#OFF THE ROAD gameplay

[scopophobia-polaris]

first female loz director and the gerudo seem to be written fine enough? wow... there ain't no way I thought we were in the worst timeline after totk

Yeah got through the main quest with the gerudo, it wasn't painful! It wasn't even bad! Still got them outfits but for the most part it was like oh cool!

I would say a lot of that oh cool is from the fact they didn't do a lot to even fuck it up to begin with, I'm gonna be real with yall this game is NOT worth $60USD

Edit: lemme say one thing, you know when people were being like damn totk story wasn't dark or mature at all why was this compared to Majora's mask again? And then all the zeldatwt people came out and said zelda is just a kid series domt expect good writing uH

This one feels like a kid's game. That ain't to say it's terrible I would say, hell I'm not far in it if I get something crazy that's like OH FUCK I'll reblog this post and say something but uh.....game for babies I'm gonna be shocked if anyone struggles with any puzzles cuz you CAN CHEESE THEM EASY ITS 🫢🤭

EDIT EDIT: I SWEAR IM NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE A DOWNER..... @ezlo-x HAS BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME IVE BEEN PLAYING....THEY KNOW I HAVENT BEEN A PARTY POOPER.....

[synergyliferp]

Off Road Trails Event was a success! We’d like to Thank MK Used Cars for hosting this amazing event, along with everyone that was able to attend the event. We look forward to many more memories like these!

If you’d like to join the city and meet the wonderful people of SynergyLife hit the links here https://discord.gg/kPwEEey7kW & https://cfx.re/join/x94jgm , or in our bio! We’d be happy to have you here! 😊💞

[vivalasthedas]

i am so curiious what the online component of gta6 will be like, cause rdo not having near the level of success, earning potential, and longevity, and lacking a lot of the well loved and wanted features of gta online, is kinda evidence they might not know How to capture that lightning in the bottle again.

Cause so many games have tried to get a bit of that success by apeing gta online, but failing to meet the basic criteria/missing what it was that made the game so dang successful, and instead starting out as an entirely online predatory nightmare live service.

[waywardsalt]

tag rant but man i fuckin hate the new direction for loz

[drivingonly]

The Dark Side of SnowRunner: Dealing with Bugs an Glitches

[suppermariobroth]

In Mario Kart 8/Deluxe, vehicles have a "grace period" after driving off ledges where they can still be steered back onto the road, and even automatically snap up short distances to reach it, which is implemented for smoother gameplay and to provide feel-good moments whenever the player is barely able to save the vehicle from falling off the road.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source

[danielcalmdown]

Here's a few thoughts i have about Disco Elysium and it's lack of philosophical approach towards Harry's experiences. (Not to mistake it with psychology. There is plenty of that in Disco and the characters and ideologies are pulled apart in many fun ways.)

Explanation below the cut, so it's not a long-ass post.

So, Harry is very much suffering. He says "I am in pain. I have no idea how to get better, I'm about to fucking give up." What he gets as response, from his own mind and other people, is things like: "Get your shit together. You have to go through this hell. It will be awful, depressing and boring. Forget her. Stay strong, don't give up, you will eventually feel better. This is how normal people live. Do it for the (...)." This is encouragement. What it does is it keeps him on his feet and helps him move forward. But it's the only type of response he ever gets. What it doesn't do is challenge how he experiences his life in the first place. There is not a single sentence, a thought, any kind of spark in the game that would begin some sort of reform within him. He's the same sad, old Harry utill the end. The rest is accessories.

Beyond that, the gameplay is screaming at you: SEIZE THE MOMENT! There is so much work put into describing things happening around Harry. And so much fondness towards that world. But it's just there, next to him and his pain. Beautiful and worth living for, but it's not used to reveal anything that would inspire him to change. Something about humanity, the meaning of his suffering, maybe a hint about that hole in the world. Yknow, philosophical stuff. Even the miracle of the story, the phasmid, answers Harry's most existential question with "I don’t know, nobody knows." It's not there to guide him away from the vicious circle he's stuck in. It's more like a pat on the back. "Look, something incredible happened today! Life can be great sometimes." Here are a few statements meant by the game to be impactful: "Something beautiful is going to happen", "The night is always darkest before the dawn", "One day, i will return to your side", "The road to healing is going to be a long one. You will make it, some day." They sound like coping mechanism. They are motivational, hopeful, but don't speak about reality. "I'm suffering RIGHT NOW. The world and my head are still fucking broken. Heelp!" Harry cries out. "Hope for a better future. Go for a run. Focus on your job, get a hobby, take your mind off the pain." Try to be happier while remaining the same. Switch alcohol and drugs for non destructive activities to help you endure through that persisting pain. Look out of the window each morning, wait for that special thing to happen. And when it happens? The core stays unmoved. You don't even know what it is about you, where lies the first mistake. You learned nothing new about yourself.

I think all of this fits with the creators' views, which are sparsely hinted at throughout the game. "God is indifferent. This is our curse", "The world is inherently meaningless", "True love is possible in the next world, for new people, it's too late for us." Maybe that's why the game didn't allow Harry to change, because it doesn't believe there is anything out there that could help him. He's a human, therefore he has no choice but to think and suffer exactly the way he does. So yeah, that's my thoughts on it. Feel free to comment, disagree and enlighten me if you think i'm wrong. I'm always open to change my mind.

[tieronecrush]

🎃 trick or treat 🎃

summary: it's halloween and joel's taking your girls trick-or-treating with you in a family costume. feeling uncomfortable in his clothes and his skin, he's on edge most of the evening but does his best to disguise it in order to not spoil the fun. back at home, when his girls lightheartedly tease him about everything he already thought about himself, you're sure to end the night showing joel exactly how you feel about him and his body.

wc: 10k (oops?)

warnings: established relationship/married, canon divergent (no outbreak, ellie & sarah are both his kids, sort of obscure with if they're both his bio kids/your kids - basically y'all are a cute lil family either way! also joel is ~40, no age mentioned for reader!), halloween, family/group costumes, DOMESTIC JOEL!!!, fluff, body insecurities, age insecurities, joel has minor sensory issues?, his kids poke fun at him, sensitive joel, SMUT. it kind of is a thing for the basically the second half, descriptions of joel's body, tummy & thigh worship, oral (m receiving), cowboy rule (for a costume), unprotected piv, lowkey sub!joel for a lil bit, reader is "giving cunt" according to bestie el, then quickly gets back to dom!joel as he gets his confidence back, joel gets that strength in an adrenaline rush that moms get lifting cars off babies but his is for chasing a nut, also, dirty talk!

a/n: my contribution to spooky season, basically at the buzzer lol. this started with me thinking how cute it would be for joel to dress up and go trick-or-treating with his kids, and ended with wanting to s*** his d*** big time. anyways, enjoy my version of halloween with joel, and thank you to @kiwisbell for screaming about this scenario with me and as always a big thanks to my sweet, sweet girlfriend @northernbluess for beta-ing!!!!

Brought on much later than the northern states, fall in Texas is not quite an impactful sight. The one thing that can’t be beaten though is the Texas sun; shining across expansive horizons all times of year, temperatures of the light shifting with the seasons. Orange evening sun stretches across the sky and seeps down in between the leaves speckled with changing colors while Joel’s truck coasts down the neighborhood street. Kids retreat from running around in the road when his car approaches, returning right back to their gameplay when he’s through. Half are dressed up, a medley mix of witches, zombies, vampires, Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Disney Princesses, and countless outfits that he has no idea what they’re referencing.

Fibrous, white faux spiderwebs litter the front porches of the houses lining the street, Jack-O-Lanterns carved and lit up stack on the stairs or create a path along the front walkways. Some of the pumpkins’ faces are wrinkly and sagging, signs of overeagerness from when the fall season started earlier this month. A handful of scarecrows find themselves pitched in the middle of yards with hay spilling out of them, and some of the houses have turned out an expense to get those motion-sensor decorations — the ones really intended to scare the kids that will be unleashed on the neighborhood to trick-or-treat this evening.

Rolling to a stop as he turns into the asphalt driveway, throwing the truck in park, he sits in the cab for a still moment, staring at the signs of life scattered around his family’s house. Four pumpkins, gutted and showing off their faces, a family feud that reached a compromise when it was decided that yes, they would carve pumpkins but no, they would not sit to rot on the front porch all month long; the corn stalks wrapped around the posts of the porch, tied with burlap twine and arranged with sprigs of fall foliage; pots of colorful mums framing the path up to the house, carefully selected by your eye and less delicately planted in their terracotta vessels by Joel’s hands. 

Aside from the seasonal decorations, the usual markings of the Miller family were easily spotted: chalk drawings on the shared sidewalk in front of the yard and along the driveway, replaced every weekend by Sarah once the old was washed or worn away; Ellie’s bike discarded on the front lawn, small tire tracks digging up the grass, no matter how many times Joel and you have asked her to put it away when she’s done; the porch swing that Joel built for you, swaying in the breeze and now unoccupied — unusual for the evening routine around the time that Joel comes home from work. He’s normally greeted by his girls, not merely their artifacts. But tonight is a different night, much busier than the slow, molasses life Joel gets to enjoy in the colder weather.

Gathering his lunch bag from the bench seat and bunching up his jacket in the same hand, Joel climbs out of the car and walks into the open garage, leaving his tools behind in the flatbed to be dealt with tomorrow morning. Passing your parked car, he shakes his head with a subtle smile as he closes the driver’s side door of your SUV left open. He can picture you now, running around after picking the girls up from school, mental space occupied by getting everything and everyone together to make it out the door before the sun went down completely. 

There’s a trail of evidence to support his musings: a lonesome plastic bag filled with groceries left on top of the car, Sarah’s purple jacket looped through the handle of the garage fridge, probably left behind after she went looking for a juice, and Ellie’s army green backpack tossed on the ground in front of the shoe racks lining the wall next to the door. None of that would fly had you been your usual focused self — more often than not, you’re the parent to put their foot down and keep the girls in line while Joel is the total pushover.

Along his way inside, he picks up all the left-behind items, balancing everything in his hands while he steps into the mudroom. Ellie’s backpack gets shoved into her designated cubby, and Sarah’s jacket gets wrapped on a hook screwed into the wall as Joel kicks off his work boots. After depositing his own belongings in their spots, lunch bag in his cubby and jacket on the hook next to Sarah’s, he grabs his boots in one hand, leaning out the doorway to place them on top of the shoe rack. Closing the door behind him, he picks up the singular bag of groceries left on top of your SUV and pads across the tile further into the house. Immediately, he’s embraced by the warmth radiating from the kitchen, the smells of tomatoes, onions, garlic, and more wafting into his nose causing a smile to stretch across his face and his stomach to rumble. 

Every year that he’s known you, without fail, you use Halloween night as an excuse to cook up your family-favorite chili recipe. Sure, it doesn’t get too cold for October in Texas, but damn, does he look forward to the night every year simply for a bowl of it. Laboring over the prep and slow-cooking it all day long, anyone who tries it can taste the care in each bite; like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders that lasts with him for the entire evening spent outside with the kids.

The pleas of his stomach lead him straight into the kitchen, his smile growing wider when he sees you standing over the kitchen counter, affixing a sheriff badge to the cow print vest laid out in front of you. He strides over to your side, resting his palm on your lower back and swiping his thumb against the material of your shirt while he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head, drinking in your scent and feeling the ache of missing you all day. Losing focus from your task, you turn toward him with a bright smile, a quiet sigh leaving your lips, and your shoulders relaxing from their tensed position. Wordlessly, he folds forward, catching your lips in a lingering kiss. Heat pushes against his chest through his denim shirt, your hands skating from his pecs, up and across his shoulders, and down his arms to rest on his biceps. The motions raise goosebumps in their wake, trailing down his spine with a tepid drip.

Joel steals another kiss before he stands up straight again, voice rasping from yelling over powerful tools all day and volume low to keep the semblance of a private moment between the two of you for as long as possible; anything louder would expose his arrival, bombarding him with questions and conflicts to resolve between his daughters.

“Hey, baby.” He greets you with one fleeting kiss pressed to your forehead, hand at your lower back now rubbing side to side, fingers carefully lifting the fabric and pressing the tips of them into your deliciously soft skin. 

Turning back to the vest, you drop your hands from his arms not before giving them a gentle squeeze, “Hi, Joel. Good day?”

He shrugs, unable to step away from you just yet, “It was fine — much better now. And I take it yours has been a busy one?”

Joel holds up the plastic bag of groceries with two fingers, one corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk. His hip pops out as he leans against the counter, the smirk turning into a smile when you grimace. His heartbeat skips when your laugh fills his ears, the sound still exciting him after all these years, and you stand over the bag to take a peek inside.

“S’all good. Non-perishables.” It’s Joel’s turn to laugh, shaking his head with a breathy chuckle as he places the bag on the counter, unloading its contents into the pantry while you go about recapping your day for him.

In the midst of you speaking, the tumble of footsteps down the stairs draws his attention away, eyes focusing on the open threshold that leads from the living room into the kitchen. As the quickened steps grow closer, Joel turns to you and holds up three fingers, counting down with them. When he lowers his last finger, a mop of curly hair, a bouncing ponytail, and a whirlwind of chaos disrupts the initial peace of his return home.

“Hi girls, how was today?” he starts before a cacophony of noise fills the kitchen. Skidding to a stop in front of him, he exchanges a look with you before facing his daughters, already overwhelmed with their two voices talking over the other.

“Dad, Dad, Sarah said—”

“Dad, Ellie’s saying that I said—”

Holding his hands up, he flicks his eyes between his two girls. Sarah, the older of the two at eleven years old, stands in front of him with her arms crossed and brow furrowed — a look he is all too familiar with, the similarities between him and her emphasized with her annoyance. Ellie, your youngest, stands with her fists clenched at her sides, her mouth twisted up in frustration and the same furrowed brow as her sister. She looks so much more like you at the moment, only a nine-year-old version, calling back on times Joel can remember of you giving him that very look.

However, with their tempers, there’s no doubt that they’re his kids.

Dropping his hands back to his sides, he rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath before addressing them.

“So, what’s going on now?” he asks, brows raising and head tilting when the girls each take a sharp inhale, about to speak over each other again, “One at a time. Ellie.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at her younger sister being called upon first, expectantly looking at her sister with annoyance still painting her face. Ellie shoots her a smug look before turning back to Joel, drawing a pout onto her lips to sell her story. He can’t say it doesn’t work for a second, it always will with these two and they know it, but with a quick glance in your direction, he sees you turned away from your task, watching the drama from the sidelines. Mustering the strength to stand his ground against the sweetness of his girls, he clears his throat and listens with his best poker face as Ellie begins explaining.

“Sarah said she wouldn’t trade all her Skittles for my Three Musketeers even though she knows I hate Three Musketeers and she said last week when we were getting our costumes that she would—”

“I never said that, Dad! She’s lying—” Sarah gestures with her hands as if to physically point out the obvious falsehoods in Ellie’s story. Spiraling back out of the fleeting control he had over the situation, the kids get riled up again, yelling over each other, and inching closer. The dad-instincts kick in and he grabs one of each of their shoulders, separating the two of them and turning them to face him again as he puts on what you affectionately call his ‘no-bullshit’ voice.

“Okay, okay, okay! Enough arguin’ about candy that you don’t even have yet. Ellie, you don’t even know if a single house is gonna give ya Three Musketeers, and you don’t even know if Sarah is gonna get any Skittles. Save the trade negotiations for tonight or tomorrow morning. ‘Sides, you gotta pay the Dad Tax before either of y’all get to trade around your pickings.”

“What?”

“No way!”

Joel smiles, waving his pointer finger between his daughters with a single nod of his head. “See? Something y’all can agree on. Now go get washed up for dinner and plot how you can hide your candy from me and Mom.”

As quickly as they came in, they rush right back out, this time a united force scheming against their parents. Joel huffs out a breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself as he turns back to face you. Met with a growing smile, you unravel your arms crossed in front of your chest to pick up the vest from the counter.

“Nice conflict resolution there, hon. Now I won’t see a single piece of candy.” You throw a pout at him, bottom lip jutting out as he steps over to you, one hand splaying on your hip and thumb rubbing languid circles.

“Don’t worry, baby, I think I know every single one of their hiding spots from how many times they had to move their candy last year. They won’t even notice anything's gone.” With a quick wink, he leans in for a kiss, short and sweet. Standing up straight, the smile on your face mirrors his, your left index finger reaching up to fit into the valley of his dimple.

“Are we bad parents to be scheming how to steal from our children?” you question, biting back a laugh.

“I think that’s just part of parenting, darlin’.”

The laugh you held back escapes you, rolling your eyes playfully at his facetious answer; the vest in your hands catches his eyes again, and he sighs to himself as he holds a hand out for it.

“So you really did find a cow print vest for me? How lucky.” Sarcasm coats his tone and you lift the material, depositing it in his open palm.

“It is lucky, isn’t it? I think you’re going to look great in your costume. Got all the perfect parts, plus you can wear your own jeans and boots. Economical.”

“You sure you need me for this group costume?”

“Joel. You’re literally one of the main characters from the damn movie. And the girls really want you to dress up and take them trick-or-treating. Plus it’s probably going to be one of, if not the last year that we get to do all this as a family. Our kids are growing up.”

“Don’t remind me, means m’getting older too,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes falling to the fabric in his hand.

It’s true what they say about having kids: the days are long, but the years are short.

At times, Joel wishes he could pull each hair out of his head instead of dealing with the shit his kids bring to him sometimes — “Dad, I got called into the principal’s office.” “Dad, I threw a softball and broke the window.” “That’s so unfair, Dad! Why do you have to be so mean?” It’s easy to get lost in the mess that is his family, but it’s a mess he loves. It feels like it was only yesterday that he was becoming a father when Sarah was born, getting a grasp on the whole thing and then Ellie came along. What he would do without you there by his side, he doesn’t have a clue.

Like flipping through a scrapbook, he can remember every year prior for his girls. In a flash, they’ve grown from dressing up as princesses and unicorns — a dragon for Ellie — to being Spy Kids and vampires. His oldest is verging on becoming a teenager, and if he knows his daughters, he knows that once Sarah quits dressing up each year, when she asks to go to her friends’ houses instead of spending the night with Mom and Dad, Ellie will want to do the same as her older sister, always looking up to her despite their differences.

There’s only so much more time for his kids to be kids, even if they may always feel like the tiny baby girls he held in his arms. All he wants to do is to protect them, keep them under his eye as long as he can, but he can hear your voice prying his grasp away from them, encouraging him to let them grow, let them experience the world as he got to do when he was younger. You’ll remind him that you were a teenage girl once, reassuring him that they’re always going to need him. He knows it’s all going to sneak up on him; one day, he’s going to pull into the driveway and notice the lack of chalk drawings. He might even be happy at first about Ellie’s bike being put away, but when he goes into the garage to work on some of his projects, he’ll notice the smallest bit of dust on it from disuse.

Stepping away from him to shuffle across the kitchen, you reach on your tiptoes to pull out four bowls from the cabinet. Joel steps over behind you, a hand on your back as he intercepts your movements, grabbing the ceramic dishes and handing them to you.

Like a shadow, he follows behind you as you walk over to the pot filled with dinner, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his chest pressed against your back and hands on your waist as you lift the lift. Aromas waft with the steam rising, the delectably rich dish slowly bubbling as it finishes melding altogether. It smells like home, always the mark of the changing of the seasons in the Miller household, and one of the little traditions that he so appreciates you creating for your family. Just like the way you make crinkle cookies and still sign presents from Santa at Christmas, despite the fact that your daughters found out about that a couple of years ago from a yappy kid at school.

Joel was very close to driving over to his house and letting his parents know how he felt about their kid murdering the magic of Christmas for his girls.

All he can hope is that these little traditions continue even when the girls are grown up; the four of you gathering around the table for your annual chili dinner before they head off to hang out with friends and you two are left to watch cheesy Halloween movies and hand out candy to children that remind you of your daughters.

With another deep breath, warmth surrounds him. Joel’s lips find the spot just under your ear, kissing gently before he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Smells so good, baby. Have I told you how much I love you?”

A breathy, incredulous laugh falls from your lips as you stir the pot’s contents around, your smile sticking around as you counter, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m feeding you.”

A dramatic, exaggerated gasp sharply inhales into his lungs, standing up straight and patting his hands on your sides, “Absolutely not, darlin’. I love you all the time—”

“But especially when I feed you,” you finish, turning out of his arms to grab the stack of bowls. He stops your motions by wrapping his arms around your waist, feeling the press of you against his torso and relishing in the heat of your body against his. Curling up like a cat in the sun, he nudges his nose against your hairline, peppering kisses along the contours of your face.

In between kisses, he says word by word, over and over, “I. Love. You. My. Beautiful. Wonderful. Incredible. Wife.”

“Alright, alright! Gosh, you’re clingy,” you tease, leaning back to look into his eyes with a playful glint in your eye and a smirk held tight in your lips, “I love you too, my beautiful, wonderful, incredible husband.”

Your free hand smooshes his cheeks together and tugs him down gently to exchange a tender kiss. It ends much too soon for Joel, him chasing your lips and pouting when you turn away to start serving up dinner.

“Better go tell the girls dinner’s ready before they’ve finished plotting how to stow away candy in the floorboards.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, punctuating the conversation with a cheeky smack to your ass, scampering away quickly before you can pretend to scold him.

Tugging at the material across his stomach, Joel combs his eyes over his reflection in the mirror of your en-suite bathroom. Rolling his shoulders back, the fabric of the yellow and red plaid flannel pulled taut, lifting the hem a couple of inches and showing off the skin of his softened tummy. Dark curls of hair litter the center of the sliver of skin, trailing down under the waist of his dark wash jeans. He doesn’t bother tucking the shirt in, giving himself the breathing room of the few inches at the hem. Fingers grip the thick fabric, sharply pulling it back down to lay over his jeans again.

Picking up the cow-print vest you were adorned with the plastic gold Sheriff badge downstairs in the kitchen, he’s taken back to a few weeks ago at the Halloween store.

You and he had opted to spend Saturday morning taking Sarah and Ellie to pick out their costumes for the holiday, letting them run free until they decided on a shared costume for once. Sarah quickly picked out her size in the Jessie costume, and all of the family agreed to be different characters from the Toy Story movie.

Ellie wandered the aisles, searching for the perfect combinations to create her ideal costume, which was, of course, the mechanical spider toy with the baby doll head that the kid Sid builds in the film. She returns to where Joel is standing with you, staring at the walls of costumes to find something for the both of you; he looks down at his youngest, jumping minutely when he’s faced with a mutilated baby doll mask, shiny plastic reflecting him in the surface.

“Ellie. You can’t be the creepy baby doll,” he sighs, hand falling to his hip as he rests his weight on it, the other leg stepping out while he slowly shakes his head.

Tipping the mask up to the top of her head, Ellie stomps her feet, shoulders falling and head leaning back as she groans in complaint, “Why not, Dad?” She draws out his parental title, kicking the toe of her shoe against the buffed tiles of the storefront that remains empty eleven out of twelve months of the year.

“You’re gonna scare the little kids, and it’ll be your mom and I who are dealing with the angry parents.”

Ellie huffs out a breath, reaching up to snatch the mask off, turning on the heel of her sneaker, and stomping off to go find another costume. Turning his attention back to you at his side, he notices a cheeky smile on your face as you find your size in a woman’s Buzz Lightyear costume.

“What? What are you laughin’ at?” he questions, his lips tugging up in a grin.

“Oh, nothing. Jus’ that you told our daughter she can’t be the creepy baby doll 'cause you’d be the one scared of her.” A laugh takes over the end of your sentence, a flash of your bright smile widening his own.

“Did not. It’s ‘cause we’d have a bunch of crying little kids and judging parents to deal with.”

“Sure, honey, sure. It’s okay if you’re scared.”

Stepping closer to you, he pinches your side playfully, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, speaking softly, “Know me too well, baby…”

Your free hand pats his chest affectionately and you unravel from his hold. Joel takes your hand before you get far, intertwining your fingers together while you both shuffle along the wall of costumes. The plastic bags shine, displaying cartoonish outfits of various characters. The exaggerated smiles of the models give him the heebie-jeebies, shuddering his shoulders at the thought that any grown person would be that excited to wear itchy polyester once before letting it collect dust in their closet and giving it away before next Halloween.

Halting in front of the costume you were looking for Joel, you bend down to flick through the sizes, your lips pulling together in a thoughtful pucker. Standing back up straight next to him, your teeth toy your bottom lip left to right, eyes scanning for any other options before you turn toward him.

“Can’t find what you’re lookin’ for, baby?”

With a shrug, you respond, “They have the costume the girls wanted you to wear, but they don’t have your size. Think I can find some stuff at the thrift store or TJ Maxx or online to make the costume up if that’s okay—”

“Whatever you need to do. S’fine.”

“I’m sorry, hon, but you don’t need to worry about it, I’ll find everything.”

“Said s’fine, darlin’. Don’t even need to dress up, really.” A small seed of shame is planted in his gut, insecurity watering it and causing it to grow, branching off to tangled in his chest. Comfort eases him out of the spiral when your hands find his chest, rubbing softly and tilting your head to meet his gaze with pure affection.

“Still gotta dress up with us, hon. Who’s gonna be the Woody to my Buzz if it isn’t you? Can’t dress up as one half of the best friend duo without my best friend,” you grin, standing on your toes to catch his lips in a gentle kiss, which ends too soon for his taste despite being in the middle of the shop.

Vest shrugged onto his shoulder, and he gives himself another once over in his full outfit, the same insecurity from a few weeks ago pouring down to cultivate his shame. He doesn’t look the same as he did when he met you, even the same as he did last year. Graying hair and salt and pepper beard, lines next to his eyes and across his forehead, only deepened when he furrows his brow at the look of him in his costume.

He looks ridiculous.

Better to get this night over with, let his girls enjoy themselves, and attempt to forget his discomfort in the outfit. Picking up his cheap cowboy hat that arrived in the mail earlier that week, he avoids another look in the mirror before he slips out of the bathroom, eyes focused on the toes of his boots while he walks out the door of your bedroom, past the full-length mirror next to your closet and the small round one on your vanity.

No need to foul his mood and spoil the fun. It’s for his girls. 

The screams and laughter of children echo into the deepening night sky, the street bright from the lamps lining it along with porch lights staying on, open garage doors, all signaling a welcoming to the trick-or-treaters to come and grab their haul from each vast bowl or cauldron of candy.

Blurs of costume cross below Joel’s sightline as he walks hand-in-hand with you, kids running around blindly, the safety of such a crowd in the small neighborhood blanketing them with trust that they’ll be able to find their way home wherever they end up. Sarah and Ellie are ten paces ahead, moving quickly and efficiently to “maximize their candy collection”. Ellie’s words, after she presented her hand-drawn map of their neighborhood and the one across the main road, highlighting which houses are notorious for King Size treats and noting which ones give out toothbrushes or nothing at all.

The collar of his flannel is tightened around his neck from the string of his chestnut cowboy hat. Pulled down to rest on his clavicle, the body of the hat swings against his back as he walks, only adorning the top of his head for a few photos that you insisted on dragging out the tripod and self-timer for in the middle of the living room. He took the rest of the photos you wanted, maybe a bit too eagerly getting out of the frame and relaxing the slightest bit behind the camera. Photo evidence of how laughable he looks does not need to exist en masse. With a sigh, he reaches a hand up to tug the string down for what feels like the tenth time in thirty minutes of walking, relief felt for a few seconds before it slides back up to the base of his throat, flipping up the collar of his shirt with it.

Denim from his dark wash bootcut jeans starts to dig into his hips, roughening the skin there from his strides and their inch-too-small size from the year prior. These were deemed his “nice” jeans, per your request, only pulled out a handful of times a year for occasions that he was meant to look nicer than his raggedy Levi’s, covered in spots from paint, wood stain, oil, or dirt, the fraying, white strings hanging from the hems and ripping when caught under his step — all the signs of his day-to-day life. What he’s comfortable in.

These — these are not comfortable, not worn in enough to feel buttery against his skin, and not returning to his size even after washing and line drying. These are stiff, formed to his skin and resisting a tightness with each swing of his legs. The fresh material rubs against his bare skin underneath, the waist of his boxers falling an inch or two down to create the perfect space for the waistband to chafe. He’s tempted to pause the two of you walking along, long enough to tuck in the material of the flannel, but quickly decides against it when he thinks about the exaggeration of his stomach with the form-fitting, tucked shirt stretched over it.

Occupied in his thoughts, he barely notices that you've slowed down until you come to a stop at the end of a driveway, two streets over from your own home, waiting as your daughters wait in line for their packaged sugar. 

You hold onto his bicep with your opposite hand, leaning your weight against his side. Like a weighted blanket, in the interim of a hug from you, he takes on the change to his equilibrium, relishing in the comforting press of your body against him. Easing away his anxieties and his insecurities that, of course, had to be present for this wholesome, once-a-year family night; he rests his chin on your head, breathing in the smell of your rosemary and mint shampoo, tingling his nostrils and drinking down the scent he’s so familiar with.

His focus draws to Sarah, hair in a French braid pulled away from her face and cherry red cowboy hat on her head, and Ellie, lime green face paint that she insisted on and an antenna sticking up from the top of her head and exaggerated, pointed green ears all attached to the same headband. The two of them are near the front of the queue for candy at this particular house, the process a bit more involved with a haunted graveyard required to pass through to earn your sweet reward. 

All she’d been saying the whole night since getting dressed had been “The claaaaaw!” or “I have been chosen!”. She screams the latter in the face of a teenager who pops out from a bush to scare her, completely unphased as she sneaks past him, grabbing a handful of candy for her and Sarah, running back down the path with her older sister before they pause to distribute the goods.

Joel lifts your joined hands, hooking his arm over your shoulder and laying your arm across your chest as he gathers you closer.

“So how many cavities do you think we’ll be paying for ‘cause of tonight’s candy haul?” he wonders aloud, a smile ticking up the side of his mouth when you giggle at his joke. It never gets old, being able to make you laugh, and it’s like a weed whacker to the strangling vines of his insecurities growing tightly in his chest. A looseness that gives him the chance for a deep breath, gratitude wilting the branches as he studies the grin on your face, the admiration twinkling in your eyes.

“Probably should be callin’ the dentist to see if they have a two-for-one discount.” It’s his turn to laugh at your response, tautening his arm around your shoulders to tow you closer to him, your head tilting back as you swing your front toward him. Joel bends his neck, pecking your lips with a smile before he looks back toward his daughters walking back to the two of you.

Annoyance thumbs the bruise of shame, driving his frustrations higher; his hand reaches up again with a huff, yanking the string away from his neck, “Thing’s like a damn noose…”

“Jus’ take it off, hon, I’ll carry it for you,” you sweetly suggest, swinging your joined hands between your bodies.

“But, you got it for me…” he mumbles guiltily, a worry in his voice over your potential irritation with him. Ever the masochist, Joel argues with you, not wanting to disappoint. He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut—

Pausing in your steps, you hang behind him long enough to snatch the hat off his back, releasing it from around his neck and depositing it on your head in one smooth movement. Taking his hand again, you continue, unphased by his complaints and happy to hold onto the new accessory.

At the next house, the two of you wait at the end of the driveway for the girls; Joel taps the side of his pointer finger on the brim as you look up at him, a cheeky smile growing on his face as a thought distracts from his festering doubts. His voice lowers, rasping as he speaks only to you, attempting to disguise the conversation from all the people milling about.

“Y’know, there are consequences for stealing a cowboy’s hat, baby.” Wetting his lips with the quick swipe of his tongue, his hands drift to your waist, fingers stretching to skim the top of your ass, dangerously close to grabbing a handful in front of everyone.

“M’well aware of those consequences, cowboy. Why d’you think I took it?” You shoot him a wink that goes straight down below the belt, a brazen flash of mischief in your eyes, the reflections of yellow lamplight lighting them up further. 

Gripping his biceps, your nimble fingers squeeze gently while your thumbs rub massaging circles into his slightly flexed muscles. A nearly inaudible hum of a moan rolls from your chest, one of his hands gathering the polyester material of your dress tightly at the sound. Beckoning him to fold forward with one look, he molds his lips to yours in a supple kiss. It lasts only the length of an inhale, drinking in the taste of your lips before your warmth is fleeting, hands patting his chest in a signal to wrap it up.

He grumbles, irritation heating under his collar as he itches to get home and for the night to be over, now for more than one reason. You laugh softly at his annoyed pout, poking his chest as you tease, “What? Mad ‘cause you got a snake in your boot?”

“More like in my jeans…” he mumbles under his breath, loud enough for you to hear and playfully jab his arm, shaking your head as you breathe out a chuckle from your nose.

“Nice, Miller. In a costume for a kid’s movie no less.”

He matches your laugh, shrugging when you turn in his arms, back to him as you await your daughters to make their way back to the both of you. His arms drape around your hips, tugging you into his chest to press against him comfortably, the plush-filled wings of your costume padding you against his torso. Lips find your ear, chin resting on your shoulder as he responds, “What’s the saying from the movie? To infinity and beyond? Reckon that’s where I’ll be takin’ you by the end of tonight.”

“Joel!” you attempted to chide, your laughter exposing your real feelings over the suggestive comment, laying your arms over his. The girls walk toward the two of you, and he takes a second to press an open-mouth kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin before unfurling himself from you. A light smack on the side of your ass is the punctuation to the teasing, Joel standing up straight and taking your hand.

“Giddy-up, partner,” he murmurs before turning his attention to Sarah and Ellie, overly excited and completely calm. “Whatcha y’all get this time? Anything good?”

They answer over each other and he nods along, corralling them to start to walk to the next house, “Alright, mission accomplished at this house. Onto the next, we gotta get this wagon a-movin’! Only got another hour in me, girls.”

Protests whine against his announcement and your daughters start to walk faster, determined to complete their hit-list for the houses with the good stuff. You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as Joel looks over at you, feigning innocence.

“What? Got a bad back, bein’ out in the cold makes it worse.”

Now back at home, the four of you are gathered in the living room, costumes all on still as you seek out the comfort and warmth of the soft furnishings and blankets. Joel lounges on the couch, you next to him, back leaning against his side while your legs stretch out on the rest of the sofa. Ellie and Sarah have taken to the floor in front of the coffee table, massive pillowcases dumped out and beginning to be sorted. Every so often, you or Joel get up with the sound of the doorbell, passing out candy to the dwindling number of trick-or-treaters. Eventually, the intrusion stops completely, the TV playing a bad, kitschy Halloween movie per the request of the girls.

They trade their earnings, and you and Joel steal on the sly, both from the bowl you were handing out and from Sarah and Ellie’s piles. Wrappers are strewn around the floor and across the surface of the coffee table, the sound of another torn open by the girls making you sigh and sit up.

Holding out your hand, you shake your head, beckoning for the treat with your fingers, “Okay, Ellie. No more candy. You’re not going to be able to go to sleep if you keep eating it now, it’s too late.”

Ellie whines, rolling her head back with a groan before pleading her case, “Please, Mom, just this last one! And then I’ll be done, promise. Please.”

Joel chuckles when she shoots you the same puppy dog eyes that he gives to you to get what he wants, knowing his smirk grows wider when you fold easily. Shooting your head over to him, you announce to the whole room, “No more candy for anyone. C’mon girls, put it all back in your bags.” 

Calmness finds itself back in the room once all the complaints are lodged with you, the girls lying down to watch the movie while you continue to sit with Joel. Spaced out as he focuses on the film, his attention is grabbed when he hears the crinkle of wrappers and glances around to find all three of his girls indulging further.

With the remote from his lap, he pauses the movie, pouting as he exclaims, “Hey! What happened to not havin’ any more candy? If I can’t have anymore, y’all can’t either.”

Sneaking the last bite of her fun-size Snickers bar, Ellie giggles and shrugs, always the smart aleck, “Well, you are gettin’ a little pudgy, Dad, maybe less candy’ll help.”

Sarah and you giggle at her lighthearted teasing, and Joel waves it off with a breathy chuckle, leaning back against the cushions as Sarah chimes in with her jests, “Yeah, think you’re getting a little fluffy, Dad. Better to lay off now than at Christmastime with all Mom’s cookies.”

Joel attempts to defend himself from the teasing by threatening their candy supply, eager to end the conversation as the back of his neck heats up, “If m’already gettin’ pudgy then I guess that permits me to eat all your candy.”

They both are in a fit of giggles, continuing to tack on silly comments as Joel sits quietly on the couch, trying to mask the way the words worm their way in, feeding the shame and insecurity that was already festering in his chest from the last few weeks.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a smile as you laugh softly, “Alright, alright, enough. Think that’s the sign that it’s time for bed. C’mon, up up up.” Before standing, you pat Joel’s thigh and shoot him a carefully concerned look, but he wipes away your worry by sending you a warm smile back, laying his hand over yours and squeezing gently. 

Joel stays downstairs to clean up, the girls both saying goodnight before you follow them upstairs to get them ready for bed. Gathering candy wrappers in his fists, he throws them away in the kitchen, stomach rolling as he replays the small comments from minutes ago. He knows it was teasing, all in good fun as it always is between his girls and you, but he can’t shake the heaviness inside of him, the hot prickles of shame when he passes by the mirror in the hallway on his way back to the living room.

The bowl of extra candy you were handing out gets placed back on the coffee table, his silly cowboy hat from the evening deposited on top of it to hide the contents. Not that he was going to eat anymore, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of anything else when all he could think about was how much he desperately wanted to shed his skin at that moment. Breathing shallows when he settles on the couch again, one of his hands pressing onto the left side of his chest and willing his heart to slow down, for his brain to silence itself.

The skin of his palm meets the scruff of his beard, scratching against the roughened, worked skin. Grays in his hair, salt and pepper beard, wrinkles on his forehead and at the side of his eyes, softened tummy from years of love and care, from an easy life with you.

He certainly isn’t the same Joel that you met all that time ago, that you fell in love with. Have you noticed the changes as much as he has?

He swears you haven’t aged a day; all the more beautiful with each passing day.

Light steps carry you back downstairs, the sound shaking Joel out of his thoughts as you swing around from the staircase and through the entrance to the living room. Joel relaxes on the couch, the same spot he was occupying before, only sinking further into the cushion, shifting to pull the fabric of his shirt away from his stomach. Glancing up at you, away from whatever was playing on the TV that did nothing to distract him from himself, he sends you a tight smile, stretching an arm over the back of the couch to welcome you in.

Accepting it, you sit next to him, curling up into his side with your legs under you, leaning against his frame with your comforting weight. Your hand rests on his chest, your head on his shoulder while you both watch the TV movie playing. Silence falls between the two of you, minutes passing by with only the noise from the speakers, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the kids upstairs.

Joel feels your hand move against his chest, curling up to leave your pointer finger extended, the pad of it skimming against his flannel. He ignores the feeling, figuring it’s you fidgeting as you do while you focus. The same thing as twirling your hair while you’re reading, tapping your foot as you cook.

But when your hand stairs to wander, his eyes flick down to watch its path, your gaze still facing forward and quiet. With your thumb and index finger, you work open the first button on his shirt, trailing down with the rest undone in your route. Slipping under the material, your cold hand presses against his chest, nails scraping against the skin there. With a sigh at the contact, Joel finally uses his hand to gently caress your chin, turning you to face him.

Low and rasping, he questions, “What are you doin’ exactly, darlin’?”

Innocently, you shrug, bottom lip bit down on while your touch moves lower again, skimming across his stomach and reaching the waistband of his jeans, “Well, I still have to face the consequences from stealin’ your hat, cowboy.”

Fingers dip below his belt line, toying with the elastic band of his boxers. Slipping away, he almost protests at the loss, biting his tongue when you move next to him, sitting up on your knees while both hands reach for the button and zipper of his jeans. When his button pops from its secure place, he warns with a breathy exhale, “Baby…”

“Mhm, yes, honey?” you reply, words trailing up at the end, feigning naivety. Through your lashes, you send him a pout, tongue poking out to dampen your plush lips that he stares at, his mouth parted with heavy breaths. His blood is rushing from his head, leaving him feeling light, as it all pumps to his cock, your delicate and teasing touches getting him half-hard.

Before you can tug down his zipper, you pause, taking your hands off of him; he holds back a whimper, the sound dying as a low hum in his throat.

“Don’t worry, baby, m’not done yet. Let’s go to our room, yeah?” Your voice is soothingly saccharine, an eager nod being his only response. 

Shutting off the TV, you stand from the sofa and take his hand, snatching the cowboy hat from the coffee table before pulling him to stand and follow you across the main floor, down the hallway into your first-floor bedroom. Joel shuts the door behind him, your nod toward the handle serving as a reminder for him to flick the lock.

 “Y’know, honey, you’re always showing me how you feel about me. I think it’s time we had a night that’s all about you…” He’s holding in a breath as you stalk closer to him, shaking his head as the back of his neck heats up.

“No, baby, you don’t—I don’t…” he stutters before trailing off, ashamed that he can’t think of any other excuse than the truth of why he does not want the attention on him tonight.

“You don’t…?” Running your hands across the expanse of his chest, he drops his shoulders in, curling around to make himself smaller, one foot stepping back but he doesn’t move from under your touch.

Shaking his head, he avoids your eyes, faintly confiding, “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I jus’, I’d rather give to you, baby.”

“Oh, Joel…you deserve it and more, honey. Why wouldn’t you?” Your fingers graze up, skating across his skin and carding into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not…not the same. I don’t look like who you fell in love with. Everything’s changing, catching up to me. Got gray hair and white in my beard and wrinkles and a beer belly startin’ and my back hurts all the time. M’not who I used to be but you—”

“Have changed, too. It’s not just you, Joel. Everything’s a little softer now, I’ve got wrinkles too. Found like four gray hairs yesterday and had a mild panic attack before I got into the shower. M’curvier and—”

“And you’re fucking beautiful, baby. You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful than the day I met you.” He’s quick to defend your negative self-talk, his hands running delicately along the curves of your sides and around your lower back. Enveloping you in his arms, he presses your foreheads together, nose notched next to yours.

“That’s exactly how I feel about you, Joel. Don’t listen to us teasin’ you, especially me, ‘cause I wouldn’t change a thing about you…” As you tilt your head back, your nose grazes against his cheek, feeling a rush of heat from your breath as your lips hover over his, deliciously close to a kiss, “Can I show you what I think about you, honey?”

Joel nods, wordlessly waiting in anticipation; in the next breath, your lips crash into his, drinking him down deep while the hand at the back of his head tangles further into his hair and tugs. He moans, parted lips allowing you to lick into his mouth, whining at the taste of him before you push the flannel material from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as you continue to dominate the kiss.

Pressing your hands against his strong chest, you push him back with a step. Joel follows your lead, carefully moving backward, your tongue melding with his. All he can focus on is the taste of you — sweet, fruity, with the tang of citric acid from all the sour candies you stole from the bowl, the softest hint of chocolate as an aftertaste from his indulgences. The flavors of you coat his mouth, the scent of your perfume and shampoo mixing in his nose, and the feeling of your soft skin in his rough palms when he hikes up the skirt of your dress, grabbing a handful of your ass; it all stirs together, creating an intoxicating cocktail of you that he can seem to taste enough of. Joel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he’s being pulled away from your mouth with a pop when you ease him to sit down. Curiosity flashes in his mind, the sight of you over him with kiss-swollen lips growing the bulge in his undone jeans. Eager hands find your hips, grazing over to your ass as he looks up at you standing over him.

“Whatcha wanna do, beautiful?” His voice is lecherous as it comes out in a rasp, dripping with desire and a bit of wonder over what exactly you’re going to do with your night in control.

You shake your head at him, standing up straight and reaching for his hands, placing them at the hem of your dress, “Go ahead, baby. Take off as much as you want.”

His choice is obvious, tugging the fabric over your head with your help, a hand around your back yanking you to stand close, between his spread legs, while his fingers work open the clasp of your bra. Sitting back on his hands, he observes greedily as you let the straps fall down your arms, dropping the bra entirely onto the floor.

“These too?” Your thumbs hook into the waistline of your panties, doe-eyed and biting down on your body lip teasingly. Cotton-mouthed, Joel nods slowly, lips parted with shaking breath as you strip completely, sinking to your knees in front of him before he can reach out for a handful of your curves.

He lets you work his jeans down to his thighs, his boxers following in their wake, his cock springing free against his bare stomach. You keep eye contact as you kneel in front of him, his keen stare unblinking as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, the need to see every single one of your movements outweighing the drying of his eyes with his slow, infrequent blinking. Scooting to settle comfortably on your knees, you stand up straighter, gaining enough height to bend your head over his lap, lips meeting his soft tummy and hands gripping onto his thighs. Delicate kisses and ghosting touches on his skin raise goosebumps, a warm shudder trickling down his back at your tenderness.

“So handsome…” you whisper, grazing your teeth into the flesh of his torso, biting down to nip. “Y’know I think about doin’ this all the time, baby. Every time you take off your shirt, jus’ wanna sink my teeth into you.”

His cheeks heat with sincere attention, muscles in his abdomen flexing when you litter lovebites and heated, open-mouth kisses all over him, the gentle touches and desire to relax his anxieties slowly. The focus on your mouth drops to his thighs, turning your head to the side when you sit back on your haunches, licking a stripe up toward his aching cock, a quivering exhale from his mouth drawing your eyes to his face. A satisfied smile stretches across your face, kissing his inner thigh before mirroring the actions on the opposite side. His fingers curl into the duvet, gripping hard as your lips wander closer to where his stiff cock drips needily, throbbing for any kind of reprieve.

“You’re so pretty, baby. So strong, solid.” The sweet nothings tickle at the back of his neck, words that he’s sure you’ve spoken before, but at this moment, they raise his body temperature and lighten his head, the only thoughts being how much he needs you.

Standing on your knees again, you bend your neck over Joel’s lap, eyes flickering up to his face to look at him through your lashes. Your lips part, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto his waiting cock, the sensation making him hiss with urgency. One of your hands wraps around him and strokes slowly. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, mouth opening in a small gasp at the languid stimulation. One swipe of your thumb across his tip drags the beads of pre-cum from where they’re leaking, melting them into the mix of your saliva that lubricates your motions.

Searing needles pierce into his skin when you finally give in and press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin of his swollen length. Your thumb brushes against his tip again, another hiss of pleasure escaping from between his teeth. One of Joel’s hands finds the back of your head, tangling fingers into your hair. He doesn’t move to guide you, simply wanting to touch a part of you to ground himself.

Your free hand gently cups his balls as you press a featherlight kiss to the tip of his hard cock. A kitten-lick swipes up the fresh dribbles of pre-cum that have collected and Joel’s fingers tense against your strands. Humming satisfied with the reactions you’re drawing from him, he looks down at you meeting his gaze, feeling the splotches of redness growing across his cheeks and neck at the frustration of your light teasing. He groans out your name as your mouth works to tease him more, not having taken him fully in.

“Fucking hell, baby, quit teasin’, please.” Joel rasps as he watches your methodical seduction. He applies the smallest pressure against the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around just the tip of him, a moan of relief rolling from his chest.

Your eyes stay glued on his face, and he’s lost in the delicious warmth of your mouth, unabashed in every response that he’s having to your mouth working him. Starting a slow bob up and down, he moans at the weight of him on your tongue, saliva coating the underside of his cock as he feels you curl the muscle against every vein. With half of him with your mouth, your hand working what isn’t initially fitting inside. His noises grow louder and in quicker succession, hyperaware that his cheeks are likely visibly warm and eyes dark with a craving when he looks down at you again.

“Such a sweet girl. Look so pretty with my cock in your little mouth. Think you can take more, baby? Think I can fit in your throat?” You shift in your position slightly, thighs rubbing together and a chuckle rolls from his lips, smug in the need he’s drawing from you simply from enjoying his pleasure. A sigh exhales around him in your mouth as your thighs rub together to relieve some of your aches.

The rhythm of your head brings his cock deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. You swallow around him and it squeezes him just right, a loud moan rumbling from his chest, the reverberations sending aftershocks to the tips of his ears. At that point, he gets lost in the high feeling, his composure leaving him when his large hand at the back of your head pushes you down onto his cock, taking him down your throat further and causing you to gag. Tears spill from your eyes and spit drips from the sides of your mouth, the blow job quickly turning sloppy as Joel takes more control.

“Fucking hell, darlin’. Taking me so well on your own, being such a good girl for me,” he whines, heading tilting back as his eyes squeeze shut, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of your head. “Gonna fuckin’ come, baby, holy fuck, I—”

A moan around him gurgles to nothing when he thrusts again, hand tangled in your hair pulling you back until his tip rests against your lips, “Don’t wanna—please—” His words are lost on the tip of his tongue, pleasure hazing his mind as he searches for the plea he wants to make with you.

You giggle from your knees, swiping your fingers to wipe away the drool from the corners of your mouth, a satisfied smirk on your face. Bracing yourself on his thighs, you push yourself up, standing in between his legs while your hands find his shoulders, scraping your fingernails against the curve of them.

“You wanna come inside of me? Not my mouth? Is that what you were trying to say, baby?”

“Yes,” he exhales, relieved to find the word he needed, blinking open his eyes to look up at you. Your thumb skates across his bottom lip, holding onto his jaw as you study his features.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Joel. Anything for my perfect, doting husband. D’you know how fucking good it makes me feel to make you feel good?” you question curiously, tilting his head as he lets you mold him whichever way you want. “Tell me how you deserve to have me like this. ‘Cause you’re so fucking good to me, tell me that you’re gonna let me fuck you, let me take your come inside of me.”

“Baby, I don’t think that—” he starts, palms pressing into the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you.

“Tell me, Joel. You said you wanted to be the one giving to me tonight. That’s what I want.” You use his earlier, shy request against his negative thoughts, and the intensity in your eyes bends him to your will.

“M’gonna let you have my cock, gonna let you fuck me and show me how much you love when I take care of you.” The words roll foreignly on his tongue, unconvincing coming from his mind to his mouth. You bend a knee, bringing it up to rest next to his thigh, nodding along to encourage him to continue, “I give you whatever I can give to you, and always gonna, baby. Now’s your turn to take care of me, right?”

“That’s right, honey. I should show you how much I appreciate you more often…you work so hard, give us exactly what we need, and provide for us. My big, strong man. You do so much for me, baby. Gonna show you how thankful I am for you, how grateful I am that you’re lettin’ me have this cock,” your words breathe hot against his ear, your other leg now straddling him on the bed, cunt hovering over his waiting cock. A hand leaves his shoulders, reaching between your stomachs to wrap around him, guiding him to your entrance. His breath catches in his throat when you ease down onto him, pushing through the wet seal of your slit.

Wet heat envelopes him, taking in a few inches of him; Joel groans under you, head falling forward onto your breasts, forehead pressed into your sticky skin. One hand tangles into his curls, dragging his head back to look into your eyes. Your hips start to move, adjusted to his size easily and taking more of his cock, letting it split you open inch-by-inch. His eyes wildly search yours, seeing the pleasure overtake your mind, lips parting to match his as you both breathe out shallow, hot breaths.

“Fuck, Joel, so fucking big…” you whine for the first time tonight and the sound goes straight to his cock, twitching him inside of you as his hips jerk up, giving you another inch. Lust clouds his mind, nodding confidently as you take him, desperate to feel your tight, dripping cunt around him entirely.

“I know, baby, I know. Should’ve let me get you ready. But I bet you like the stretch, like a lil’ bit of pain, huh?” he coos, arm snaking around you to hold you closer, your eyes fluttering closed above him as you nod languidly.

“Fuckin’ love it, makes it feel even better,” you whimper when his arm tugs you down further, only an inch or two away from him being fully sheathed.

“C’mon, be my good girl, baby. Show me how you sit on my cock.” He leans forward, bending you backward with his force and holding you tight, his lips attaching to the soft, velvety skin of your breasts and biting, “Gotta face your punishment for stealin’ my hat. Take a cowboy’s hat, gotta ride the cowboy, babygirl. I don’t make the rules.”

You giggle, eyes clearing as you’re pulled out of your cloud of pleasure, gripping onto his shoulders and holding eye contact as you finally sink completely down, burying Joel’s cock inside your soaked pussy. Moans echo in the room, bitten down before they get too loud, your hips immediately finding a quick, sloppy pace to chase your highs. The slick glide of your walls grip his cock lusciously, your flooding arousal coating his balls as thighs as you ride him. Little noises slip from your mouth, simmering the coals burning in the base of his gut as he feels the familiar bliss building.

“Is this what I’m supposed to be doin’, cowboy?” you wonder, hips continuing their pace and mouth twisting as you hide a smile. Joel is unashamed, a wide grin on his face as he unravels one arm from you, picking up the hat from the corner post of the bed, and setting it loosely on top of your head. Giggles erupt from the both of you, your pace faltering as the muscles in his stomach cramp from use. 

Recovering from the interlude, your thighs rub against the outside of his as you bounce, nails digging into his shoulders as your rhythm picks back up, the slap of skin against skin the only noise save for your airy breaths that get shallower and shallower. Flames have ignited in his gut, licking inside and burning hotter and hotter the closer he gets. Nearly at the edge, he needs more, body taking over and lifting you with him as he stands, holding you up on his cock as he thrusts hard and quick into you, dripping for him and gripping him tight to keep yourself up while he fucks into you.

“Oh—fuck, Joel! Right there, m’gonna—oh!” Your desperate pleas in his ear pitch up as you moan, cunt tightening with a flutter around him as you come, soaking his dick as he continues his hard pace, selfishly chasing his high. 

A growl rolls from his chest when you come, his fingernails biting into the flesh of your ass, the slap of his balls against your skin as they draw up. His eyes squeeze shut as he moans your name, the first rope of his come released into your cunt, smaller whimpers following in its wake as he fucks one, twice more, filling you up as deep as he can.

Limbs feeling heavy, he turns you both around, pulling you off of him and dropping you gently onto the mattress. He flops down next to you onto his stomach, blissfully out of it as you move to straddle his back, fingers working the knots and soothing the aches growing there after a long week of work, and a night spent corralling your kids.

The warm press of your body against his back makes him hum contently, your breasts at his shoulder blades as you lay on him, one of his hands reaching the rub his fingers softly against the outside of your thigh.

“You know I think you’re the most handsome, right, honey?” you ask with a hint of worry in your voice, barely above a whisper. He nods, rolling over to his back underneath you and meeting your eyes, brow furrowed with concern.

“I know, baby. Jus’ was feeling weird this whole week. You made it a lot better, though.” A knuckle nudges your cheek, and you take the hat off, Joel chuckling again as you throw it off to the side of the bed. Laying down on him again, he strokes your hair while you hug yourself to his torso, both your eyes and his fluttering shut with exhaustion, from tonight and life in general.

Before drifting off, Joel speaks up, cheekily asking, “So…can I wear this costume next year, too?”

taglist: @atinylittlepain @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsquill @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @thereaperisabitch @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic @xyzstar @cumberpegg @b00klvrs @burningnerdchild

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my kofi

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Toad's Turnpike Debut: Mario Kart 64

Ah, Mario Kart 64, an iconic game for many reasons. It was the first 3D Mario Kart game, the first game to feature the Spiny Shell, the first Mario Kart where you could select Wario, and also the first good Mario Kart game! Or maybe it also sucks, and I'm just blinded by nostalgia. It is the first game I ever played.

While Mario Kart 64 featured many of the same course themes as Super Mario Kart, it also introduced a handful of new ones into the fold, like "busy highway!" Toad's Turnpike is the first course in the Mario Kart series where you have to dodge traffic. Now, holding a go-kart race on an active road might seem dangerous, but thankfully, having gotten my license earlier this year, I learned that driving on a road is what you're supposed to do, so it's probably fine.

What's NOT fine however, is driving against the flow of traffic! In Mario Kart 64, Toad's Turnpike is infamous for its Mirror Mode layout, where not only is the layout of the course mirrored, but the cars will move in the opposite direction as well! The penalty for crashing into a car is pretty severe in this game, and combined with the brutal CPUs who love to cheat, Mirror Mode Toad's Turnpike ends up being a very difficult race.

The Mirror Mode variant ties into a mechanic in Mario Kart 64 where the speed of cars will change depending on the cc. Are you late on the commute to work? Too bad! Toad has declared that he's doing a 50cc race today, and as the owner of this turnpike, you BETTER abide by his speed limit...!

But why are you commuting on Toad's Turnpike in the first place?! This road just loops back in on itself, with nowhere to get off! Heck, there's nowhere to get on, really, either. I have no idea how you or anyone else got into such a precarious situation. This is true of nearly every traffic course (besides Mushroom City), but this post isn't about any of those.

But what if I told you the cars may not be real cars at all...? You see, in Mario Kart 64, the cars on this course have no hit detection with anything besides the player. Items will pass straight through them, and so will any racer that's currently in a star. Is it possible these cars... are GHOSTS...? Jeepers! It would seem that after being trapped on this road for so long, that all the cars died off, and now nothing but phantoms remain...

You can still crash into phantom cars though, so be careful while driving.

It would seem that Mayor Toad of Toad City thought that something had to be done about his turnpike's ghost problem, so in the time between Mario Kart 64 and Mario Kart 8, he had a service station built on the side of the road. This must have worked out big time, as the cars have proper hit detection now! Hooray for necromancy!

Mayor Toad did not, however, pour any funds into building roads in and out of Toad's Turnpike. In fact, he turned the starting line into a toll gate, meaning not only are you trapped on Toad's Turnpike, but you have to pay for every lap you drive! The course was also scaled down quite a bit, meaning you'll be passing the starting line much more often. Clearly, the government of Toad City is very corrupt.

I guess this is my segue into talking about the Mario Kart 8 version of this course, huh? If I'm being honest, I don't like this version of the course nearly as much! But it's not really for anything that has to do with the gameplay...

Sure, it's disappointing that Mirror Mode no longer reverses the flow of traffic. Sure, the anti-gravity walls feel shoehorned in and kind of defeat the purpose of the course. Sure, the road being widened and the track being scaled down makes the cars much easier to dodge, and getting hit is much less impactful than before.

But none of those things really bother me. I mean, they added cars with glider ramps and whatnot! It's definitely easier than the N64 version, but I do think it gains some from its more dynamic elements. But you see, the reason I don't like the Mario Kart 8 version of Toad's Turnpike is because of a much more egrigious sin:

The vibes are off.

You see, the thing I love the most about Toad's Turnpike in Mario Kart 64 is the atmosphere. You know I'm a sucker for good atmosphere! It affected a few placements in those Galaxy rankings I haven't touched in like a year! But yeah, between the late sunset skybox, the excellent music, and the remote feeling of it all, Toad's Turnpike in Mario Kart 64 is a course with A+ vibes. Between that and its unique obstacles, it becomes a highlight of the game for me despite a pretty bland layout.

With Mario Kart 8's version, the time of day was shifted from the late evening to the middle of the night, the music was given a new arrangement that's much more energetic, and the course was reimagined as being in the middle of a big city. I definitely get what they were going for—the big city theming fits the highway environment, and it definitely feels more fitting for a fast-paced racing game. But to me at least, the relaxing evening drive feeling of Toad's Turnpike is a lot of what I loved about the original, and I feel like that was ultimately lost in the remake.

Despite my complaining, I find it important to emphasize that change is not an inherently bad thing! It's good to appreciate the things in our past, sure, but nostalgia can be a prison of our own making! People who refuse to accept change often end up like the Old Norm, grumbling about pronouns and rainbow beer. Heck, Rainbow Road is another course with great vibes from Mario Kart 64 that got a massive aesthetic overhaul in Mario Kart 8, and I love how they handled that remake! Sometimes you just gotta learn to appreciate the new and the old on their own merits.

With that out of the way, the changes made to Toad's Turnpike were bad and I don't like them. They totally should've kept the sunset.

[leighsartworks216]

My Sunshine

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Part 2 Here: Tumblr link - AO3 link

This is probably definitely ooc but I needed to get it out of my brain anyway. I also have not seen any actual gameplay (aside from the romance scenes) so this won't be 100% canon compliant

For @niermortem bc I need you to read this and suffer (affectionate)

Warnings: alcohol use, swearing, grief/mourning, blood, injury, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,146

Masterlist

AO3

You raised your goblet of wine in the air, smiling blindingly bright at your best friend. "To another case solved, and another criminal behind bars!"

He laughed and clinked his goblet with yours. The red liquid sloshed against the edge, almost spilling into yours. You each drank deeply.

"You make that toast after every trial," he bemoaned, but a stray chuckle ruined his disapproval. "It's a minor court for minor offenses - It's not like I locked up a serial killer."

You huffed and nudged his shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short! What you do is incredible, Astarion. It's so rare for an elf as young as you to get appointed as a magistrate. That's worth celebrating."

He hummed, smirk dancing across his face. "You're younger than me, my dear, and from what I've heard you're doing just as well." He gestured around the room.

The light of the fireplace cast odd shadows of your figures against the wall. Between the flickering shapes, Astarion could see the several paintings hung up on the wall. Portraits, landscapes - all formed with careful brush strokes and intense patience. It was no mean feat. He'd grown up alongside you, witnessed your struggles with charcoal and accuracy. He'd even posed for a few so you could study anatomy and shadow. Pride swelled in his chest thinking of those shaky, rough sketches and seeing the confident, soft strokes that composed the paintings.

You avoided looking, staring into the fire. For the briefest moment, he wanted to smooth out the crease in your brow and remove the frown from your face. Instead he gripped his goblet tighter and took another drink.

"I wish I could be as proud of them as you are, my sunshine. But when I look at them, all I see are mistakes."

He sighed quietly. "Your parents still don't approve, then?"

"They approve my profession - finally - but they think my execution is lackluster. I paint like a human."

"You paint like a god, darling."

“Ah,” you chuckled, “is the praise being turned back on me now?"

He smiled and raised his goblet. "A toast to the greatest artist Baldur's Gate has ever seen and will ever see again."

After a moment's hesitation, you raised your glass and knocked it against his. He threw back the last remaining contents, a drop of red falling from the corner of his mouth and down his neck. He finished off the rich alcohol with a contented sigh.

A clock on the mantelpiece chimed. You leaned back on your hand to look up at the old thing. It was a gift in lieu of payment, handmade, from its gears to its wooden casing. It chimed 11 times in all. Astarion sighed.

"One last drink for the road." You offered him the last of the wine in your goblet, and he drained it easily. “We can finish the rest tomorrow.”

“Mm, and what will we be celebrating tomorrow?”

“Anything and everything.”

He smiled fondly. What gods could have been kind enough to create you?

He rose to his knees and held your cheeks in both hands. “I look forward to it.” You closed your eyes as he planted a kiss on your forehead. It was almost a ritual, after so many years of doing it. Once he pulled away, you rose to your own knees, held his face the same way, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Stay safe on your way back.” You pulled away to look him straight in the eye, an exaggerated expression of seriousness on your face. “If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t have anybody to absolve me in court.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be fine, my dear.”

“You’d better.”

-

You stared numbly at the headstone. Your eyes scanned the words over and over and over again. You could recite it if you wanted to.

'Astarion Ancunin 229 - 268 DR'

He was only 39. He was just a child. A child buried 6 feet under your boots, hidden away, wrapped in sheets and sealed in a wooden coffin. Thirty-nine. He was only thirty-nine.

The sun was beginning to set. There was not a cloud in the sky. No chance for rain. The only water that fell were tears, and yours had long since dried up. Everyone else left hours ago. They'd touched your shoulder, shared in your grief, promised to pray for you and Astarion. If you were perhaps a bit more naive, a bit more desperate, you would have pleaded to the gods to bring him back, no matter the cost.

You inhaled shakily and tilted your head back. The sky was so beautiful; a vibrant array of orange and yellow and blue. You cursed it, for your best friend would never get to share in its beauty with you ever again.

When you looked back down, you forced your eyes not to trace the carved stone any more. It wasn't safe at night. If you looked again, you'd never make it back home.

A hint of white in the corner of your eye stole your attention. A flower. Its petals curled back and around, almost touching itself. Blue and yellow mixed within its center, but the very tips of its petals were bright white.

Your feet felt like lead as you moved toward it. Deep prints were left behind at the end of the dirt mound. Your legs were stiff and creaky from standing so long.

When you reached down to pluck the flower, you stopped. Hand outstretched toward its stem. You'd be killing it to mourn your friend. And in an hour, it will be droopy and wilted, dying on top of the grave. But if you left it, come two days from now, it would be closed and dried up anyway.

Your frown dug creases into your skin. Lines around your mouth and between your brows. You never realized before how quickly beautiful things die. The lines smoothed slightly when you brushed the delicate petal with your fingers. It was as soft as his hair had been.

"Look after him for me," you croaked, voice raw and unused. It cracked when you whispered desperately, "Please."

You rubbed your eyes as you backed away. The burn of tears stung the back of your eyes, but no water was produced. And you needed to get out of here. It hurt too much to stay.

You allowed yourself one last glance at the grave, before you turned and left. Your home never felt so cold, so uninviting, and so empty.

-

You’d never been much further than the city’s limits before, yet here you were. Lost, infected, confused. The blood on your hands terrified you, but if you hadn’t fought, you would be dead. A voice in the back of your mind haunted you with memories. Unbidden, you often recalled tidbits of your life 200 years ago. This time it reminded you of Astarion, flipping knives and sneaking up on you for a laugh. He would have been much more suited to this awful situation than you were.

Your hand fell to your pocket, pressing against a hidden journal tucked safely away. You would be lost without it. It’s all that’s kept you sane all these long years.

A shock of white hair up ahead caught your attention. A man, searching down a hill, beckoning. “Hurry,” he urged in a whisper, “I’ve got one of those brain things cornered.” He kept his back to you, but something in the way he spoke seemed familiar. Or maybe you were just so tired. “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.”

You flinched, frowning at the way he said ‘killed’. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. Perhaps it sounded too confrontational. Perhaps it was the dark turn his voice took. But you swallowed down the discomfort. You weren’t going to abandon someone in need.

“I can.”

You stepped forward, ready to grab at your dagger. It was quiet. The soft rustle of dry shrubs was all you could hear. You stepped a little further.

A loud squeal made you jump out of your skin as a frightened boar ran from the grass. You stumbled backward. Before you could trip yourself up, a rough arm wrapped behind your neck and dragged you down to the ground. A knife pointed at your throat.

On pure instinct, you grabbed at the blade. It dug into your palm and fingers, but you couldn’t let go. You could feel the man applying pressure to keep it at your neck. If you let go… You shuddered to think what could happen.

“Shh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” Deep crimson eyes stared into yours, contrasted by the pure white of his hair and the smirk toying his lips. He looked oddly familiar, too. Had you passed him somewhere before? No, you would remember a man like him. “Now, I saw you on the ship. Didn’t I? Nod.”

The command has you nodding with no hesitation.

“Splendid,” he purred. His voice turned serious then. “And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

“I haven’t done anything,” you grit out. Blood trailed down your wrist and stained the cuff of your sleeve. His eyes flickered toward it for a moment. “They took me prisoner, too!”

“Don’t lie to me! I- Argh!”

Behind your eyes the tadpole squirms. It’s jarring and uncomfortable, and so are the images that come with it. Dark city streets seen through someone else’s eyes. They scan every passerby, studying them. But just as you urge to see more, it’s gone. All you’re left with is the sensation of fear.

The man grunts again. “What was that?” he demands. He pushed the knife even closer to your neck, despite your best efforts to keep it away. “What’s going on?!”

The fear from the memory quickly intermingled with your own terror. Your heart thumped in your ears. The words came tumbling out of you before you knew what you were saying. “Please, please just put the knife away and we can figure this out.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. Calculating. And then the pressure faded and you could let go of the dagger. His arm let go of you, and he watched as you scampered away one-handed and struggled to your feet. He stood defensively, keeping his hold on the knife.

“You’re… not one of them.” You could feel his eyes searching you up and down. “They took you, just the same as me. And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards.” He laughed weakly. “Apologies.”

You cradled your hand to your chest with a frown. Nobody would blame you if you shouted insults, left him to deal with this on his own, took care of your own issues. But you couldn’t. “Apology accepted,” you sighed.

He smiled. It felt plastered on, like an actor’s during a play. “I’m out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice. My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”

The last of his words was drowned out. Your heart raced, flooding your ears as a tidal wave of emotions swirled in your chest. That name. In all your years, you only knew one elf with that name. What were the chances of another carrying the same one?

Slim to none.

But it can’t be him. He died.

It has to be him. It has to.

“Darling?” He chuckled nervously, waving a hand in front of you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If you weren’t so dazed, maybe you would have laughed. But you just stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Your eyes burned. A lump crawled up your throat and you weren’t sure if it was bile or a sob.

“You died,” you finally gasped out. It was only a whisper, but Astarion’s ears picked it up as if you’d shouted it out. His grin faltered, entire aura of confidence and sexuality falling with those two words alone. “You died… My sunshine.”

Astarion stepped back, holding his dagger up as a warning. It still dripped with your blood. His face was dark. You’d never seen it as gravely serious as this. “Who are you? How do you- How do you know that?”

Your old name - the name you had as a child - lingers in the air. He stares at you with eyes hopeful and distrusting. There is a war in his mind. You can see it in the way his dagger wavers in his hold. How he looks you up and down, studies your face. He’d grabbed you, even made you bleed - you weren’t just a fucked up figment of his imagination. But he still couldn’t fathom it.

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“I don’t care how! Just prove it!” The shout is broken and desperate.

You fumbled. Everything you knew about him fled your brain in an instant. You searched for memories in the dirt, in the dry bushes, in the curls of his hair…

Cursing, he watched as you ripped a book from your pocket. Even though you’d grabbed it with your uninjured hand, blood stained the leather binding. You held it out to him.

“These are sketches I have made every day for two hundred years.” You stepped forward, urging him to take it. “All of them are of you.”

A part of him didn’t want to listen. It wanted him to remain unaware and oblivious for the rest of his godsdamned life. The mere idea of the truth - of his past being exposed to this corrupted thing he’s become - terrified him. How easy it would be to run away. To hide away forever.

But he would never be free. Always a slave to the burning questions. Forever wondering just who you were, and if you were telling the truth.

He reaches past his knife and takes the journal. With use of his leg as an aid, he’s able to remove the string tying it shut and flip open the book.

On each page is his face. Several of them. Smiling, laughing, pouting, focused, and a thousand more expressions. After 200 years, he doesn’t quite remember what he looks like. He couldn’t recall if his hair had always been white, nor the shade of his eyes. But tucked away is a crude sketch, not of his face, but of yours. It looks like a child closed their eyes and scribbled. At the bottom of the page, in what is undoubtedly his handwriting, is his signature.

You watch desperately as he puts his knife away. He’ll have to clean it later, but he isn’t thinking about it now. Both hands freed, he flips through each page. At the beginning, the portraits are unrefined and rough. The lines are sketchy and smudged, as though someone had tried wiping away their mistakes. With each page, they get better. The lines become confident and smooth. Even further still, the style is almost elegant, but the face has become unfocused. The eyes begin losing form. The mouth feels off on the face. On one, the face has been erased and redone several times over; so much so the paper has begun crumbling. The last drawing held little resemblance to him anymore. This one was freshly done. The lines were sketchy once more, uncertain. The only recognizable features were his ears and the curls of his hair. Even the shape of his face was lost to time.

“After you… After I buried you, I…” You take a shaky breath, fighting back tears. “I didn’t want to forget you. So I sketched you, every day. I thought I’d always remember that damn smile of yours, but… I didn’t. Little by little, you were stolen from my memories, until all I had left was a vague impression of who you were, what we did together. Even looking at the old sketches couldn’t bring it back. But I kept trying.”

Astarion’s face is the epitome of sorrow when he looks up at last. There are deep set creases around his mouth and eyes, aging him - an odd concept for an elf. He looks so lost. “Where did you go?”

You frowned, and Astarion wished he could smooth out the crease between your brows. How could he forget your face? After all Cazador did to him, made him do, how could he forget you?

“After you buried me,” he clarified.

“I couldn’t bear to stay. I sold all my paintings and I left. I didn’t get very far.” You chuckled weakly. “Just stayed with my parents.”

His face lights up. “What name are you going by now?”

“Tav.”

“Tav,” he repeats. The name is different in his mouth. Not good or bad, simply there. New. He wishes he could have been there when you chose it.

You took a deep breath. It was time to ask the big question, the one burning a hole in your chest. “How are you alive?”

The corner of his lip twitches up, somewhere between amused and dismayed. “It’s a rather long story, my dear.”

“I’ve waited 200 years to hear it.”

He chuckles at that. It’s genuine, but a sour note still lingers. He closes your journal, deftly ties the strings, and saunters to stand in front of you. The intoxicating scent of your blood drives him mad. It’s so close, but he could never forgive himself if he told you the truth and you ran away. Truthfully, after so long, he wasn’t sure how you’d react. But it still felt too heavy an admission.

He slips the book back into your pocket. With both hands, he reaches to cup your face, but he stops. The motion feels wrong. He wants so desperately to hold you again. You even lean toward his palm. The tip of your pointed ear brushes his fingers. But he can’t. His hands fall back to his sides, and he plasters a smile on once more.

“Come on, darling. Let’s get you cleaned up before you attract something.”

You nod and follow alongside him as he begins leading you toward water. The bleeding has mostly stopped by now. The cut still stings, exposed to the air. But the pain feels distant. It hardly matters when the man you’ve spent two hundred years mourning is alive and with you again. And he’s changed - there is no way to deny it. His hair, his eyes, even the way he spoke had more of a lilting tune to it than it once did. But he’s here. He’s real.

“For the record,” you begin, stepping close enough to brush arms as you walked, “it’s good to see you again, my sunshine.”

And, oh, if that didn’t make him feel alive once more.

[stankhole]

game informer article is out, he’s some things that caught my attention. story and game spoilers below

extremely robust character creator, includes body sliders like height, shoulder & chest size, glute and bulge size, etc.

can adjust skin hue, tone, melanin

4 voices to choose from that you can pitch shift

they designed how grand minrathous is based off of dialogue from dorian in inquisition where he calls the winter palace adorable. if the largest venue in orlais is “cute” how amazing must minrathous be

besides specific important characters, every npc was built through veilguard’s character creator

bellara’s full name is bellara lutara

during rook disrupting solas’ ritual their blood interacted with the ritual and now they are connected to the fade forever

the two gods from the gameplay video were elgar’nan and ghilan’nain

solas is now trapped in the fade while elgar’nan and ghilan’nain are free

solas speaks to you, fade connection perhaps?

they don’t mention what happens to varric after the ritual in the article, you just wake up in the lighthouse with neve and harding

new base of operations is the lighthouse, a structure in the faded itself which was solas’ hideout

the lighthouse is covered in solas’ frescos!!

solas was leading a lonely, isolated existence

bellara is the next companion you get after recruiting neve

warriors can aim and throw their shields

warriors and mages can parry and although mages can’t, they can throw up a magic shield to absorb damage

combat is definitely more action than the rpg elements of the past games

the quest to find bellara is named “in entropy’s grasp”

things called veil bubbles exist, where you can’t leave after you pass through it

bellara is described as a “sweetheart and nerd” and seems to be a tinker

her arm gauntlet is equal parts weapon and tool for exploring her environment

she’s an electric specialization mage and has healing spells

darkspawn in arlathan despite how far is is from the deep roads

“blighted elvhen gods” 👁️👁️

“blight tentacles and pustules”

arlathan forest is much more whimsical compared to other grimmer locations and stories

you get relationship levels and points you can spend

not an open world game, they describe it as “hub-and-spoke”

“veilguard has the largest number of diverse biomes in the series history”

[biocrafthero]

Some Queer Games and Devs to check out this Pride Month

Hello! I play a decent amount of video games, and like making posts about them. This year, I've been making a lot more posts analyzing and promoting games I particularly enjoy. I'm making this post as a way to share games that have queer developers and/or topics to celebrate this year's Pride Month.

All games' websites will be linked in their respective sections, and I urge you to check out any of the games that speak to you. There's a decent amount of variety on this list, so please give all of them a look!

Please note that all of these games are ones I have personally played--I am not including games I have not played yet for myself. If you were hoping for your favorite title to be on here, I am very sorry but chances are I just haven't heard of or played it yet.

ANATOMY (2016)

ANATOMY is a horror game released in 2016 by developer Kitty Horrorshow (she/her). While the game does not contain any queer themes, the dev is openly transgender.

The plot of the game coincides with the gameplay, which centers around walking through a nearly pitch-black house collecting tapes and putting them in a tape player. Despite its simplicity, the game has been commended by many for being "the scariest game they have ever played." The story of the house is uncovered as you listen to each of the tapes, and reentering each time the game shuts you out.

This game features themes surrounding body horror and psychological horror, and one moment that can be seen as a mild jumpscare if it is not expected.

A full playthrough takes about an hour, with multiple endings. However, all roads lead to the same destination.

ANATOMY is available for $3 USD on itch.io.

We Know The Devil (2015)

We Know The Devil is a visual novel developed by the team Worst Girls Games, which consists of Aevee Bee (she/her) and Max Schwartz (any). Music for the game is composed by Alec Lambert.

The plot of the game surrounds three teenagers who have been sent to a religious summer camp in the American midwest. With just one week left, they're all hoping for everything to be smooth sailing, but nothing is ever that simple. On this fateful night, they must face the devil; two will make it out, but one will be left behind.

The gameplay focuses on making decisions on who gets paired up together, and consequently who gets left out of the interaction. These choices determine what ending you get and there are never any wrong answers.

Queer rep in this game consists of polyamory, lesbianism, transgenderism, and transhumanism. There is also mentioned homosexuality regarding a male character that is only ever talked about in passing.

This game contains themes surrounding religion, internalized homophobia, along with general homophobia and transphobia. There are scenes that depict underage drinking, vomiting, body horror, and some moments that can be interpreted as self-harm. Some sound effects in the game can be jarring, along with the track "Incense (Smoke & Honey)" from the OST, a song that plays in three of the four endings.

A single playthrough can take about two hours depending on reading speed. There are four endings, meaning a minimum of four playthroughs.

We Know The Devil is available for $6.66 USD on Steam, Nintendo Switch, and itch.io.

There is also the demo for the game, which is free to download off of the game's itch.io page and baked into the Switch port.

Heaven Will Be Mine (2017)

Heaven Will Be Mine is a visual novel also developed by the team Worst Girls Games, with soundtrack once again composed by Alec Lambert.

The game's plot centers around three factions in the solar system. They have all been called back to Earth under threat of death; two factions want to stay in space, while one is choosing to return. At the start of the game, you can choose one out of three characters to follow the POV of, each belonging to one of the three factions.

Gameplay is similar to We Know The Devil, meaning that you make decisions throughout the story that determine what ending you get. There are no wrong choices, only ones that lean in the favor of one of the faction out of your options.

Queer rep in this game consists primarily of polyamory, lesbianism, transgenderism, and transhumanism. There may be more I am forgetting to mention.

This game contains scenes depicting violence, body horror, and discussions about sexuality, abuse, and trauma. This game is meant for a more mature audience than the others on this list. Some sound effects and music in the game can be jarring. There may be content warnings I am forgetting to put here.

The game has three major story routes and three endings, and each playthrough takes around four to five hours depending on reading speed. At minimum, you will need to play this game three times.

Heaven Will Be Mine is available for $15 USD on Steam, iOS, and itch.io. It should be noted that the price on iOS is different than on other platforms, being listed at $5 USD.

In Stars And Time (2023)

In Stars And Time is a turn-based RPG developed by insertdisc5 (she/they) and published by Armor Games Studios. Music for the game is composed by Studio Thumpy Puppy.

The story follows your typical RPG party, starting the day before the final dungeon and final boss. However, when you go in, you get caught in a trap and die. Time suddenly rewinds, and you find yourself at the day before your party entered the dungeon. You are caught in a time loop, and must find a way to stop the final boss and escape the loops.

Gameplay mostly consists of turn-based combat with enemies, and making the right dialogue choices when talking to NPCs and your party members. There are several puzzles throughout the game that encourage you to use the looping mechanic to solve them.

Queer rep in this game consists of transgenderism (transmasc and nonbinary explicitly, but there are some characters that can be interpreted as transfem, agender, and/or genderfluid), aromanticism, asexuality, lesbianism and homosexuality, and a plot thread that involves t4t romance. All six major characters have canonical pronoun sets. There may be more rep I am forgetting to include here in this list.

This game contains scenes of mild violence, self-hatred and other heavy mental heath topics, one scene of child endangerment, unreality, and optional scenes involving self-harm and suicide.

The average playtime for this game is 26 hours, which increases to 36 depending on how much optional content you engage with. There is technically one ending, but an optional plot thread can get you an alternate version of the ending screen. This plot thread is highly encouraged to be followed.

In Stars And Time is available for $20 USD on Steam, itch.io, Nintendo Switch, and PS4 and PS5.

There is also a previous title titled START AGAIN: a prologue, which is available on Steam and itch.io. This game does not need to be played to understand In Stars And Time, but is highly recommended nonetheless.

Some personal anecdotes regarding each of these games:

In Stars And Time is one of the few games where I saw a character (Siffrin in this case), pointed at them, and said "They're just like me!"

We Know The Devil and Heaven Will Be Mine both have themes of queer solidarity in the face of oppression and it fills me with rebellious rage (positive).

ANATOMY is one of my favorite games ever made, and is objectively the scariest game I have ever played.

Almost all of these games have made me almost cry, which is a very high bar for a game to reach. The only one that didn't is ANATOMY, mostly because it evokes more fear than it does tears for me.

We Know The Devil in particular evokes a very specific nostalgia for me, so the setting and characters hit differently for me than they may for others.

I played In Stars And Time shortly after a breakup and consequently developed the most horrific crush on the character Isabeau. It is frankly quite embarrassing.

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

Rogue Rook. I love this Rook, I wonder if they could be the 'default'-kinda Rook..? The detail in this game is incredible, look at the different textures and intricate patterns on clothes (in places you can even see where it's raised/three-dimensional when appropriate), carved designs on the wood of the bow, the textures on hairs, the folds of fabric and the way it hangs, the strung bow, light glinting off Taash's jewel-horn and gold pieces, etc. loads of care put into it and attention to detail. on Rook's chest is the Veilguard symbol. Taash and Neve look amazing too, and the team is ready to go! In the bottom right, is that a chest we can loot? ^^ Maybe this moment is from shortly after entering a new area, and the camera is about to transition from a cutscene kinda scene to a gameplay scene? like they've just gotten here, had a lil conversation about it, and are about to head off exploring. where do you think this shot was taken? it kind of reminds me a bit of this concept art of the Deep Roads.

I really like the decision to prominently feature Bellara and Davrin on this cover. Bellara's magic device is activated - are the triangles being drawn towards her, or are they flying out away from her? ^^ its green glow makes me think of Fadey stuff. Harding looks to have the same bow as here, with the Inquisition hairy eyeball symbol, fitting for a Hero of the Inquisition. in the background is the familiar outwards energy burst motif (example one on the right, example two). the rest of the team are present in the foreground, ready to cast or running towards the battle. the ground, dark rock, is aflame. in the background we can see telltale floating rocks and some structures. maybe this shot is 'set' in the same place as the group fight that takes place at the end of the character trailer, as here?

In this version of the image, we can more clearly see tentacle-like objects in the bottom right, which make me think of Blight corruption and what we can see around the dragon here. the other thing I wanna say about this art is you can tell care has been taken to differentiate the companions and make them unique. like both Emmrich and Neve are mages and casting, but they hold their weapons in different ways and have different stances. Emmrich's staff is green with the light of necromancy, Neve's is blue with ice magic. both Taash and Lucanis are fighters, and running, but even from a static image you can see variation in the way that they move. You can almost hear Taash's powerful 'stomp-stomp-stomp' whereas Lucanis has more of a sense of speed and streamlined motion. it reminds me of what was said in the Discord Q&A about "characterful"-ness:

This game contains “the deepest companion arcs” that they have ever done - not just in a Dragon Age game, but in a BioWare game in general. “Being able to work across all the disciplines, building characters who look and sound and behave in very specific and characterful ways.” Each companion has their own story arc you can go through, decisions you can make. “They really do take center stage. As you play through them, you see the care and love that the team has put into each one.” [link]

You know, like they are looking and moving different in very specific and "characterful" ways. Also look at this -

This looks to be Lucanis in early concept art (art by Matt Rhodes). he moves in such a specific, 'characterful' way, and it's carried through from the concept art.

my last thought here is that this cover reminded me of the group/team fight scene in this Inquisition trailer. you know, like the whole gang is here and ready to go, ground aflame, black rock, Fadey stuff going on.

[cerastes]

Bro any time I think about Valkyria Chronicles I laugh my nipples off, the game is fundamentally flawed gameplaywise but, simultaneously, it's stupidly fun, which is the recipe for any club banger, it has a story that weaves flawlessly between "that's pretty poignant" and "this is some goofy goober shit", it's got the horrors of war but also this fucking pig piece of shit mascot, Hans,

It's an amalgam of white and black without any gray: It exists on extremes, and it never intersects, it's playing two parallel lines and coming to terms with the fact that you'll never see cohesion but that somehow enhances the end product in ways evidently no one intended. You have narrative comparisons with the persecution of jews and, at the same time, the game ends with the bad guy getting German Suplexed.

But I think the funniest aspect of Valkyria Chronicles The First is that the main character is the farthest thing from a war hero they could possibly muster with the expertise of a stoic Japanese swordsmith from the mountains crafting a god-cleaving blade: Welkin.

This Scout From TF2 Put Through An Anime Filter looking mother fucker was chilling in his hometown talking about how much he wanted to be a teacher and showing people his really good sketches of animals because he's also a gifted artist, when suddenly, the Dudes attack, and his reaction to the Dudes attacking is "hang on, I recall my dad hiding his actual service tank in the shed in the back" so he goes and, yeah, his dad's tank from a previous war is just there, chilling, so he takes it for a joy ride while the town baker, Alicia, armed with a rifle and infinite action economy due to the afore mentioned flawed gameplay, sweeps the entire god damn platoon of heavily armed machine gun troops.

The entire game is Welkin using his love for nature and his baker love interest to inflict insane personnel and materiel damage to an entire empire: Welkin and Alicia will come across a heavily fortified bridge, and the dialogue will go something like

"Welkin! They will pulverize us with the heaviest machine guns known to man if we step one foot in that bridge! They practically developed wooden low-orbit bombardment stations! What's the plan!"

"Well... Look at that duck over there. It's flying from the east to the west, right? Well, YOU SEE, that duck is known as a Balkunese Socioduck, and those, during this season, migrate from west to east, and they only exhibit this irregular flight path if a Matrisgel Weasel family is molting by the juniper berry bushes, their favorite food. Matrisgel Weasels only ever molt if they are put under the exact amount of stress caused to them by the sound of distant tank threads on the road, and they are known to hide in sturdy, stable soil."

"Welkin, SIR, what the fuck does this all mean?"

"If we follow the smoldering shrieking of the molting weasels, we'll find a SECRET PATH that will, as always, let us ambush, flank, and surprise our foes! Alicia, you know what to do."

"Ogggeyyyyy"

and then, invariably, no matter the level, thanks to Welkin's impressive knowledge of fauna and flora, and Alicia's literally infinite action economy in a game that wasn't properly beta tested in-house during development, they combine their powers like a piss poor Captain Planet and kill the absolute shit out of an entire Empire's worth of dudes, and it's legitimately one of the most fun and charming games you'll ever touch if you remember to not take it too seriously. I fucking hate Hans but I love this game.

[ponett]

I think SLARPG might unironically be the best entry in the "Earthbound-inspired indie RPG about depression" subgenre because it's the only one that legitimately sparked my interest on first sight and then followed through in actual gameplay and story. Personally, what's your favorite game in the "Earthbound-inspired indie RPG about depression" subgenre aside from the one you made?

Excuse you, I'll have you know it's an EarthBound-inspired indie RPG about anxiety, thank you very much

No, but idk. Mother is definitely a big influence for me, and EarthBound and Mother 3 are two of my favorite games ever made, but I think it's easy to overstate how much I was trying to emulate Mother with SLARPG in a reductive way. (I don't necessarily think you're being reductive in this ask, I'm just using this as an excuse to talk about a broader trend.) It broadly influenced the types of games I wanted to make when I was a teenager, but there are very few specific elements in SLARPG where I was trying to directly evoke or mimic EarthBound. The geometric spell animations were inspired by Mother for sure, I'll give you that, but half the reason I did that was just because it was easier than animating realistic effects frame by frame. I'll also admit that Claire building her own dungeon was almost definitely influenced by EarthBound's Brick Road, but I don't think that was a conscious decision on my part. And hell, some things that may come off as nods to Mother are, in fact, things that Mother took directly from Dragon Quest. Silly, cartoonish enemies with pun names? That's a Dragon Quest thing!

While Mother was one of my influences, I would just as readily point to classic Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Chrono Trigger, the Mario RPGs, 2D Zelda, Mega Man Legends, Pokemon, Kirby, Sonic, comedic point and click adventures, and a bunch of other things as similarly big influences. But I wasn't trying to mimic any of these 1:1. It was a blend of different influences along with my own creative goals.

Uh, anyway, to answer your actual question: I can't answer your actual question, because I haven't really played other "EarthBound-inspired" indie games, other than Undertale and Deltarune (which I adore, obviously). I generally avoided playing them while working on SLARPG because I wanted to do my own thing and avoid ripping off other similar games, and then in the time since finishing SLARPG I've just always had other things I wanted to play.

Also I kind of don't believe that the "EarthBound-inspired indie RPG about depression" is a trend that exists on any meaningful scale. People just looked at Omori (and, to a lesser extent, YIIK) and decided that the other popular indie games with some amount of visible EarthBound influence must also be about depression. It's just a meme