"I ain't takin' nothin' y'give me, fuckin' crazy bitch." He grumbles.

Mister watches you walk around to the front of him, and kneel between his legs.

"S'just regular," you hold your hand up to his face so he can inspect the pill on his own. "Nothin' strong like they had in the QZ's," it's a gentle explanation as he studies the medicine in your palm. "Can find some for ya' if you wanted me to, m'real good at findin' stuff."

"Find it in your heart t'let me outta here," Joel gives you the sweetest, crookedest smile that makes you stomach feel like it grows ten sizes, and your heart feels like it's racing something else inside of you.

There are sweet wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the lines on his forehead deepen, and he has the softest dimple on his left cheek.

Sug, he's so pretty.

Kill. Him. Before. He. Kills. You.

"So pretty," you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and rest one of your elbows on his knee, propping your head up on the heel of your hand. The pills are still right in front of Joel's face, and his eyes flash between them, and your face.

"Not takin' them" he grumbles, twisting his head away from your hand.

"Suit yourself," you put the pills back into your pocket, dipping your head down to press a soft kiss to his knee. "M'gunna go get us dinner, I'll be back."

Joel stares at the tray of food you set down on the table you dragged over to be directly in front of him.

"Where's the protein?" Joel looks up at you from the plate of crackers with peanut butter, a small bowl of raspberries, two packets of expired pretzels you would get on an airplane, and a full bottle of labelless whiskey.

"S'in the peanut butter," you say through a mouthful of your own cracker.

Begrudgingly, Joel opens his mouth when you hold a cracker up to his lips. "Where's the meat?"

The crackers are dry, and kind of stale somehow? The peanut butter is still nice and creamy, just the way Joel remembered it before the outbreak.

"Where would I find meat?"

Joel pinches his brows together and blinks at you. "Ya' live in the woods, got a gun or two-- fuckin' know how to set a snare--"

You gasp softly, and rest one elbow on the table and point at him with a lazy index finger, "You 'spect me to go out there and kill an innocent lil friend? They ain't ever done nothin' t'me. Why would I go out 'n hurt 'em when I ain't got no reason to?"

Joel continues to blink, trying so hard to keep his eyes on you and not the ropes you have him tied down with so tightly they're starting to dig into the skin on his forearms-- painfully.

"Ya' kiddin', right?" He watches as you place a raspberry directly into the peanut butter on the cracker and hold it out for him.

"Issa good combo, try it." You nod your head at him, urging him to open his mouth.

Joel doesn't want to, doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing he needs you, and is going to keep needing you until you decide to kill him, or set him free.

He opens his mouth though, because Joel hasn't had a raspberry in years and he loves them, and the sight of that plump, juicy berry sitting so comfortably in that pillow of delicious, creamy peanut butter is making his stomach rumble. Loudly.

"Want some?" You hold up the bottle of whiskey, screw off the cap and take a swig. "See, it's safe," you look at him through your lashes, and give him a one-corner-of-your-mouth-smile.

Joel nods his head, because what else was there to do if he was going to be a prisoner here? He tried so hard to free himself of the restraints while you were gone, but you know how to tie a knot, and Joel just ended up giving himself rope burn.

An hour later, Joel feels pretty good, but not good enough to forget the situation he's in, but the booze is making you very chatty, and he might actually be enjoying the conversation.

"'N I get power from the solar things up on the roof, I think."

"Ya' think?" Joel smirks at you, he can't help it.

"I dunno how the solar works," you exclaim, holding one hand towards the ceiling. "It's the sun and black screens," you give the ceiling the middle finger and groan. "Barely works when the sun is out-- I just wanna watch my movies--"

"What kinda movies ya' got?"

He wishes he never asked.

You're sitting between his legs on the floor-- reaching behind you to feed him raspberries, never taking your eyes off the screen.

Joel thing's about biting your fingers off, thinks about taking the tips right off with his front teeth.

What would you do if he did that? Joel is still tied up, and he would just have raspberries and bloodied fingertips in his mouth, and then possibly a crazy, unpredictable, angry woman who would try and kill him.

Joel has seen angry people every day for close to thirty years... he knows what they look like, what they sound and act like--- you don't sound or act angry.

"Love this part," you sigh, leaning back into him, and resting your head on his knee.

Joel looks up to the screen, watching Cinderella transform into her beautiful ball gown.

Joel wishes he could reach out and run his fingers through your hair.

No he fucking doesn't? What the actual fuck? What did you put in the food, or the whiskey to make him feel this way?

Joel clenches his hands to fists on the arms of the recliner, and tenses his jaw-- grinding his teeth in the process.

You continue to drink throughout the movie, and when the credits are rolling-- you stumble to your feet, and then into his lap.

"Get off'a me," Joel gripes as you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face.

"Just wanna cuddle," you murmur, curling yourself up into his chest, yawning sleepily. "F'just a lil bit."

"Get off'a me, ya' fuckin' nut!" Joel shouts, and regretfully, tries to headbutt you.

His cheekbone, the side of his nose and part of his forehead connect with the top of your skull in a dull, aching thud.

You scramble off his lap, and fall to the floor, one hand holding the top of your head where Joel had just whacked you. The right side of his face is throbbing, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding, or he's crying- he doesn't know- he doesn't care. He just wants to go home.

"What the fuck!?" You shout back at him. "Mister, I ain't been mean to you at all, minus the brick- okay? What the hell is your problem!?"

Joel can't help but laugh, it starts off as a chuckle, but quickly matures into full on guffawing. "Y'fuckin' insane, ya' know that?" Joel rumbles through his fit.

Through the tears in his eyes, Joel can see you glaring at him.

Okay, he hurt her, can she kill him now?

Sugar, he ain't mean it... not really... he just needs some time to adjust.

He could have really hurt her, are you serious?

He's just nervous! Give the man a break--

Tired of giving men breaks- tired of letting them get away-

"Both of you, knock it off." It's a stern warning to the voice as you glare at Mister.

He stops laughing and blinks at you. "Huh?" He cocks one eyebrow up high, "Both o' ya?"

His question doesn't register, all you can think about is how disappointed you are in him.

"I was gunna let'chya sleep in the big bed with me," you huff, climbing to your feet. "Ain't gonna do that no more."

"I ain't wanna sleep in the big bed with y'crazy fuckin' ass, anyway!" He screams at you.

"What're ya' bein' so fuckin' mean for? I cleaned ya' up, made ya' pretty again-- fed you dinner 'n shared my drink with you!"

Do not cry! What're you doing!? Don't let him see you cry! Get out of here, right now!

The dark voice is right, the burn in your nose and the sting in your eyes are tell tale signs of tears- and you hate them. Hate the way they make your face wet and sticky, hate how they make your heart hurt, hate how your head feels like it's ten pounds heavier when you get done crying.

He'll come around, Sug. Gotta give him some time. If ya' stay nice-- it'll happen sooner than you think.

"I like bein' nice," you murmur, not taking your eyes off Mister.

"Th'fuck are you talkin' about!?" He exclaims, eyes wide, almost obsidian with rage and confusion.

"G'night, Mister. We'll try again t'morow."

Mister doesn't rest, doesn't relax, doesn't settle down at all.

When you open the door to his room, he's still screaming his head off.

"Hey!" You shout back at him, grabbing his attention. "We got raiders 'round here. We got infected movin' in and outta here all the time-- you know how fuckin' loud you are?"

"Hopefully they all hear 'n come runnin'. I'd love to see you get torn to shred-"

"'Kay, m'real sorry ya' feel that way. Even sorrier that I gotta do this."

Mister doesn't stop fighting you the entire time you shove the bandanna into his mouth. He even bites down on your index and middle finger as you stuff the last corner of fabric between his teeth.

Hit him.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to stop yourself from the back of your hand connecting with his cheek.

"Now, you gunna play that game? I can play, too," you inspect your finger and the deep indentation he left that's already starting to bruise.

The duct tape is hard to rip, and you need to use your teeth to cut a strip to go over his mouth.

Mister is mumbling something around the bandanna, but you can't understand him, and honestly are still mad about your fingers-- they hurt! Really bad!

"Glad I still got that medicine... I'm gunna fuckin' need it!" You dig around in your pockets and look for the two white pills. Your fingers throb while you look, the sensitive skin; tender to the touch as it brushes against the fabric inside your pockets.

Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.

"I'm sorry!" You find the pills, throw them into your mouth and swallow dry. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you. I do not like doin' it, I mean it." You take a couple steps towards him, and drop to your knees between his legs again.

Mister watches, his whole body still as you rest your head on his knee again.

"Just want ya' 'round. M'sorry," you close your eyes, not wanting him to see them fill with those traitorous tears. "Jus' real lonely out here. Miss havin' someone t'talk with...'n snuggle up to at night."

The fuckin' duct tape makes it impossible for Mister to say anything--which is the worst. You wanted someone to talk with, not at.

"I'll take the tape off in the mornin', and we can try again over breakfast, 'kay?"

Mister doesn't make a single sound for the rest of the night.

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Honestly, he barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night.

How can he not like it just a little bit? You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister. Please?" You fucking whimper,

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through the thin fabric of your shorts, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his kiss, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans low in his throat when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

The sound that leaves you makes Joel throb in your hand, "Ya' want me t'put 'em inside?" You whisper, the silky smoothness of your hands on him, stroking him so slowly is making his head spin.

"Jeeesus, yes-- fuckin' c'mon- do it," Joel lets his head fall back against the recliner, and watches as you pull your shorts to the side, and lift yourself to hover over him. "C'mon..." Joel eggs you on in a whisper. "Y'can do it, crazy girl."

"Don't call--" you pause when you notch the head of him at your entrance. "--me crazy."

Joel groans loudly as you sink down and let every wet, soft part of you engulf him. He throbs again when you whimper and whine, eyes clenched shut, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you inch your way down his length.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine, leaning forward to rest your head on Joel's.

He could headbutt the shit out of you right now, but fuck, the way you're looking at him, with real tears in your eyes, not just from drinking.

"Hey, ya' doin' real good, sweetheart, keep goin'-- nice 'n slow," Joel encourages you, because he doesn't want it to stop either. "Jus' like that, crazy girl."

God damn, is crazy pussy always this good? He wouldn't fucking know, he wouldn't ever get involved with you if he knew you back in Jackson- but out here, after almost three weeks with you... it's hard to deny the physical needs of a man. And you're so fucking soft and wet.

The two of you groan in unison when you fully seated. The velvet walls of your pussy are fluttering, and clenching around him as you adjust to his length.

"You're so big," you hum, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Didn't think ya'd wanna do this," you whisper into his mouth. "Wasn't gon' take it from ya-- don't like that."

"Take what'chya need from me, whenever ya want it, shit," Joel tries to buck his hips up into yours to give you what you want but you whine in protest.

"Still hurts."

Joel settles his hips and leans into the best he can being tied down, his fingers grip the armrests of the chair tightly, groping it like he would be groping you if he could.

"Untie me," he murmurs while grinding up against you, not pulling out of you at all, just letting you feel him, letting you open up around him so it'll start to feel good.

"No," you nip at his bottom lip now, but you suck it into your mouth and tease him with your tongue as your walls start to rhythmically clench around him.

"Fuck, ya' doin' that on -ur-ose?" Joel groans with his bottom lip still being lapped at, The feeling of your tight, wet sucking him in deeper somehow- like it's fucking bottomless almost makes him come right then.

You pull back, his lip slips from between your with a wet pop "Mhm, ya' like it?" You clench harder around him and then release, and then do that over, and over again.

"Fuckin' untie me, wanna touch you- gotta feel how soft ya' are all over, c'mon," he's begging, he needs to feel the swell of your ass in his palm, or one of your tits spilling between his fingers as he grips you.

"No, you'll just try 'n leave me-"

"No, no, no-- I'll stay 'n... uh.. I'll... um- uh--oh, I'll play nice wit'chya" Joel racks his brain with anything that he could say that would possibly give him a chance at being able to really touch you.

"Lyin' t'me," you moan, and Joel throbs inside of you.

"Not lyin'-"

You pull back from his face at an alarming rate, and you scan his face slowly, as if you were drinking in every feature, savoring the flavor-- Joel watches you swallow hard and imagines that it's his load you just took down--

"Untie me, let me touch ya' a lil bit," Joel whispers, keeping his eyes locked on to yours. "Make ya' feel real good, promise." Joel licks his lips as he watches you struggle internally with the decision. "C'mon... gotta feel how soft ya' are, crazy girl. Just one hand."

"Fine."

You stay seated in his lap, his cock still throbbing inside of you as you work on the knot that will free his right hand. He's trembling in the anticipation of it all.

As soon as the pressure is gone off his wrist, Joel reels his arm back as far as he can, and sends it flying forward with as much force as he can muster after not eating meat for almost an entire month.

You scream as his fist connects with your right eye, and go flying to the floor.

Joel might be completely sober right now, and he knows he needs to move fast before you get up and probably shoot him for lying to you, and then punching you.

Yep. Shoot him. Shoot him right between his perfect, brow, baby-cow eyes. End it.

The dark voice in your head is right, but it's almost impossible to think about anything else but the pain shooting into your brain from your right eye socket.

"You motherfucker," you sob. The pain is electrifying- and you can't even see out of your right eye anymore!

That was your least favorite eye!

Kill. Him.

When you sit up, Joel is working on the knot around his left wrist.

You stumble to your feet, holding your hand over your eye trying to keep the actual ball in, in case it falls out, and walk over to the table with his book bag on it. You rummage around until your fingers wrap around the item you're looking for.

When Joel sees what you're carrying, not even attempting to hide it behind your back, he quickens his efforts on the knot.

Your left hand isn't your dominant one, but your right is busy keeping your eyeball in your head because it most surely got knocked loose or something.

You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.

"S'what ya' get for almost takin' my eye out!"

While he's still asleep, you take this opportunity to cut the jeans he's wearing off of him. You carefully unbutton the green and red flannel he was wearing and slip that off of him fully intact.

Once he's fully secure, with a new restraint around his chest to keep him fully pinned down to the chair, and the bandanna and tape back around his mouth-- you shut all the lights off, every single one, and leave him down there to think about what he did.

He's gonna learn to play nice, and if he wants to play rough first... so can you.

The air is thick with tension and stench of his sweat and fear.

The big-guy should be kind of scared- you didn't want it to come to this, but he just cannot participate nicely!

You circle your Mister-man slowly, drinking in every detail of him. His broad chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles taut and straining as he fights against the restraints for the thousandth time.

No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot break free. Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings about it, and he's trying to let you know.

He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair, that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists. It's unfortunate, but he keeps wriggling around! If he just stopped, it'd all be fine!

You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna play nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"

His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot respond, not really, his voice is saying things, but it's muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth.

He's still clad in only boxer shorts, a thin gray t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.

It really shouldn't be so hot-- but it is. You can't stop thinking about what he said the other night.

"Take what'cya want from me, sweetheart. Whenever you want it."

You wonder if he really meant that, because he punched you in the face right after.

But... he got excited! He wanted it, Mister-man kissed you first.

Oh Sug, he's down bad.

Please kill him. Shoot him right now, then you can just move to a different part of the mall. It's very simple.

He's really mad; which makes no sense! He punched you right in the eye! What is he mad for!?

"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, Mister," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.

Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.

The perfect basement office of an old mattress store in an abandoned mall about a two hour hike outside of what used to be Jackson, Wyoming?

There's no spores, there's no mildew or stink! It's clean, you make sure to keep everything so clean for him.

Despite his insessant pestering about meat for some reason, he's well fed! He gets to drink whenever he wants!

Why is he so upset!?

Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.

Soon.

Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.

He's just gotta wear something else first.

You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.

He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.

"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.

He's going to try-- he always does.

Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.

"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."

Joel mumbles something else, muffled through the duct tape. It doesn't really matter what he's saying, all that matters is how warm he is. How he makes you feel so safe and comfortable.

It's easy now, with the threat of being zapped, to rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle the tips of your noses together.

"You gunna be good for me, Mister-man?" It's a purr as you press a kiss to the duct tape covering his mouth. "Or am I gunna have to train you how to be good?"

omg this might be the longest tag list i've ever done let me know if you want me to take you off, add you, if I forgot you-- I'm SORRY!!!

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22

[gayofthefae]

"I should have explained myself because maybe then Eleven would have taken me with her, but - I don't know. I didn't know what to say."

That isn't what he said the first time.

"I should have said something. And maybe if I had said that thing, Eleven would want me there with her."

The sentiment of him being with her and knowing/ensuring she's safe is consistent. But he isn't actually repeating himself. There's no need for him to as a person and as a screenwriter, repetition should DEFINITELY be cut.

He's changing. He's brainstorming. He's starting to consider other angles of the "could have"s. The "what if"s.

He starts with "what if I'd just forced an 'I love you'". But I think he likely settles on what we can logically deduce for ourselves in that situation - "I made the right choice prioritizing with what I knew of the consequences at the time".So he changes. He changes.

He changes to "I should have explained myself".

"Explained myself" is NOT the same as "said that thing" and that is VITAL.

I should have just sucked it up and told her I loved her if it meant keeping her safe.

No, I did the best I could with the information I had

I should have told her the truth. Maybe she would have taken it better if I had just told her that I don't love her but it's my fault, not hers. Now she thinks it's hers and that I'm hiding it.

And, perfect timing, Will comes in with (in Mike's pov) "It makes sense why you didn't, though, don't beat yourself up. She was gonna get hurt either way and everything would have been a risk as to how much."

And Mike nods. And the next time we see him, he's saying

"Will she still even want me in her life if I can't give her the love she wants? All I can do now is to make sure she knows it isn't her fault, that's the selfless act I can do for her, but if I confess I don't love her, what other use am I to her? Will doing what's best for her by telling her it's not her fault, it's mine, instead of continuing to lie make me lose her?"

He says "explain". He starts with "maybe I should have changed the 'what'". Then he shifts to "maybe I should changed what she thought of the 'why'". Ironically, his question in the van once he's come to that conclusion is "how?".

The first pitch he makes is "maybe I should have told her I loved her" and Will says "don't worry, you'll have another chance", and he turns away and introspectively reacts with

aversion.

But then he says "maybe I should have just explained the real reason behind my actions instead of denying them all together" and Will says "that's a scary thing to do. It's a hard decision. You're doing your best", and he turns away and introspectively reacts with

understanding.

Honestly, being understood. And sometimes that's what you need to find understanding. He's been confused this whole time, that's been his whole thing, but he looks like he's starting to piece something together now - finally. Will put his own feelings into words for him to hear out loud so could finally get them and get them in a validated way.

Instinctively, he knew the first one was easier but wrong. He didn't want to lie to her. Both times Will said "if that's what you want to do, I believe in you", but only once did he agree. He knew it felt like the wrong choice the first time and you can see it. The second time was a new choice he was considering.

And you know what? While we're here. Telling her he loves her: aversion. Telling her the truth: understanding and drive. What happens next?

He expresses "what if when I tell her the truth, as I've decided is the right choice, she appreciates it but doesn't need me for anything else beyond that?" And Will says "she'll stay. You got this.", and he reacts with

Comfort.

He didn't know what to do. Then he did, but he was scared to do it. Then he wasn't so scared anymore.

He's thrilled to see her and forgets for a second but - much like El with Will on roller rink day - is reminded by seeing Will that now that she's actually here, it's real. He's committed to his actions and they're impending.

But he's not so scared anymore. Bravery, though, doesn't mean no nerves. He's hesitant and not happy looking when he talks to her about it first. He tries to lighten the mood - "the whole world went to shit and everything" - and he's watching her reactions like a hawk. It feels like less of a risk now enough that he can do it, but not so little that he isn't scared. Either way though, it's worth the risk for her to know the problem isn't her.

He didn't know what to do. Now he does. He was scared, but he's not as much anymore. Not too much to do it. They're interrupted. Okay, oh well, he'll find another time.

And now to break your heart:

Mike had an idea, Will said it was good, but Mike met that with aversion.

Mike had an idea, Will said it was good, Mike met that with understanding and agreement.

Mike was scared, Will said he had no reason to be, Mike met that with comfort.

(I'm sorry) Mike was scared for El - unrelated - and looked to Will for comfort - as he had every other time - when he tapped him on the shoulder, Will said he should tell her he loves her, and he reacts with

anguish.

This was not Mike's plan.

This was not their plan, so he thought.

Mike's reaction tells us everything about what he knew and what he meant for what's to come. This was not what he meant. That was not what he was going to say. This was not his plan.

And there's that part of you too that always wishes to go back to semi-ignorant bliss. Even if just panicked confusion. Because wasn't it nice: when telling her you loved her evoked this

And not this

Wasn't it nice when you knew...just a little less?

Wasn't it nice, in a way, when you couldn't see the happy ending so clearly?

Don't you sort of miss - when you couldn't taste it?

also fuck it for just for that list bit and the bridge of this song here's my illicit affairs edit linked because "you showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else"

[lawenta-elar]

Yeah. Speaking as somebody who's been taught that providing constructive criticism is a helpful thing to do and that anyone who wants to achieve anything with their art or writing (or music or whatever) should be grateful for it and not allow themselves to get hurt... I'm telling you, very gently, that this mindset doesn't belong on AO3. In fact it doesn't belong on most of the internet.

Constructive criticism can be vital when requested. And I do mean openly, expressly requested. Keeping one's comments open doesn't count.

People who want constructive criticism will either request it, or join a community where it is a norm.

The norm on AO3 is "be nice or say nothing".

And we want to keep it that way.

While some people do write fanfiction as a part of their effort to become better writers (of fanfiction or anything else), there a lot of other valid reasons to write and share one's stories. You can't tell, unless the author tells you themselves, whether they will be helped or harmed by your negative feedback, even if you make good points and criticize as gently as you know how.

There's also the fact that making criticism constructive is a skill and you probably don't know whether you have it.

So. Find something encouraging and nice to say, or move on.

I promise you, it gets easier in time.

I wanna know where people have lately gotten the audacity to leave comments on fanfics talking about how much the fanfic sucked and negatively critiquing an author's fic like it's a published book review.

It pisses me off cause I've seen authors abandoned or delete their fics because of this.

You're getting fanfics for FREE! No one asked for your opinion.

I hope y'all know as authors we get email notifications when you comment so we see EVERY comment that's been left.

We also can see the negative reviews you leave when you bookmark our fics

[rei-ismyname]

Teen Jean outs Bobby Drake pt 1

So... Marvel finally decided to confirm that Bobby Drake is gay in All-New X-Men vol 1. I'd forgotten it was a response of sorts to Bobby aggressively performing heterosexuality by objectifying Magik. Not that it makes Jean's behaviour any kind of model for being an ally, but it's easier to see how she arrived at this conversation. It wasn't just out of the blue.

It's clear he absolutely knows he's gay, but he's been closeted for years and I think his persona was built for self protection. A person's openness with their sexuality is entirely up to them (thank fuck telepaths aren't real) and the O5 had grown up in the 60s then suddenly were taken to 2014. Homophobia is still absolutely rampant, but the difference must have been stark. Bobby's parents are also super conservative assholes - given their attitude to him being a mutant he knows they would be awful if he came out to them. Xavier isn't exactly progressive either.

The ice barrier he puts up is him shutting the conversation down while holding back. I'd probably freeze her solid and flee. Interestingly he stops denying it very quickly (not like he had a fucking choice, JEAN) and brings up the headfuck that is his older self who 'isn't [gay.] It really is a unique situation.

I get the impression that Bobby's 'speculation' is spot on, it's obviously the same thought process he had. It's incredibly articulate and thoughtful, which should give an idea of just how much of a performance he has been putting on. Plenty of gay and queer folks date people you wouldn't 'expect' them to. Experimentation is how we figure ourselves out, and heteronormativity is a hell of a drug.

He accepts it pretty quickly, and they briefly discuss the cultural differences compared to their own time.

He accepts it super quickly and allows himself to think out loud about people he finds attractive. Warren, mainly. I don't believe him for a second that Warren is 'too pretty' as I'll discuss in part 2, but I have to say I misremembered the privacy aspect of this. Obviously Jean went to Charles Xavier school of psychic consent (literally) but she at least talks to him privately about this, and assures him 'it's no one's business until you say it is.'

She didn't so much out him as drag him kicking and screaming out of the closet, but she kept it between them and stuck to that. That, at least, is a positive model for supporting queer friends. There's a lot of trust there, and Jean outing Bobby isn't as bad as I remember it. Bobby certainly seems a LOT happier afterwards and while his exploration of his sexuality/dating is awkward as hell, that's true for everyone. I wonder if he's grateful to Jean for this. It feels weird to say it but he probably is. The flipside of telepathy existing is the misery someone who wasn't his friend could have inflicted. There's Xavier, too, who surely must have known, right? He doesn't know the meaning of privacy - what should he have done with this information? We know what he did in canon - nothing. It's such an odd situation that it's hard to judge but if someone in your care is closeted for decades then maybe you didn't provide the best environment.

Thus, the ice twink was born. Next time, Teen Jean and Teen Bobby talk to the Bobby of this time period. That's going to be awkward to write about. Ultimately, it does portray common queer experiences (albeit with telepathy and time travel involved) and emphatically normalises not being straight. It's not perfect, and it wasn't very groundbreaking for 2014, but it's something.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Fool Me Twice, I'll Bring You Down

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Snow | Word Count: 2398 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mentions of Upside Down Trauma | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Post Break-Up, Self-Sabotaging Eddie Munson, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Reconnecting, Olive Branches, Second Chances, Always the Right Guy, Finally the Right Time, Hopeful Ending

Eddie toes at the dirty snow under the sole of his boot. Nudging out a shallow hole in the mostly frozen dirt, and then filling it back in with his heel. Stamping it down, and starting the process all over again. Once he's done dragging his foot through the slush, he swings the axe one more time, splitting another log for firewood.

His arms, his shoulders, his back, are all aching. But he needs to get this done before the winter storm rolls in. They're looking at more snow, and a lot of it.

It's busy work. He doesn't have anywhere to be, or anyone to be with, and that's been a hard truth to accept. He's chilled to the bone, and this has been a long, never-ending winter of his own making.

Steve left without a sound, didn't linger, and there was nothing Eddie could do that would have made him stay. What once worked, now didn't, and Eddie's been left alone pining for what once was. It's his own fault, and he knows that. He could have tried harder, could have been easier to live with.

But he wasn't, so he hasn't heard from Steve since the day he packed up and drove away. He gave up first, and Steve gave up last, after they both fought so hard to make it work. To pull Eddie out of the hole he was hellbent on digging for himself, until the moment it wasn't worth it any longer.

Hopeless.

Eddie doesn't blame him for going, for throwing in the towel on a lost cause. It had a been a valiant effort. Steve Harrington always tried so fucking hard to save everyone, and Eddie just didn't want to be saved.

Until he did. And then it was too late.

Steve was already gone.

That realization was unbearable, and Eddie closed himself off from everyone else, besides Wayne, who packed up his shit from Hawkins and moved to the woods with Eddie.

Their home here would be peaceful, if peace was even remotely on the menu for him. It's not, not without Steve, but he's learned to accept that long ago. It is what it is, and all that. He has Wayne, and he has his solitude, which he's greatly come to appreciate. 

It's enough. It has to be.

It's snowing and blowing, as advertised, and Eddie stands at the window and watches it accumulate. Through the falling snow, Eddie catches sight of headlights, weaving down the road in the distance. Some poor asshole definitely took a wrong turn, and is now fighting the shitty roads out this way for no reason. If Eddie was an axe murderer, and believe him, he's considered that as a viable option at times, this would be the opening act of the horror film that awaits. Alas, he's just Eddie. A recluse. A hermit, living down a road with his uncle that nobody else should be on, especially not in this weather, venturing further and further off the beaten path.

Two confirmed bachelors, except. Well.

Eddie turns the silver band on his finger. He said he would until the end. And he's still here, so it is, too. Even if Steve isn't.

He keeps expecting the lights to turn around, to realize they've made a mistake, and backtrack.

They don't. Somebody's not only lost, they're apparently dumb, too, and they better not get stuck because he's not in the mood to go dig anyone out in this weather.

The lights turn up the last stretch of road to the dead end, shining towards the house, and Eddie heaves a sigh.

"Who the hell is that?" Wayne asks from his chair, as the headlights glide across the living room wall.

"Some lost idiot," Eddie says, and reaches for his coat. He'll get them turned around, so they can be left the fuck alone. They live out in the middle of nowhere for a goddamn reason.

The car slowly crunches up the driveway, and Eddie opens the front door and stands on the step. Shielding his eyes from the blinding lights.

Eddie waits until the car door finally opens, and a figure he can't make out due to the fucking headlights, stands up in the open door.

Asshole.

"Seven miles back to the highway!" Eddie yells, only taking his hand away from shielding his eyes for long enough to point back towards the dirt road. He's hoping they take the fucking hint. There's room enough to pop a u-ey in the driveway, and then be back on their merry way.

But there's silence, and for a fraction of a moment, Eddie worries that maybe he's the one at the beginning of a horror film, not the lost sheep in the car.

"It's me." 

Fuck.

Maybe a serial killer would be easier to face.

His voice is tentative, but it's Steve. There's no way it isn't. 

"You're blinding me," Eddie says, and then feels stupid about it. Like, that's what he really needs to tell Steve after all this time and distance? 

"Shit, sorry," Steve says, and leans back in the car, killing the lights.

Eddie still can't see him well, but he can at least make out his silhouette, and it's definitely Steve. He's not imagining things. Steve's here, standing in the snow.

"Can we talk?" Steve asks, as if there'd be any answer other than please.

"Yeah, c'mon in," Eddie says, and nods towards the house. Wayne's gonna give him shit for this, but what the fuck is he supposed to do? Run Steve off a second time?

He at least owes Steve the courtesy to hear him out, no matter what Steve might have to say.

Eddie kind of expects divorce papers. 

Steve's probably moved on, found someone else, and wants to legally sever their ties. Eddie wouldn't blame him. It's been a handful of years now. They can't stay in this limbo forever.

Eddie holds open the door, and Steve stamps his boots, shaking the snow loose, before he steps inside. Wayne's looking at them, face schooled totally neutral.

At least, that's what Eddie interpreted it as.

He was wrong, as per usual.

"Hey, kid. Long time no see," Wayne says, and Steve makes a noise that sounds wounded. Eddie thinks Steve hadn't expected Wayne, and Steve doesn't even take off his coat before he's leaning down to Wayne, pressing against his chest, hugging him tight as Wayne stays seated in his recliner. 

Eddie shifts his weight back and forth from foot to foot. What's he supposed to do now? Steve's here. And Eddie's been set adrift once again.

He's not mad at Steve, he's longed for him since the day he left, but Eddie can't blame him. Eddie knows he got harder and harder to live with over the years. Damaged, and fucking haunted. Steve tried. Steve tried so hard, and in the end, Eddie wouldn't let him try any longer.

He pushed, and pushed, until Steve left.

And Eddie stayed. 

Missing him, missing them, missing the full fucking life that he threw away. A storm cloud that took too long to lift, that only lessened once Wayne turned up to knock some sense into him.

He got better, got himself right, but by then, it was too late.

Steve was already gone.

When Steve rights himself, pulling away from Wayne, he follows Eddie through the house to the bedroom, and Eddie's not sure that's the place to do this, but it's pretty much the only option for any sort of privacy at all. 

Eddie closes the door behind them, and then just stands there. Looking at Steve, eyes raking over him, taking him in. If this is the last time, he wants a real good look. He's missed him.

It's like they've struck a deal, neither of them willing to speak, neither willing to break the silence that has engulfed them, finally snuffing out the yelling, the fighting like dogs in the summer sun. 

Steve reaches into his back pocket, and there is a folded over manilla envelope. He tries to smooth it out, then hands it over. It's paperwork, definitely. And Eddie doesn't want to open it, doesn't want this to be over. Steve was his chosen family, and he's not ready for that to be over for good. He's fucking self-saboteur, and the only one to blame here.

So, he pulls up the fastener, opening the brad holding it closed, and pulls out the stack of paper. 

It's not divorce papers. It's the deed to the house. 

Steve's signed in all the flagged places.

"You should have it," Steve finally says.

"But it's ours," Eddie blurts out.

And it is. They built it into the home that it is, together. It was their dream, not Eddie's dream. He can't just take it, not for good. He's kept care of it, though, hoping someday Steve would want to come back and see it. 

See him. 

Even if Eddie doesn't think he actually deserves Steve being here again.

The hint of a frown crosses Steve's mouth, "Is it, though?"

It is. 

"I've always thought so," Eddie says quietly, head bowed as if he's confessing something. Maybe he is, even if he assumed Steve would already know that. He feels pretty shitty that Steve doesn't, even after everything that's happened between them, but that doesn't change the facts, "It's our home."

Steve sits on the edge of the bed with a flop, the old box springs creaking under him.

"Well, what are we gonna do now, then?" Steve asks.

And isn't that just the million dollar question?

Eddie doesn't have an answer, so Steve fills the silence.

"I'm glad Wayne's here with you. I've been worried."

"About me, or him?" Eddie asks.

"Both, but him. His number was disconnected the last time I called and I got scared that something happened and you didn't tell me."

Eddie wants to say he would have, but he doesn't know if that's true. There's a good chance he wouldn't have been brave enough to reach out, even in a time he would have needed him the most. Maybe, especially not then. Steve's handled with care enough of his sadness and trauma to last a lifetime.

"He's fine. We're fine. Two old Boo Radleys."

Steve furrows his brow. He doesn't get the reference, so Eddie clarifies, "Two shut-ins."

There was a time he'd have poked at him, demanded to know how he hadn't read To Kill a Mockingbird, or at least seen the movie, but those days have long passed. He's grown up since then, learned the hard truths of the world, much like Scout did. He got to see the not-so-secret courts of men's hearts up close and personal in Hawkins.

Steve nods at that, and just looks so fucking sad that this is where Eddie ended up. Eddie's a little fucking sad about it, too.

But it is what it is, life is just that way sometimes.

Eddie sits on the bed next to him. 

"I've missed you," Eddie says, "I fucked it all up. And it wasn't fair to you. But I am sorry. For everything. If I could take it back, I would."

It's like time slows down, and then speeds back up, as Steve's hands rake through Eddie's hair, his fingers scratching against Eddie's scalp as he pulls him closer, kissing him like they haven't in a long fucking time. With passion, and fire, and a love that never died despite everything Eddie did to try and snuff it out to punish himself for things that were always out of his control.

When they finally pull away, Steve laughs, delighted as he flops back onto his back. He picks up Eddie's hand in his own, his thumb brushing against Eddie's wedding band, with soft little strokes.

"It's like you're you again. Almost. Sadder, though. But I never thought I'd see you again, if I did, you know, see you," Steve says, slinging his arm over his eyes. 

Eddie knows what he means.

He is a little more subdued now, whether with age, or just experience that the world isn't always something to waste energy being loud about. Not if you can't change it. And Eddie Munson's never been able to change anything.

But, maybe. Just maybe, he can change this. 

Eddie lays back beside him, just enjoying the warmth his body is putting off, just like he always did, in their best days.

"I've worked through some of my shit," Eddie admits, "Wayne helped."

Steve uncovers his eyes, and they are shiny, but happy, "He always helps."

Eddie nods, grinning, "That he does."

And then they just lay in the silence. There'll be a lot to discuss, a lot of decisions to be made. But Eddie is just going to enjoy this for what it is, at this exact moment. A chance. 

He has a chance. 

A chance to try to make it right, to show he'll be in it, if Steve will just let him. 

A chance to prove he loves him, still. Always.

But all that can wait. They've got nowhere to go, and might not for days. Because Steve's gonna get snowed in, but Eddie suspects Steve knew that when he headed out all this way. 

It was gonna end between them, in either a showdown where they were fit to be tied, or with this, perhaps. A quiet hopefulness that neither of them can dare trust. Not yet.

There is one order of business they better attend to first, though.

"Does Robin know you're here?" Eddie asks, because if she doesn't, Steve had better check in.

"Of course she does," Steve chuckles, "you think I do anything without her express written permission?"

Eddie laughs. He's missed her, too.

"We're gonna get a lot of snow," Eddie comments, "you might have to stay a while."

Steve turns his head, and catches Eddie's eyes, "That's the plan."

"Good," Eddie says, "that's good."

"But, fool me twice and I'll bring you down."

Eddie leans close, so close, "Deal. I'll provide the shovel."

"Shovel?" Steve teases, "I saw a perfectly good axe out there."

Eddie laughs, chin against Steve's broad shoulder, breathing in the smell of him, pressing the tip of his nose to Steve's warm neck.

He has a chance, and he's not about to fuck that up. 

Not again.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! ❄️

Notes: This was heavily influenced by the song Thistle by Breech. Haven't heard of it? You probably didn't watch Dawson's Creek as it originally aired. 🤣 (Like basically everything else, it was replaced with another song for DVD/streaming. Boo. Hiss.)

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 48

(Prev) (Next) (First)

Chapter 10

*Grian's pov*

You freeze in place, your mouth widens then flattens then widens again... You feel a bit like a fish right now. You watched Scar as the tendril pierces his body and your mind just went blank, just poof and then nothing... This wasn't supposed to happen.

It took you a surprisingly long time to process what just happened... Are you being mocked? Your first day out and Hotguy is dead? What is this?? There's just no way that this actually happened.

...

When time begun and you were first spun from the primordial void you already knew a lot of things, you knew the way matter worked, you knew who were your siblings and their domains and most importantly you knew there were rules to the universe that no one should break, as the god of chaos you broke each and every single one of them again and again for sport and watched the universe almost fall apart multiple times because of it ...Except for one, there is one rule that you have never even considered breaking in all of your years, that which forbids from trying to manipulate Time's domain... Yet, when you see the bloodied tendril strike trough Scar's heart...as you reach towards him in three three different bodies the world around you stops in place...The moment you reach him everything has frozen in place including him... You can feel him with your hands, is he cold because he's dead or because time is stopped? You feel like you would normally be able to tell something that simple but you are...stuck, not thinking and yet thinking too much at the same time.

You feel too much right now, the silent coming from all around you makes the concurrent beating of all three of your vessel's hearts extremely loud even while nestled in their semi-mortal bodies...and the body beneath, It's just too-

Pain, unexpected, like your whole essence was grabbed and flattened and pulled, you almost kneel as you feel the fabric of reality itself stretch and bend in ways it wasn't meant to as the other gods your equals begin pulling to fix what you just broke, your grip on the universe wanes as other domains -Time, Order, Space- begin to push and pull against your own -Action, Change, Energy- you aren't going to be able to do this for much longer...The question is...what now? Whatever happens now you'll have to decide in relatively little time.

You don't understand why you are reacting like this, you could do this even without Scar here, three of your five personas don't even know him in any meaninful or personal ways.

You could just let this happen and do a bit of what the mortals call improv, maybe say a few words at his funeral and simply do your own thing from there. It might even make things easier for Mother Spore and Poultryman...

...No, you did not break time for nothing, that would be dumb and a waste and the idea of letting this happen is something you-... it doesn't matter, not really, what matters is you are not letting Hotguy die like this... which brings to the earlier question, what now.

You can't do this forever, not without so many gods ganging up on you, you need to do something big, a final push before time resumes.

Time...... you have an idea.

Time, you already broke it you might as well break it more.

Time, the constant increasing entropy, disorder growing in the universe every second of every minute of every hour...you feel it tightening around your soul and body and you use all the force you can muster to pull on that weave like a lead or rain or something else a mortal would say.

You are chaos itself, it would be logically impossible for you to reverse time, decrease the universe's disorder... Yet, you are chaos, the laws of reality bend for you... always have.

You blink your millions upon billions of eyes and open six of them back to a city, back to a meeting and back to an apartment... All around two hours before the fight and Hotguy's death.

That... that works.

[writingwisterias]

How would the different eras of Leon act if someone younger than him approached him in a bar with ulterior motives? Would they flirt back? Would they take her to their bed without thinking twice? Would they think long and hard before agreeing? 👀 (ofc legal age gap xs)

Sorry if my English is not that good, happy 2025 btw !!!

Hii!

Happy 2025! Sorry it's like a week late lmao, I hope the first week hasn't been too bad...I'd love to do this for you

Warnings: Age-Gap, Drinking, Flirting, Teasing, NSFW , MDNI, Smut

GN!Reader

RE2:

You were both at a mutual house party, neither of you wanting to be there but were dragged there by friends

He assumed you were of age or at least close to drinking age, he didn't realize you were only 18

The age gap isn't that big, he's only 20 soon to be 21

But it felt wrong at first, especially when you were so open at first with flirting

He assumed it was the drink that flooded your system, giving you the liquid courage to flirt so openly

Since the age gap isn't too big I don't think he would be too bothered, after all it's only like 2-3years

Towards the end of the night he would offer to walk you back home. Is surprised you have a dorm room on your own

You invited him back first, he was hesitant opting to just chill and chat before doing anything

He's very careful with the situation, might even back out of it and opt to talk when you are sober. He's a sweetheart he doesn't want to hurt you

RE4R:

He wasn't sure why he ended up at the bar in the first place, it wasn't at this point in his life somewhere he often ended up. Opting peace and quiet instead of busy town life

Maybe he should more often when you sat next to him.

Conversation was easier with you, you didn't know about his job or the expectations he had to uphold.

When he found out your age, only around 6 years his junior it made him freeze

You were legal, had around 3 years to play with others and at least just hit drinking age

His silence made you feel like he wasn't interested, you apologized profoundly. It wasn't like you to be doing this anyway, your dickhead boyfriend broke up with you weeks ago

Leon grasped your arm preventing you from leaving, opting to get to know you better and making a choice as the bar closed which was only a few hours away

That only made the tension higher, the drunker you both got the more lingering touches

Til eventually he dragged you to his place

Infinite darkness:

You were one of the newer interns, one that had yet to discover his habits

He just didn't realize how young you were

It didn't really bother him too much, you assured him that his flirting didn't bother you and you in fact liked the attention

He offered you dinner and maybe a few drinks and it led from there

When it came to sex he did think harder, opting to make sure you were sure you wanted this

After that he kept making sure the entire way home, almost killed the mood but you understood his concern

Even then he chose to make sure you were comfortable within his space or that he was in yours

The make out sessions grow longer after each break until eventually you both caved

Damnation:

When you told him your age at first he took about 5 minutes to think about it before following you around the rest of the night

I feel like hes the type of guy to keep buying drinks because you are the only interesting person of his night

He gets drunk as well as reads the situation wrong assuming that you want to sleep with him

You didn't at first but then you do now

Follow him back to your place and his touches get more intimate in the cab

Pays for everything don't worry, at this point though he's sobered up enough to realize whats happening and will make sure you can full consent and show him id

Then you are locked in for the rest of the night, and he makes sure you know what the older guys fuck like

He doesn't want you to go back to a younger cock

RE6:

He gives me sugar daddy vibes anyway so I don't think he's bothered

Probably gives him a little bit of an ego that you even consider it to be honest

As soon as you touch him it's end game, you are going home with him. Even more of if your touches are intimate

If your hand is inching up his thigh he's smirking and moving it higher on purpose.

If you work together, say you are a younger agent or something he's touching you in the small of the back as he passes or guiding you with a hand on your hip

Any excuse to keep you close and remind you of his presence

Vendetta:

I think he would like it but he also craves closer intimate relationship with everyone so he would think about it and then act quite quickly

He's touching you first, leaning on you, hugging you

Wandering hands very quickly

He's begging you to come back with him if he's completely drunk

Like he just needs a quick fuck, you are cute and adorable

Huge size kink

He's rough and messy with kisses too, like he tastes of the drink he's been nursing all night but it feels good

In the morning afterwards I think he would feel a bit slimy, probably come back to him in waves how rough he was

Not the type to slip out before you wake up so he'll wait. Admiring the close contact of someone

Will ask for your number he's not the type for just one fuck

He likes coming back for seconds

Death Island:

At first he thought you were using him for free drinks (you kinda were but will never admit it)

You were cute, you made his cock twitch and it's been a long time since he's felt like that

When he found out about your age he was off put at first but then the more he thought about the more he wanted it

Made sure you gave complete consent as he moved quickly dragging you out of the bar

When you got to his place he was very content doing it on the couch

So were you, he had you riding him since you had the energy for it.

Muttering how perfect you were to him, sloppy kissing everywhere

Wakes up with an even bigger ego at the fact he can still score so low in age. Certified dilf

He won't go and find others unless you wanted him too

He's very keen on letting you know what a proper fuck is

[lost-in-fandoms]

hi esi! for writing game:

maxiel + 53 bc I remember your amazing wingfics!

From here: Wings/supernatural body features. Hello!! <3 and thank you <3 This is set in the same wingfic universe, right after the last thing I wrote I guess and the same cw apply: unsafe and painful wing care practices.

"You should sit."

Daniel points at the pillow he had set on the floor as soon as Max steps into his room, a belligerent frown still on his face, shoulders curling in, protective.

Daniel can't see his wings, which means that Max has bound them again, after keeping them away for the whole day. It makes him want to cry, cluck at him and fuss like he's just a fledgling, but he doesn't want to spook Max. Or at least, spook him more than he already as.

"I clean them," Max snaps mutinously, going to cross his arms, but immediately aborting the movement with a barely suppressed wince.

He's hurting and he still bound his wings again. Daniel is going to kill someone. A very specific someone.

"I know you do, Max," he says, swallowing his anger like a too big gulp of protein shake, trying to keep his voice soft and level. He knows the fear that hides behind Max's facade.

"Sometimes though, it's not enough to just wash them. You have to actually preen your wings, to keep them healthy, and it's easier to let someone else do it for you."

"I'm healthy!" Max argues, as if he's not standing there, literally unable to do full movements because of how he's treating his wings on the daily. If he didn't think it would get him punched, Daniel would laugh.

"Yeah, but you can be healthier. It would probably make it easier in the car, too, if you could raise both your arms at the same time."

He means it as a joke, but Max seems to take it as a challenge, because he immediately raises his arms above his head, face stony, only betraying his pain with the way he bites his lower lip until it goes white.

Daniel rushes forward, cursing himself internally, and forcing him to lower them again.

"Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

He knows it's the wrong thing to say as soon as it's out of his mouth. Max flinches back, lowering his eyes, shoulders curling even more inwards.

"Fuck you," he spits, voice trembling. Daniel is an idiot.

"No, Max, fuck..." he sighs, dragging a hand over his face and breathing deeply. "I'm sorry."

Max freezes, eyes darting up to look at Daniel's face before snapping down again, tension and confusion hanging around him like a cloud.

"Let's try again, alright? Just listen to me," Daniel says, dredging up all his patience.

Max nods, a tiny movement, fingers tangled up in the hem of his hoodie in what looks like an attempt to keep them from shaking.

"I am not judging you, but I think you would benefit from me preening your wings. If you hate it, or if you want to stop at any time, you'll be free to leave and never do it again. Does that sound okay?"

Max takes his time to consider it, long moments in which Daniel feels his heart beating too fast in his chest, but then nods again.

And then, without any further discussion, he takes off his hoodie and drops down on the pillow.

It makes Daniel's breath stutter, to have such faith put on his hands, almost as much as it makes his heart ache to see how tightly Max's poor wings are bound.

He knows this is his only chance. If he fucks this up, Max's wings will probably never be taken care of again.

He takes a breath, grabs the cloths he had taken out while waiting for Max, and then sits on the small couch behind Max.

Game on.

[klaasje]

i am trying to play this

but the process of installing it. mein gott

commodore emulation on a handheld is possible but i can't find a comprehensive tutorial for my situation (anbernic 40 running muOS). i am engaged in mortal fucking combat with retroarch which keeps saying FEED ME KICKSTART ROMS BOY. kickstarts from what i can tell are little bonus files that tell the emulator how to process big deal software. so i was like Fine. you can have those. but the muOS file structure is uniquely odd (especially compared to windows) and the folder where the kickstarts should live does not exist. i think the solution here is to fiddle around with another OS or use an emulator that doesn’t rely on retroarch

ONTO OTHER PROBLEMS! mind walker is only available in .adf. the reddit jury’s general consensus seems to be that .adf is the most annoying commodore rom format due to the load times (long) and emulator compatibility (variable). i have no idea if some brave angel with a neocities site has created an adf -> hdf converter. worst case scenario if the adf rom doesn't work would involve nixing the handheld plan entirely and pivoting to windows emu (more documentation and much easier to troubleshoot). there is a way to screenshare from PC but it wouldn't feel true to the vision. i am desperate to make this work on handheld if at all possible. dunno why. the idea of a portable geometric mad scientist game is just supremely appealing to me on so many levels. if i manage to get this thang up and running i will be so happy. ONWARDS!

[writingforaliens]

I have been summoned!

Lily Taverel, better known during her Blackstaff days as "Tav", met Gale roughly 15 years before the events of BG3, when the two were the equivalent of grad students. Quiet and shy at first, Lily found her first real friend in her academic rival and officemate, and, over time, she revealed to Gale many, if not all, of her secrets: her loneliness, her neglectful, abusive parents, her pain and fear of being last. She even showed him her true self: Lilyseah Mithrellas, a half-elf who kept her features carefully obscured by an enchantment. And like most autistic nerds, they overthought their relationship constantly, leaving a lot of feelings unconfessed. When they finished their studies, Lily left for her "post-doc". Though they wrote each other often, and even visited each other with regularity, they continued to rationalize themselves out of any confessions or actions. Perhaps it was fear of the way they were just so made for each other, that nothing could be that perfect, that kept them apart, perhaps it was their inability to read people, perhaps it was the fear of driving away the best thing they'd ever known.

Around four years before BG3, Gale's letters stopped being addressed to "Lily" in favor of "Tav" before ceasing entirely over the course of the next year. Despite pleading to know what she did wrong and apologies for whatever it was, she never heard back. So, for the next three years, she tried over and over and over again to stop loving him, to little success.

She locked those feelings deep, deep in her chest, hoping they would someday shrink enough to be bearable.

When she helps Shadowheart pull a person from the half-functioning portal, the last one she expects to see is Gale Dekarios, the man that both she and his mother believed dead in some godsforsaken corner of the realm. The very same man that she'd been attempting to find on his mother's behalf.

And she's pissed.

Lily's already had a trying day, and he simply walks back into her life like her heart hasn't been shattered and now stomped on. Like he doesn't owe her an explanation. But, truth be told, despite her every wish to stay angry because he should deserve it, because he should beg her forgiveness, she can't stay that angry at him for long, not when they can still predict each other's movements and thoughts. Not when he still makes her laugh. Not when he comes to her and asks if she has any enchanted items.

And especially not when he finally apologizes and explains everything to her right after.

It's a fast, easy tumble from there to where they were years ago, an even easier tumble from there to quiet confessions on the cold floor of a Sharran temple, and, despite a small breakdown when Lily is forced to confront some more of her traumas, easier yet to a proposal and a pledge to each other not a day after the death of Ketheric Thorm.

They are legally married by the magistrate of some tiny town between Reithwin and Baldur’s Gate, at the last possible minute before the office closes--much to the frustration of said magistrate--with Tara being their only witness.

It takes some convincing, but Lily eventually agrees to a celebration in Waterdeep, and Gale gets to show off his wife, the one that almost everyone expected was coming at some point and no one is actually surprised by.

A Tav who knew Gale before. A Tav who might have loved him before. Before Mystra, before the orb, before his whole world came crashing down. They know him to be precise, logical, unrivalled in his craft. Then he disappeared. But who was Tav? They might have been a colleague, that sense of satisfaction they felt after his downfall suddenly vanishing as they really look at him for the first time. An old “friend” – they got drunk together down at the Yawning Portal once, counts as a friend, right? Did something else happen? Really, they don’t remember much at all, but the way they tiptoe around each other may be enough of an answer. A former lover, cast aside over his need to please a Goddess, finding themselves face to face with him again after years, unable to deny that same old spark. Doesn’t matter – whoever Tav was, whoever they are now – Gale certainly isn’t the same. How strange it must have been for both of them to have such different views of each other compared to their other companions, who only know this version of them. So imagine Tavs reluctance when they start feeling those butterflies. Imagine Gale, who will never be the same again – who is terrified because he will never be the same again – so desperate to give Tav a glimpse of his former glory, only for them to love him the way he is.

[howdoichooseablogname]

biromantic asexual buck x aromantic alosexual eddie

like they start a relationship, but it's undefined. it's just them. they love each other and want to send the rest of their lives together. that's all that matters

buck had a bunch of sex with people because it feels good and he's wanting a proper romantic relationship and hoped one day he would

while eddie is sexually attracted to people and trying to make a romantic relationship work when he doesn't want nor need it

the relationship they make together is deep and out of love. they don't kiss because they both personally find it gross(too romantic for eddie and too sexual for buck, plus they've basically been forced by expectations into it and they don't want to and its always been bad), they have sex sometimes when buck (who's mostly sex-positive, or sex-neutral?) initiates it because he has used sex as a form of self harm in the past. but they cuddle, they have an emotional closeness and intimacy they crave in a comfort level they love

they talk about their boundaries, they talked about what they want in this relationship, this partnership. they don't call each other boyfriends, but partners, because boyfriends have a set rules and expectations that they don't want, nor need. if they ever get married in this (which they might for legal reasons, taxes, chris, etc) they'd still call each other partner

they probably have more and proper boundaries that they respect than anybody else they know. and their communication is the best because they talk regularly about what they want from the relationship

(i'm not saying that this form of relationship automatically puts you with good communication, but it's more likely because it's not one that society expects with expectations already attached to the relationship and label. it's easier to communicate what you want with your partner when your making your own relationship with your own rules. every relationship should have this type of conversation, but since 'boyfriend, girlfriend, etc' already have expectations it doesn't happen often. but, even with this type of relationship you can still have miscommunication, bad communication, no communication. it is not a guarantee for good communication)

no one around them seems to properly understand their relationship

maddie is worried buck will hurt himself

chimney understands enough to know it's what's for them

hen is a little worried (but more in the "it's not illegal or wrong to be boyfriends" aspect, she respects them though!)

bobby is a little confused over boyfriend vs partner thing (but still respects them!)

athena is happy for them

chris understands the best, but thats partially due to living with it

josh, love him, he gets it and helps maddie with her worries. he had an ex boyfriend who had a queerplatonic partner, so he knows of it, (even if buck and eddie don't use that term because they don't want labels. they just want to be them). maybe he doesn't fully understand what it means, but he knows it's a thing

josh tells maddie that they love each other, and that's all that should matter (to which maddie apologizes for getting upset when she should have been happy, buck accepts because that's his sister, and she trusts him)

paperwork wise would be a nightmare for bobby. he gives them a 'romantic partner' paperwork to fill out, they decline because it's not romantic. then (straight out of that one scene from superstore(am i remembering that correctly??)) they go on a call with hr because it's not romantic, but it's not friendship. they're partners in life as well as the job (maybe this is why they get married lmao)

its just them loving each other and not having to worry about labels or expectations from others. maybe i'm projecting my hopes and dreams, shush. romantic love isn't above all other loves, platonic, familial, alterous, etc, all that love is equal and should not be put above one another

this is a big fuck you to allonormativity

[tf2occontest]

Nathaniel Tumble VS Ray Wexler (GRN Conductor)

(Full matchup list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboards and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes gets to move on, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your next contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

Nathaniel Tumble

@toyfriskman

Image credit: Heroforge and Baydews

Most information can be found on his separate Tumblr RP Blog @/meet-the-martial-artist

easier to access info right here

Nathan is a young man from Canada! Starting his career as a merc at the age of 24, the Martial Artist was hired for BLU as a means to test a full melee class.

Equipped with a quarterstaff, meteor hammer a pistol (that he doesn't know how to shoot), Nathan is quick and agile on the field, utilizing the map's environments and his many skills to run around quickly and pick off the enemy.

He is small, only coming up to 5'3"/1.6m, the Artist knows how to use his small size to his advantage.

Although he's a late entry, Nathan will be sure to give it his all in this contest, and help cheer on the other OCs.

All the way, baby.

Ray Wexler (GRN Conductor)

@conductor-on-grn

Image credit: @/mxcrowave

The Conductor is a role that functions mainly over radio, informing their teammates about opportunities on the battlefield from a bird's-eye perspective. Global Radio Network is the only (official) team with a Conductor which really makes Ray special, I'd say.

I think Ray deserves to win because he's just genuinely having a good time! He actively goes to other teams just to give them random stuff! They're friendly to a vast majority of people, and love caring for his friends.

(…What might lose him the vote is the fact that they're British. My sincerest apologies.)

[agbpaints]

How to Paint: Canopy Glass (pt. 1)

I promised it so here it is- my breakdown of a couple different techniques I use for painting glass canopies on my miniatures. Because of tumblr's dumb image limit and the different ways I go about painting glass we're going to be doing this as a multipart series. Today I'll be starting with a 'flat black' reflective glass.

Paints I used:

AP Matt Black (black)

Citadel Mechanicus Standard Grey (grey)

Citadel Dawnstone (light grey)

AP Spaceship Exterior (grey off-white)

Citadel Ardcoat (gloss varnish)

Method

First, finish the details around your canopy glass. I usually find that getting the rest of the model in a finished state means I end up with less overpainting on the canopy and I can choose my glass colors to compliment the rest of the scheme. Once you're ready to begin, block in your glass areas with black.

Next, we're going to build up a slight gradient in the color. Start by taking your grey paint and sketching a diagonal line across your glass panel from corner to corner, then paint in the area above that line with grey. Once that area is blocked in, mix your grey with a little of your black to make a slightly darker grey, then sketch over the same line as before. You should have a triangle of black on the bottom of the panel, a triangle of grey on the top, and then a thin line of darker grey in between the two.

This should be easier to do with square or rectangular panels like the Firefly's main window, but it can be a little trickier for curved or irregularly shaped windows. I recommend completing the 'least wierd' panel first and then using that as a guide to complete all the other panels similarly.

Next we're going to continue to build up the light parts of the canopy. Take a thin brush and your light grey paint and sketch an upside down 'L' centered inside the grey part of the glass. You want this to be just ever so slightly in from the edge of the glass panel, so a small ammount of the darker grey is still visible above and to the side of the light grey. Once this is dry, take your off-white grey and dab a small dot into the corner of the 'L' as your brightest highlight. Finally, as an optional step you can brush all of the glass with a little gloss varnish like ardcoat to give it a nice reflective shine.

And our first glass technique is done! Outside of just flat color for extremely tiny vision slits this is my most basic style of canopy. I find this strategy works best for smaller canopies made of flat planes where the tight space doesn't leave much room for more elaborate techniques and different viewing angles don't dramatically change what of the glass you can see so you can easily paint in a basic reflection with it looking off from some directions. This works best for mechs like the Shadow Hawk or Wolverine, as well as on any color scheme where you don't want an elaborate canopy to draw attention away from other nearby details. In the next two parts I'll go over some techniques that work better with more space or struggle less on more geometrically complex canopies.

[livedtough]

She isn't too much. He doesn't think she is, anyway. Maybe she can be a bit extroverted for his taste, willing to take leaps and bounds where Steven himself would rather not, but she's always been careful, has always been aware of him. Maybe even that stresses him out, sometimes, as a man who is so used to being invisible, but he does like it. He likes that she sees him. He likes being seen. Maybe they balance each other out, her too much, him not enough, until they're both perfectly as they should be.

He's looking at the TV, if only because he doesn't know where else to look. He wants to watch, of course, and he will, but it's also easier to look there than at her when they talk. He hopes it doesn't offend her, but he doesn't think it does. "Perfect," he says, though, really, he's a little nervous. It has to lose something now that he's older, right?

Right?

Maybe.

He watches, and, while it isn't exactly as terrible as he remembers, not the sort of thing that he wants to shut off and run under the covers for, but it isn't...not. It's actually impressive just how frightening it still is. He does jump, flinching lightly. It make him smile. "Yeah," he answers her. "When I felt like I could handle it."

If Steven could imagine why she likes him it wouldn't be a dealbreaker. In fact she'd really love it if he thought well enough of himself to consider the possibility - but she also knows that a lifetime's learned habit is a difficult thing to shake. And who knew, maybe the plain fact that it was her wasn't helping. She can be a massive amount of 'too much', even when she tries to tone it down.

Which makes the choice of what to watch a little more difficult, until an entry in the TV Guide helps with an executive decision. "Ah! Courage is on, we might just catch the last episode."

Cartoons now, so she can keep half an ear on the kitchen, and then the DVDs while they eat the pie; they'll bring Steven out of his shell if anything can! She finds the right channel and settles in, just in time for the start of an episode called 'Say Argh'.

Then, a minute and two jumpscares later, looks at him with eyes a little wide. "You say you watched these when you were a kid?"

[spacedoutwitch]

I! Got distracted for a hot second!! And forgot to upload this!! But it's here!!

So I've posted a lot of writing to DeviantArt over the years, and that... feels like an increasingly bad decision. In an effort to get my stuff away from a floundering website full of AI art, AI scrapers, scam bots, and bad UI, I am electing to move it all over to AO3! The thing is, I do mean all of it. Can't just leave some behind, because I don't know where I'd draw that line, and it also feels Autistically Incorrect to not do this 100%. And that is... over a decade's worth of writing. Plus adding proper tags and notes to keep everything organized. So this is gonna take a while! And a good amount of energy! I'm still going to draw and write other things, of course, but if that falls by the wayside (more than it already tends to on my end, whoops), this will probably be part of the reason why. But! In the interest of keeping things vaguely active, if I find any gems during this process, I just might link them here! Might take a sec to get to that point, but that's the plan!

[anarchopuppy]

I, a hearing person who likes subtitles just as a preference, shouldn't have to read a subtitle that's obvious nonsense, go back a couple seconds, and listen again in order to figure out what's going on. An accessibility feature should not be the most half-assed part of a professionally made production. Scripted media has absolutely no excuse for not having subtitles or having subtitles that aren't perfectly verbatim. Professional captioning services should be ashamed of the shoddy work that they put out. Captions should be treated as a part of the production, just like filming, editing, audio balancing, etc - and anything that releases with missing or bad captions should be seen as unfinished