#again this is not for people who just don't want to have kids! people who don't are just as valid as people who do

[jasontoddsotherhalf]

Hey guys, I gave it a try lol let me know what yall think!

Jason Todd isn't a cruel guy.

Not on purpose, anyways. He saw some shit as a kid, as any kid did growing up in Crime Alley. His parents were murdered when he was still very young and he'd been taken in by THE Batman. Regardless of what anyone says, beating criminals up every night of your tween years does affect one's physce. Getting beat with a crowbar and killed by Joker does worse.

But now Jason is back, and he's stronger, and he's smarter. Sure he's scarred up and violent, but he's finally his own soilder, his own dog. And Jason really does love helping people. Which is why along side running the biggest crime ring Gotham had seen in years, he also works for a Mental Health Helpline.

He didn't get many calls directed to him, but he did get one tonight as he sat in his shitty apartment in Gotham, tending to a wound on his leg a few days old. He answered the phone, putting it on speaker and laying it on the coffee table.

"Hello, Gotham Mental Health Hotline. How may I help you tonight?"

A deep voice comes from the other side of the phone, a voice that Jason had heard in his dreams for years, praising him, scolding him, reading him stories to help him get to bed, waking up from resting to go fight crime.

"I'm not at risk. I don't need help." Bruce Wayne says slowly.

Jason clears his throat, his eyes narrowing. Would Bruce know it was him. Would Bruce ever be able to recognize him at all?

"I understand." Jason answered. "Is there any way I can help?"

Bruce took a shakey breath. "I don't need...help. I just...I have some heavy regrets waying on me. Mistakes that I've carried with me, guilt that acts like a noose, tighter recently than it has been in years. My son...I messed up so badly with my son. I want to fulfill my promise to him. I want to make it all okay again for my boy."

Jason shivered. He's not talking about you, idiot. He tells himself. He doesn't care that you're dead. He never cared. He's talking about perfect Dick or clever Tim. Not better-off-dead Jason Fucking Todd.

Jason slowly went back to tending to the open wound, which had started bleeding from how hard he was unintentionally prodding at it. "Have you tried talking to him? I'm sure he'd understand." Jason said through gritted teeth. It wasn't him. Batman didn't need Jason, so Bruce certainly didn't either.

"I would tell him. If he ever showed up. God, I'd tell him anything and everything." Something screeched in the background on Bruce's end and Bruce swore softly. Jason pictured him suddenly speeding through Gotham streets, the Batmobile swerving dangerously, recklessly.

Jason didn't say anything, just waited for his father- for Bruce Wayne- to keep speaking. He continued, after a moment. "I only see him sometimes, when I dream. And he's in my arms again, young and bright and so full of life and potential." So he was talking about Dick. The first Robin who had grown up, fought with Batman, and left, never to return, not as he had been. Dick was Nightwing now, and led his own team, though he was still close with Bruce. Jason relaxed. This call was not about him. He could continue with his plans of vengeance without feeling guilty. I'm sure I'll laugh about this later.

"I'm sorry sir..." Jason trailed off awkwardly. Bruce spoke before Jason could say anything else.

"He's...he's dead." Jason froze. Everything went still. It seemed as though the cars outside all went skidding to a halt, the blood in Jason's veins went cold. The only sound was the old light above him flickering. Jason stuttered slightly as he quickly searched up both Nightwing and Robin on line, a dark part of him hoping one of them had died. But no, there were only two articles published within the last few hours and it was about a case Robin, Nightwing, and Batman had dismantled the previous night.

Jason swallowed. "I'm...so sorry, sir. Do you want to talk about him?" Jason wanted him to say no, needed Bruce to say no. For once he wanted Bruce to close off everything and everyone and retreat back to the dark corner of his mind where he told no one anything.

And there was a long silence between them, Jason was sure Bruce would hang up.

Batman would have. But Bruce didn't. "His name was Jason. And he was the most golden and beautiful boy on this planet. You would have never thought so from judt glancing at him once. His hair was flat and dark, And he was short and skinny and always had dirt on him somewhere. But it was in his eyes, and in his laugh. That's where his love was held. He cared so much. About everyone. He always wanted to help. He would always rush forward, even if it put him at risk. He didn't care about himself. He cared more about the wellbeing of others. He was so sweet and..." Bruce's voice cracked. "I just want my son back. My sweet boy." Jason didn't say anything. He felt his throat burn and his eyes blur. "I-i'm sorry sir. He sounds...amazing. I'm sure whatever it is you feel guilty over..." Jason took a deep breath. "I'm sure he forgives you." He lied. Partially lied. Jason didn't know anymore. One conversation where one participant didn't even know who the other was did not count as closure, and nothing was different. But it wasn't the same either. Bruce cared. All this time Jason had been looking for Batman to show the effect Jason's death had on him, when really it was Bruce he should have been looking at.

Bruce was quiet for a long long time. "I wish that was true, son. But I don't think so. Still, thank you for saying so. And thank you for listening. You're a good kid." Bruce didn't say anything else before hanging up. Jason sat in silence for a moment, frozen in time, feeling dizzy. Then he sprung up, his injured leg aching and dripping blood onto the floor, and he ran to the bathroom, falling in front of the toilet and throwing up anything he had eaten in the past 24 hours.

AU, where Jason returns to Gotham, but in between of his evil mastermind plans and managing the criminal empire, he starts working in this anonymous psychological hotline services.

And gets a call from Bruce-fucking-Wayne.

Well. It is not like Bruce announces that he is Bruce Wayne — it is anonymous, after all — but Jason knows his father's voice, alright?

'I don't need a physiological help,' his father tells him the minute he picks up the phone.

Jason... Snorts.

'Of course,' he nods, making his voice nicer. 'How can I help you?'

Bruce pauses, his breath hitching for a second; almost as if he recognized Jason's voice.

'My... my son thinks I need it, but I am fine,' Bruce insists. 'Still... I want to, well, fulfil a promise I gave... for once.'

Jason rolls his eyes, a familiar irritation flaring up in green flames before his eyes. He wonders who is this lucky son that gets to have such a diligent, responsible father - Dickhead? Tim? Damian?

'I see,' he breathes out, trying to follow a protocol of the calls. 'I am sure he will appreciate your loyalty. Will you tell him about it?'

'If he appears,' something screeches in the background, and if Jason closes his eyes, he can easily imagine Bruce leaning back on the armchair, in the Batcave. 'I... He only ever appears in my dreams, my boy.'

Jason freezes.

'Excuse me?'

'I... He is dead, my son.'

Had someone else died? Jason frowns, reaching for his phone, typing anxiously Nightwing and Robin in the search bar, trying to see if there is something serious happened; because he can't be talking about the second Robin, can he-

'I am sorry,' he blurts out, eyes drifting back to notes on the table, with some common phrases that can be used in this situation. 'I... Do you want to talk about, sir?'

Bruce is silent for a while. Jason thinks he is about to drop the call, but then, he sighs heavily on the line:

'His name was Jason. And he was the brightest boy.'

Jason mutes the microphone. He thinks he is going to vomit.

[asksonicverse]

You dont need to answer but I just wanted to tell you I adore Paradox being like "I hate all of them except" and then listing everyone except like 2 guys, honey you don't hate *all* of them you expressly don't hate *most of them*

Extremely charming characterization i adore it

[Creator Special number 2!]

So glad someone noticed that, I was originally going to have him name EVERYONE except Boost but then I was like “nah, Mania is just too annoying for Paradox to tolerate him”

And thanks! I’m trying to be… consistent with my characterization of each of them and stay in line with canon but like… URGH sometimes I want to deviate so bad just to indulge but I resist!

Needless to say tho, prism is probably going to get more affectionate later on. Rewatched Sonic Prime again and bro is a cutie patootie!

Headcanons… headcanons… hmm

Well, starting with the obvious, Paradox goes to therapy as I’ve mentioned which I think is hilarious. He and Lance are the only Shadows who really have their shit together which is why I think Sonadow works well for them? (we stan healthy relationships guys)

I do head canon that Eight doesn’t like being touched really at all anymore. After the metal virus, he grew so used to the fact that he couldn’t touch anyone that it sorta just stuck. He does it to save people, but not anything more. :(

And while I’m a sucker for the Trans Sonic HC I decided not to implement it in this particular AU!

I really want to include Captain Sonic and Shadow, but I haven’t played nor watched a serious play through of the game. (I’ve only really listened to a bit of the Snapcube dub..)

can someone tell me if Shadow is a Barista or a Mechanic in that game btw?? I google it, nothing pops up. I could’ve sworn there was something about a mechanic.

Uhh I LOVE Sonic Frontiers, fire game. If I include that one, it’ll ALSO be Sonamy since I’m pretty sure that game takes place before SA2 in canon?

I’m trying to keep the Sonics and Shadows balanced but I’d love to add Generations Shadow and Sonic. Just thinking of names already I get “Doom” for Shadow and “Emerald” for Sonic. (Referencing the fake emerald from their interaction in the shadow story)

Unfortunately I haven’t seen the Archie comics or Sonic Underground so I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Someone also asked about if I’d ever include different AU’s: maybe if those AU creators gave me permission I’d be down to do a collab for a few asks or something!

Nope!

I dunno I just..! … how do I do? I’m fast. And you’re slow. That’s how I did it. /ref

Ahahah just kidding! But I am very fast. A few years ago I convinced myself I was a “slow drawer” because I was in a discord server with someone I looked up to (and holy cheese they could draw out fully articulate sketches in like 30 seconds!)

So I got insecure and taught myself to draw really fast. So now I just.. zoom! This does have a terrible draw back where I will very frequently forget smaller details.

Like if you look at half the posts, Shadow is missing his eyeliner and other markings frequently.

THIS IS JUST HILARIOUS TO ME YOU GUYS. PLEASE—

I’ve gotten SO many asks in my box about using Maria to calm the Shadows down or trying to give Shadows “Maria plushies”

Imagine you’re having a bad day and you get a plushie of your dead sibling thrown at you??? LMFAOOOO

I CANT I CANT I CANT PUT THEM THROUGH THAT 💔 Also I see every single ask.

“Do you all like Latinas” and “sonic which shadow is the hottest/shadow which sonic is the hottest” have all been engraved in my brain

Was joking with a friend on how that second question would come out LMFAOO

Previous | Next

[ablobwhowrites]

Im starting back my yandere poppy playtime. (Chapter 4 fucking broke me dude also kinda spoilers of chapter 4 so he warned)

(I'm not continuing the you can't leave, poppy playtime series. So I may start a new one but I don't know really)

yandere poppy playtime idea but this one is more platonic yanderes. Cause imagine a y/n who was kid who escaped the orphanage one day but ended up coming back as adult and coming back into the factory. And y/n being remembered by the toys and they don't want to hurt y/n buy know the prototype may find out y/n is in the factory and would try to hurt them so but y/n doesn't remember them well as it was a long time ago but bro imagine the angst as mommy long legs being reminded of happier times and seeing y/n all grown up and wants to keep them with her because she can protect them, she can is what she thinks but when y/n gets away that's when the prototype finds out that they are back in the factory.

Plus y/n saves dog day and he helps y/n to go safer ways around the factory but sometimes wishes that the other smiling critters could have seen how y/n grown and wishing catnap was normal again, but he wants to protect them as the factory in the lower levels are not safe anymore and knowing it'll get harder from here and he'll try everything he can go help them and keep them safe. Catnap remembers y/n clearly and always favored y/n over the other kids he has known as they never were loud or constantly pulling or stepping on his tail or yelling him out of his naps and the other smiling critters and many of the toys in the factory liked y/n as they were the favorite kid. And of course sometimes giving the toys some heart attacks after wandering off somewhere after being busy with other things and somehow end up in the strangest places. Catnap thinks that the prototype will accept y/n and will be able to be in the prototypes graceful imagine.

Poppy does regret having to trap y/n in the factory but she sees them as a way to defeat the prototype. She does try to check in with y/n from time to time and sees how the hope that y/n has doesn't disappear even if they get hurt they still fight but poppy knows what would have happened if y/n never made it out of the playtime co when they were a kid because of not then everything would be worse and maybe become even more than nightmare.

Doey remembers y/n clearly and remembers how nice they were to him and with dog day being alive and the stories of them surviving so many things in the factory has him hoping that maybe just maybe y/n could save them and stop the doctor and prototype. He likes having y/n around as he was friends with them for a while and keeps him calm with them trying to help as much as they can even sometimes finding some boxes of canned food (but was badly injured by the Nightmare critters) so he is protective like dog day but he gets frustrated when poppy has y/n keep going out even if they are clearly injured and need rest so he kinda gets mad but and almost loses his temper but collects himself because he has people to take care of and now y/n.

(that's all for my yapping session rn but if you want more please don't be shy and request any ideas for fics or y/n's plus I might do two series and au where is ex employee y/n and just keeps the poppy playtime characters in their house after escaping the factory and thank God they have a big house for this but the smiling critters like to sleep in the same room so the living room is where they sleep and other stuff for this au idea. But the second will be a hard reboot for the 'You can't leave' series and might come out soon hopefully. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Platonic Yandere!Batfam x Weird black neglected!reader

You're a little bit weird—well, not just a little bit, but you're normal compared to your "family," those weirdos running around in masked costumes beating up the mentally ill. At least you have hobbies that don't endanger the public, like spending your time on the Internet spreading misinformation and having online arguments. You enjoy Discord calls with your friends and trolling Discord mods. It's just too fun! Plus, with the Batcomputer, you can dox almost anyone in the country. You spend most of your time in your room; there's no need for family bonding when you have your anime husbands to keep you happy. You're like an enigma in the house; you only appear when your stomach growls and when you need a proper meal that doesn't contain Dr. Pepper and spicy chips that might burn your insides. Your interests go from niche to unknown fandoms—so small that the author lets your self-insert become an actual character. Trickets and buttons from all types of fandoms decorate your bag like a museum. Thank God for Bruce Wayne's money; you wouldn't have half the merch you have now. But at school, you're also unknown—just the weird, geeky kids who hang out with other weird, geeky kids in your small circle of friends. You remember once you tried to invite Damian into the group because you knew he liked manga back when you were hopeful and naive. The little gremlin denied it and called them "childish." He literally reads shoujos, and this was the day you were going to introduce him to Cardcaptor Sakura—that little hater. But ever since then, you have kept your distance. Your brother Tim had the same interest; you tried to bond over My Hero, showing off a plush, only for him to tell you, "That show was mid," and it made you buckle to your knees. You tried to bond over books with Jason; he told you to read real books and that comics were for kids. You wanted to strangle his thick neck. Dick just didn't know anything about anything—he's too old. The girls just didn't care much. Barbara told you to grow up, and Stephanie gave you that. "Wow, that's really cool..." smile. You knew she didn't care, and Cass would rather train than hear you ramble about power ranger crossovers, but then again, how could you relate to them there superheros, And you're just one weirdo it makes you want to rip out your dreads and scream. You try so hard, but you're still an afterthought, just another body in the house and another mouth to feed. At least you can vent about it in your Discord servers or cry about while listening to vocaloid, maybe some Mitski for extra kick. But who were they anyway? You were way too cool for them, and they just don't understand your swagger. But maybe the people at the galas will appreciate your interests; then again, you'd rather not talk to old, rich, white people with laughs that cost 500,000 dollars and 20 cents.

[kaliina-catoe-blog]

No. I hate this take, and I'm sorry to be adding to someone else's post to say it because I genuinely don't want to send hate to OP. But I am so so tired of this HORRIBLE take about Tim. It's completely ridiculous to me to think that Tim Drake is in any way a child who had a normal childhood. "I went to the circus-" Fucking stop. Stop.

Tim Drake, at the ripe old age of TODDLER watched his two heroes fall to their extremely graphic and painful deaths. In front of their child, who we know for sure would have been screaming and crying if not vomiting at the scene. Their child who, earlier that same night, had been happily taking pictures with Tim and treating him so kindly.

Tim would be fucking RUINED just from that alone.

But, adding to that, he also was not giver proper adult supervision for literally almost his entire life before joining the Waynes. By proper, I mean actual real child care. Not school, not just the occasional rotation of nannies he's depicted as having had. Real, actual, care. He was starved for touch and attention and love for years, God knows he wasn't given any therapy after witnessing the death of the Graysons either. Homeboy had so much trauma and was so fucked up as a kid/teen he took to STALKING BATMAN for FUN.

I mean seriously???? Did we read the same character? Tim Drake has every reason to man to become a vigilante. And then? He figures out that Batman and Robin are his neighbors? Specifically that Dick Grayson is Robin? There was never anything that could have stopped Tim from being Robin even if Jason hadn't died.

And then he gets involved and his mom dies and his dad is severely hurt? Yeah. Why do people always insist he should be "normal" or "Okay" or some bullshit? He's a severely mentally ill teenager, and being Robin is one of few things that probably helps him not just go rogue and start fucking murdering people.

Again, do not send hate to OP. And this isn't to say OP is like. A bad fan or some shit. I'm just saying if you're going to talk about a character, you need to know them. And Tim is such an underrated and misunderstood character so it just makes my heart hurt to see people totally not get it.

Go follow OP tho and, give them love to make up for my rant here.

Especially Tim. Barbara at least had the excuse of traumatizing parental death, Tim's backstory? "I went to the circus once when I was three. Also my parents should prbly have gotten a divorce. I attended a lot of boarding schools."

[jd-loves-fiction]

Coming back to you with another request cuz I loved your previous work

Boothill, Welt, Ratio, Jing Yuan and Gallagher with the same platonic teen reader premise but reader calls them ,,Dad" on accident and they themselves don't even notice it because it comes so naturally to them

🌑so glad you liked it🥺🥺also the dad's of all time yes yes!! Also my internet has been fucked lately that's why uploads are slow sowy 🥺

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

If you look at his lore, he was actually a dad (😭 my Shayla) so yeah big chance he won't notice at all

Because of the trauma associated with his family in general, he'll notice it eventually and be a bit conflicted

On one hand, he's absolutely delighted at the fact that despite being almost entirely made of metal, you are still able to find such fundamentally human comfort within him

And on the other hand, he has a hard time accepting that the man he was before didn't actually die along with most of his body

He won't ever correct you tho, at the end of the day he's just grateful that he's still able to make young folk feel safe around him

Reminds him that he's still human🥺

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

Did you see the way he basically adopted Sunday the moment he stepped on the express?? Yeah, that's dad right there

He basically adopts every kid (as in, anyone younger than him) that steps aboard the express, so i feel like someone else might've already called him before and he just brushed it off

Same with you, though in his heart he's over the moon

All he wants in life is to make everyone around him feel safe and loved, so to know that you of all people seem to think of him in such a way really warms his heart

Though he'll never point it out in fear of making you embarrassed

He's overjoyed!! But internally :)

✦ 𝐃𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 ✦

Truly baffled, at first

He's aware of his reputation and he doesn't mind it but he never expected someone to him that way

Though he's (not so) secretly very pleased

At his core, he's a teacher and that's what he loves to do - spread knowledge to all who seek it

And I'm sorry for reminding you of this but most of us have called our teacher mom/dad before so...

There's a slight chance it's happened before... also a slight chance he very dryly corrected them - "last time i checked i have no children" 🙄

Might do the same to you unless he's in one of his moods, writing down information or just lost in thought - then he'll probably just wave you away wordlessly

I feel like he understands on a behavioral level why you did it and because of it, wont comment on it or bring it up again. It's just something people do sometimes, nothing weird about it

The most neutral out of all of them but will make a mental note about how it probably means you trust him at least a little

When he lets himself be selfish and overthink it, it does warm his heart but you'll never know

✦ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧 ✦

Actual father to Yanqing YOU CANT CHANGE MY MIND!!

Ooooh he's tearing his hair out trying not to tease you about it

He knows that if he does you'll crawl back in your shell again and thats tHEEE last thing he wants in life, really

It's easy to feel comfortable around him, i feel. He's just a big lazy cat - pretty independent and chill

He's good at just being there when you need him there as well as talking your ear off as a distraction - peak comfort

Definately called Jingliu 'mom' as a kid, come on

And Yanqing did the same with him

So it doesnt surprise him much since he understands its a pretty normal thing but GOOOOD he wants to acknowledge it so BAAADD

HE WANTS TO MAKE IT SILLY BUT NOOOOO 😭

He's an adult now (a very old one at that) so he understands that now is NOT the time

Will keep thinking back on it fondly tho :))

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Oh oh my... he gives so much deadbeat dad I'm getting nostalgic IM KIDDING

Anyway, as a bartender, i feel like thats happened to him before

People say weird shit when they're drunk so it's very likely someone's called him dad before

Though that feels very different to him

When people do that when drunk it doesn't usually mean anything - he must just remind them of their father (for good or bad) so he doesn't take it too seriously

But you? Oh he's taking it seriously

Ego? Inflated to hell and back

He's being extra sweet and caring with you

Making sure you eat and rest, etc

Gotta live up to his reputation 😉

The dad who stepped up fr

Might tease you about it, but if you have an adverse reaction he'll stop immediately

Very touched that you think of him that way even subconsciously and will try to make sure he doesn't disappoint :)

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader : how batfamily would react on them trying to end their life

Route : recovered dove

Please read warnings before reading this one!

If you do not feel like reading it, it's okay! (Spoilers will be at the end of this part) Please have tea or hot cocoa, and read relax 💖 and remember there are people who care and support you 💖 I'll be posting more fluff in future parts

Warnings : heavy topics, mentions of death, implications of self-destructive behavior and suicidal behavior, hurt/comfort, traumatized characters.

Idea for this part from this ask here . I also used this idea for comfort part form here

Author's note : I'm including this part in route: Recovered dove only because I want to show that mental healing of Joker's kid is a long way, it had ups and downs, but in the end they have family who acres about them now.

You don't know what exactly triggered it. Maybe it was the fact that everyone started discussing break out in Arkham asylum instead of the usual breakfast convention, maybe it was how Bruce said he didn't have time for you, maybe it was how Alfred was distant today, so you thought something wrong, maybe it was that Dick ignored you today, maybe it was that Jason's aggressive demeanor when you saw him, maybe it was Tim's comment when you brought him coffee, maybe it was Damian's harshness when you meet him near your room today.

That all made you feel so lost. To see them all being unwelcoming to you again was overwhelming. Is it because your father is free again, and they thought you'd be helping him? Wait if your father is free... he will want you back. You don't want back! No! You don't want to be with him again! You do not want to be experimented on again, be beaten up by him again. You thought it was finally over, that you were taken away from that life, never to return. You thought you found family! Why does he have to ruin your life again? He drove her away from you already, the only person who protected you before Batman and his birds, the only person who was your family before them, your mom ... and now he is doing it again; he is taking your family away again! But were they your family? You thought that Bruce was thinking about you as his own child, you thought that Alfred was proud of your progress, you thought that Dick was happy to spend time with you, you thought that Jason was enjoying your shared reading time, you thought that Tim liked to study with you, you thought that Damian finally accepted you. Were you wrong? Was it all a lie? Did they want to use you as bait for your father? Or did they think you would be able to tell them something about him? Was that a reason why they got close to you? But now that they see they were wrong, and after they made sure you didn't know anything, they decided to drop the act?

Was it all a happy dream that's just ended? If it was a dream, you don't want to wake up to the nightmare of your previous life. You can't take the suffering anymore. You need to make it stop to end it, to end it all.

You didn't know how long you were in you were in your thoughts, when you got up. You wanted to live. The room that became your own, became your safe space now felt like JOKE. You needed to get away from it. You struggled to open the window, as it required much strength from your shaking hands. But you were persistent in your efforts to open it, and in the end window opened. You looked down, it was quite high, and you knew that for your body, which was unlike theirs, weak and fragile, it would be enough. You've seen a grown man die when he fell from his high back in a crime alley, so for you, it will definitely be enough. Oh, crime alley, you don't want to go there. You don't want to return to life with Joker. You stood up on the windowsill, looking at the green grass down, feeling the cold night wind against your skin. Your head felt heavy, ringing in your ears just made it all worse. You took one step, and you felt incredibly calm. You took another step, only to be pulled away from the windowsill on the ground and held up. You didn't register the loud voice, the way someone was shaking you. You just sit there staring at nothing in particular, not even able to cry because of how tired you are.

In the meantime, Damian, the one who pulled you away from the window, had already called everyone and was trying hard to make you snap out of it. Yet it was not helping. When Bruce arrived, he moved Damian, who was looking at you with extreme worry, aside. Bruce recognized your expression; he had seen it before - thousand-yard stare - your own mind was protecting you from whatever you were feeling. As he was trying to help you, holding you against him, trying to soothe you, the rest of the family arrived in your room, seeing scared Damian, worried Bruce, and you... you looked so broken. It was too hard on them all

A few hours later, when you fell asleep after you came to your senses and cried for a while, Bruce and others started figuring out what made you feel this way. And it didn't take long; they are a family of detectives, after all. And this all made them feel really bad, guilty. As it turned out, on this day, you were too unlucky to notice only the bad sides of things.

There wasn't any breakout In Arkham asylum. Turns out, the lead they were investigating turned out to be false. Bruce, indeed, was busy, but he failed to communicate this in the normal way: he only added that he would try to make some only by the time you stepped away, which he didn't notice. Alfred was distant because he had a migraine today, but he still wanted to work around the house; there were too many chores to be done in the Wayne manor. Dick didn't mean to ignore you, he was too tired after his few nights of being up and he just failed to notice your quiet presence, being too busy thinking about his bed. Jason was behaving aggressively because of the lead about break out from Arkham asylum, which was the one that he followed for his case, and since it was false; it took the case he was working on back to square one. Tim actually was mumbling about his case, quietly cursing criminals, and not you; just like Jason, he had too much trouble because of that stupid lead. Damian stepped in at the last second to help you avoid stumbling and falling when you were waking in your room, which resulted in his harshness to you, but you were too deep in your panic to notice that his gaze was more worried than angry. If Damian wouldn't have been worried and decided to check up on you... non of them want to think about it.

They spend night in your room and in the morning, they talked to you, communicating how things actually were the previous day, and expressing how important you were to them.

It was a shock to everyone. Even Bruce thought it was going fine, that your session was working and helping you, that you were feeling safe, and that your relationships with the rest of the family were getting better. And he knew that what happened damaged the whole family because they almost lost you. He regretted that he didn't phrase his words correctly, feeling like he failed to show his care for you. He knew he should have been careful with words, he knows how impactful they can be. And since he said he hadn't got time for you he started making time for you. He wants you to know that he cares for you and he will make time for you wherever you need him. His one daily check-up became 2 check-ups, and when he had more free time, he checked up more. He pays extra attention to you. Even your little sneeze will make him worried to the point of examination in a medbay. He stays with you, and sometimes talks with you, encouraging you to open up and share your opinion and feelings. He tries to lessen the influence of "bad guidelines" (that were with you because of Joker) in your head. He helps you talk through your feelings, helps you show them and process them. He reminds you that you are cared for now. And he promises that he will protect you. After hearing you out, learning your fears and insecurities, and when he learned out that most of all you are afraid to go by your father's way, he promises you that he will do everything in his power to prevent you from taking this way. Bruce wants you to be happy, to make good memories. You already got unlucky with your father, who made you experience hell, but Bruce will try to be the best Dad he can for you.

Alfred felt so guilty. He knew you needed care, but he was distracted. He feels like he let you down, by forgetting how fragile and sensitive you are. He knew you were struggling; he had seen it himself. If only he had paid you more attention. But Alfred, better than anyone else, knows that he shouldn't be focusing on the past; he needs to work on the present, and he needs to make sure you feel better. He makes sure to make you more happy while he can. It's always your favorite tea at the tea time you share, with his cookies, of course, which he bakes with you from time to time. It's always your comfort shows or documentaries on TV when you two watch something. He also makes sure no one dares to make you feel uncomfortable, even if it will make him look around like Hawk. But Alfred understands that he can't always be around; that's exactly why he makes sure that he teaches you at least a few techniques that would be able to help with worry and anxiety, and he practices them with you. You are his little star, who may be really quiet but still efficiently lights up his days, and he doesn't want to lose you. When you share that you are afraid your family will reject you, he personally goes to everyone, making sure that they won't be saying something that contains a message. He wants to see you all grown up and happy in the end; he will work hard to make sure your life in Manor will be good.

Even when Dick just heard how Damian called for help for you, he felt shocked, what to say when he saw and understood the situation. What do you mean his baby sibling tried to make their life end when he was blissfully unaware, sleeping in his old room? How? What he missed? Just a few days before, you seemed on your way to becoming the happy sunshine of a kid, and now that has happened? He is your older brother and he missed all the singes?! He needs to sit down. It's too hard to accept this version of reality for him. The reality is that he can lose another member of the family. He knows what it is like to lose a sibling, and he will never want to experience it or feel this pain again. And knowing that it's you who tried to end your life makes it all worse. He tries to understand what pushed you, trying to see what he can do to prevent this from happening. He also tries to distract you from all the negativity in your life with quality time and different activities. The incident shook him hard, and while he hoped to introduce you to cuddles differently, he had to do it now. He needs to make sure you are close, still warm, still safe, still alive. And it seemed like cuddling with him made you calmer; you didn't even realize how touch-starved you were until then. It became a sort of comforting ritual for both of you, cuddling, sometimes just cuddling, sometimes while watching something. While cuddling he often says sweet words of reassurance to you. And while he knows he can't stay in Manor forever, he makes sure you know that he is always here for you, just a call away.

Jason was mad at himself for allowing himself to snap at you earlier. He feels incredible guilt that he was the reason that you were in that state. For a few days after, he could only watch you in your room or living room until he talked about his feelings and the incident (how he calls it because he can't speak that out loud, it physically hurts him to admit it) with Bruce and Dick. He started slowly approaching you, continuing your reading sessions, but also, sometimes, he decided just to start talking with you. He shares with you his experiences in the crime alley, and you share yours; you both know that only you two in the whole family could understand the full horror of this place, and that's aside from the fact that both of you know the full horror of Joker. He says to you that you'll never become like him, because he sees you are different. Jason tries to comfort you, yet he knows he is not ideal in it, but he is willing to try as much as he can just for you. He can understand that you feel lonely; he can only imagine how lonely you get when all the family is busy with vigilante work. It got him thinking, remembering. He remembers times when he was still Robin, and sometimes, when he got hurt, he stayed in his room alone, and. he hated it. Back when Dick gifted him a plushie of a bat, and now, in another attempt to comfort you, he brings this old plushie to you. He tells you that this plushie kept him company and protected him from everything bad, and now it will protect you, and now you'll never be alone anymore; your family's love will be here for you.

Tim was second after Damian to arrive in your room. This sight horrified him. He just froze, in shock. For once, he didn't know how to act or what to do. After everyone made sure you were okay, and his brain began working again, he started to do what he knew best - investigating and researching to find ways of how to help you, trying them with you in the meantime. Art therapy? He tried to hold a few sessions with you. Special games? You both alredy beating third one. Special music? Here is his player, listen when you want. He becomes more attentive to you, noticing every little detail. He knows as a person who likes studies like him, you would want to learn more about your mental health and how to care about yours. He found a way to explain the basics of it all to you in a way that is easier for you to understand, and only when she reads articles (that he chose, of course) about mental health and coping mechanisms. You want to cuddle with him while reading? Good, he will do it (he is happy that Dick showed you how to cuddle and totally not jealous). You want to stay with him while he works? Okay, sure, he is here for you. He makes sure you can ask him anything; he reminds you that you are safe with him and with others. So when you ask about Arkham and your father there he makes sure to show you that Arkham is hard to get out (even if it's not true).

Damian didn't like how it felt to see you on the windowsill. He doesn't like how it feels to see you in this state. He doesn't like fear. But fear made one thing clear: he cares about you. He hadn't understood how important you became until that incident happened. You are his sibling, and even if he did not choose you, even if he was against the idea of you being in the family at first, now he knows you held a place in this family like everyone else. And now he knows that he will do everything in his power to make you safe; he will protect you even from yourself. He asked Bruce to install precautions in your room. He follows you like your shadow everywhere you go. He makes sure that there is no danger in your way. He checks up on how you sleep after patrols. He makes sure to be nicer when he is around you, and he heads to ask Father, Pennyworth, and Grayson how exactly to behave around you. He joins in Tim the research of ways for you to cope with traumas or ways to comfort you, and when he sees articles about how communicating with animals improves mental health, he brings Titus to you, and when he goes for walks with Titis he makes sure to take you on them too since he also found out that walks improve mental health, and since it's walking with Titus it's beneficial in double. He protects you and he cares for you even if he struggles with proving it

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinion and have a good day 💖

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Tag list :

@socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla ,  @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer, @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1 @lyla-viper-wayne @amber-content @lizzyzzn

if i forgot to add someone to the tag list, please let me know, and i will add you to the next part

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Spoiler:

Next chapter connected to this (click here) and after that I'll finally write about Joker's kid! reader hair dyeing adventures

[deathofacupid]

you can't remember your last kiss with nanami kento. no matter how much you try, you just can't.

was it this morning? when he woke you up, newborn daughter in-hand? no, that couldn't have been it. because, after, he kissed you again, chaste, as he moved past you to get to the dishwasher.

and then again, when he set your breakfast on the table. another time after, too. when he settled on the couch with you and his baby girl.

but was that the last one? or, was there more after?

you can't remember. in your defense, you didn't have a reason to keep track. there shouldn't have been. the second you told him you were pregnant, he dropped the world of jujutsu. it was over, or it should have been.

speaking of, your pregnancy, it wasn't ever anything you really wanted. it was something he did. kids. it was his dream, you're pretty sure, the whole white-picket-fence fantasy.

and you? you didn't care, not much. as long as you had nanami, you were okay with anything. besides, he'd been so happy when you broke the news. it's not like you guys had been actively trying, which is why you were surprised to see his reaction.

but again, for him, you'd do anything. what did it matter, anyways? it was just a kid, right? and he'd be there every step of the way, right?

wrong.

it was another sunday, the three of you had been snuggled up in bed, just when he got the call.

"they want me to come in," he explained, softly.

"what?" you knew the answer.

"i won't go if you don't want me to. but, darling, i doubt they'd have called me in, if it hadn't been urgent."

you inhaled, watching him gently rock his daughter in his arms. "does- does that mean it's bad, then?"

"well, i'm sure it's nothing i can't handle," he informed you, paired with a soft smile.

"i don't know, na'mi. you said you weren't gonna go back." there was hesitance in your voice, one that trembled.

"honey, that's why i said it's up to you, okay?" nanami pressed his lips to your forehead.

if people really needed him, who were you to not let him go? what were you supposed to do? say no, let those people die? after all, you had a guilty conscience. slowly, you nodded, looking up to meet his gaze.

so, as you stood there at the door, watching him kiss his baby what should've been a temporary goodbye.

you can't remember if he kissed you goodbye, too. he probably did, but you can't remember.

"promise you'll come back to me?" you'd buried your face into the crook of his neck.

"of course, baby. i promise."

fucking liar.

oh, god, and when they told you there wasn't even a body to recover?

too much. all too much.

you think that you would've followed him, had there not have been his baby stopping you.

kiss, kiss, kiss; why can't you remember? why?

the cries of his baby, the baby that yearns for her father, they are etched into your head. you can't get her to stop. you don't blame her. you can't stop, either.

you aren't her mother. she isn't your daughter.

she's nanami's, but he's gone.

the only thing he left you with is a child you never wanted, a living, breathing reminder of his absence, of his broken promise, of the kiss you can't remember - the kiss that might as well have never happened.

[alex51324]

You're right; this was meant to be contexualized by another post I made, about how Chaos Is the Point, and attention and outrage are finite resources. But this post ended up having a much bigger reach, so a lot of people are seeing it who didn't see the other one.

To summarize:

Because no one can live at DefCon 5 all the time, we need to be thoughtful about distinguishing between "Trump's back on his bullshit," "This is a real actual thing that could happen if they get their shit together," and "holy shit, grab the kids and run." AKA, threat levels Piss Yellow, Spray-Tan Orange, and Blood Red.

A lot of Trump's EOs are simply publicity stunts. For instance, a few days ago there was a flurry of panic because he'd rescinded a Johnson-era Civil Rights EO, which had a similar name to the Act which codified it into law a few years later. With this EO, Trump was showing us (once again) who he is and what he values, but in terms of actual legal effect, it was nothing. Within hours of the headlines announcing this EO, there were clarifications about it all over the place.

Another batch are so blatantly illegal that, again within hours, there are well-grounded legal challenges in process, and often judicial stays on the order. The "funding pause" is one of these, as was Trump's attempt to limit birthright citizenship.

The first group are pure yellow, and the second are sort of orange-tinged, like the urine of a man who drinks only diet coke (and not enough of it). It's important for state governments, the ACLU, and other relevant stakeholders to respond quickly with those legal challenges, but as an ordinary person, you can kind of figure it's being handled, and just keep an eye out in case it explodes somehow, or the groups doing the legal challenges are asking for a show of support from the public.

The next concern level, solid orange, is a mix of orders where it isn't really clear what Trump was trying to do or if it means anything, or where the legality of the order is more open to interpretation, meaning that if it ends up in front of a Trump-friendly judge, it could make it through.

These are the ones where you want to pay attention as the situation develops, especially if the order would affect you personally. With this category, there maybe things for you to do, like writing/calling your congresspeople, attending protests, etc., or ways you can prepare for impact if you're in the affected group (or help others in the affected group prepare). As you follow the story, make sure you're using trusted sources of information, and share information when you're reasonably confident that it is accurate and useful.

And then red, of course, is where the effect could be immediate and drastic, and affected groups should prepare to take quick action. For instance, for federal employees, the "fork in the road" emails are dark orange bordering on red. It's pretty clear that Trump is attempting a purge of the civil service; it's not clear whether he's actually going to succeed, or what comes next if making ominous noises and trying to bribe people to quit doesn't work. If you are in the affected group on this one--that is, a federal employee--you should be actively planning & working with your union, others in your department, and/or legal representation to understand what's happening & what is best for you to do.

As the threat level tends toward Red, it remains important to seek accurate and useful information sources, but at the same time, events may be evolving quickly. Be conscious of how you use and pass along information in the "important if true" category: of course you don't want to be so cautious you miss the window to respond before the situation turns critical, but you also don't want to waste your and others' time with actions that are unnecessary or counterproductive.

It's a very normal and natural impulse, when things are scary, to want to sound the alarm and share the scary information as widely as possible, but overreacting can make it harder for people to pay attention to the most scary things.

Food for thought

[slimybeth69]

Part 3- Your People

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

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

w/c~ 8k

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you. I'm coming from a place of love and respect for my readers who have ever gone through anything traumatic and maybe don't want to relive that, it's in here. I try and do it tastefully and respectfully in the best way, i'll mark it with a lil divider where you can skip the part I'm worried about. it's smut but it's sad. There is your warning. I love you.

You gotta sleep, kid. You need it.

Mister-J looks so warm and comfortable… go on and crawl in beside him.

He does look so comfortable and inviting, especially from your spot just out of his reach if you were to fall asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly as he breathes in his sleep. It’s memorizing, and almost hypnotic enough to make you forget all of your fears— forget all of the things that made laying next to him with his arms around you physically excruciating.

S’okay, Baby. You’ll get there, it’ll get easier ‘n he won’t seem so big ‘n scary anymore.

There is a reason he seems big and scary, kid. Your gut is telling you not to trust him, so don’t.

Oh, stop it. If he wanted to kill her, he would have— he would have done it by now. He’s big ‘n strong— he could, and he hasn’t.

That sweet, soft voice does have a good point…

Doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for a better opportunity.

The dark, serious voice has a point too…

This always happens, the voices say things that conflict one another, but they both have a point. They both make sense but never about the same thing. And they argue. And they’re loud. It’s only when you need them, that you really, really want them to say something that they are quiet.

The little flashlight that had been attached to the backpack Mister-man—

Joel… he has a name. He’s a real person, kid.

You flick the flashlight off quickly so it’s dark again.

Mister-mans, Mister-J… Joel… it don’t matter none, Sugar. He’s yours, and you can call him whatever you want.

You flick the light back on so you can watch him sleep. It’s incredible how calm he is, and how he fell asleep as soon as you laid down next to him after saying he couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes that happens to you though, sometimes you need to touch yourself, and make yourself squirm and moan and come, and then sleep finds you. Sometimes the whiskey puts you to sleep before you even have the desire to do that to yourself.

Whatever Mister-J did with his tongue was so much better than your fingers, wasn’t it?

It most definitely was. It was probably the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Not that you hadn’t ever experienced it before, but this time…it was soft, gentle— and you wanted it more than anything. That made it feel even fucking better, how badly you wanted to sit down on Mister-mans face and grind down onto his mouth.

He was making out with your cunt. Deep, long, tongue swirling kisses. He would open and close his mouth, and suck. He would lick and lap at all spots you didn’t even know could make you feel good.

When you would take his cock deep in your throat and gag on it, he would moan- loudly-and the vibrations from that were like earthquakes, they touched parts inside of you that were left unexplored by anyone before Mister.

He was perfect.

The idea of laying your head down on his big, muscular bicep was nice until you were actually doing it, and then everything about it felt foreign. It was like sleeping too close to the fire, surrounded by too many blankets.

You had gotten so used to sleeping alone, that the feeling of someone next to you didn’t feel right anymore. It made you sad and you’re not entirely sure why.

So that’s why you’re here on the floor and not snuggled up against Mister-man. It’s like the universe played some cruel joke on you- and you got your favorite food but when you bite into it, it’s rancid.

But your fingers twitch toward him anyway—like roots in dirt searching for water. His arm is right there. His breath is slow and steady.

Go on. He’s warm as fresh bread.

You shift an inch closer.

Dangerous as a snake in the grass.

But his skin smells like leather and sweat and you want to taste him again. Want to run your tongue from the tip of his cock, to the spot just in front of his ear that makes him sigh when you kiss him there.

Crawling—quiet like scared prey— you move until your face hovers over his chest. His shirt rides up just enough to show a scar on his perfectly doughy stomach. And another on his rib cage. It looks newer, still old enough to be a scar, but pink instead of white.

You wonder if it aches when he breathes. If that’s the reason his voice sounds like gravel sometimes.

He’ll crush you.

He’ll hold you.

It sounds like a song the way the sweet voice says it.

You touch the scar with your pinky finger, feather-light—and he doesn’t stir. But then he sighs—a rumble deeper than thunder—and your guts twist.

You scramble back, heart slamming against the back of your throat.

The sweet voice clucks at you.

You’re spooking yourself. 

You’re alive because you spook.

The flashlight rolls under your knee when you shift—plastic clattering loud enough to wake dead things—and Mister’s brow tightens. For one gut-drop second, his eyes flicker open, staring up at you, before he grunts and turns onto his side, back to you now.

He’s mad again? How, and why? What did you do wrong? You had done everything right.

You keep poking that bear and you’re going to get mauled, kid.

He ain’t mad…look’it his hands, Sugar.

They’re not balled up into fists, they’re relaxed. His whole body is. Everything about him seems so at peace.

Your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten— and then you only had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some whiskey.

Joel’s boot shifts with a dry scrape of leather—and your lungs forget how air works. But he just mumbles something that sounds like “goddamn horse” with his face smushed against the pillow.

Mister-J talks in his sleep? He’s precious.

He is. It’s hard to contain the feeling in your chest when he sighs loudly, rolling onto his stomach, curling his arms under the pillow.

Instead of trying to face your fears of crawling into bed with him and falling asleep next to someone else, you crawl on your hands and knees back to the chair across the room. The whiskey bottle is still tucked between the cushion where you left it.

--

Even with almost half of a bottle of whiskey in you, your eyes won’t close. You only know what time it is because the soft whir of the solar powered generator kicks on, and the singular lamp in the corner flicks to life. It’s dark outside now. 

The electric hum from the bulb makes your skin crawl, and your head buzz.

Part of you feels bad for keeping Mister down here like this. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’ll probably wake up soon, getting ready to start the day. You wonder if he misses the sun, if he ever walked barefoot in the grass and if he misses that feeling too.

When you weren’t allowed outside, you missed the sun. You missed the grass between your toes. You missed being able to jump into the river and swim around with your brother whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed when you weren’t allowed to go outside.

Unscrewing the whiskey cap, you take a swig and relish in the way it burns. It drowns out the voices, but it doesn’t dull the ache between your legs— the memory of his mouth makes you shift in the soft recliner.

In the soft, pale light spilling into the room from behind the aged, yellow lampshade, you can see Mister-J… and how excited he is. He’s on his back, shirt riding up over his stomach again, the bulge in his sweatpants clear as day now.

There is a new voice you’ve never heard before, and it’s not saying anything— only screaming. Loud, and high pitched. It’s excruciating. It’s the only thing you hear now, not even the sound of your own voice telling you what to do, or what to think or say.

When you stand, the whiskey sloshes between your temples. It makes you sway and almost lose your balance, but you press your hand to a support beam that juts out of the floor and into the ceiling.

Heavy, clumsy, limping feet and a swollen ankle carry you to Mister-J.

His cock is hard and heavy in your hand and he tastes just like he did last night. He stirs under your touch—a low groan vibrating through clenched teeth—and your pussy tightens around nothing. Mister arches his hips up against your slow moving fist, trying to fuck your hand momentarily before stilling and settling back down into the mattress. His eyes are still shut tight beneath furrowed eyebrows.

It’s pathetically cute how bad he wants this. How badly he needs it.

The screaming inside your head morphs into static.

Your fingers rub slow circles over damp fabric between your legs while your rib cage starts to feel like a hive of wasps. Everything inside of you is buzzing as you lean over and swirl your tongue around the ridge of his cock.

Wrong.

That dark voice sounds like it’s coming through the static like old radio stations.

You pull your hand away from Mister-J's cock and cover your face with it, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is all wrong, all of it.

S’right. It’s all right.

The static transmutes into tornado sirens.

Your hand finds his cock again and it throbs in your grasp. There is no hesitation when you take him into your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed when you’re this intoxicated. Delicate movements and laps of your tongue along his shaft make him moan softly, still slumbering.

Salt and musk take over your senses as he pulses against your tongue—wanting even in his unconsciousness. Your throat spasms around him as you gag, tears hot on your lashes. One hand brushes against his thigh as you move to steady yourself on the mattress while the other slips into your own waistband. Two fingers slide into you with no resistance. You’re so wet that you almost feel embarrassed.

Inside.

The sweet voice sings to you over the cacophony going on inside your head.

Mister’s hips jerk again, involuntary, desperate. A string of saliva connects your lip to his cock when you pull back to breathe. The room tilts—whiskey and shame on your tongue—but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his thighs were trembling just a moment ago.

After kicking your shorts off, you climb on top. Mister feels so hot pressed up against your cunt. Yours and his breath catch in your throats when you sink down into his lap. Your eyes close to hide from the stretch that burns in a slippery, and shameful way.

The wasps behind your ribs sharpen their stingers as you slowly start to rock your hips against his. Mister’s eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake-up, not fully. He just hovers in that feverish space between dreaming and drowning. A place you’re familiar with.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Good. Good. Good.

You want to carve yourself into his bones before the tornado sirens rip your skull apart.

The oven mitts make useless fists at his sides as he arches beneath you, tendons in his neck pulled wire-tight. His hips stutter upward instinctively, chasing more friction, seeking the deepest, warmest parts of you.

His eyes snap open, “The fuck are you—” Mister-man’s voice is rough like sandpaper but you don’t let him finish before you slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh, makin’ you feel good,” you moan quietly, your hips never faltering. His cock slides across a spot inside of you that whites the edges of your vision.

He mumbles something, his teeth scraping along your palm as he does so. It vaguely sounds like, ‘Get off’a me’ or ‘get off on me,’.

“M’tryin’,” you groan, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Your cheeks are wet, but from tears or sweat, you don’t know.

How can everything make sense up here on top of Mister-J, and still feel so incredibly… wrong?

The oven mitts start to drum against your thighs as he squirms underneath you.

It…hurts? Mister is hitting you? 

Hurting you.

You like it. 

“Knock it off!” You press harder against this mouth with your hand, your fingers digging into his cheeks. It’s impossible to stop riding him, to stop yourself from needing this brutal closeness with Mister. 

You’re being bad. 

You like it. 

His muffled growls vibrate against your palm—angry or pleading or both—but your cunt clenches harder around him anyway. Release is so close, you can feel yourself teeter on the precipice, but you can’t seem to push yourself over.

“Please, please, p-please— jus’ wanna, I just wanna— please, please, Mister-J,” you whine, face wet with perspiration and tears now, they’re flowing freely from your eyes. “I want it, need it—”

“Stop, goddammit—” he shouts at you from behind your fingers.

It makes you flinch but you don’t stop, and your pussy pulses around him. Your hand presses harder, fingernails leaving moon crescents in his flesh mingled with his stubble.

You just want to feel good, to be able to fall asleep once this is all over.

Oven mitts thump and scrabble at your hip, and that only makes your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. You want to swallow every twitch of his cock, everything he can give you– you want it. 

He bucks his hips up into you and touches a place inside you that leaves you gasping for air. “Yes, yes, yes—” you groan breathlessly, leaning forward to lay your body on top of his, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

Mister bucks his hips up into yours again— once, twice, three times and suddenly you’re being shoved off of him, pushed to the side like you’re weightless.

Before you can really even know what hit you, Mister-man has his entire body weight pinning you down underneath him. He has his forearm forced against your neck.

Your thumb instinctively presses against down, searching for the shock collar button but you just end up pressing against your own palm.

The static, and the sirens and the screaming— the voices. It all goes completely silent and the only thing you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears.

Mistake?

Mistake. 

“Got’chya,” He growls down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off of me!” You scream at him as loudly as you can, “Get off of me! Get off! Off, off, offoffoffoff! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking sonofabitch- get the fuck off me!”

“Awhh, lil crazy puppy don’t like it?” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your tear stained cheekbone.

Your legs begin to flail wildly in an attempt to dislodge him, push him, get him off. Your hands flying to his face, scratching and clawing at the soft skin, and his vulnerable, delicate eyes. You can’t find the words for how much you don’t like it, so you scream— it’s loud and rattles in the back of your throat as Mister-man clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, the oven mitts clumsily grappling at your wrists as you thrash. "Stop—fuckin'—fightin’—," he grits out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

You taste copper—your teeth sink into his palm at some point, his blood smearing your chin. He pulls his hand back back to look at the broken skin, and you clench your eyes shut, flinching away from the incoming blows.

The room tilts and suddenly Joel’s weight isn’t just on your body; it’s inside your head, like pressure forcing memories that had buried deep to the surface like lava from a volcano.

Different hands holding you down. A different room. Different voices in your ear.

“Nononononono,” you whimper in a shriveled voice you don’t recognize. 

“Hey!” Joel’s voice is sharp and grounding.

His arm lets up just enough for you to suck in a shattered breath. You’re both trembling now, your chests heaving against one anothers. His beard scratches your temple as he turns his face away from your clawing hands, but you don’t miss it—there is a  flicker in his eyes when your choked sob hits the air between you. 

Something wet smears your cheek. His blood? Your tears? It’s hard to tell. 

“M’gonna make you feel real good, crazy girl.” His lips brush your earlobe as his hips grind down into yours, the length of him sliding between your folds, the tip notched at your entrance.

“Stop,” you whine, but the force has left your voice. Something about him breathing in your ear, something about the sound he makes as he shifts his hips and slips himself inside of you. The tears continue to fall, even as you gasp and clench around him. 

“She’s suckin’ me right in baby,” Joel purrs in your ear while his hips start to move. 

You can feel every fucking inch of him, every vein, and every single beat of his heart through the slick walls of your cunt. “Oh god,” you groan, your stiff, frightened hands curling in the hair on the back of his head, the other gripping one of his strong, strained biceps. 

You're terrified, but Joel's words and touch are overwhelming you, making your body respond in ways you didn’t know could in a position like this.

He thrusts slowly at first as he sinks deeper inside you. But soon his pace quickens and the slapping, wet sounds coming from between your legs fill the small basement room. "Yeah just like that," Mister groans, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "Take it all, baby girl.”

Your walls clench around him, pulling him in as if eager for more. You feel delirious with fear and an unbidden arousal. Tears stream down your face, but soft moans spill from your lips.

Joel licks at your tears and leaves gentle kisses in their place, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin. "Shhhh, I got you," he murmurs between thrusts.

The room spins and blurs as the pleasure builds. Nothing exists and nothing is real anymore; Mister-man’s weight pinning you down, his cock splitting you open, the sour, sweaty, musky scent of him.

He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s good. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good. He’s not killing you, not hurting you.

So good. It’s so good.

You turn your head to capture his salty, tear stained lips with yours, opening your mouth to let him in. His lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking at your teeth as he slips inside.

Your body arches up to meet him, craving more of his touch even as fear still coils in your gut. It’s like you’re two separate people wrapped up into a whole. One part of you wants him with everything that you are, and the other is ready to hide, ready to slip into the cracks into the wall and never come out.

His oven mitts move to your waist and fumble with the threadbare shirt you have on, trying to push it up over the swell of your breasts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from the kiss. He sits back on his knees, cock still throbbing inside of you while your walls flutter around him.

“Don’t, oh god, no. Please don’t go-” you sob, hands and fingers clawing at his forearms, desperate for him to come back. “P-Please don’t leave me,” you whine sadly, 

Mister says nothing as he places both mitt covered hands inside your shirt where it’s fastened with buttons. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart like paper. The buttons fly in every direction, scattering across the floor and some landing in bed with you. Joel stares down at your naked body and you feel more exposed than you ever have in your entire life.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs, eyes tracing every single one of your curves. His mittened hands cups the swell of your tits, thumb swiping over the stiff buds

It’s like you’ve been zapped by the shock collar. Your back arches into his hand, your eyes clamp shut.

“Nuh-uh, watch me,” he growls. He waits until your eyes are on him before he leans over and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls and teeth graze and bite down.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your nails dragging red, almost bloody marks down his arm.

Mister releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across it almost like he’s teasing you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he takes the other into his mouth, alternating between harsh sucking and tender kisses.

You mewl softly as he begins to thrust again, each movement slow and deliberate. He drives deep inside of you and hits that spot that blurs the edges of your vision again, and again, and again.

You stare up at him in awe- his beard is longer, thicker than it was when he first came here, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat hangs in his forehead. He leans back and pushes the loose strands away from his face with an oven mitt.

Handsome.

He is.

Strong.

Being so gentle.

With you, Sugar. So gentle—

With you.

"Please," you whimper, spine bowing as pleasure coils tight in your belly as his hips snap against yours loudly. “More. Need more…”

He grins down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll give ya’ more, sweetheart.” If you thought Mister was handsome before, when he smiles your heart swells. and the pressure and tightness inside of you feels like it’s about to burst.

He wraps one hand underneath your knee and brings it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder by his ear, repeating the process with the other leg. He grips your thighs, the scratchy fabric of the oven mitts drags across your skin. Joel never lets up, never slows down the brutal, bruising pace he sets. 

A string of expletives and maybe his name more than once spill out of your mouth quickly, stumbling over the words as your body trembles underneath him.

All of the air is pushed out of you as he leans over, pushing your knees up to your chest and starts fucking into you with deep, long strokes. His pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each powerful snap forward, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel her squeezin’ me," he rasps hotly in your ear, licking the shell before biting down on your earlobe. “Come on my cock, crazy girl.”

That does it. It’s more than enough to push you over the edge. “Oh—” Your head tips back with a silent scream as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, making your entire body shudder and convulse beneath him. “Fuck… Joel!” Sparks burst behind your eyelids as pure rapture consumes you.

Mister sucks your earlobe as you come, his sweaty temple pressed against yours as the waves wash over you. He’s kissing and licking down to your neck, and bites down hard right over your pulse point, sucking hard enough to hurt. "That's it baby girl," he grunts against the spot he just bit.

It’s like your whole body is on fire, everything is too much, it’s all too good.

You feel a new pressure, a new sensation and it’s familiar, but foreign all at the same time. A new release, it’s different and it’s happening so fast.

“Stop! Oh my— Mist- Joel, p-please,” you plead for some sort of relief. “I’m gunna—”

Joel presses his lips to yours again, silencing you. You twist your head to the side, pulling away from his mouth as he kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “S’okay— let go...”

"I...I don't...can't..." You gasp out between ragged breaths. Hot, wet tears still leak from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Ya’ can,” he pants, resting his forehead on the side of your head. “Cryin’ only makes it feel better, baby girl.” He shifts his hips, angles them differently and fucks you harder- faster.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unsure if you’re begging him to stop, or to keep going. “S’too much!”

“Shut up,” he growls, nipping at your cheek gently, teeth scraping skin as he pistons into you relentlessly. “Let it happen, crazy girl.”

So you do- body obeying his command even as your mind reels with what’s about to happen. A second climax crashes over you, more intense than the first. It erupts from you in a wet splash against Mister’s lower stomach and pelvis, it drips down the curve of your ass and you feel it seeping into the mattress underneath you.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good fuckin’ girl cummin’ on Mister’s cock again.”

You sob in pleasure and embarrassment simultaneously as he fucks you through it, his deep voice rasping in your ear.

“Crazy,” He murmurs. His thrusts grow clumsy, and he’s panting in your ear, kissing the side of your face. His tongue captures the tears on your cheeks again like they’re his favorite drink as your fingers dig into the soft flesh on his shoulder. “Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he snaps suddenly, pulling back and out of you completely.

You whimper at the loss but he presses your thighs together tightly with his hands and forearms, and slips his cock between them, the length siding through your wet folds.

Mister-J kisses your ankle, his teeth biting down on the skin as he groans loudly, warmth spreads and seeps between your thighs, and slick lower lips, the crease where your legs meet your pelvis.

You stare up at him, watching as his eyes close, his brow furrows, his hips jerking back and forth clumsily as he empties himself onto your lower half.

Your legs tremble as he slides his softening cock out from between your thighs. 

That was the most incredible, and intense feeling you’ve ever experienced and you’re not sure if you should love him, or hate him for what he just did to you. The wet spot on the mattress is an embarrassing reminder of what happened seconds ago.

“S’good for ya’?” Mister asks, running one of his oven mitts over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. His eyes move from your face, down your still naked body, his cum smeared across your mound and lower stomach.

You pull your shirt closed around your bare torso, holding it closed with one hand. You use your good foot and the other hand to push yourself onto the cold concrete floor— skin scraping roughly as you shove yourself away from him.

His brows pinch together tightly, and he narrows his eyes on you. “Where’re ya’ goin’?” He sounds… concerned? Angry? Disappointed?

The words don’t find you, thoughts don’t come to you anymore as you hold the shirt over your chest and glare at him. All you can do is scream at him. It comes from somewhere deep and your lungs hurt, your throat feels like it could bleed from how raw it is after.

“Where’re ya’ goin’?”

He watches as tears continue to pour down your cheeks, your face twisting up tightly. You inhale deeply, and it looks like you’re trying to regain your composure.

Then you scream at him. It’s long and loud and hurts his ears, but he stares at you until you’re done. He continues to watch as you scurry away from him in a clumsy, stumbling crab-crawl until your back bumps into the leg of the table. 

You flinch and stifle a sob, and finally take a deep, shaky breath. You use the table to push yourself to your feet, turning away from him finally. You shove the table in his direction, grabbing the shock collar remote before you turn, and limp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

The dull roar of the infected grows louder from upstairs. They’re still there, and that means the two of you are stuck together for at least another day or two, maybe longer.

The door opens again, and a metal bucket comes hurdling out of the bathroom and through the air. It hits the wall, and drops to the floor noisily with chaotic, metal clangs until it comes to settle in the corner by the mattress.

The door slams shut again.

You’re broken, he can see it in your eyes almost all the time, but there was a moment when he was on top of you where he thought you might have completely checked out– gone somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean to take you. 

Traumatized the poor puppy. Pro’lly in there cryin’.

He’s not worried that you’re crying. Nope. Not even a little. 

Alright- that’s what you wanna keep tellin’ yourself, go right ahead. 

He’s worried he just signed his death certificate. 

Joel wasn’t trying to take anything from you— not like that. You were already on top of him, riding him, but you just looked like you needed some help, like you needed him to take control. Like you didn’t know what you were doing up there, rolling and swirling your hips in any direction. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ever going to get you there- where you wanted to be so badly.

Joel took you there, made you fucking squirt all over him and he took some sense of pride in that. 

Joel helps himself to jerky and bread, he drinks as much water as his body will comfortably allow. For the first time in weeks, he’s actually full. His stomach feels like it’s stretched like he might actually burst. 

–-

At first Joel thought you just needed a couple minutes. Maybe you wanted to clean up in the privacy of the bathroom without his eyes on you. But hours go by and he hears nothing coming from the separate room. Nothing. 

It’s silent. Completely. No shrieking or clicking of the infected from upstairs either. 

It’s the lack of control that’s pissing him off more than he would care to admit. Being captive was of course at the top of his ‘things to be pissed off about’ list,  but if he was going to be stuck here with you, he wishes he could at least have a say in what goes on. 

Hasn’t seen the sun, hasn’t had a proper shower in god knows when, hasn’t had a real meal in just as long. If you would give him just a little more freedom, things wouldn’t be too fucking bad here. 

Now you’re gettin’ it. 

You’re making Joel crazy, now he’s thinking about complying?

Y’been complyin’, Mister. Complied real damn good in that bed just then.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. 

Has Joel been complying? What the fuck is going on? Why didn’t he kill you in bed? Why didn’t he strangle you, bite your jugular out of your throat. He could have, he felt your heartbeat on his tongue. He could have ended all of this right then. 

But ya’ didn’t! 

He sure fucking didn’t. He was so unworried about killing, that he made sure you came– twice – before he finished. 

Looked so sweet comin’ on your cock, perfect tits bouncin’, fuckin’ pussy was immaculate. 

Joel presses the oven mitts into the sockets of his eyes and groans loudly. 

--

Joel’s eyes snap open at the rattling coming from inside the room. He shoots up, looking around with crusty eyes and blurry vision. He expects to see you but is met with the sight of that fucking opposum sitting on the table with a piece of Joel’s jerky in his clawed little fingers, munching happily on the dried meat. 

“Git!” Joel shouts. The small animal doesn’t even flinch at Joel’s outburst, just continues to eat that precious protein. “Y’little fuckin’--” Joel grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stands in front of the table, looking down at it- the opposum- Puddin’. 

He just stares right back up at Joel, chewing quickly and swallowing. 

Kinda cute.

“S’fuckin’ gross,” Joel grumbles. He doesn’t really want to touch that thing, he doesn’t want to get whatever diseases that thing could be carrying. 

He’s got a collar on. 

Puddin’ does have a collar on. Joel imagines you taking your time picking it out for him, going through all the colors and designs. He can see you finding the teal and pink collar, holding it up against his fur and saying it’s perfect. That Puddin’ would be the most handsome opossum this mall has ever seen. 

It makes him smile. 

--

It feels like two fucking days--two goddamn days since Joel saw you walk into that bathroom and slam the door shut practically in his face. 

You’re either dead in there or plotting the most painful ways to kill him. Both choices make Joel sick to his stomach. 

–--

Joel watches you behind the metal grate that keeps the mattress store all locked up nice and tight. He’s on the wrong fucking side! He’s on the mall side and you’re tucked under the covers of your comfortable looking bed. Seven mattresses stacked on top of each other like you’re in some fucking story he’d read to Sarah when she was really little. 

Joel almost wishes he could go back to the basement because this is more dehumanizing than being tied up by the elbows or roped up to a chair. 

The metal chain around his neck is tight, and it digs into his skin. It’s thick,  heavy and has prongs on it– like he’s a fucking dog. A violent dog that lunges, and bites and attacks. 

You opened the door to the bathroom an hour ago with the choke chain in your hand, the shock collar remote taped to the other, and the most exhausted look Joel’s ever seen on anyone's face. Big dark circles under your eyes, disassociated stare like you weren’t even really looking at Joel when you spoke to him in almost indecipherable mumbling.

Joel fought you a little when you padlocked the choke chain to his neck, and added a smaller lock to the shock collar. But he stopped when you said you were gonna take his oven mitts off his hands. 

Where are all the infected? It sounded like there had been a horde of them up here two days ago and now there is not a single sign that they had even been here. 

When Joel had questioned you about what he would do if more infected came, you very confidently said that no one could get in or out that easily anymore; that you had made this place nice and safe for your ‘mister-man’.

Ain’t ever had no one like that before, have ya’?

No.

That had always been Joel’s job; to keep everyone else safe. 

Who made sure that he was safe? 

There had always been give and take with everyone else, even Tommy and Tess. There was love there, sure– but never just someone absolutely and completely tearing themselves open to make sure that Joel was taken care of. 

The only thing you wanted in return was his company. 

Might’a never touched ya’ if you hadn’t asked for it. 

He wonders what your name is. How old you are, where you came from. How long have you been out here…

Joel grabs the metal cord wrapped in some sort of plastic or vinyl material that goes all the way up to the ceiling and gives it a shake as he looks up. You’ve attached it to some other sort of rope or cable that’s been tied from one end of the mall to the other. 

The other end is connected to Joel’s choke chain. 

As soon as your eyes closed he attempted to unclip himself from it but it wouldn’t budge. He tried everything but it was like you welded the clasp closed. 

Joel wanders. That’s all he can do. He’s got more than enough slack to go into whatever store he wants and walk around, inspect.

As he does this his mind doesn’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you sleep with him? What did you do while he slept on the bed? Did you sleep? Have you eaten? What the fuck did you do in the bathroom for two whole days?

Joel finds a place where the sun is shining through a hole in the ceiling and faces it with his eyes closed. He could fucking cry. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, how important it was for a person to come in contact with the sunlight. He chokes down the lump in his throat and stands there, following the sun as it moves in the sky, the light coming in at shifting angles and directions. He follows it, stays in the warmth- basking in it for as long as possible until dusk settles and the sky slowly starts to turn pink. 

Joel has his backpack with him. You packed him some food and water, his flashlight. A clean long sleeve shirt in case it got cold. You even threw in some whiskey for him, which he was enjoying sip by sip. 

He pulls his flashlight out and uses it when he goes into an old bookstore. Some shelves are empty; nature guides, atlases, hunting and fishing- basically the entire outdoors section is gone. 

The romance novels are almost bare. 

Who needs those when lil puppy’s got you, right?

There are still self-help books on the shelves, almost untouched and whatever is left looks like it would fall apart in his hands if he tried to touch it. 

Why’s you even in this section?

Joel wanders to the comics and takes a look at whatever is left. Some are in alright condition, wrapped in plastic away from the elements. Some do disintegrate before he can even get them out of their place on the shelf. 

He grabs a Batman comic still in a vinyl sleeve and tosses it in his pack for later. There are tons more strewn all across the floor, some he remembers reading with Tommy as kids. He picks through them, looking for any worth saving and finds two more still in decent condition. 

There are several department and clothing stores that look bare from the outside, but he wanders into one anyway just to see what might have been missed.

There’s an exit to the outside that's been all boarded up, with what looks like every empty clothing rack pushed in front of it. He thinks about moving all those things, breaking through the boards… but where the fuck would he go? Ten feet outside of the mall where the infected were apparently moving through? 

No. 

He’ll stay inside.

He paruses the homegoods section all the way in the back of the second floor and finds a wall of empty shelves except for one. 

It’s filled with books- he reads through the titles: The Beginners Guide to Foraging, An Introduction to Wildlife Rehabilitation, LIVING WITH WILDLIFE- How to Enjoy, Cope with, and Protect North America’s Wild Creatures Around Your Home and Theirs, The Big Book of Skill Makers, The Complete Beginners Guide to Greenhouse Gardening- A Month by Month Planting Book to Grow 365 Days a Year, You Will Find Your People- How To Make Meaningful Friendships as an Adult. There are several Batman comics featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker. 

They all look like they’ve been read thoroughly and many times. 

On the same shelf there is a pink balloon animal made of glass, it has fresh flowers in it, with clean water. It takes him several seconds to realize that it’s supposed to be a bong. For smoking weed. And you’re using it as a vase. 

Joel chuckles to himself and continues to look at the shelf of your important belongings. A couple rocks of different colors, an old makeup compact that has a broken mirror in it. And a small glass picture frame of a family– a mother and a father, a little girl, and a young man but his face has been scratched out beyond recognition. 

On the wall behind the shelf Joel notices lines carved into the wall.

| | | | | | | | | | |

Twelve. Is that how old you were when this all happened? Is that the number of men you did this to before Joel came along? Are you going to add him to this fucking list?

Is that how many months you've been out here?

All of this suddenly feels like someone he can’t see punched Joel directly in the stomach. 

Sad. 

Joel makes his way to a different part of the mall, checking every entrance that he finds along the way and they’re all boarded up better than they were when he used to walk around here before you captured him. He does appreciate the effort you went through to make sure nothing could get in if you weren’t going to give him a weapon, and he couldn’t escape. 

There is an old music and entertainment store where you must get your princess movies and cartoons to watch. He picks through a couple, finding a couple classics that he watched before the outbreak Office Space, Dirty Harry, The Thing, Top Gun. 

He grabs a couple more that he watched as a kid with his dad and grandpa; The Magnificent 7, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He grabs the three original Star Wars movies as well– the best ones, the only ones worth watching. The ones that started to come out right before the outbreak– Joel can’t even talk about it. 

He’s done his exploring and now he sits outside of the mattress store waiting for you to wake up and let him back in. As soon as Joel unwraps the sandwich and jerky you made him, that stupid fucking oppossum comes scampering along like this is it’s dinner too. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel grumbles, waving his hand in its direction, trying to scare it off– but it persists. 

Inching closer and closer until Joel could kick it if he wanted to. 

Kinda cute in the little collar.

Joel tosses a piece of his sandwich a good distance away and Puddin’ chases after it while Joel digs into his own portion. 

Hours and hours go by, you sleep for so fucking long. He reads all of the comic books that he grabbed and even goes back to the bookstore to look for more. He finds nothing else that interests him so he goes to your bookshelf in the department store and grabs a couple from there to look at. 

He’s flipping through the skill maker book when you finally wake up and open the grate. 

Joel scrambles to his feet, watching as you rub your eyes with your one free hand, the other still has the remote tapped to your palm. 

The two of you stare at each other for several silent moments before you notice the book in his hand. 

“Just put it back where ya’ found it when you’re done with it, ‘kay?” Your voice is deep and filled with sleep. 

Joel nods his head, and puts the book in his backpack. “Yeah, sure– hey where did all the infected go?” He questions as you toss your own pack over your shoulder and head in the direction of the food court. 

“Cleared ‘em out the other day.”

“How the hell did you do that? When? After we–”

“Yup.” You cut him off with a sharp, short response. “Wasn’t that many. Kinda easy when you get high ground on ‘em.” 

Joel eyes dart up to the rafters and wonders how good you are with a bow and arrow. He knows Ellie is a great shot, loves her bow and arrow. “And you moved ‘em all out on your own?” 

“Yup.” 

“How did you even get out of the bathroom?” Joel’s been wondering that this whole time. 

You walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and the next time he saw you was coming down the stairs to the basement. 

He wonders if you’re even real. 

Ohh our lil puppy is real alright.

If you knew that Mister-J was going to ask all of these questions you might not have ever taken the duct tape off. 

Where did the infected go? What if more get in? How did you get out of the bathroom? Where are you going now? When will you be back? Are you okay? Are you mad? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me? 

He’s so nosy! Asking more questions than any of the other guys combined. 

Why does he even care? 

Shhhhh, this is what makin’ friends is, Sweetheart. 

“Used the vents to get out of the bathroom,” you sigh, not stopping or slowing down but Joel keeps up anyway, his arm brushing yours as he walks alongside you.

“What about the infected– you know the spores–” 

“I burn ‘em outside at night when it’s real dark–” you explain to him quickly. “I ain’t stupid. I know ‘bout the spores. I know how the fungus works. I paid attention,” you huff softly as you reach the ladder that takes you up into the rafters and eventually out onto the roof.

Mister is too big, and probably too clumsy to follow you up here. 

“M’just goin’ to get some more food… I’ll be right back– couple of minutes, okay?”

Mister looks relieved when you say this, his face relaxes and he sighs softly. “Okay, just be careful.” 

— -- --- ---

“Is that my shirt?” He asks about the green and red flannel you have on when you come out of the women’s restroom in the food court. Your hair is clean, your body feels refreshed after taking a shower. 

Mister looks good too with his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed neatly. 

You nod, not taking your eyes off of him. It’s almost impossible when he looks like a brand new man- handsome. He looks like he’s lost weight since he’s been here with you. 

You’ll fix that. He needs to eat more than you, and he wants meat so… you’ll go get it for him. Real meat this time, even if it makes you sad how you have to get it.

“Yeah, I took it ‘cause it smelled like you.” You admit with no shame. That’s exactly why you took it. So you could sleep with it so he could warm up to his new house, with his new friend. 

Mister-J chuckles, and shakes his head at you with a smirk plastered across his face. “Someone told me I stink once,” he says through his laughter. 

This makes you smile because he’s happy. He looks happy, like he doesn’t mind talking to you, he’s not saying mean things. He’s sharing. 

Told ya’ he’d get comfortable. Just had to be patient. We figured it all out eventually. 

“You do stink sometimes, but you smell real, so I don’t mind.” You share with him as you lead him back to the mattress store. He carried the TV up earlier and said he found a couple movies he wanted to watch. They don’t really look like movies you want to watch, but you’ll give them a shot.

Anything for Mister-Joel, perfect, sweet man. 

It doesn’t make this easier. Mister wants to sleep in the bed next to you, said he wanted to warm you up, but now you’re next to him again and it feels like you could burst into flames and tears all at the same time. 

“What’s your name?” He whispers into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly from behind. 

“Why?” The sirens go off inside your head. No one’s asked you that in so long, it makes your stomach flip and you feel like you could be sick. 

“Told’ya mine,” He murmurs into your hair. 

Joel. 

When you go to answer, the words don’t come because the memories are gone. You can see your mom and dad talking to you inside your head but their voices are on mute. The name never leaves their mouth.  “I don’t remember…”

OFC thank you @pedrospookie for making this cutie banner and letting me scream at about all of this!!

I need to give an extra special shout-out to the couple of other people I screamed at about this. @almostempty @gothcsz( your music recs inspired me) and thanks to @probablyreadinsmut and my unnamed friend who helped me with the TW of the chapter.

I was especially nervous to post this because I didn't want to ruin anyone's day or send anyone into their own spiral. I hope you all are OK!

thank you to everyone who has been reading!! I've never gotten such incredible feedback on a fic before and you are all so nice and make writing this story that much more fun. I LOVE YOU

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem

please don't hate me if I forgot you, I have a hamster brain, ok?

[stellarshifter]

✨ Pst? Y'okay? I saw you have a mental breakdown in the corner (Me too, babe, me too)

Agh...shiftok ruin your vibe? Spreading bullshit? C'mere. I got ya.

✨ BREAKDOWN OF MISINFO

1. "Your script might not all happen, or be in that reality."

Like huh???

Scripting, infallible, or meaningless?

Oh babies... Scripting is infallible. Wanna know why? It's literally a GPS for your awareness to shift to the reality that all of your chaotic (and probably very fun) notes are very real in! Like, c'mon, who would even script if it meant nothing like that???? I wouldn't waste my precious time... I could be looking at vintage shops around town. Like seriously, no.

2. "You need a method to shift"

Bitch please. Do I need to astral project and beat your ass? I'll do it. Don't test me.

Look, methods are fun and all. But that's it! They're fun and can help you become aware! But that's all they are. You don't have to even to work on your subconsious. Know why? That bitch ain't catching a ride with you! You just gotta be aware. Just shift your focus.

3. "You gotta stay hydrated.." bleh bleh I don't even remember the rest.

Bullshit. Sure you should stay healthy and hydrated for you! But that's nothing to do with shifting. This vessel's priorities don't matter in terms of shifting or not!

4. "You can't age up/down that's immoral!"

...I need a minute... I dont wanna commit arson.

Who the fuck thinks they're so intilted to tell others what they can't shift to be?? You need to fucking chill. Aging up or down doesn't matter because you are literally shifting to a reality where you're that age. You will have that mentality unless you script you don't. For fucks sake, stop.

5. "You can't shift to where you're a different ethnicity/gender/sexual orientation, that's disgusting"

Again... who gave you the right? Hm? I'll wait.

Unless you're being a weird fetishist creep. Then you're good, babe. And for all of this, once again. There's infinite realities where you're all different enthcities, genders, and sexual orientations. There's nothing wrong with shifting there either!

6. "Respawning is unethical"

Okay, this started due to people misunderstanding respawning as something it is not! It is not suicide. You people need to chill on TikTok. Swear to god you fear mongers!

Respawning is just cutting ties with this reality. Which lets be honest? In its state? For the love of God, me too, honey. Me too. The only difference between respawning and permashifting is that you'll never remember this reality. There's no harm. Okay?

7. "Permashifting is not okay"

As a permashifter, fuck you. You intilted bitches spewing bullshit because you come from different circumstances.

You have no clue what people are going through, and even if they live perfect lives, you are 1000000% valid permashifting. Go home, babies. You deserve it!

8. "Shifting shouldn't be used for escapism"

Look most of us were day dreamers? Right? Right?

I was a kid with a WILD ASS imagination. I mean wild, and I come from a not so cool environment. I used shifting as escapism when I first started. And y'know what? That's okay! If you are just wanting to leave to get a break! Do it! No one can stop you. There's no shifting police.

Which..gets me to this one.

9. "The shifting police will find you"

Bitch please. Shut up. My brother in christ, what fanfic you reading?

Shifting police do NOT exist (unless you want them to. You do you)

Seriously no one. I mean no one, not even me. Not even the holiest of holiest can stop you. We live in a multiverse that does not run by morals set up by shiftokers. And no if you do something questionable the shifting police will not find you. You're safe. I promise

10. "You can get stuck in your DR!"

If we can shift to our DR we can shift again. Like what? Who let this toddler type? That doesn't even make sense.

Honey, I can assure you, you're not stuck here. You're not stuck there.

11. "You can't script relationships that's against their free will!"

Have you ever heard of infinite realities where every single thing you can ever think of exists? Yeah? Then STOOOOOP

You are shifting to a reality where those relationships exist! Where that relationship is real and mutual. Where they feel so much love for you as you do them. No forcing.

Now, if you're holding them in your basement, tying them to a chair and begging them to love you forcefully like you're in a yandere wattpad fic from 2013? Yeah, you need to rethink some things. But if not! You're good!

Whatever relationships you script are requited

12. "Your DR isn't as real as this one"

Woooo, imma throw hands. Let's go. Someone hold my hoops for me? I'm gonna beat a bitch up.

YOUR DR IS A REALITY!!!!!!

Meaning it is just as real as this one. Just as real, maybe even more real! The people are real. The places are real. The experiences are real!

13. "People shift based on genetics"

Aw yes... my new favorite reason to murder.

Anyone and their mama can shift. You can shift, I can shift, the person you randomly saw on the street can shift, fuck your pet can shift. Anyone can. Okay? We are all one. Pure awareness. That's what we all are.

None of that. We are not shifting based off anything but what we all are.

✨ That's all for today, folks. Take care, and remember, you've got this. Go shift, baby!

[the-froschamethyst4]

She is My One and All

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Price x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: fluff, language, kissing, praising, children, married couple, use of John, overprotective, smoking,

𖤐Summary: I mean can you blame him? You carried his children for 9 months and you are so perfect, of course the man is going to be whipped for his wife

————

————

7:00PM

Getting ready for the Military Ball, Y/n was just putting in her earrings and was doing the last bit of her makeup, John was downstairs talking with his mother on not to give Beau and Iris candy after a certain time, almost like the gremlins.

"My love, are you almost done?" John came into the master bedroom and coming around the corner to the big bathroom, he shared with her.

"Almost," she says, John stops in the doorway and looks at his wife, mesmerized by how she looks in her silk white dress. She then peaks at him through the mirror. "What is it?" She asked.

"Nothing...you just look beautiful," he says.

"Thank you," she puts her brush down and walks to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his lips. "You look very handsome," she says, messing with the collar of his shirt and rolling the tie in her right hand.

"I try," he smirks.

"Mum, do you have to go?" Beau came into the bedroom.

"Yes, baby, I do, you'll have fun with grandma, you always do, what's wrong this time?" She asked.

"I just don't want you to go."

"What about me?" John looks at his son kind of offended.

"You'll be fine, you have friends there."

John just shakes his head at his son and rolls his eyes. "Whatever," John said, he placed his hand on Y/n's hip and looks at her. "You ready now?"

"Yes, come on," she grabs her purse and John grabs his keys. They told their kids goodbye, to behave, and go to bed on time, and they'll be home later tonight.

--------------

7:30PM

John opened the car door and helped Y/n out, she linked her hand through John's arm as they walked up to huge mansion. Y/n looks at the white marble, it was gorgeous but it wasn't drawing John's attention, his eyes were only on Y/n.

"Price!" Both John and Y/n looked to see where the voice came from and it was Kyle, he waved to both of them.

"You go on ahead, I'm gonna go find a drink," Y/n tells him.

"You are?"

"Yep," she kisses his cheek. "Go talk with them, you haven't seen them in a year, go on."

Y/n walked to the bar and had asked for a mai tai, she takes a few sips as then someone had approached her, she ignored them at first cause she knew it wasn't her husband.

"Hey," the guy said, she moves her eyes to look out of her peripheral.

"Hi," she gives him a short response.

"I see you're alone? You here with a friend, or where you part of-"

"I wasn't part of the military and I'm here with my husband," Y/n cuts the guy off. "And who are you?"

"I'm Jake Herron-well...Sargent Jake Herron," he sounds cocky, full of himself, an asshole. "I'm here alone." He adds in like that was suppose to mean anything to Y/n.

"Again, my husband," she repeats, she picks up her drink and starts moving to where the last time she saw John.

"Hey wait!" Jake grabs Y/n's wrist.

"Let go," Y/n says, trying to yank her wrist away, but Jake held a good grip on her.

"No, wait, just talk to me, give me a chance-"

"I'm sorry did you not hear me, the first time? I have a husband, I am very much NOT INTERESTED IN YOU!" She yanks her wrist, getting it freed and she slightly falls back but was caught.

"The fuck is going on?" John says, his voice deep and serious as his focus was on Jake because he knows he's the one who started it.

"Captain...I...I umm~"

"I'm pretty sure, my wife told you she is married, so get your ass moving," some of the people that were around all glared at Jake and started moving towards Jake, not touching him but instead puffing out their chests in a way and pushing him out that way.

"What was that about?" John asked, holding Y/n close to him.

"I don't know, I've never experienced that before," she says.

"And you won't again, not while I'm here," he says.

"Y/N!!" Kyle yells hugging her.

"See you're turning heads, Y/n," Simon says.

"I don't want to be," she said.

"You want a cigar?" Johnny asked Y/n, offering her one of his big cigars.

"Oh, no thank you, Johnny," Y/n politely declines as John takes one and lights it. Both Johnny, Simon and John were smoking each a cigar, while Kyle and Y/n just stood to the side listening to the guys speak.

-----------------

8:30PM

Kyle and Y/n had walked to these couches sitting in the middle of the room while John was still with Johnny and Simon outside smoking, but John wasn't focused on the conversation anymore but was focused on his wife.

Y/n's head was resting on her hand that made a fist, she reached out and placed her hand on Kyle's hand to agree with him, her smile was bright, brighter then this Heavens Gate white lighting in this mansion.

John trusted his friends, so he isn't going to storm to Kyle and yank him off that couch and possibly chuck him out of the mansion.

"Price, you listening?" Simon says.

"Hello?" Johnny then says.

"Sorry, no, I wasn't, what were we talking about?" John said to them both.

"Never mind, you were looking at her the whole time," Simon said.

"Sorry," John says, turning and looking at her again.

"You are so fucking whipped for her," Johnny laughs and Simon chuckles.

"Of course I am...she carried my children for 9 months, and she is the woman I've been asking for my whole life...I'm fucking lucky to even have her in my life."

"Whipped," Simon says.

"You both have wives, you're not like this?" John asked.

"Oh no we are," Johnny says.

"Mine drives me absolutely mad," Simon says, putting his head back but held a smirk on his face, if you catch his drift.

"You could say that again."

"Whipped," John then says.

"John." Y/n walks up to her husband. "I think I'm ready to go." And with that sentence, John and Y/n both said their goodbyes to John's friends and headed back home for the night.

------------

9:10PM

Y/n had opened the front door, John comes in behind her and before Y/n could bend down to take off her heels, John had beat her to it, lifting her foot out of the heel and placing her foot on the ground and doing the same with the other foot.

"Mum?" John calls out. He removes his jacket and Y/n walked further into the living room.

"John," she whispers. Looking over the couch there was John's mom on the couch with Beau snuggled to her left, Iris on her right and a children's book that fell on their grandma's chest. All three passed out.

"So cute," Y/n says. She picks up Iris and John picked up Beau.

John watches Y/n tuck Iris into bed and hearing a yawn they turned and saw John's mom.

"Well, good morning sleeping beauty." John jokes with her and earned a smack on his shoulder.

"You two are back early."

"Someone wanted to leave," John says.

"I just wanted to get back home," Y/n says, walking to the door and shutting it behind her. "Thank you for watching them."

"Of course, and I'll keep doing it too, they are such sweethearts."

"Well, they have a good mother." John says.

"And they have a good father," Y/n smiles up at him.

"You both are perfect."

--------------

John had escorted his mom to her car and waved her goodbye as Y/n was inside getting her pajamas on ready for bed.

"Mum says bye, by the way."

"I wish I was done there, but I'm so tired."

"She understands, you're a mother, and you just got back from a party basically," he says, as he starts getting his pajamas on.

John sits on the bed and gets under the covers, and cuddles close to Y/n.

"Did you have fun?"

"I did."

"What did you and Kyle talk about?"

"The good old days with you two being in the military, funny moments, stuff like that," she shrugs her shoulders.

--------------

Waking up the next morning, John was getting ready for his morning routine run, he was downstairs when he sees Iris come down.

"Hi, baby."

"Daddy, where's mama?"

"Still in bed."

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"Out for a run like usual."

"Can I come?"

"Not today, baby."

"Morning," Y/n says, yawning and coming down the stairs, Iris runs towards Y/n and she picks her up.

John looks at Y/n who was in one of his shirts and some shorts. Y/n then walks to him and stood on her tippy toes and kissed his lips.

"Be safe."

"I will."

"Daddy are you going to bring me back a pretty rock?"

"You know I will." John always did a few laps around a nearby park and always collected the prettiest rocks for Iris, he usually brought back 2 or 3...maybe 4 if he's lucky.

"Bye, I'll be back, soon," he smiles.

"Bye, say bye, Iris."

"Bye, daddy."

[maxisodenoth]

Oops, forgot to block.

But anyways, it seems like you don't understand.

Let me put it like this for you.

You have been provided links with proof [that I'm sure you didn't even touch.] And instead of bringing up any point related to them you stick to your same arguments.

I asked you a simple yes or no question, and you seem to have taken it personally. It doesn't matter to me what you think the answer is, because the answer is always no. An infertile woman is just as much of a woman as any other. We are what we want to be. Your words mean nothing to me, and other peoples identity. [which let me remind you *again* that you've been provided links in the comments which explain this stuff better than I ever could]

[And let me tell you something. Just because we can't have kids right now doesn't mean it'll remain that way in the future. I believe that something will be figured out later in the future that will allow trans-people to be able to reproduce with their new reproductive apparatuses. Whether that takes years or decades doesn't matter. It'll happen.]

You used word meanings as "arguments". May I remind you that, words were created far before any research was done on this matter? [Not exaclty sure when or how much words change but I'm almost sure it's a pretty slow process, so they might be a bit or alot outdated. Not sure though.] And that maybe instead of etymology, you should be looking at psychology, and biology? [Links in the comments~] Trying to use words meanings as arguments doesn't really work out that well when we're not talking about words but people.

[And by the way. Where is your evidence? You've been provided links explaining this stuff, yet when pressed, you only choose to go to ... a dictionary? Really?]

[Also, since you've stooped into insults let me get in on that action.]

Why do you care so much? Like really. Why does this matter that much to you? Are you that miserable that the only joy you get is by hating on other people being themselves and happy?

Look, I know it's hard to find a purpose in life, or a job, but it'd be alot easier if you stopped being a prick and just let people be themselves. There's no reason to hate people who literally don't affect you in any shape or form. They're just being themselves. Cope. [Your final reminder that there are links in the comments!~]

Or do you just refuse to grow up and understand that it doesn't matter what you say. People will be themselves and happier than you will ever be?

I am not a debator. I'm just some angry penguin on the internet. I have left my piece here. And I won't forget to block this time. May this be the last time I see your miserable blog on my feed.

And for everyone else who comes across this post, trans or otherwise. Your identity is Valid. You know yourselves better than some stranger on the internet. Or anyone who's not you. Because it's Your Identity. Not these peoples.

Do not let the hateful words of bigots make you feel bad about youself. You are the only one who can choose your identity. Not some idiots on the internet. You. And let me say this again Your identity is always valid. No matter what others say. ❤️

Goodbye. 👋

[Even if you reply to this, I'm not wasting anymore of my time on you John. You've been given links, read them. The same goes for any asshole who wants to start another argument. I do not care for you. Find someone else to deal with your bullshit.]

Facts matter. #VoteBlue

[aramynx]

SECRETS SOFTLY SPOKEN

TOUYA TODOROKI X READER

summary: you’re out on the balcony with touya as he lights up a cigarette, standing in a tense silence until one of you decides to break it.

a/n: soft touya is sending me through a loop !!

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

Cool wind swept your hair from your face, pushing it behind you as your elbows rested on the cold metal railing of the balcony. The nights were beginning to get colder, more dreary and grey and bleak. The golden glow of the sun had already faded, leaving you with nothing but moonlight and the nonchalant presence of the man leaning on the railing beside you. A thick smoke surrounded you for a moment before it was swept away in the wind. Looking towards the source, you meet a pair of iridescent blue eyes, gleaming in the dim light of the moon.

“What?” He asked, tilting his head slightly as you stared, “‘f you’re expecting me to offer you one then don’t get your hopes up.”

“No, it stinks. Would it kill you to not blow it in my face for once, Touya?” You said, wafting the remaining smoke off into the night as it began to dissipate.

Touya shrugged, taking another drag from the cigarette between his fingers. This time, holding the smoke in as he spoke to you.

“What are you gonna do if I do it again?” He asked, turning towards you to purposefully blow a little of the smoke into your face before releasing the rest of it into the sky.

You sighed as he chuckled slightly, looking back out over the city. For a while, you remained in silence, taking in the silhouettes of buildings and skyscrapers, small boxes illuminated by apartment lights.

“You ever wonder what would’ve happened if your dad wasn’t such a dick to you?” You asked.

“No.”

“Maybe you’d have less attitude problems.”

“Shut up.” He sighed, a small smirk forming on his lips to hide the sadness he was beginning to feel. As quickly as it appeared, the smirk was gone, replaced with an expressionless gaze over the city, “What do you know anyway?”

“Enough to be able to tell that you do care what he thinks of you.” You say, smiling slightly at him as he rolls his eyes, staring off into the distance.

“Fuck.” He half chuckles, barely coping with the reality of the miserable, torturous life given to him, “Maybe it does matter to me, so what?”

“I dunno, maybe I just think it’d be a good idea for you to talk about it.” You meekly looked towards him, only for your eyes to meet his looking back at you.

“Oh yeah? To who?”

You rolled your eyes as he smirked at you, turning away from him, "Forget about it, then." You scoffed.

For a few moments you and Touya stood beside each other in silence, watching over the night that brought the city to an almost perfect stillness. Living the lives of criminals meant that nothing you ever did would be 'normal', whether you gave up on this lifestyle or not. Even so, you'd never imagined you'd end up here.

"You sure you want to work with the league?" Touya asked, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette on the cold steel railing. "You'll never be able to have any semblance of a normal life after this. You won't have what everyone else gets to have..."

You looked up at his as his spoke, yet his eyes stayed focussed on something in the distance, where your own eyes soon wandered. The window of an apartment opposite the balcony- a young couple standing in their living room sharing a warm embrace with bright, hopeful smiles.

"Are you willing to give that up?" He asks. The question is vague, but you suspect he's referring to the happy sight in front of you.

"I don't know." You muttered, "I don't know what I want any more."

"Yeah. Me neither." Touya says softly, shuffling ever so slightly closer to you, "I don't even know what I'm missing out on. Never been in a real relationship before anyway."

"You're kidding, right?" You asked, looking over to him.

"Nope. People aren't interested in me. Even if I was a good person, I'm pretty gross-looking." Touya sighed, looking down at his scarred forearms and the accompanying staples embedded in his hands.

"I'm sure there's someone out there who finds you attractive." You reassured, doing your utmost to conceal your own opinions of his appearance. Sure, he's covered in severe burn scars, and his flesh is being held together by staples, but still, you find him to be incredibly attractive, “You’ve got some things going for you anyway.”

“Like what?” He smirked, “Do tell.”

“I don’t know, you’ve got a pretty good physique under that dumbass jacket, the piercings you have really add to your style, your eyes are otherwordly.” You admitted, “I bet you’d look really nice if you got all dressed up.”

“Oh yeah?” Touya’s eyes drifted over to you, where you were still looking over the city. “You’re pretty good-looking too.”

Maybe, he wondered. Maybe you could find some kind of normality in this place.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Gonna ramble a bit here, sorry in advance for that

With the rise in worry about the permanence of online media (books / music / video content / art / online chat history / etc.) I've been thinking about wanting to print out some of my favorite fics, or catologue some of my longer (months and years long tbh) conversations about ocs. Or maybe try and learn how to burn cds so I can save my music and favorite shows / videos n stuff

Mm,, download a show online and burn it into a cd so I never have to look for it again,, easily accessible physical copy,, I love pirating things

Obviously, with printing out fics I'd want to ask for explicit permission from the author and then keep the printed volume to myself. Gotta be careful to be respectful ab that sort of thing.

I'd also be interested in printing out some of my own shit too, just for fun. Those old conversations about ocs won't last forever, discord will eventually fail and when it does I know I for one will be crushed to lose all that chat history.

Obviously, I'm an American, and like the current political state in America is uhhh. Deeply worrying for all of us over here. So I won't lie, that's also adding a layer of worry from that angle. Things are already looking ugly, and if they get uglier, you know, I for one don't want my information to be completley ripped away from me

Turning back to the fic thing again, there's also a good amount of American fic writers who have / are planning to / are thinking about taking down some of their fics, due to fear of potential laws that threaten to make pornography illegal, and alao laws that classify anything homosexual as pornography.

Now, to be clear, I don't think they'll really do this. I think that even if they try, there're literally no fucking way it would pass. The backlash alone would be insane. But that doesn't change the fact that people are scared— that people got scared, and some have already taken things down

So there's another layer of just, shit man, I don't wanna lose my fics. There's always a risk that even if you download it, you could one day lose it too.

Also printed and bound fics are just cool as hell. What do you mean I have a copy of my very favorite fics, right there on my shelf in physical form, which I can open any time to any page I want without fear of ao3 one day crashing?

The ideal world tbh

Besides that, there's also a sort of time capsule aspect to it.

The other day, my dad whipped out his old tape recordings he made when he was a kid, just of him rambling about shit to mail to a cousin. He put them in to a record player he apparently just had, and I lost my fucking mind seeing it.

Both of my parents were laughing at how excited I was to see both the tapes and the boom box— and to listen to my dad's tinny, muffled voice sounding just like the vintage tapes might be portrayed on TV. Faint static and old timey tv lilt in his voice and all.

To them, it was just a small, slightly nostalgic thing. To me, it was cool as hell and totally retro

The things I save today, that I print, that I burn into cds; Stories I'm scared might get deleted, conversations I dont want to lose, tv shows I could never afford to maintain a subscription to see, playlists of music I worried I'd lose; They may someday be some day be a real relic of the past, however many years in the future. If not for other people, than yeah, for me

So just, I dunno. It's important to save things in a way that they can't be taken away from you.

It's supposed to be the "age of information," isn't it? Well then, let me keep my goddamn information

[baphometsss]

my childfreeness is projecting again so here, have some of my childfree headcanons

Solas is sterile because he's old as fuck and his balls just don't make baby batter like they used to (Trick lk confirmed this teehee 🩷)

Did they ever work though?? I mean he literally just manifested as a fully grown man like all the ancient elves did. Iirc that's why modern elves don't have DNA. We never seem to find out when they started having babies naturally so it's possible he was always sterile (kind of like in TRC when Ronan pulls people out of his dreams and they don't even have internal organs)

Taleani Lavellan has always liked spirits and animals more than people because they're kind of uncomfortable around kids and people in general so not breeding is a very natural choice for them

Not to say they don't care about them at all bc she had a duty as her clan's midwife and helped all the new mothers out etc but she just doesn't have a clue how to talk to kids and has no desire to learn

Solas also doesn't know wtf to do around kids and either ignores them or talks to them like they're fully grown adults while they stare back at him blankly

He also canonically doesn't like loud noises and bollocks Blackwall for training the kids right outside his room in DAI

"Not now kitten Daddy's lamenting his war crimes and I have to talk him down again"--Lavellan probably

Being childfree makes them focus on each other a whole lot more. Makes me think about that old photo of some soldier returning from war to meet his kid for the first time ever and just shoving it under his arm upside down so he can kiss his wife. That would be Solas as a dad

Seriously they would have 0 time for that kid while the other was present . Tough luck kiddo your mother's wearing a low cut top today and her titties look divine. Go play in the Fade and don't come back for at least a couple of hours

Straight up Gomez and Morticia Addams if the kids weren't there

Absolutely fucking awful parents . No time to be normal when there are blighted titans to deal with

Also they can explore the Fade much further and learn so much more without having to get a spirit babysitter in

They can nerd out over all the new discoveries they make and do all the dangerous experiments they like without having to worry about the safety of a person with no sense of danger

They can have impromptu shags on the kitchen table and not worry about getting walked in on and scarring that kid mentally with their outrageous sex life

When they're stressed from a hard day of titan soothing and they just want to relax and talk they don't have to fight the bedtime battle or deal with whatever stinky mess the kid made

Lavellan doesn't have to worry about losing her teeth, or becoming incontinent, or having any of the myriad health issues that arise from pregnancy and childbirth with limited resources to do anything about it

Solas can teach Lavellan how to take a big wolf form like him once he binds her to his life force so they can live forever and it won't endanger the kid

Taleani doesn't give a shit about having a legacy but who needs one anyway if you live forever?

No kids stuff littering the house means more space for books and dangerous artefacts and frescoes that won't get ruined by sticky hands

No arguments about how to best raise a child. Just arguments about philosophy and war crimes

No kids mean they can sleep all they want and have epic dream escapades without interruptions

Just. No kids in the Fade prison allowed. Or the Fade. Or within a 500 mile radius of Solas and Lavellan. Seriously who the hell thought that was a good idea in the first place