#and with things he established in the world of the games

[kcatghost]

saw a post on twitter that was speculating the deltarune chapter 5 secret boss based on what we know already and it reminded me that im working on a video that goes into deltarunes role as "undertales parallel" story, so i thought id share a few of my thoughts here specifically regarding what i think ralsei is, how he connects to asriel but more accurately how he directly parallels flowey.

(original post here) https://x.com/theguyestlame/status/1942213255146983650?s=46

Basically, I believe chapter 5s secret boss to be an homage to flowey because of his connections to ralsei.

So, ralsei is very obviously supposed to evoke asriel. his appearance alone but also his name literally being a scramble of asriel- again really obvious stuff i shouldnt have to bring up.

however, ralsei actually has a lot more in common with flowey in the way that hes the complete opposite of everything flowey was meant to be.

flowey is asriel incarnated as a soulless inanimate object with a hint of determination mixed in, and after living a thousand lives and witnessing timeline after timeline he became jaded and bored, having already seen everything this world had to offer and couldnt afford to care anymore. that is until frisk appears (and the player) with a stronger amount of determination that meant he had no choice but to watch from afar- no longer the protagonist of the story

floweys mantra "kill or be killed" stems from his own experiences and presumed lack of ability to feel empathy, and this is the first thing he tells us as a complete juxtaposition to the games established design philosophy of "fight or spare". he is aware of the rules of the world he lives in, of saving and loading and coming back after death, and hes also aware of the games mechanics which is why hes able to try to and steer us onto the same path he went down (not expecting us to eventually take it further than him)

so, what does this have to do with ralsei?

like flowey, ralsei is our gateway into understanding how this game works. in an opposite yet extremely similar way, ralsei teaches us the opposite of this games philosophy "your choices dont matter", telling us how to fight AND spare.

ralsei is the first darkner to talk to us, like flowey is the first monster we meet in undertale. instead of attacking us or trying to trick us, he talks to us in a friendly manner. Ralsei even tells us the exact same explanation for what our soul is, almost word for word.

Ralsei of course shares a similar connection to asriel that flowey does, being that both are distinctly different characters made within the mould of asriel. i wont get too much into what i think ralsei is right now (as i said before, video in the works) but i dont think hes the same as in "ASRIEL IS DEAD AND A DARKNER NOW" but rather just that the two of them are meant to represent asriel for a similar purpose, and show the 2 sides of the same fate. Ralsei is all too aware of the rules of the world he lives in, and like flowey it plagues his mind, but unlike flowey ralsei takes the complete opposite approach. ralsei believes his thoughts and actions dont matter, because thats what the rules of the game are because of the prophecy, but he still makes an effort to try and change it for the better.

where flowey is endlessly bitter and cruel, ralsei is kind and deeply cares for his friends, and the prophecy scares him to death. flowey made the choice to kill and kill and keep resetting until he exhausted all options and ended up knowing too much, but in his own words, ralsei didnt ask to know the prophecy.

a big theme of deltarune is how storys are changed through interpretation, and i believe this to be the explanation for what ralsei is.

hes not an asriel parallel, but a flowey parallel, and i think ch5 will give us a lot more to work with considering its location and forshadowed connection to asgore, as well as the pattern of secret bosses from 3-4.

3-4-5 were meant to release together, right? ch3 is about kris, ch4 is about susie, it only makes sense for ch5 to be about ralsei.

that and chekhovs fucking nuclear bomb is literally sitting in the middle of asgores shop like come on

+ ralseis design features a blacked out heart, as though its missing.

thank you for coming to my ralsei talk

[twilightofthesandwiches]

how exactly is carol putting up the knight appearance, should she be the knight

did she borrow kris' original soul and that's her empowered form, ergo leaving kris hollow enough for us to slip in

...I mean, we still don't know for certain what exactly "putting up the Knight appearance" entails. Like, as far as we know, that could just be their variation of the Dark World Makeover.

And the reason it looks so Weird and Fucked Up is because these Dark World Transformations clearly have some element of fulfilling power fantasies/self-image and the Knight (whatever it's Carol or Dess or whoever) is... Not Doing Great Mentally. Like, yeah, maybe even worse than poor Kris, to the point it made their Idealized Dark World Self to come out like that...

Or it might be because they're wearing some sort of freaky magical Dark World Armor... which naturally turns into something much more mundane and easy-to-conceal in the Light World.

The Knight being a Monster with a Human SOUL is a popular theory right now, and understandably so. The only things we really know about Monsters with Human SOULs is that they are incredibly powerful and incredibly unsettling...

And the Knight is both powerful and unsettling, so it's hardly a leap to make that connection, especially when you add in the element of Kris' SOUL problems.

It does make some sense, but it still leaves a lot of questions unanswered (Kris' situation still contradicts the SOUL Lore established in Undertale, since a lot of this game's drama hinges on the idea that a Monster cannot take a Human's SOUL without them dying) and raises it's own questions (Asriel Undertale said that when he took on Chara's SOUL, the control of his body was split between the two of them, how would that work with Kris' mind still being in their own SOUL-less body?) although... same is true for almost every theory in this point in the story.

I do see what it might seem like one of the more plausible theories right now... but it's still merely a theory at the moment, and we shouldn't discard/ignore other possible explanation for What the Hell is Going One.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

What do you think the fate of Ralsei will be once Deltarune is finished? Do you think we/Kris will have to seal away Castle Town's Dark Fountain and possibly abandon the Dark World (and goat boy) forever? Or do you think it will stay, and Ralsei maybe even becomes [A Real Boy]?

Ahh, this is a tricky question for me to answer, because while I think it could end many different ways, the way that Deltarune has established certain core themes and ideas, clash with the rules that have been established for Darkners up to this point - namely, that a darkner cannot manifest in the light world, and will always return to their object form - in a way that makes only one ending both tenable and narratively satisfying.

Ralsei must come to the light world.

That's the only way I see his (or indeed her - see my musings on transfem Ralsei in this post if you're curious about that) character arc ending in a satisfying way is to bring him/her to the light world and let him/her be a Lightner.

To recap - we have a situation whereby Ralsei is starting to learn what being Ralsei-like is, developing his own likes and dislikes, desires and fears - the start of a personal reckoning that will likely take the entire rest of the game to properly come to terms with. Set against that is the supposedly-immutable Prophecy, foretelling a tragedy that must be fulfilled, and additionally we have the seemingly cast-iron laws of light and dark - darkners can only exist in dark worlds, and revert to mundane objects outside of them. A darkner cannot exist outside the darkness, no matter what.

The tension between these two forces can be resolved in one of two ways - either Ralsei must admit that he is unable to change anything, that he really isn't real after all, and must follow his destiny and return to the deep, lonely dark from whence he came, while his friends go back into the light to live out the rest of their lives.

Or... the rules have to be broken.

Deltarune depicts a world that seeks to impose its will upon its inhabitants - your choices don't matter, no-one can choose who they are in this world. We're set onto one path where the choices we make don't meaningfully influence the outcome (for a given definition of the term "meaningfully", but we'll get to that), and the game has one ending that cannot be averted (?). Already we're starting to see question marks, because we do know that our actions CAN change events - Berdly can be saved without sustaining any damage, Tenna and Jackenstein can live or die, depending on how we treat the characters in each chapter - with kindness or with violence.

And in swaggers Susie, who is the living embodiment of a middle finger to pointless rules and hand-wringing. If she sees something she doesn't like, she smashes it, and then finds a better way of doing things. If people get in her way, then she'll deal with them, one way or another. She won't be told what to do, she can't be made to do ANYTHING she doesn't want to. Susie breaks all the rules, and she has herself a rip-roaring time doing it.

Now, is Susie gonna tear a hole in the dimensions, Majin Buu style and yank Ralsei through it? No... I don't think she'll be the one who will be solely responsible for him breaking that boundary. But Susie's entire existence in the story, her stance on everything from the validity and reality of the darkners to her determination to see the story never truly end, is entirely condoned and endorsed by the game. The game is telling us, Susie is RIGHT. The rules are busted, and they need to be changed. And with that in mind, and Ralsei's own journey of self-discovery, we see that the only resolution to his arc that the game will allow is that he MUST break the foundational rule of Deltarune's universe - he must come to the light world.

...but there is an alternate scenario.

At the end of chapter 4, Ralsei tries to reassure Kris by telling them that everything must be okay because he's "smiling". And then, we're given a choice. And this might well be the most important choice the player will make in a normal playthrough. We can say "It's okay not to smile", Kris will pull Ralsei into a hug, and their bond will strengthen - literally, the unused value for Kris being healed by Ralsei tea will shoot up by 40 points, to 100.

Or we can say "Good. Keep Smiling." And Kris will not stop us from saying this. And Ralsei will... do exactly that. He'll keep smiling, through his pain and his bewilderment and his heartbreak. The tea value will remain at 60. The door between them will be slammed shut. And this answer, more than anything else Kris could say or do to him, at this exact moment, will confirm to him that his attempts at self-actualisation were a mistake. That he shouldn't try to be something he's not. That he shouldn't try to be his own person. That he shouldn't listen to Susie's delusions that he's "real" or that he "matters". He's just there to smile. He's just there to reassure his "friends". He's there to serve. To be used up. And then discarded.

And when the opportunity arises to become something else, something more than what he is right now... he'll refuse. He won't change, because he doesn't believe he can... or that he's even allowed to. And the final tragedy will happen, and he will go back into the dark forever. Just as he was conditioned to do. Just as foretold.

Which of these scenarios seems the more satisfying, in terms of Deltarune's themes and Ralsei's character arc? Or, to put it in less weighted terms - which of these scenarios reinforce Deltarune's core messages, and which ignore them, or allows the player to ignore them?

I should perhaps clarify - I actually think there being an option to shut down Ralsei's epiphanies about himself, albeit indirectly, isn't in and of itself a bad thing. There's great potential for tragedy and catharsis there, of a fate reinforced because of one careless utterance, spoken in a moment of potential vulnerability that was rejected and closed off. A cautionary tale warning of the power that words can have at pivotal moments in our lives. There is a value in such an ending for him, though it is a bitter one, and one we would rather not see.

I talked about this for a lot longer than I thought I was going to, haha! But I hope that this might have answered your question!

[greafest]

SQUID GAME S3 SPOILERS

Piggybacking off a recent reblog and another post from long ago about how Gihun didn’t sacrifice himself solely for the baby, but also because he was already suicidal—I’ve always held that belief too.

I’ve always appreciated how Hdh wrote Gihuns character. But one thing I noticed this season—and didn’t entirely like— was how his suicidal ideation was presented as somewhat logical or even reasonable. From the beginning of Season 2 it’s firmly established that Gihun is engaging in self-harm and struggling with suicidal tendencies. Those tendencies aren’t just a background detail, they’re part of what drives him back to the games in the first place.

He doesn’t see a meaningful life outside of the games anymore. The knowledge that they exist weighs on him so heavily that he sees himself as permanently tied to them. His role in this world: their system— is all he can understand. And near the finale of the season, he’s worn down and hopeless. When he’s given the knife, he has a moment where he could free both himself and the baby from the games. But he misses that chance, and both of them are left facing imminent death. And as we all know, he ends up giving his life to save the baby as a result.

He manages to hold onto his ideals and make a point with his death— his sacrifice isn’t in vain. It’s a better way to die than being pushed off a ledge by a random O, that much is clear. But when you look at it more closely— the story seems to validate his suicidal urges, not because they ever challenge them, but because they end up framing them as noble— even necessary. That’s what bothers me. It’s as if the message isn’t that he shouldn’t want to die, but that he just needed the right context to make it meaningful.

[fourthage]

I reblogged this earlier today without comment, but I kept thinking about one part of it and getting madder (at Falcom, not any posters!), so you're getting it again, this time with thoughts!

I have seen all of the defenses of Rean's character and why he isn't a self-insert, and I find none of them convincing. He suffers from informed characteristics that we are never actually shown. @croptoptux mentions above that a lot of people hate the harem dynamic (hi! I'm people!) but it's more than that. Rean is the worst possible protagonist for doing that, and it runs counter to what Falcom tells us his character arc is.

Let me explain (under the cut) (spoilers for the Sky arc too for anyone waiting for the remake to play for the first time).

First, if Rean was a self-insert, it still wouldn't fix most of my issues with Cold Steel, but it would at least be honest about what his role is. The game wants us to believe his personality is a big nothingburger because of crippling self-worth issues. I'll be honest, I had no idea I was supposed to think that about Rean until other characters called him out on it a few games in because he... always helped with requests and ran in to save people? Like ever other JRPG protagonist ever? And 99% of the time the rest of the cast was right there with him? With articulated justification that had nothing to do with Rean's inner life? And we hear Rean's thoughts! If anyone should know what Rean thinks about himself, it should be us, the player. There is no inner monologue to support that reading of him.

The lack of showing us this supposed self-loathing is even more egregious because Falcom knows how to write a character like that convincingly. Joshua Bright is right there! And this is where we get to the problem of the harem.

Joshua works as a character because Sky FC & SC take the time to establish how he thinks about himself and how he puts on a mask with most of the world. The end of FC is all about showing us how the relationships we watched him build over the course of the game aren't enough to overcome his belief that he isn't worthy of love.

Yes, there are a couple of girls, other than Estelle, who show interest in Joshua. But Kloe and Josette are both initially attracted to the mask Joshua wears around them. They're never really options, and their feelings for him aren't there to show how desirable Joshua is, but to act as a foil for Estelle so that by the end of SC, we believe she's the one who really sees him and understand why Joshua loves her. (AS SHOULD EVERYONE)

Compare to what Cold Steel does with Rean. Every girl in his class (and, grossly, adult women in authority over him, and later his own students) is supposed to be attracted to him. The failure to develop Rean as an actual character undercuts the argument that he's not a self-insert, because there is nothing about him to explain why women are tripping over themselves to be with him. Rean's supposed unworthiness to be loved comes up exactly zero times in any bonding conversations. Because it's not actually about who is a good match for Rean, it's who do you, the (assumed male) player, think is hottest and want to date.

But a character like what Rean is supposed to be needs those conversations. If he feels he needs to be useful, to be who the other person needs him to be, to be worthy of love, then his relationship conversations need to be as much about him as it is about the other person. And the harem dynamic can't support that. They're all about learning more about/doing things for the target before being rewarded with a love declaration/physical affection at the end. Rean's supposed to think he has to constantly prove his worth in his relationships. That kind of transactional view is exactly what Rean's arc should be about disproving. Instead, the harem function reinforces it.

(Rants I started, but then deleted to keep myself on topic:

If Falcom Wanted Alisa As Canon They Should Have Had The Balls To Do It (And Why Her Initial Conflict With Rean Is Lazy Writing)

Why I'm Okay With Estelle And Joshua But Think Elise As An Option For Rean Is Gross And Pandering

Making Major Character Information Unobtainable In A First Run Due To Limited Unlockable Events Is Dumb And Doesn't Belong In A Game Series Loved For Its Characters)

Could someone explain to me why people like Trails of Cold Steel? Especially people who’ve played the other games in the Trails franchise?

This probably seems like bait, but I promise that I’m being serious. I want to know why people like this arc, and how they process some of the truly bizarre decisions that went into it. I want to understand how people can love something that I find so fucking frustrating.

More detail about my experience below the cut. Minor spoiler warning for Azure and CS I.

I adore the Trails series. Crossbell is fantastic. Sky isn’t just one of my favorite games, it’s one of my favorite pieces of art at all. Kiseki is beyond precious to me.

I went into Cold Steel nervous, but hopeful. I was fresh off finishing Azure. While I didn’t like the new art direction or the high school setting, I also knew that CS was the most popular arc in the franchise - So I tried to come in with an open mind.

I didn’t like it, but I still wanted to see what was on the other side. I finished CS I, and it never really got better - But that was okay! Sky FC wasn’t great either, and I was told that CS II was significantly better. So I played CS II, and it was better! But it was still bad. I finish CS II and move on to CS III, but that’s where I finally burn out. I can’t finish the game. The save file is sitting in my computer to this day.

So I have to ask… Why? Why do people like these games at all, much less like them more than the previous five? I genuinely can’t think of a single part of CS that I like more than either Crossbell or Sky. The art is worse, the gameplay is worse, the story is worse, and the characters are worst of all. Music’s still good, though - Falcom Sound Team don’t miss.

I have tried my best to understand Trails of Cold Steel, and I get some of it. I think that Rean is bland and poorly written, but I can understand that he’s functioning as a self-insert. I think dropping the customs Arts system for predefined spells is lame, but I get that it’s much easier to use. Stuff like that - I certainly don’t like those elements, but I understand why they exist.

But then there are also some decisions that are totally incomprehensible to me. Gideon, the primary antagonist of the first half of SC I, gets into a plane and dies offscreen. What in God’s name would move a writer to do that? Who thought that was a good idea? Why the fuck would you write that into the story? I know we see him die in Azure, Azure was translated years after CS1, and he didn’t even get named in Azure until the official translation added a bunch of CS references! They didn’t have to make Gideon and the Azure lieutenant the same character! They could have just been different people!!!

Please help me understand. What do you see in these games? What makes them worthy successors everything that came before?

[tev-the-random]

"Aw man, what are they gonna do with Shadow now that he got his closure with Maria's wish and everything? What sort of story can he possibly have after that?"

*points frantically at Sonic 06*

[balkanlila]

lilamichele is like what i'm always complaining about. it's better to have an enemy who understands the vision (no matter how scary the enemy is) than trying to articulate yourself to idiots because you can't argue with someone who doesn't understand what you're saying in the first place

[narwhalandchill]

methinks about that one leak way back of admittedly highly uncertain reliability but was nonetheless claiming that childes character during early genshin development (at least at one point) was unaligned with the fatui and instead written as like the actual canonical travel companion to aether/lumine in the games story.

and then like. looks at his constellation quite literally depicting and directly linking him to an interdimensional being endlessly voyaging among the stars.

its curious. preeetty curious.

[spitblaze]

Having returned to Dark Souls 1 and FINALLY making it to Anor Londo: I am coming back to my hot gaming take that BotW came full circle, with OoT inspiring the Dark Souls games, which I am convinced in turn partially inspired BotW.

[soullessjack]

just watched inherit the earth literwlly for the first time since it aired and. on one note, there’s a lot I want to say about dean dissociating himself from the situation so much that his behavior seems regressive and insincere, but on another note entirely. he was gonna get big fancy recliners and a giant tv for jack. okay.

[elliot]

[valor52]

Thanks Indie that's all I needed

SO The Color Game is an ISAT-inspired RPG I've had brewing in my mind for... a While, basically ever since I played the game. Ironically, it's NOT about time loops, no matter how hard I tried to include them in the story. But I want to do a smaller, more self-contained project to practice with coding and game design before tackling a bigger project like the Color Game, and that's where these guys come in! I get practice, AND I get to set up the story for the Color Game. Win win! ANyway yeah I rambled about the characters a bit in the tags of the post but the basis of the game is that the color of the world is being drained, and you have to stop it. In this world, Colors are tied to magic, which is derived from your emotions! You have your primary colors: Red, Blue, Yellow (lots of raw magical power, but little control ), and then Secondary colors (being mixes of primary colors, utilizing less raw power but more control over their magic. Aaaaand because I wanted a third set (and my sibling inputted a character who uses one of them), there are also Third colors: Pink, Cyan, and [Insert name for pale yellow here]! They're the weakest of the colors, but are basically able to use magic as an extension of their own bodies, with the level of control they have.

The country the game takes place in is called Awnbiro! Social hierarchies are primarily decided by color magic, but since they're tied to emotion, changing one's general emotional demeanor is enough to change your color! There's even therapists who specialize in helping people change their magic to certain colors. There is a vocal minority who believes that your birth color is a gift given to you by the Spectrum (the pantheon of nine gods who rule over nature, one for each color), and that to change your color is to forsake a gift from a deity.

Maize, Cerule, Scarlett, and the Jester are all led by Blot to fight the Ringmaster- an old troupe-mate of the Jester's who's utilizing a special type of magic to drain the world of it's color. And when a person loses their color, they lose their magic, which means they lose their emotions! Obviously, a world of emotionless husks for people is bad.

By the time of the prologue (since that's what the smaller project is- a prologue to the main game) the entire country of Awnbiro is drained of color, with the field quickly spreading across the world. These four are the only people with magic still intact, and the only color they're allowed is via the fabric of their clothes (The people of Awnbiro developed a special kind of fabric that gets flooded with the magic of the wearer, letting it change to the color of whoever's wearing it! The Jester is a special case: He can use THREE primary colors, which is unheard of in the context of the world. Rarely, people are able to use two types of Third colors, are there are a couple documented cases of people with Secondary magic developing a complimentary Third color. No cases of multiple Primary color users have ever been reported, until the Jester.)

ANYWAY, yeah, these goobers are the only ones left who can save the world! I won't spoil the plot of the actual game, since I DO plan on making it and showing it off to the world, but just know I plan on breaking hearts >:)

[forrest-onfire]

And then her best friend dies too

So I've finished Horizon: Zero Dawn and started Forbidden West.

[twilightofthesandwiches]

The funny thing is that despite the many surface-level similarities between Mettaton Undertale and Tenna Deltarune; both being rectangular, charismatic TV Hosts who subject the Player Characters to many TV-Themed Minigames and a ‘score’ based Sparing Mechanic

And they even have a very similar taste is suits!

On a deeper character/thematic level, they’re actually total opposites.

Mettaton is the Underground’s only celebrity and main source of entertainment, he’s highly watched and highly popular (Well, within the standards of the Underground, it's implied they are just not that many Monsters around). Meanwhile Tenna’s whole thing is that he’s been abandoned and ignored by the whole Dreemurr family. Outcompeted and overshadowed by the many other sources of entertainment in the modern Light World.

And while Tenna is motivated by an obsessive desire to not be abandoned ever again, to keep Toriel and the Fun Gang on his shows forever… One of Mettaton’s biggest flaws is his tendency to abandon those he’s close to. He pretty much cut ties with Shyren and Napstablook when he became a star.

And he’s been growing distant from Alphys as well.

And, actually his whole darn motivation is to abandon the Underground in search of even greater fame on the surface.

His Pacifist Ending is all about him confronting that flaw in himself, understanding how important he is to the Monsters of the Underground and deciding that he should stay so he can keep bringing his brand of entertainment, joy and glamour to the people who needs it.

While Tenna’s Happy Ending is about helping him to get over his obsessive neediness to entertain specifically the Dreemurr family, and realizing he can move on to someone else, to someplace else, who will actually watch him.

On a deeper thematic level... I think you can also talk about how Mettaton is driven by his Dreams, while Tenna seeks Hope.

And also, I always saw Mettaton as representing modernity for the Underground.

Due to his human-fanboyism and fascination with the Surface, Mettaton has ended up creating and/or promoting a lot of aspects of modern human culture in the Underground. Mass media entertainment, merchandise, trademarks, fast-food, minimum-wage retail jobs, unions…

All of these things seem to exist in the Underground primarily or entirely due to Mettaton’s influence.

Every other Boss/Main Character has some kind of ‘official position’ in the Kingdom's traditional power-structure; Sentry, Royal Guard Captain, Royal Scientist, King, Queen, Prince… Mettaton is a creation of the Royal Scientist, but on his own he’s just a rich and famous celebrity. That's kind of a modern concept in it and of itself, since it kinda requires the existence of a mass media culture....

Or hell, just the fact that he’s the one Monster in the game who seems to have no real respect/loyalty for the Monarchy, and is actually working against him…

Both out of his individual sense of morality (he cares for the Humans) but also for the sake of the very modern goal of mass fame.

And of course on the most obvious level he’s a technologically-advanced robot whose ‘zone’ is the most tech-themed part in the game. (Zones? if you wanna count Hotland and the CORE as separate areas. Either way it's true of both when compared to the rest of the Underground.)

And Tenna is obviously the exact opposite of this. He and his Dark World are still kinda tech-themed in the sense that he is a Darkner based on a household electronic device, but he’s still clearly supposed to stand as a vast contrast to the much-more advanced techy-themed Darkners of Cyber City. He’s specifically meant to be themed after outdated and old-fashioned technology

And the concept of Nostalgia.

… In a way, despite Undertale being a very 2010’s game and despite the Underground being established to have 2010's technology such as Social Media… Mettaton's being primarily a TV Star with TV Show theming in most of his encounters is a very 20th century sort of concept. To use the Television as a shorthand for the concept of modernity.

Obviously that works within Undertale because that is a very familiar cultural shorthand and also it does make sense within the Very Particular Technological and Cultural Framework of the Underground… But with Deltarune being both a much newer game and taking place in a world much closer to our own, I guess it makes sense to instead use the TV to symbolize the past, outdated technology and nostalgic yearning.

[millermouth]

Sundress

Joel Miller x Reader

Joel prides himself on his patience, but that little sundress of yours that you’re wearing to the summer solstice? It’s his undoing. He does his best to behave...until he gets you alone.

|| smut mdni 18+, he sure does fuck you in the sundress, pinv, f!receiving oral, teasing, pussy pronouns whoops, daddy kink, pet names praissseeeeeeee kinkkkkkkk, joel is in love, jackson!joel, established relationship, I pictured game!joel but you do what ya want || Inspired by these wonderful requests x x If you found this before I updated the banner sry

First and foremost, Joel was a polite man.

He was raised to say yes ma’am and no ma’am, never forgetting his please and thank you’s. It was something a Southern man like him held onto, even after the world had gone to hell.

Respect came first. Restraint. Control.

But then spring came to Jackson, and your layers of clothing started to shed. Bit by bit, the cold loosened its grip, and so did his discipline. Your neck was no longer hidden beneath those thick scarves you loved, your arms bare when the sun was shining, and every so often, he caught a glimpse of soft, warm skin—the dip of your lower back, the curve of your stomach when you stretched to reach something, the way your t-shirts lifted just enough to tease.

He told himself it was nothing—just the natural way of things. He’d seen you naked in his bed enough times to know your body like the back of his own hand. Cherished and kissed and loved every inch. Warmer weather just meant lighter clothes, more sun on skin.

Nothing to make a man lose his damn mind over.

And then—Christ—summer arrived, and he was no better than any other man.

Somehow, this was worse. Because now, that soft, sun-kissed skin he worshipped in the quiet of your home was everywhere. 

Teasing him. 

Tormenting him.

Joel had spent the whole morning baking under the sun, sweat clinging to his skin, dust settling in the creases of his shirt. The construction site had been brutal—hauling lumber, setting up new fencing, fixing the shit that kept breaking down in town. His muscles ached, his skin was hot, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, all he wanted was a cold beer and a quiet place to sit.

But Tommy had other plans.

“C’mon,” his brother had grinned, clapping him on the back as they finished up for the day. “Solstice picnic’s startin’.” 

And as Joel opened his mouth, about to argue that he needed to get back to you, Tommy had cut him off, already a step ahead.

"She’s already there. Maria put her to work stringin’ up lights and pickin’ flowers or somethin’. Now get movin’ before she starts wonderin’ if you forgot about 'er."

Joel grunted, stripping off his work gloves and tucking them into his belt. His palms were rough, lined with grit, and as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he swore the damn heat had sunk into his bones.

Wouldn’t be the first time he showed up to one of these things straight from work, sweat-streaked and worn. No one gave a shit. So he walked beside his younger brother, looking forward to getting through another one of the town's little parties.

That was when he saw you. 

That little sundress. White, lacy, soft. Light enough that it barely touched your skin, the summer breeze slipping beneath it and lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bare skin of your upper thigh.

Joel swallowed hard, the heat rolling through him having nothing to do with the damn sun.

You were glowing—golden in the late afternoon light, hair catching in the breeze, your smile easy as you laughed at something Maria said. Just standing there, sipping something cool, completely oblivious to the way he’d stopped in his tracks the second he laid eyes on you. Tommy excused himself as they arrived, saying a short ‘catch up with you later’.

Joel made himself move, rolling his shoulders, setting his jaw. 

Polite, he reminded himself. Gentle.

Joel had been raised right, after all.

So when he walked up to you, he made it seem easy, effortless. Like his hands weren’t itching with the need to touch. Like his pulse hadn’t just kicked up something fierce.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured as he approached behind you, his wide grip settling low on your hips.

You twisted around to face him, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “Hey, handsome.” Your hands slid around his neck as you pressed up for a kiss—soft, warm, sweet with the taste of iced tea and that cherry chapstick you always wore.

Joel had to fight with every fiber of his being not to haul you over his shoulder and carry you straight home.

Didn’t help that you hummed against his lips, content and tender, fingers brushing at the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself before he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Pretty thing like you’s got half of Jackson lookin’.”

You grinned, fingers still playing lazily with the curls at his nape. “That so?”

Joel huffed, the corner of his mouth tilting up, but there was something weighted behind the way his fingers flexed against your hips, pressing in just a little firmer.

“Mm,” he hummed, voice dipping low. “S’pose I can’t blame ‘em.” His thumb brushed the fabric of your dress, right where it pressed into the soft skin of your waist. His restraint was hanging by a thread. “Ain’t their fault you’re the prettiest thing out here.”

“You’re sweet,” you said, a tinge of pink painting your cheeks. 

His hand squeezed at your hip, just once, and then he exhaled sharply, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before finally—finally—forcing himself to step back.

Because if he didn’t, this picnic was about to end real fast.

You turned to grab him a beer from the cooler, Tommy’s homemade brew—practically gold now that the days were creeping past eighty degrees. The glass was cool against your fingertips as you popped the cap and turned back, pressing it into Joel’s waiting hand.

“Figured you could use one.”

Joel took it with a small nod, taking a slow sip. “Thanks, darlin’.”

His voice was warm, easy like he hadn’t spent the last several minutes imagining what he planned to do you tonight.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Anything for you, cowboy.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner, “Don’t say that just yet,”

Something in the air shifted, something subtle, something unspoken but you felt it coursing through you, a warmth that brought a flush to your neck.

Joel’s eyes lingered, dark and steady, holding yours like he had all the time in the world. A slow, searching kind of stare, like he was committing the sight of you to memory, like he had something he wanted to say if you were surrounded by a crowd.

You felt the heat of it traveling from your cheeks to your stomach with toe curling intensity..

The fire crackled nearby. Someone laughed in the distance. The music played on.

But before either of you could say anything else, someone clapped him on the back—Tommy again, grinning, dragging him into conversation with a few others, leaving you standing there with a knowing little smirk.

Still, you stayed close.

And so did he.

The afternoon passed in a slow, easy blur. Music drifted through the warm air, laughter rang across the field, and Joel—Joel was everywhere.

His hand at your lower back as you walked through the crowd.

His arm slung over the back of your chair when you sat beside him at one of the makeshift picnic tables.

His fingers brushing over your thigh when he leaned in to murmur something low in your ear, just for you.

It wasn’t deliberate, at least not in the way most folks would notice. But you felt it—felt the way his touches lingered a second longer than necessary, the way his gaze dropped to your legs when the hem of your dress rode up just a little, the way his jaw clenched whenever you gave other men any of your attention–as kind and endearing as you were. It wasn’t your fault. You were kind, warm, effortlessly magnetic. People were drawn to you, it was just who you were.

Joel Miller was trying to behave.

And failing miserably.

By the time the sun had long dipped below the mountains, the stars shining in the dark blue sky above, he was done pretending.

You were settled on his lap, your bare legs draped over his, firelight flickering against your skin. The air was balmy, thick with the scent of burning wood and cool summer breeze, but your skin was warm against him.

His hand rested easy on the outside of your thigh at first, a casual thing, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin. But as the fire burned lower, so did his restraint. Slowly, lazily, his palm inched higher—skimming up, up, until his fingers slipped beneath your dress, disappearing into the soft folds of fabric.

And then he gripped you, fingers pressing into the juncture of your thigh and ass, squeezing like he just needed something to hold onto.

You jolted slightly, a sharp breath slipping past your lips as you swatted at his arm. “Joel.”

“Hmm?” He didn’t even pretend to be innocent, his fingers flexing again, kneading the flesh beneath his palm.

You tried to glare, but the traitorous smile pulling at your lips ruined the effect. “Behave yourself.”

Joel huffed out a quiet chuckle, looking up at you with something wicked in his eyes. His hand stayed exactly where it was.

“You gon’ make me?” he murmured, voice low, rough enough to leave goosebumps in its wake.

Your breath hitched. And then, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud—like it had slipped past his lips before he could stop it—he exhaled, voice all gravel and want:

“This dress.”

His hand beneath your dress slid back down, fingering at the hem of the white lace, so pale now compared to your warm skin.

Your breath caught, eyes flickering down to where his fingers toyed with the fabric. His own gaze stayed locked on your face, watching every little shift, every little reaction.

When his thumb ghosted over your kneecap, you swallowed hard, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Look so pretty, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and rough with want as he leaned into the shell of your ear. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to drive me outta my mind.”

And maybe you were.

You knew how much Joel loved you in dresses. It was something about the way they softened you, how the fabric clung to your curves just right, how effortless and feminine you looked draped in lace and light cotton. He never outright said it, but you saw it in the way his hands lingered, in the way his eyes darkened whenever you wore something delicate—something that made you look like you were made for pretty things.

Joel might have been a rough man, all grit and strength, but it was the softness that undid him.

Your back arched into him just an inch, barely anything, but enough that he felt it. Enough that the warmth of your body, the scent of you, the soft brush of your hair against his cheek made his brain go sluggish, thick with something hot and needy.

And then you looked at him.

Heavy-lidded, dazed, lips parted just slightly—like you were already halfway gone before he’d even laid his hands on you. It made something tighten in his chest, made his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, an involuntary reaction to just how badly he wanted to feel more of you.

Your hand came up to his face, and before either of you could think twice, you were leaning in.

The kiss was nothing like the ones you’d shared earlier—no teasing, no gentle sweetness. This was urgent, all heat and hunger, your tongue kitten-licking at his bottom lip, testing, tasting, making his half-hard cock twitch beneath his jeans. He nearly groaned, nearly let it slip from his throat, but his grip on control was thin, fraying at the edges.

Because when you pulled away, instead of giving him space, you leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your breath warm and an octave lower than your usual sweet lilt.

“Let's go home,” you whispered, kissing along his earlobe, voice barely there—but it hit him like an electric shock.

That was all it took.

Joel was like an animal waiting for his trigger word, waiting for the command to be free, to take what he wanted.

He stood slowly, deliberately, trying to keep himself cool, calm, polite—saving face only because he owed that to you. Not because he cared what people thought. Hell, half of Jackson already had enough to say about him.

But he behaved for you.

For his girl.

Joel stood slowly, setting your legs down gently as he rose, his palm grazing the small of your back—just barely, just enough to feel the warmth of you beneath his fingertips. You stayed close, bodies still humming from the heat of each other, lingering even as you murmured your goodbyes.

But the further you got from the crowd, the needier your touches became.

Your fingers curled around his arm, holding tight, your body leaning into his, pressing into the solid warmth of him with every step. And Joel—Joel wasn’t any better. His hand had already found its way around your waist, fingers spreading over your hip like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

It wasn’t until you turned the corner onto your own street—finally alone—that Joel came to a sudden stop.

Your brows furrowed, about to ask what was wrong, but before you could even get the words out, he bent down and hauled you over his shoulder in one smooth, effortless motion.

A sharp gasp left your lips. “Joel!”

“Shoulda done this an hour ago,” he muttered, not even remotely apologetic. His grip tightened around the back of your thighs, adjusting you against him like you weighed nothing. And then—just to make sure you knew exactly what kind of mood he was in—his palm slid up the back of your legs, landing a sharp swat against the bare skin of your ass.

A squeak slipped from your throat, your fingers digging into the back of his shirt as you squirmed in his hold.

“Joel!” you hissed, but he could hear the grin despite the scandalized tone.

“Shh…” He chuckled, his grip tightening around your thighs as he strode up the porch steps. “Don’t want the neighbors pokin’ their heads out, do ya?”

The wood groaned beneath his boots, but he didn’t so much as hesitate, not even as he crossed the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him without breaking stride. He had one thing on his mind.

One destination.

You barely had time to process the familiar path of your home before Joel was hauling you up the stairs like you weren’t even there—still slung over his shoulder, still gripping onto him as your laughter mixed with the sound of his heavy footfalls.

And then suddenly—you were airborne.

A startled gasp left your lips as he bounced you onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you, breathless and winded. You propped yourself up on your elbows, hair tousled and wild, looking up at him as he stood at the edge of the bed, staring you down like he was about to devour you whole.

Your chest rose and fell, your pulse thrumming with a mixture of anticipation and amusement.

“What’s gotten into you, old man?” you teased, breathless but grinning.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he pulled off your boots. Once discarded, he hooked his arms under your knees, dragging you down the mattress, pressing you into him. The motion sent your dress hiking up around your waist, leaving you spread open beneath him, your panties on perfect display.

“Oh, hunny,” he drawled, looking at the damp patch on the fabric, “you keepin’ this from me?”

Before you could answer, he leaned down, hands trailing up your thighs, easing them over his shoulders. The first brush of his lips against the fabric was slow, deliberate—a kiss to your panty-clad mound, soft but enough to make you shudder. 

Then he kept going. Mouth trailing lower, teasing.

Your head tipped back at the feeling of his beard grazing your sensitive skin, a breathy moan slipping out as your elbows gave, dropping you onto the bed completely. One hand found his hair, gripping, your fingers tangling in the dark curls streaked with silver. He watched you, eyes drinking you in. 

“N-no,” you breathed, “Always yours, Joel,”

“I know, baby, I know.” he cooed, voice softer now, full of reverence. He reached up, gripping the gusset of your panties, wrapping a thick finger around the damp fabric, tugging it to the side to reveal exactly what he wanted. His beard scraped against you when he kissed the skin of your thigh, sending a shockwave through your body, making you twitch beneath him.

A whimper left your lips, your hips lifting without thinking.

Joel chuckled, low and knowing, watching as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Aw, she’s flirtin’ with me, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss against you. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted. “Wish you could see just how pretty she looks right now.”

“Joel.” It was a whimper, a plea, a warning.

His lust blown eyes flicked up to yours, his mouth still hovering just over where you needed him most. “What is it, baby?”

You swallowed, hips shifting, heat pooling low in your belly.

“Please.”

Joel hummed, dragging his mouth closer but still not giving you what you wanted. “Please what?”

Because hell, he’d spent all damn day watching you, aching for you, burning with want while you smiled and laughed and let that damn dress drive him to madness. If anything, he deserved to have his fun now. He needed to hear you say it.

Your fingers flexed in his hair, a little tug, a little desperation, “Please touch me, Daddy.”

Joel’s blood turned molten. Heat roared through him so fierce, so instant, it nearly knocked the air from his lungs. And maybe you knew exactly what that word did to him.

He dipped his head back down, tongue sliding through your folds, groaning against you as he finally gave in. You were so warm, so slick, so ready for him that he had to take a second just to breathe, just to let himself have this.

His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into soft flesh as he held you open for him, his mouth working slow, savoring. You shuddered beneath him, your fingers twisting into his hair, your body already arching toward his mouth like you couldn’t help yourself.

His tongue flicked against your clit, lazy at first, teasing, before dipping lower to drink you in, groaning as he tasted you properly. Slow and deep, his tongue pressed inside you, inching in, sliding out, before licking back up and pursing his lips around your clit, sucking and grazing his teeth, making your hips jerk against his mouth.

His beard scraped against your thighs, rough and warm, the contrast making you tremble harder beneath him. Every movement was deliberate, unhurried, like he was relearning you all over again, savoring every sound, every twitch, every sharp gasp that slipped past your lips.

Joel’s hands flexed against your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin, grounding you as his mouth worked you into a pliant mess.

“Need to get her ready for me,” he murmured, voice muffled against you, words spoken more to himself than to you. His mouth never left you as one broad hand slid between your legs, and you gasped as his fingers traced over your entrance, prodding the pool of arousal there.

“So damn soft,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down to kiss the inside of your thigh, his breath hot against your slick skin. “And already so wet for me. She likes it when I take my time, don’t she, baby?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, too lost in the slow, perfect way he touched you.

You only nodded, voice failing you as his finger finally pushed inside—just one at first, easing in with aching patience, stretching you open. A ragged moan left your lips, fingers twisting in his hair as he curled it just right, pressing against that spot inside you that made your whole body shudder.

He hummed in approval, lips finding your clit again, his tongue swirling slow, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“You make the prettiest noises for me," he murmured against you, his voice thick and rough with hunger. He slid another finger in, stretching you wider, pumping them in and out in a slow, steady pace, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him.

Your body was already tightening, your thighs trembling, your breath hitching into soft, broken whimpers. You couldn’t stop yourself from rocking into him, chasing that feeling, your pleasure building with every slow, deliberate stroke of his fingers, every teasing flick of his tongue.

Joel could feel it, the way you clenched down around him, the way your legs shook against his shoulders.

“There she is,” he murmured, pressing a kiss right over your clit before sucking it back into his mouth, his fingers pressing up into your soft, velvety walls. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel her.”

That was all it took–your body tensed, the pleasure cresting and crashing all at once as you came around his fingers, a sharp, broken cry slipping from your lips. Your thighs squeezed around his head, but Joel didn’t stop, didn’t slow, working you through it, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him.

He groaned low, almost like he was the one falling apart, dragging his fingers slow as he eased you down, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh.

“So goddamn sweet for me,” he muttered, voice wrecked, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.

Your body was still trembling, the aftershocks rolling through you as Joel pressed one last lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh before pulling back.

He looked wrecked.

His beard glistened, slick with your release, lips swollen and parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, drinking you in like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

His hands slid up your legs, slow and deliberate, until they gripped your waist, spreading you open beneath him as he crawled over you, pressing his weight into you. The fabric of your dress was still bunched around your hips, the lace soft beneath his calloused hands, but he liked that you kept it on.

Something about how pretty you looked in it, something about knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this.

His hands found your face, cupping it, tilting your chin up, and then his mouth was on yours. Hot, deep and unyielding.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your fingers sliding into his hair as he stole every breath from your lungs. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, his beard damp against your chin as he pressed in harder, hungrier. It was so much—too much and not enough all at once.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, you were looking up at him, your thumb brushing against the slick sheen on his jaw, your heart pounding.

"Can I take care of you, daddy?" you whispered, voice warm and so damn sweet it made his chest ache.

But he was already shaking his head, already unbuckling his belt, already too far gone to let you do anything but take him.

"Not tonight, baby," he murmured, his low drawl barely audible. His belt hit the floor, his jeans sliding low on his hips as he leaned down, pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time.

"I need to feel you," he admitted, his voice quieter now, more raw. His hand ran down your thigh, fingers pressing into soft skin, feeling you, grounding himself in you. "If you put that pretty mouth on me, there won’t be a chance in hell I get to feel you cum on my cock, ‘cause I’d be done in minutes with the state you got me in."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes warm as your hands smoothed down his sides, fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans, helping him push them lower.

"That bad, huh?" you teased.

Joel exhaled a shaky chuckle, dropping his forehead to yours, barely holding himself together as he pulled himself free.

"Worse," he admitted.

His cock was thick, flushed, leaking, the head dragging through your slick, teasing you. Joel groaned low at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tip of himself, his lips brushing against yours as he lined himself up, his voice just a whisper.

“Gonna let Daddy take care of you?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

You arched your back into him, the flimsy straps of your dress slipping down your shoulders as you reached for him, arms winding around his neck, legs hooking around his waist like you couldn’t stand the thought of space between you.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath as you pulled him in, his body pressing flush against yours. His one handed planted by your head, the other guiding the wide tip of his cock at your weeping entrance, then slowly sank into you like he’d been starving for it all damn day.

He had, in fact.

“Jesus,” he rasped, voice strained as he bottomed out completely, a moan tearing through his throat as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. He held still for a second, letting you adjust, letting himself breathe before his lips brushed against your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Always take my cock so good,” 

You were breathless, feeling split in two around him, your lips parted, jaw slack, head falling back against the bedspread. Joel took his time kissing along your jaw, lips trailing soft and slow as he felt the way your body tightened around him. His cock twitched despite how patient he was trying to be.

“Daddy,” you breathed, voice barely there, and as he pulled out inch by inch, he watched your eyes flutter shut, your body clenching down on him like you never wanted to let him go. Joel groaned, pushing back in, slow but deep, not stopping until his hips were pressed flush to yours.

And when he pulled out again, the obscene, wet sound of your slick walls taking him made you both moan in tandem, his agonizingly slow pace making every sensation sharper, every sound deeper, more electric.

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, voice thick. “Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. S’like she was made to take me, huh?”

You whined softly, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, legs tightening around him, desperate for more.

“Need—need you to—” you tried, but your mind was foggy, wrecked, gone. You needed more. Needed him to let go, to take it. Needed to feel the weight of all that pent-up frustration from the day, from the way you’d teased him with every flash of your thigh, every fleeting touch, every slow, knowing smile.

Joel kissed your temple, his hands roaming, soothing, adoring, wanting. “Tell me, baby,” he murmured, “tell me what you need.” His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and full of something tender. “I’ll give you anything—give you the whole damn world if you asked.”

Your heart swelled, warmth pooling in your chest before another wave of want took over. You smiled up at him, fingers smoothing up his back, knowing exactly what you wanted to hear from him.

"Want it harder, Joel." Your voice was thick as you swallowed, mind finally clearing enough to put your need into words. "You were so good all day, even when you knew I was teasing."

You heaved a breath as his eyes opened fully, locking onto you, dark and unreadable as he listened.

"So polite," you murmured, pressing a slow kiss to his lips before your fingers slid into his hair, tightening just enough to make him exhale, "Such a gentleman. Show me, Joel—show me what you wanted to take all day."

His eyes twinkled with amusement for a brief second—right before you clenched down around him, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper. His cock twitched, stiffened, his breath stalling as his fingers dug into your skin.

"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby? That what you need?" His voice was low, wrecked, something dark laced in it now. "Cause all I wanted to do all damn day was bend you over and shove my cock in you so goddamn bad. Show you exactly how crazy you make me."

"Show me," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chin, his beard tickling your lips as it trailed along his jaw. "Please, Daddy. Let me feel it."

Joel didn’t hesitate.

His hands tightened at your waist, steady and commanding, before sitting up and rolling you onto your stomach in one fluid motion. His cock stayed inside you, the shift in position knocking the air from your lungs, the new angle making you feel every inch of him in a way that had your fingers digging into the sheets.

Before you could even process it, his palms pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down until your chest met the mattress, ass lifted, legs spread, completely open for him.

That’s when you felt the delicate lace of your dress catching beneath his knee, the soft fabric now bunched awkwardly between you.

Your breath wavered. Fingers twitching against the sheets, you hesitated before murmuring, "Should I take this off?"

He smoothed a hand over your ass, his other gripping the bunched-up fabric of your dress so it was pulled into his fist.

"You're keepin' it on," he murmured, his voice edged with something rough, something final. The way his fingers tightened in the fabric told you just how much he'd already thought about this moment—how long he'd wanted it, pictured it, waited for it, "want you just like this."

You barely had time to whimper before he pulled you back into him, sinking deep, stretching you open all over again.

Joel groaned, a long, deep, guttural noise from his throat, his one hand at your waist, the other pulling you back via his fist in your dress as he set the pace. He was slow at first, making sure you felt every thick inch, every ridge and vein of his throbbing cock before pulling out and snapping his hips forward again.

"Christ," he rasped, his free hand sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he leaned over you a bit, "You feel that, baby? Feel how fuckin' deep I am?"

All you could do was nod, moaning brokenly as he buried himself to the hilt, again and again, dragging you back onto him each time.

Joel groaned, dropping his head forward for a second before his grip tightened on your dress again, using it to pull you back into him.

"Greedy little thing," he murmured, his fingers gripping tighter at your waist as he rolled his hips deeper. "That what you wanted, baby? Want me to fuck you just like this?"

"Yes," you gasped, voice breaking on the word. "Just like that, Joel."

Your breath came rough and uneven, and then his grip on your dress tightened, fingers bunching up the fabric at your waist. He used it to pull you back onto him, meeting each thrust with an unrelenting force, his other hand splaying across your back to keep you steady.

"Look at you," he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with something wrecked and reverent all at once. "Takin’ it so good. My perfect girl."

The praise sent heat licking up your spine, your body tightening around him in response. He felt it, too—felt the way you clenched down on him, the way your legs trembled as he drove into you harder.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, leaning over you as his hand slipped under you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your breath hitch. "You gonna come for me again? Hmm?"

You nodded frantically, pushing back into him, desperate for more. "Please, Joel," you whimpered. "Need it."

"Yeah, I know," he murmured, his voice softer now, lips brushing the back of your shoulder, his thrusts still deep but growing rougher, more urgent. "Gonna give it to you, sweetheart. Gonna feel you come all over me."

His fingers pressed firmer against your clit, circling in a perfect rhythm as his cock dragged against that sweet spot inside you, his name slipping from your lips in a broken moan as the tension in your belly tightened, ready to snap.

"That's it, baby," Joel groaned, voice ragged. "Come for me, let me feel her on my cock."

And with the way he was moving, the way he was touching you, the way he was whispering those wrecked, adoring words against your skin—you had no choice but to let go.

Pleasure sparked white over you in waves, your walls fluttering around him as your body shook, your voice lost in a strangled cry. Joel cursed under his breath, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he felt you unravel around him, his hands gripping you tight, holding you through it.

"That's my girl," he muttered, voice thick, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck as he kept moving, chasing his own release, determined to follow you over the edge, "Good fucking girl,"

Joel’s thrusts turned sloppy, desperate, deep, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release. His grip on your waist tightened, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice thick and wrecked, his body locking up as he buried himself to the hilt, pressing deep, holding you there.

And then he was gone.

A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he spilled inside you, heat flooding you as his cock pulsed, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he rode it out. He pressed his forehead against your back, breath warm against your skin, hands smoothing over your hips as if grounding himself, holding you tight, keeping you close.

He stayed there for a moment, still inside you, his chest rising and falling against your back, lips trailing soft, absentminded kisses along your shoulder as he caught his breath. His hands never stopped moving, stroking your skin with quiet adoration.

"You okay, baby?" he murmured into your hair as he placed a kiss on your head, voice low and tender, so different from the way he’d just wrecked you.

You nodded, still catching your breath, body still trembling from the intensity of it all.

Joel pressed a final kiss to your cheek before slowly, carefully pulling out, groaning low at the sight of where he’d filled you up, his release already starting to slip out of you.

"Made a mess of you, darlin’," he muttered, his voice warm, affectionate. "Stay right there."

You barely had the strength to move, muscles still loose and spent, but you felt the bed shift as Joel slipped away. You blinked sleepily as he disappeared into the bathroom, only to return a moment later with a damp cloth.

His hands were gentle, reverent as he cleaned you up, taking his time, murmuring soft words of praise under his breath.

"There we go, baby," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back as he worked. "Always take care of my girl."

Once he was satisfied, he reached for the bunched-up fabric of your dress, his fingers sliding beneath the hem.

"Let’s get this off you, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion but still warm, still full of something tender.

His touch was unhurried, guiding the fabric up your body, letting the fabric peel away from your skin, soft and slow. as you held your arms up for him. He didn’t rush, didn’t let the moment pass without appreciating you all over again.

Once it was gone, he tossed it aside and crawled up beside you in the bed to pull you into his arms, rolling you onto your side, tucking you against his chest.

His arms were strong, solid and warm, one hand smoothing up and down your back, the other tangling in your hair as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"You still with me?" he murmured, lips ghosting over your temple.

You hummed softly, pressing closer, letting yourself melt into his embrace.

"Good," he sighed, voice low, spent, but content. His fingers traced slow, aimless circles along your spine, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your cheek, anchoring you to him, "Love you, sweetheart,"

"I love you, Joel." you murmured, your voice barely there, the warmth of him pulling you under into a deep sleep.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Ralsei has known what's been going on with Kris the ENTIRE time, and once you realise that, EVERYTHING he says and does around them makes a thousand times more sense. And you realise that, far from dismissing Kris's "true" self in favour of a copy, he has been working tirelessly to prop them up, to validate their most basic and fundamental choices, to keep them from the brink of despair, and perhaps even death.

We always thought it was strange, how Ralsei seems to baby Kris at times - how he offers heaps of praise upon them for performing the simplest of tasks, how he lets them express themself through violence while chastising Susie for the same thing, how at every turn he puts so much emphasis on Kris's choices, their talents, their intrinsic personhood, almost above the very prophecy he serves. We thought him mollycoddling and completely out-of-touch at best, and downright malicious at worst. We presumed he was encouraging the player to keep playing, and was in fact speaking over Kris's head directly at us. We presumed that the prophecy was all he cared about, and him encouraging Kris was simply a means to that end.

And we were wrong about all of it. Because we didn't know what Kris was truly going through until now. We thought that our possession was the worst thing that was happening to them, and that he was complicit in their suffering by trying to downplay it.

But Ralsei knew. Because Ralsei knows Kris better than anyone else - better than Susie, better than Noelle, and certainly far better than us.

Kris is hopelessly trapped, at all times. There is no hope for them, they cannot see a way to escape their bonds... not alive, in any case. Their suffering is so great, the pressures upon them so immense, that they have been hollowed out into a catatonic shell of their former self - unable to move except through great effort, unable to speak except through stilted phrases. They don't sleep or eat well at all. They don't try at school. They cannot tell anyone about what's happening, and they cannot make friends because of it. For all intents and purposes, they have given up.

But it's worse than that, because they KNOW that what they're being made to do is wrong. They don't want to do any of it, and yet they feel they cannot refuse. That knowledge eats away at them, to the point where they feel like they are inherently Bad, because only Bad people do Bad things, and they're doing Bad things all the time. They don't feel like they deserve the good things in their life because of it. They feel like they're living a lie. And no-one else knows - no-one else can possibly know.

But Ralsei knows.

Why does Ralsei go to the trouble of arranging a tutorial battle for Kris, when they've already demonstrated their capabilities fighting against Lancer? Because Kris doesn't know what they're doing during that fight. They're issuing commands, fighting alongside Susie, and they don't know how or why. They're scared, they don't know where they are, and the one other person they knew from school just ditched them. Through the tutorial, Ralsei breaks down each combat function step-by-step, walking Kris through each one with patience and restraint. And he lets them go off-piste up to a point - he'll let them attack his mannequin and say it's alright if they want to hit him too, he'll let them hug him several times throughout the tutorial, and he will show remarkable restraint throughout the entire endeavour, despite his obvious frustration at their uncooperativeness.

Seen this way, the Tutorial becomes less about the GAME teaching the PLAYER how to battle, and more about RALSEI providing to KRIS some semblance of structure and context to a new and frightening world. Both of them are literally starting at Zero, and have to establish the basics before anything further can happen.

This in turn establishes the framework for their relationship - not an annoying tutorial fairy lecturing an experienced player on things they already know, but a kindly tutor gently guiding a broken teen, one tiny step at a time. Not lashing out at mistakes, not admonishing when they try to assert themself against the established framework - he will let them fight, and let them command him to fight as well, because his desire to help Kris find themself again means he has to provide leeway for if they "misbehave". There have to be bounds, but they must feel like the choices they make matter - even if they actually don't.

When you're drowning in a world that has seemingly conspired to take your agency from you, and break you down into nothing more than a pawn that does what it's told and nothing else... even the illusion of choice is a life-preserver that you'll cling onto for dear life. The support Ralsei provides Kris in this capacity is what gives them the drive to protect Susie from King's attack - to make a choice to protect their friend, even if it wouldn't have meaningfully changed anything.

It explains his secret conversations with Kris too - while we are busy watching Susie, Ralsei is free to let Kris know that despite being literally controlled, the one controlling them is on their side, and that we will help them break free from the more insidious influence of the Knight. He has to tell them to trust in us, trust that we will do right by them to the best of our abilities. And indeed, by Chapter 2, they have become more willing to express themself through their tone of voice, through how they choose to interpret the instructions given to us, either to play pranks or to show their appreciation for the people who, despite everything, still care for them.

And even Ralsei's apparent dismissive attitude to Spamton NEO's effect on Kris can be explained through this prism. Kris is very very slowly starting to recover from the trauma of their situation, and literally EVERYTHING about Spamton is a huge trigger for them. It's not farfetched to say that Kris sees in Spamton a cautionary tale of how they will end up - used up, cast aside, wretched and desperate and bitter and broken. All of Ralsei's work building Kris back up could be undone in an instant, and so he has to tread extremely carefully - downplay its significance, offer nonthreatening proximity (he will hug Kris, but only if they hugged him on the boat ride prior to this), distract them from the immediate trauma with very basic "nice" thinks like cake, and warm/soft things. It seems dismissive at the time because we don't yet know what Spamton truly represents to Kris - not just the fear of being controlled against your will, but of being used up and broken down, and then tossed away like an unloved toy. It's only when we have that additional context that all of Ralsei's actions towards them start to make sense - not only make sense, but also show a level of care and tact that we did not previously assume him capable of.

And I suppose the last question is: why does Ralsei do any of this in the first place? Why go to this trouble when he knows he'll just be left behind, when he knows that if he succeeds, Kris will go back to the light world and live a full life without him? Well... look at the colour of his horns. If Ralsei is the horned headband, and Kris wore him for months, he would have borne witness to Kris's deepest, darkest fears about themself. It's possible that he might have seen the inciting incident that led Kris down this unfortunate path. Either way, he would have been so close to them that he'd almost be like an extension of them.

So, again - why does he do this? Because his purpose was always to guide them back to themself - first as a pair of horns to better fit in with their family, and then as a physical manifestation of those same horns to help them overcome the terrible harm that has been wrought upon them.

But more than this, I think it's because he loves them - the same way that they would have loved him when they wore him all those years ago. And isn't that what you do for the people you love - help them when they're struggling, comfort them when they're sad, gently challenge them to expand their window of tolerance, give them the tools they need to return to the light, to heal and grow back into themselves?

Ralsei knows Kris better than anyone else. And maybe we should start listening to him.