#and you can't tell me they didn't experiment in the golden age

[silvurs]

you're absolutely right edmund pevensie is not straight

[joelmillerisapunk]

Howdy Honey I. can't get you off my mind

series masterlist masterlist

wordcount: 6,709

summary: After a tumultuous fall from your horse that leaves you with a fractured wrist and bruised ribs, you find solace in the strong arms and gentle care of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand whose rugged exterior hides a tender heart.

warnings: mentions of falling, fracture, eventual smut, slowburn, age-gap, some fluff, two stubborn people falling in love, angst, from both your and Joel's pov

notes: First of all thank you to all of you for supporting the masterlist, I am absolutely blown away! I appreciate the heck out of you all so very much! <3 <3 Second thank you sm to @joelslegalwhre for screaming with me about all of this ily. Third I wrote this after my own experiences falling off a horse and being carried by a hot cowboy at work. K I'm gonna go panic, love you all bye. gif is by @tomshiddles divider by @saradika-graphics

The sun is high and unforgiving, casting a golden hue over the sprawling acres of your family's ranch—a place where the West still feels wild and untamed. The ranch, nestled in a valley surrounded by rugged mountains, is a patchwork of green pastures, dotted with grazing cattle and horses. The main house, a sturdy two-story structure with a wraparound porch, stands proudly at the heart of the property, its whitewashed walls and red roof are like a beacon for the lost amidst the vast expanse of land. You can always find your way back home.

To the east lies the stables, a long, low building with enough room to house two dozen horses comfortably. Its wooden walls have weathered to a soft gray, and the scent of hay and horse is always present in the air. Just beyond the stables is the equipment barn, filled with tractors, balers, and all manner of tools necessary for maintaining the ranch. The sound of metal clanging against metal often echoes from within as ranch hands tend to repairs or prepare for the day's work. A little further out is the chicken coop, bustling with activity as hens peck at the ground and roosters crow their morning greetings.

On the southern end of the ranch, a series of fenced-in training pens are set up for breaking in new horses or for practicing roping skills. It's here that you often find the newly hired ranch hand, Joel Miller, expertly mending a section of split-rail fence or guiding a young colt through its paces with patience and skill honed over decades. 

You've grown up with the scent of hay and the sound of hooves on dirt, a life that's as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. Recently, your parents brought on a few new ranch hands, a decision driven not only by their advancing years and a growing wanderlust but also, you suspect, by a desire to ensure you're well looked after in their absence. It didn't seem to matter how many times you'd promised that you and [name] the very first and only other person hired to help around, could take care of the ranch -  they never let go of the fact you weren't five anymore. 

Today you find yourself working a little less hard because of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand that looks like he stepped straight out of a Western movie. You watch him from afar as you make your way to take your horse out, his muscles straining against his plaid shirt as he repairs a section of fencing. He moves with an easy grace despite his age and broad build. His salt-and-pepper hair peeks out from under his worn cowboy hat, and you can't help but feel a pull towards him, something beyond the usual respect for a seasoned hand.

The ranch is alive with activity as you prepare Daisy for her daily run. The horses in the nearby pasture lift their heads at your approach, their ears pricked with curiosity. Daisy nickers softly, her tail swishing in anticipation as you lead her out of her stall and toward the open pasture. As you trot along one of the well-worn trails, you pass by landmarks that tell stories of your family's history; there's an old rusted tractor from your grandfather's time, now half-buried in wildflowers; a grove where you used to play hide-and-seek with your siblings; and further on, an ancient stone marker placed by settlers who once claimed this land as their own. Each sight brings back memories that are as much a part of you as they are a part of this place. 

But today, these familiar sights are merely blurs in your peripheral vision as Daisy gallops across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as the horse's muscles move powerfully beneath you. It's in these moments that you feel most at peace, in harmony with the natural world around you.

Suddenly, a sharp cry from Daisy breaks the rhythm of her gait. You pull sharply on the reins as a jackrabbit darts out from the underbrush, its sudden appearance startling her. In an instant, your peaceful ride turns to chaos. Daisy rears up, her eyes wide with fear, and you're thrown from the saddle, the world a blur of blue sky and golden earth. The impact is jarring, knocking the breath from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain radiates from your side and arm. As you lie there, struggling to catch your breath, Daisy gallops away towards the safety of the stables, leaving you alone in a cloud of dust.

The sun beats down mercilessly upon you as waves of pain wash over your body. You try to move but find that even breathing is a challenge. You try to push yourself up, but a wave of nausea forces you back down. It's then that you hear the pounding of hooves approaching fast and boots hitting the ground. 

"Easy there, easy," a familiar voice drawls as strong hands gently roll you onto your back. Joel's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. "Looks like ya had a bit of a tumble, darlin'. Can you tell me where it hurts?" His voice is deep and soothing, cutting through the haze of pain. You manage to point to your side, wincing as he carefully probes the area. "Just bruised, I reckon," he says after a moment, his touch is surprisingly gentle for such calloused hands. "Your arm too. We should get ya back to the house. Might have t'see the doctor."

Over my dead body, you think to yourself.

With surprising ease, Joel scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You can't help but notice the warmth radiating from his body. It's an intimacy that makes your breath hitch in your throat—a sensation that has nothing to do with your injuries.

"Gave me quite the scare there darlin," Joel remarks as he carries you towards his waiting horse. His tone is light but there's an undercurrent of something else—affection? worry? "What were you thinkin’ taking Daisy out alone after that storm last night? These trails can be treacherous."

You want to argue that you're capable and don't need help, that it was just a routine ride and something spooked Daisy but arguing takes energy—energy that's currently in short supply thanks to the pain radiating from your side and shooting through your arm. Instead you murmur a weak apology. "Didn't think it’d be a problem."

Joel chuckles softly. "Well, I reckon that's part of the adventure, ain't it? Never quite knowing what the day's gonna bring." He adjusts his hold on you slightly, his grip firm yet careful. "But next time, maybe wait for someone to come with you. Safety in numbers and all that."

As he settles you onto his horse, he keeps a steady hand on your back, “you okay darlin?” He asks, making sure you're secure before you nod and he swings up behind you as gently as he can. The closeness is overwhelming; his body is a solid wall of heat at your back, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs as they grip the horse's flanks. It's a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, being so close to this man who just (weeks/days?) ago was a little more than a stranger.

The ride back to the ranch is a blur of sensations—the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath you, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with Joel's unique aroma of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine. You find yourself leaning into him without thinking, seeking comfort in his strength.

"Almost there," Joel reassures you as the house comes into view. His breath is warm against your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. "We'll get some ice on those bruises and take a look at you."

Once at the ranch house, he carries you inside and sets you down gently on the living room couch crouching beside you to remove your boots. His fingers brush against your skin accidentally as he works them off one by one—a touch that sends sparks racing along your nerves despite yourself and despite any rational thought about how much older he is than you. You quickly blink them away.

"Ice pack," he commands firmly but kindly before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the clinking of ice being scooped from the freezer. 

As Joel returns from the kitchen, the air in the room shifts subtly. He kneels beside you on the couch, his movements deliberate and gentle. "This might be a bit cold at first," he warns, his voice carrying a hint of gruffness that hadn't been there before.

You nod, bracing yourself for the shock of cold. But when he lifts the hem of your shirt to expose your bruised side, the brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin of your stomach sends an unexpected wave of heat coursing through you. It's a clinical touch, meant only to aid in your recovery, but the proximity of his hands to the curves of your body is not lost on you.

He places the makeshift ice pack against your side, the cold seeping your body. You can't help the sharp intake of breath as the icy chill envelops the tender area. Joel's eyes flick to yours, concern etched across his features.

"Sorry, darlin'," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I know it's uncomfortable, but it'll help with the swelling."

You give him a small, reassuring smile, trying to convey that you understand—that you appreciate his attentiveness. As he holds the ice pack in place, his other hand comes to rest on your hip, a steady presence that seems to anchor you amidst the discomfort.

The room is silent save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional crackle of ice as it begins to melt against your skin. You can feel the heat of Joel's palm through the fabric of your jeans, and you find yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

After a few minutes, he slowly lifts the ice pack away, his eyes scanning your side with a practiced eye. "How does it feel now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate within you.

"A bit better," you admit, the pain having dulled to a manageable ache.

He nods, his attention still focused on your injury. With a gentle touch that belies his rugged exterior, he traces the edge of the bruise with his fingers, his touch feather-light yet firm. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move.

"You're gonna be sore for a few days," he says. "But I think you'll live."

As he withdraws his hand, you feel an odd sense of loss, as if the warmth of his touch had become a lifeline in the midst of your pain. You watch as he rises to his feet, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Thank you, Joel," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they're all you have to offer in this moment.

The corners of Joel's mouth twitch into a small smile, and he gives a nod, turning back towards the kitchen 

While he's gone, you take the opportunity to study him from afar as he walks through the open room to the kitchen. There's an air of quiet strength about him, a sense of resilience. You find yourself wondering about his past—where he came from, what brought him here to your family's ranch. But those questions will have to wait for another time; right now, just talking and moving is enough of a challenge without adding an interrogation into the mix.

Joel returns with a glass of water and some painkillers. "Here," he says gently, helping you sit up enough to swallow the pills before lying back down against the cushions with a wince at the sharp pain in your side again.

“Rest up now," Joel instructs. “I'll take care of things around here for the rest of the day. You just focus on healin.”

You drift in and out of sleep on the couch and everytime you drift out you see Joel lingering around keeping watch over you like some kind old west guardian angel dressed in denim. 

As the day wanes and the shadows grow long across the hardwood floors, you stir from your uneasy slumber. The pain in your side is a dull roar now, thanks to the medication Joel provided. You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the living room. The ranch is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling and the distant sound of Joel's voice as he talks to one of the horses in the stable.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him—his rugged features, his gentle touch, and those eyes that seem to see right through you. It's a dangerous path your thoughts are taking, but you can't help it. There's something about Joel that draws you in, despite the years between you.

The front door opens with a soft squeak, and Joel steps inside, his boots leaving a trail of dust on the floorboards. He looks weary but satisfied, his shirt damp with sweat from a hard day's work. His gaze finds you instantly, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

"You're awake," he observes needlessly as he approaches. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit with a small grimace as you try to sit up straighter on the couch. "But better than before." You didn't want to admit how bad your arm was actually killing you.

Joel nods in approval before disappearing into the kitchen again—a man of few words but many actions. He returns a bit later with a steaming mug in hand and offers it to you carefully so as not to spill any on your lap. 

"Chamomile tea," he explains gruffly when he sees your questioning look at what seems like an unusual choice for someone like him, someone who seems more accustomed to strong black coffee than herbal infusions. "It'll help with any lingering pain and help ya sleep." 

You take a tentative sip; making sure to grab the cup with your good hand it's sweetened just how you like it—a small detail that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly because it means he's been paying attention even when he didn’t have to be.  The warmth seeps into your hands as much as into your insides making everything feel less daunting all at once despite your injuries.

The evening settles in, casting a cozy glow over the living room. The ranch is quiet, the animals bedded down for the night, and the chores all done. Joel lingers, his presence a comforting constant in the otherwise empty house. He settles into the armchair across from you, the lines of his face softened by the dim light.

"You should eat somethin’," he suggests, already rising from his chair. "I'll fix ya up a plate."

Before you can protest, he's back in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the smell of food wafting through the air. You can't help but smile at his insistence. It's been a long time since anyone has taken care of you like this.

Joel returns with a tray balanced in one hand—a simple meal of soup and a sandwich, cut into manageable pieces. He sets it down on the coffee table, pulling it closer to you. "Eat up," he urges, his tone gentle but firm. "You need to keep your strength up."

As you eat, he watches you, his gaze never straying far. It's an odd sensation, being the focus of such intense attention, but you find yourself not minding it. There's a sense of security in his watchfulness, a feeling that you're not alone in this big house.

When you've finished eating, Joel takes the tray away, leaving you to sip your tea in peace. The painkillers are starting to wear off, and as you move to adjust your position on the couch, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through your arm, causing you to yelp in surprise and discomfort.

Joel, who has been quietly cleaning up the remnants of dinner in the kitchen, is at your side in an instant. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. "Did you move wrong?"

"It's my arm," you admit through gritted teeth, cradling the injured limb with your other hand. "I think I might have aggravated it."

With a nod, Joel gently takes your arm in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He probes the area with practiced ease, watching your face for any signs of pain. When he reaches a particular spot, you can't help but flinch, a hiss escaping your lips. “Shh, I know. Easy, easy," he soothes you like a wounded animal, before releasing your arm. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't like the look of this. Could be broken, or at least badly sprained. We need to get you to a doctor first thing in the mornin’."

"I'm sure it's fine, Joel," you argue weakly, not wanting to cause a fuss. "It's probably just a bad bruise. I'll be okay after a good night's sleep."

But Joel is having none of it. "No, it ain't fine," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You could be doin’ more damage by not getting it checked out. I'll drive you to the clinic myself in the morning. This ain’t up for debate."

You know that look on his face—it's the same one he wears when he's dealing with a stubborn horse or a difficult piece of machinery. There's no point in trying to dissuade him when he's made up his mind. And truthfully, the idea of having a professional assess your injuries is somewhat of a relief.

"Alright," you relent with a sigh, the fight draining out of you. "I'll go to the doctor in the morning."

Joel's expression softens, and he gives your good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's the smart choice, darlin'. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

As he moves away to finish tidying up the kitchen, you find yourself watching him, a mix of gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. Despite the pain and the uncertainty of your injuries, you can't help but feel a sense of safety and comfort with Joel around. You're taken from your thoughts when Joel comes back into the living room. "I should be gettin’ home," Joel says after a while, his voice low and reluctant. "But I'll be back first thing to check on you."

You nod, trying to hide your disappointment. The house feels too big, too empty to be without him in it. "I'll be okay, Joel," you assure him, trying not to worry him, though the words taste like a stale cigarette on your tongue. "Thank you for everything."

He gives you a long, searching look before nodding slowly. "Alright then," he says, rising from his chair. "You remember what I said about not pushin’ yourself too hard?"

"Yes," you reply with a small smile. "Rest and recovery."

"That's right," he affirms, pulling on his jacket. "And don't hesitate to call me if you need anything—no matter the time."

You watch as he heads for the door, his silhouette framed by the night outside. Just before he steps out into the darkness, he turns back to you, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the living room. "Goodnight darlin," he says, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken.

"Goodnight, Joel," you whisper back, the words hanging in the air long after he's gone.

The house is silent once more, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. You finish your tea and carefully set the mug aside, the warmth of it still lingering on your lips. With a sigh, you settle back against the cushions, the pain in your side a dull reminder of the day's events.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers typing out a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Hey. Just wanted to say thank you again for today. I'm okay, just wanted to say thanks. Hope you got home safe.

What you really meant was, “please come back I'm fucking scared being alone.”

You hit send before you can change your mind, the message disappearing into the ether. Minutes tick by with no response, and you chide yourself for expecting otherwise. Joel is probably already asleep, or at least on his way to getting some much-needed rest after the day he's had. But just as you're about to set your phone aside and try to get some sleep yourself, it vibrates in your hand, startling you. A notification lights up the screen—a new message from Joel.

Of course. That's what I'm here for. Got home just fine. How are the ribs? Any better with the meds?

You can't help but smile at the concern in his words, the gruff affection that seems to come so naturally to him. You reply, telling him about the tea and the meal, about how much better you feel with him looking out for you.

His response is quick, as if he's been waiting by his phone for your message. 

Glad to hear it. And remember, there's no rush to get back in the saddle if you're not feeling up to it. Everything will still be here when you're ready. Your health is the priority now. If there's anything I can do for you, just holler. I've got your chores covered. Take care of yourself and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything or just want to talk about what happened.

You read his words over and over, each one a balm to the lingering ache in your side—and to the unexpected emptiness in your heart. With a contented sigh, you finally set your phone aside and close your eyes, the sound of the ranch at night lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock—it's early, barely past dawn. With some effort, you manage to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the couch, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles.

The front door opens, and Joel steps inside, his hands full of a large wicker basket. "Brought you some things," he announces, setting the basket down on the coffee table. Inside, you find an assortment of items—fresh fruit, a few paperback novels, a soft, hand-knitted blanket, and a small potted plant. "I figured you could use some company," he says, gesturing to the plant. "And the books are from my daughter's collection. She loves a good western—thought you might enjoy them."

The revelation that Joel has a daughter is something that catches you off guard, a piece of him that he kept carefully tucked away, a piece you want to know more about. 

You're touched by the thoughtfulness of his gifts, each one carefully chosen to bring you comfort during your recovery. "Joel, this is... it's too much," you protest half-heartedly, even as you reach out to run your fingers over the soft wool of the blanket.

"Nonsense, darlin’," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The way he calls you darlin’ brings heat to your cheeks, and you quickly look away, busying yourself with arranging the items in the basket. When you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze again, you find him watching you with a soft smile on his face and you assume he's forgotten about the doctor until he speaks up.

“Alright let's go.” Joel's stands up and holds a hand out to you. 

You look up at him and chuckle “It's fine Joel. It barely even hurts.”

The argument is brief but intense, with you stubbornly insisting that a trip to the clinic is unnecessary despite the pain in your arm. Joel, however, is just as adamant, his concern for your well-being overriding any protests you might have.

"I ain't gonna stand by and watch you suffer when there's somethin’ that can be done about it," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You cross your arms defiantly, wincing as the movement sends a jolt of pain through your injured wrist. "And what's the hard way?" you challenge him, though there's a hint of amusement in your voice.

Without warning, Joel strides toward you, scooping you up into his arms before you can react. You let out a startled yelp as he hoists you over his shoulder with surprising ease, his strong hands holding you securely in place.

"Hey! Put me down!" You pound on his back with your good hand, your cheeks hot with embarrassment and indignation. But beneath the surface, there's an undeniable thrill at being so close to him—at feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back move beneath his shirt as he carries you effortlessly toward the front door.

"As soon as we get to the truck," he replies calmly, unfazed by your struggles. "We're going to see Dr. Simmons whether you like it or not."

You continue to squirm and protest as he carries you across the yard to where his truck is parked. The other ranch hands look on with barely concealed grins but wisely choose to keep their comments to themselves. They know better than to get between Joel Miller and something he's set his mind to.

With a gentleness that belies his gruff exterior, Joel sets you down on the passenger seat of the truck and buckles your seatbelt for you before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side. 

Joel.

He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigates the familiar dirt roads that lead away from the ranch. He can see you out of the corner of his eye, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the passing landscape. A vision of stubborn beauty, your jaw set in a way that makes his heart do things it hadn't done in years. He can feel the tension radiating off you—a mix of pain and frustration at being manhandled against your will. He can't blame you for being upset. If someone had picked him up and carried him off like a sack of feed, he'd be mad too. But when he saw you lying there in the dirt, hurt and vulnerable, something inside him shifted. It awakened a protective instinct that he thought had died along with Sarah.

Damn it, Joel, he chides himself. She's young enough to be your daughter. But the thought feels hollow, a weak defense against the pull he feels toward you. You’re strong, fiercely independent, and yet, there’s a vulnerability to you that calls to something deep within him, the need to care for someone - for you. He glances over at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jaw, and the way your hair falls in waves around your shoulders, taking in the way the morning light plays across your features. You’re a sight to behold, all fire and spirit wrapped up in a package that is far too tempting for his peace of mind. Every time he looks at you, all logic seems to fly out the window. There's an undeniable connection between you, a spark that ignites whenever you're near each other. It's terrifying and exhilarating, you make him feel young again. 

He risks another glance in your direction, and his heart skips a beat when he finds you watching him with those big doe eyes of yours. Joel swallows hard, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts can wander any further down that dangerous path. He needs to focus on getting through this day without letting his guard down completely.

The clinic is just up ahead now, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the early morning sun. He pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, turning to face you with a stern expression that belies the turmoil he feels inside.

"Ready?" he asks, though it's clear from his tone that it's more of a statement than a question. He's not going to let you talk your way out of this one—not when your health is at stake.

You nod reluctantly, your gaze fixed on the clinic entrance. You're nervous; he can see it in the way your fingers worry at the hem of your shirt, in the slight tremble of your chin. He wants to reach out and wrap you in his arms, to offer some semblance of comfort, but he holds back. It wouldn't be appropriate—not here, not now. Instead, he climbs out of the truck and comes around to open your door for you, offering a hand to help you down onto solid ground.

The interior of the clinic is cool and sterile-smelling—a stark contrast to the fresh air and open spaces of the ranch. Joel checks you in at the reception desk while you sink into one of the waiting room chairs, wincing as even that small movement sends a twinge of pain through your side and arm.  Joel takes a seat beside you in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. He can feel the tension emanating from you, a coiled spring ready to leap to action at the slightest provocation. He knows that look—it's the same one he's seen on injured animals over the years, a mix of fear and defiance. It tugs at something deep within him, a primal urge to protect those he cares about most.

He wants to say something to ease your discomfort, but words seem inadequate in the face of your pain. Instead, he reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering just above your knee before he gives in to the impulse and rests it there gently—a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.

You startle at his touch, your gaze flicking to his face in surprise. But as you meet his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and concern reflected back at you. Slowly, deliberately, you place your own hand over his.

The waiting room is filled with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of magazines being flipped through by other patients. Joel's thumb traces idle patterns on your leg as you sit there together in silence.

"Joel," you say finally, breaking the silence that has settled between you. Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the ambient noise like a knife. "I want to thank you - for everything."

He shakes his head dismissively, though there's a warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No need for thanks," he replies gruffly. "I did what anyone else woulda done."

"No," you insist firmly, turning in your seat so that you're facing him fully now—ignoring the twinge of pain it elicits from your injuries. "Joel," you say again, your voice steady despite the pain you're clearly in. "I mean it. You've been... you've done so much for me. More than I could have asked for."

He opens his mouth to respond, to downplay his role in your care, but the words die on his lips as the nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She calls out your name, scanning the room until her eyes land on the two of you.

Reluctantly, Joel withdraws his hand from your knee, the connection between you severed as you rise to follow the nurse. He stands as well, intending to accompany you, but the nurse shakes her head. "Just the patient for now, please," she says with a polite but firm smile.

You shoot him a reassuring look over your shoulder as you follow the nurse down the hallway, leaving Joel alone with his thoughts. He sinks back into his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees again as he waits for you to return.

The minutes tick by slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. Joel's mind races with worry and concern. He knows the ranch like the back of his hand, can handle any crisis that comes his way—but this is different. This is about you, and the thought of you in pain, of you being afraid, is more than he can bear.

He can't shake the image of you lying in the dust after being thrown from Daisy, the fear in your eyes when you realized you couldn't get up on your own. It had been years since he'd felt that kind of raw terror, the kind that gripped your heart and squeezed until you couldn't breathe. But in that moment, with you hurt and helpless, it all came flooding back. Joel had always prided himself on his strength, both physical and emotional. He'd had to be strong after Sarah passed, but with you, he felt something shift inside him—a crack in the armor he'd spent years building up around his heart. He cared about you, more than he should. It was a truth he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried. You were young, vibrant, full of potential and promise. And he, well, he was just an old cowboy with more yesterdays than tomorrows. But when he looked at you, when he saw the fire in your eyes, he felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears your name called again. He looks up to see the nurse beckoning him forward with a gentle smile.

"You can come back now," she says, her voice soft and reassuring. "She's asking for you."

Joel's heart skips a beat at her words. He rises quickly, his boots thudding against the linoleum floor as he follows the nurse through the maze of hallways to the examination room where you're waiting. His mind races with possibilities—none of them good. 

Why would they need me if everything was fine? Had something happened while you were back there? Was the injury worse than they initially thought?

The door to the examination room creaks open, and Joel steps inside, his eyes immediately going to you. You're sitting on the edge of the examination table, your face pale but composed. The relief that washes over him at seeing you unharmed is palpable; it leaves him momentarily lightheaded as he crosses the room to your side.

"What's goin on?" he asks urgently, his gaze flicking between you and the doctor who is standing nearby with a clipboard in hand. "Is everything alright?"

Dr. Simmons gives him a reassuring nod before turning his attention back to you. "I was just explaining to your friend here that it looks like she's got some bruised ribs and a fracture in her wrist," he says matter-of-factly as he jots something down on his clipboard. "We'll need to keep an eye on those ribs—make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications—but I think she'll be just fine with some rest and proper care.We gave her some pain medication before the x-ray. It may make her tired so she will need to be watched. No driving, etc. And she will need to come back in three weeks from now to get an updated x-ray of her wrist."

Joel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. He reaches out instinctively, taking your good hand in his own as he listens intently while Dr. Simmons goes over your care instructions.

Once the doctor finishes his instructions and hands over the prescription, Joel helps you down from the examination table, his hand at the small of your back providing a steady, reassuring presence. "Let's get your meds and then getcha home," he says softly, guiding you out of the clinic and back to his truck.

The drive to the pharmacy is quiet, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Joel keeps stealing glances at you, noting the way you're cradling your injured wrist against your chest, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly when the truck hits a bump in the road. He wants to say something, to offer some words of comfort, but he's never been good with this sort of thing. He's a man of action, not words.

At the pharmacy, Joel takes charge, handling the paperwork and payment while you sit quietly on a nearby bench. He can see the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your eyelids are starting to droop. He knows you're running on fumes, and the pain medication will likely knock you out soon.

He heads back to the ranch, the truck's engine humming softly beneath the weight of the silence that stretches between you. You're fading fast, the medication they gave you at the doctor taking its toll. He can see you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body swaying slightly with each turn of the vehicle.

Once he reaches the ranch house, he parks as close to the front door as possible and hurries around to your side of the truck. You're already half-asleep by the time he opens your door, your eyelids fluttering as you fight to stay awake. "Easy now," Joel murmurs, unbuckling your seatbelt and scooping you into his arms with a tenderness that surprises even himself. You let out a soft sigh as he carries you into the house, your head lolling against his chest. The trust you place in him is both humbling and terrifying and the sweet little noises coming from your mouth don't make any of this easier. 

He settles you onto the couch, propping pillows behind your back to keep you comfortable. You smile sleepily up at you, a smile that sends a jolt straight to his heart and many other places. "Stay with me?" You ask quietly. 

How could he possibly say no?

Joel nods, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “‘course darlin, just gonna make you somethin to eat real quick.” Joel heads into the kitchen to prepare something for you to eat. An Eggo waffle seems like a safe bet—simple and comforting in its familiarity. He pops one into the toaster and waits impatiently for it to brown, his thoughts consumed by the woman lying on the couch.

Joel returns to the living room, the scent of warm waffles wafting through the air. He sets the plate down on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication the pharmacist had given him. "Here you go, darlin'," he says softly, offering you a small smile. "Eat up, and then we'll get you settled in with a movie or somethin."

You nod, managing a weak smile in return as you reach for the waffle with your good hand. The simple act of eating seems to revive you somewhat, though Joel can tell you're still in a considerable amount of pain. He watches as you take a tentative bite, followed by a sip of water to wash it down.

"Thank you," you murmur between bites, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of gratitude and concern.

Joel nods, his throat tightening unexpectedly at the sincerity in your voice. "Anything for you," he replies gruffly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He quickly clears his throat and changes the subject. "What do ya feel like watchin’? There's some old western tapes layin around or we could find somethin else.”

“Hmmm” You think about it for a moment before responding with a slight shrug of your shoulders—a movement that causes you to wince slightly, “I'm not picky. Whatever you want cowboy.” 

If only I could tell ya what I want darlin’

Taglist: @mermaidgirl30 @maried01

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien - Flooded ASMR - English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Lucien’s 2024 CN Birthday Event (Golden Love Ratio)✧ Birthday Story | Birthday Prologue + Birthday Date | ASMR (You're here)

⚠️ This ASMR is NSFW and NOT suitable for individuals under the age of 18 due to its sexual nature. It is recommended that those who do not meet this age requirement refrain from proceeding beyond this point.

Twitter link [click here]

Transcript under the cut~

[Transcript]

[soft creak of a door opening, followed by a gentle click as it closes]

I'm home

[his footsteps drawing closer]

Mmh

Today is indeed a little more tiring than usual.

Hm?

You want to help me relax a bit?

Of course I have no reason to refuse

[squelching noises]

[chuckles]

Are you using essential oil and wood chips for massage?

Hmm, this feels very novel

I can really smell the fragrance of the wood and the essential oil

very relaxing

[chuckles]

I need to take my clothes off?

Hmm...

[light creak of the bed as he sits down]

[whispers] But I'm feeling a bit lazy, can you help me?

[rustling of fabric as his clothes got taken off + faint zipper unzipping if you listen closely🤪]

[contented exhale] Hah...

I've laid down obediently like a good boy now

Next,

you can do whatever you want—

I’ll go along with everything.

[chuckles] Sit a little closer,

it'll be easier for you that way

[sound of liquid being poured]

[some sus squelching noises + his comfortable soft moan]

Maybe it's because your hands are so warm

but I already feel much more relaxed.

Mm

I was indeed feeling a bit irritable earlier because of work.

It wasn't that I didn't want to tell you...

maybe it was more like...

I purposely wanted you to pick up on it.

[sus noises linger, followed by his delicious gasp]

[hoarsely] Your technique is really good

[gasps] I just don't know—

when did you learn all of this?

Hm?

Is this a surprise you've prepared for my birthday?

[chuckles] But,

you’ve already given me so many gifts.

[sound of his soft, breathy moan accompanied with the sus noise in the background]

Hmh

Okay

I'll behave

[comfortably exhales]

Go on

No matter what you do

I won't resist

[His breathy moan continues

but then a surprised gasp escapes as she touches... a certain place]

Here too?

[chuckle] Of course you can

However

I’m afraid that because it feels too good,

I'll become even greedier.

[the sus wet sounds and his comfortable moan leave no doubt where her hand is exploring right now🤪]

Hmh

feels so good....

Can you...

come a little closer?

[oh GOD the slippery sounds mixed with his desperate and breathless gasps... (๑/////๑ " )]

[he rolls over, and with a thud, now he's on top]

…This gift is so special,

I don't want to be the only one to enjoy it

The way you helping me relax— so serious,

so adorable,

It makes me uncontrollably

want you to experience it too.

Let me help you relax as well,

Okay?

[chuckles + rustling noises of her fabric, only god knows where he's touching]

Can't I?

I'm just purely

want the person I like

to feel the same joy as I do

Since I’m the birthday boy

I naturally have the right to share this 'joy'

Don't turn me down

teach me how to do it

[rustling of fabric as he takes off her clothes]

[the sounds of wet and sus noises as he's simply... returning the favor]

Is it like

this?

It seems like there's not enough oil.

I'll add a little more.

[sounds of the oil being poured then something chaotic happens and now the oil spilled]

Sorry,

I'm clumsy

It’s all spilled—

so much oil all over

Looks like it’ll need a thorough cleaning later.

But,

I'm no different.

[sus squelching noises continues again]

It seems like this

is a bit more relaxed than before.

What do you think?

[wet kisses join the mix, but I'm 69% convinced it is NOT on her lips 🤪]

There's no need to hide any emotions,

whether it's joy

or what you desire

just tell me everything

After all

I'm starting to become less patient

[Is he maybe... going in? HIS MOANS IS NOT FOOLING ANYONE]

Research has kept me busy these past few days

I’ve been missing you all the time.

I want to be with you just like this...

always stay together

and doing some interesting things

[HIS KISSES AND PANTS, he's really going at it—aren't these wet noises a bit too fast for a simple massage?]]

H-hah...

Just like now

gazing at you like this,

sinking into your warmth and softness

without thinking about...

anything at all

Do you know

the you right now

look very tempting

and very beautiful.

[the way his kisses became more and more DESPERATE, with the sus noises still playing in the background🫣]

Making a greedy man like me

unable to help

but want to devour you whole

[something... unstated happens and he gradually calms down]

...Thank you

I really like this gift

[chuckles and kiss]

Give me a little more time,

Allow me, bit by bit,

to share it all with you.

[the bed creaks, followed by kisses as he continues into the second round]

[scientia-rex]

Read some more of Toxic Parents tonight and wow!!!! the amount of anger I have!!! and the incredible unwillingness I have to actually remember my childhood and feel associated feelings!!!!! Like, there are events I keep telling over like talismans, because these are the events that prove I'm not crazy. These are things that happened that should never have happened. The time Dad kicked the door in is the biggest one. The time I spent twelve straight hours cowering in the far back of our station wagon with my fingers jammed in my ears so I wouldn't hear my father screaming at my mother and my mother sobbing as we drove to a different state. The time I told my mother I had gotten accepted to graduate school and her first words were, "How are you going to pay for it?" instead of "Congratulations" or "I'm proud of you."

But these aren't all of it. They're so far from all of it. One memory I have is not of the presence of abuse, but the sudden, bewildering absence of it: my sister drove me to the nearest town with a mall, an hour and a half away. We were stopping to pick up snacks for the drive back, I think at a Safeway. I picked up a box of Golden Grahams cereal and nervously asked my sister if I could have it. She said, "Of course you can, you know what you want." In the limbus of a childhood spent being told I was picking the wrong soda for myself when I gave my order at fast food restaurants, suddenly being told I could have what I wanted T-boned me emotionally. It was like running into a wall I hadn't known was there. What? I can just want things? I can just get things and have them because I want them? I don't have to justify it, or lie, or hide what I want? No one is going to tell me I'm stupid for wanting something or that I'll regret it?

Just an incessant drip-drip-drip of emotional abuse, sometimes punctuated by a flash flood. "If I leave your mother, how do you think you're going to eat? You're going to end up on the street."

And now, reading the section on how children end up feeling about the passive parents who enable abuse, I just think, oh, there's me! There's me. I hated her and pitied her and loved her and wanted more for her. I didn't have the adult emotional capacity to understand how much of her life she was complicit in, but damningly, I did vaguely, tangentially understand that she was constantly making excuses for Dad--coming to my bedroom to sit on my bed and tell me, while crying, that he was sorry, while he never apologized. Making it my job to comfort her. I said to her once that I remember, "If he was really sorry, he'd stop doing this," and she just looked at me with something that looked like sorrow but I could tell was rage--she was angry at me for not forgiving him and letting us snap right back into the "good" phase between angry outbursts, where we could, for however long it lasted, pretend to be a normal family.

And how she always resented me. She resented that I was separate from her, she resented that I could do and see and understand things she couldn't, she was angry when I went into Psychology, even angrier when I went into medicine. She's been throttling down her anger at Dad for as long as I've been alive, pretending to be malleable, having vague health complaints and maladies mixed in among the real ones, forever retiring to her bed with a washcloth over her eyes instead of interacting with me.

And now that I'm an adult, and not just an adult but a middle-aged doctor, why don't I call? Why do I insist on bringing up the past? Why do I expect Dad to apologize? I'm hurting his feelings, after all.

The past. Sure. When I graduated from medical school, he named the worst doctor we ever met and said, "He went to medical school, too. Don't get a big head."

And when we were talking, once, not long ago, maybe two years or so, about how he used to stand there and yell at us--I can't remember any of the words anymore, just the way he looked, the tone of his voice, the experience like being buffeted by a strong wind--he said, "At least your sister fought back. You just stood there and took it."

I can't imagine a clearer illustration that he doesn't actually regret his behavior. He doesn't regret his actions. He still feels justified. We were disappointments, we were failures, we weren't him, we weren't what he wanted for us, and more than that, we were convenient targets for his rage. You can do almost anything to your children and get away with it. And he didn't hit us, so it was okay, and the fact that we were hurt by the actions he took with the intent to hurt us means that we were weak. And it's okay to hurt the weak.

Christ! This is the man who, in a fit of sullen self-pity, when I gave him a mug that said "World's #1 Dad" for Father's Day when I was probably eight or nine, talked about how we both know that's not true. As if a child is your therapist. As if it were my responsibility to reassure him.

My mother has read Toxic Parents. My mother has read Why Does He Do That? She has a bachelor's and most of a master's in psychology. She has an IQ of 150. She is a bad mother. It feels like the worst judgment you can make, a bad mother. It feels worse than calling someone a bad father. Because we expect less from fathers. But a bad mother is unnatural.

But lots and lots and lots of mothers are bad at being mothers. And I love mine and I hate her, and I'm angry and I'll always be angry, and I'll die angry, and I have to try to carve what happiness I can from a world I entered into under false pretenses. I was always told I was wanted. I knew I wasn't. I may have been intentional, but I wasn't wanted.

My mother's mother just died last week. I didn't know her. She chose not to know us. I hadn't seen her since I was twenty-two and graduated from college. My mother is struggling with her relationship with her mother. She often tells me her mother was a narcissist. I want to ask her what she thinks she is. She's not a narcissist, but she's an enabler, she's a doormat, she's a classic case of codependency, and I don't think she sees it that way. I always got the sense she was just waiting for us to grow up and go away so she and Dad could go back to being happily miserable alone together.

I asked her, this last year, if she'd read Why Does He Do That? and she said she had, and she asked me carefully why I was thinking about it, waiting for me to confess to her that my husband of ten years was abusive. She's been gunning for this relationship since the beginning--I'd been with him for maybe a year when she mailed me a copy of He's Just Not That Into You (or maybe it was the sequel, It's Called a Breakup Because it's Broken) along with an article on how to date as a single older woman. I was 23. She was flabbergasted when I said I thought Dad was abusive. Denied it immediately. I listed examples and she didn't even say words, just made simultaneously pained and exasperated noises.

She wants me to be single and a career failure and pathetic so she can feel good about herself in comparison. Dad thinks he wants me to be like him, but if I actually behaved like he does, I think he finally would belt me.

I had to hide everything good in me from them so they wouldn't deliberately ruin it. I couldn't tell them about my writing. The first time I finished writing a novel I told Mom and she didn't even acknowledge it, just told me to do the dishes. I was sixteen. I can't tell them what I love about my husband because it would be like speaking to them in a foreign language. They think it's a performance, like their performance, and they're always waiting for me to slip up and reveal the misery they're sure is lurking just underneath.

I've done well. They don't own me. I wish I had real parents, but I'm going to try not to shop for oranges at the hardware store anymore.

[wildwinterlunas]

My (hopefully) last complaint about Junkertown and the Junkers before my inevitable Re-write post

Junkers vs. MAD MAX

Alright I'm already on a roll with this and I've already committed myself to doing a rewrite of Junkertown and the Junkers, but I have one more thing to complain. That being the fact that they butcher the media they are referencing, that being Mad Max. For more context this is also coming form an Australian who has never watched these movies, this doesn't mean I didn't do my research, this is just to give context that I myself have never seen these movies.

If you don't know Mad Max is very much Australian media, written by, acted by, and taking place in Australia. Not only that but it very much relies on the world building of the fact that one, Australia is very isolated, and two, the rest of the world is like this. Something that Overwatch fails egregiously off the bat with considering that the rest of the world is not an apocalyptic wasteland and the fact that the thing that caused Junkertown and the radiation was an Omnium. You know, the thing that multiple countries had? There's also the fact that Junkrat and Roadhog are international criminals, how big Austraila is and the travel time between areas are never considered, it's exceedingly easy to leave the damn country (Junkrat and Roadhog again but also Hammond in his new short story). They want to be a Mad Max reference without actually considering the fact that the isolation inherent to Australia is important to Mad Max's setting.

There's also the fact that Mad Max relies heavily on visual story telling, Mad Max: Fury Road not even having a screenplay, it was fully laid out on storyboards. There's also the fact that Mad Max was not about the Australian experience but rather the human experience, this isn't a problem until you realize that every other characters references are very much biased off that characters origin. That or their place of origin is considered when writing them even if the reference for said character isn't from that country.

Another thing is that Mad Max communicates the brutality and disfunction of humanity, society has collapsed and we are left with the worst of it. The theming and messaging does not work with the rest of Overwatch's theming, it also doesn't make sense in universe considering that Overwatch was one, very environment focused, and two, was already sending forces to Australia to help with the consequences of radiation. Why did they let the Wasteland and Junkertown get so bad? Especially in the early Golden Age, and you can't say that it was because of the Junkers cause Overwatch have handled worse. Even before that point. We also have better examples of "the worst of humanity trope" with Talon, and they actually fit the story and world.

The theme they also completely miss in the soulless copy that is the Junkers is the individual connections and the theming or regaining humanity after great tragedy. In all honesty the best way they could have done this would have been to make Howl's rule itself the Mad Max Reference while Odessa's rule was the healing process from that, but no, they made her an overtaxing dictator instead. The gave the Junkers storyline the theme of desperation but no theme of hope, leaving it empty.

The only thing they unintentionally get right is that your environment doesn't necessarily change you, you do. Yes, a change of environment can assist in giving you space to make that change, but you are you no matter where you go. Junkrat and Roadhog don't change cause their out of Junkertown, they stay the exact same. Which is unfortunate because this is just due to them lacking any real depth in canon, an no, Junkrat actually being incredibly smart isn't character depth.

Back to the whole human connection thing, tell me, outside of fanon interpretation, out side of Junkrat's unreliable narration, outside of the interaction with characters he hasn't met in canon yet. Does anyone like Junkrat? Roadhog is there because Junkrat is paying him and because he seems board, the rest of Junkertown hates him, JQ especially. Roadhog doesn't seem to care about anyone, Junkerqueen's only true connection we see is with Hammond, and Hammond contiues to be my favoutite Junker by literally negating all the complaints about Junkertown I've had so far.

Honestly when I started looking at Junkertown lore I did not expect to be coming out saying that the fucking hamster was the best written character but here we are.

This is all also only referencing Mad Max: Fury Road by the way, which is probably what Junker Town is based off of considering its popularity and the time of release compared to Overwatch's. Honestly I might re-do this analysis/complaint if I ever watch the Mad Max series myself. Though I don't think my feelings will change of this, and that is the Junkers are an insult of a reference to MAD MAX. An empty copy at best. This is also coming from the person who often defends Overwatch's writing, I can't defend the Junkers, it's just bad writing.

[manysad]

Thank you to everyone on the miraculous fanworks discord for brainstorming this thing with me.

So, the idea behind the au (which was spawned from a train of thought that's perfectly coherent to me but I'm not going to try to explain it) is that all the sentibeings created by Emilie and everyone after her are modeled as living inanimate objects (or rather, animate objects) instead of organics- Duusu's too incoherent to tell them that they can make humans.

From here there's multiple variants about how it all goes down but this is what I'm going with:

Emilie instead decided to focus on being a good cool aunt and/or godmother to kids that already exist. Like her good friend Andre's daughter, who seemed to be having a rough time of it and didn't really have any equal playmates or adults to pay attention to her. Since Emilie can only do so much and be around so often, she decided to use the peacock to make Chloe a little shoulder angel- so she wound up making Adrien anyway, as a plush cat. (He's mentally about the same age as Chloe with whatever voice coming out of his mouth reflecting that, but slightly more mature by design.) After a month or so preparing Adrien, she sneakily left him with Chloe and just let the two bond naturally. (The amok is a golden bell which she put in a box in the safe- Gabriel knows about it and knows what it is and while he didn't really understand why she did any of this he respected her decisions.)

Now, Amelie and Colt found out about this and Colt naturally insisted he be allowed to make himself a son. Colt does not have any imagination whatsoever so he just copies what Emile did, so his son is a plush cat. Duusu's still in no state to tell him that he could've made a human boy. Colt hates his son just as much as Amelie decided to love him. Felix is quite possibly more miserable than in canon.

Meanwhile, Tomoe, who IS creative, made Kagami as a life size porcelain doll, (think Battle Angel Alita)

So that way Kagami could be a fencing prodigy just the way Tomoe wants her to be. Her life is the least different between the three, but she is fully aware she's not human and hides her face in public.

As for how the plot goes down:

Adrien and Chloe grow up together, the list of people who know about Adrien being alive is pretty short but it does include anybody close to Chloe, so Andre, Sabrina, and even Marinette. He had some bad experiences early on (falling asleep out in the open in Chloe's room and getting put in the washing machine by staff because he was dusty, for instance. It wouldn't hurt, he can't really feel anything worse than extreme discomfort, but it would still be scary.) so he tries to avoid being seen at all by people he doesn't already know if he can help it.

Since Chloe can accurately be described as a good person now, having multiple people in her life care how she turns out did wonders, she passes Fu's test and is chosen to be the black cat. He slips the box into her purse (where Adrien also happens to be).... but she never finds out. Debris from Stoneheart smacks her in the head and she's knocked completely unconscious. Adrien and the box go tumbling out of her bag- since Chloe obviously can't wield the ring this way, and it's not like Fu ever tells him anything anyway, as the only conscious sapient being in the area Plagg gives Adrien the rundown and tells him how to transform, telling him that there will be a partner and that partner will have the power to reverse all the damage, so Chloe will be fine.

The transformation fully changes Adrien so that, for all intents and purposes, while he's transformed as Chat Noir he is a human (plus some cat features) and has no visible differences from how he looks in canon. (The same will go for Argos and Ryuko.)

Fu never double checks anything so going forward he thinks that Chloe is Chat Noir and just has some gender stuff going on. He's never around for any instances where Chloe and Chat Noir would be in the same physical space at the same time that couldn't be explained by other phenomena. He'd probably have a conniption if he found out the truth.

[crimson-flash]

TOA Anniversary Munday Post

haha i haven't even been here for a month

Celebrating TOA and the people who contribute to make our group what it is.

Repost, don't reblog. Only fill in what you feel comfortable sharing!

Happy anniversary, TOA! Here's to many more years spent together.

Name: Penny

Pronouns: She/them

Birthday (no year): 8/19

Where are you from? What is your time zone?: I'm from the United States of 'Merica, Georgia in particulary.

How long is your roleplay experience? Uh, outside of Roblox, and a little bit of Amino, I basically have none, so a month!

How were you introduced to roleplaying as a whole? I was introduced to roleplaying when I entered a Big Brother RP amino thingy when I was 12, and I won the whole thing while mascaraing as like double my age. It was crazy back then.

How were you introduced to TOA?: I was looking at Joshua art, and then I stumbled across an old Joshua muse which lead me to TOA. I know it sounds a bit crazy.

Do you have any pets?: I have a dog named Mellow! I will protect him with my life. He is my pride and joy.

What is your favorite time of year and why? (Season, holiday, general period): Favorite season is Fall, favorite holiday is Christmas, and my favorite general period of time is whenever I don't have school.

What is your IRL occupation? I don't have a job at the moment, I am just a simple high school senior.

Some interests and things you like/enjoy? I enjoy coding little games, I like romhacking and just seeing my edits change the game, it's kinda like magic, lol. I enjoy going for walks, and racing other people, I also enjoy sleeping, who doesn't.

What non-Fire Emblem games do you play? Pokemon, Stardew Valley, Wildermyth, Ace Attorney, Smash Bros, Mario Kart, Kirby

Favorite Pokemon type & Pokemon: Water, Vaporeon (NOT IN THAT WAY)

Tell us some funfacts and trivia about yourself! Oh, a fun fact? uhhhhh

How did you get into Fire Emblem? I wanted to know where Marth from Smash Bros came from, so I decided I was going to play Awakening, and now I'm obsessed.

What Fire Emblem games have you played? I have played FE7, FE8, FE11, FE12, FE13, FE17

First & Favorite Fire Emblem games: FE13 was my first, and FE8 is my favorite!

List your 5 favorite Fire Emblem characters across the series! Nooo, I can't choose between my bab- Marisa, Henry, Clanne, Joshua, The 7th Platoon is it's own character right?

Who was the first character ever to make you go “ooh I like this one in particular” and why? Can be any context and reason! It was Clanne when I was playing Engage and got really good growths and he MVP'd like the whole entire game.

Any Fire Emblem crushes? 😳 A certain green-haired woman from a game I haven't even played yet.

If you’ve played (or are familiar with) the following games, who was your first S support? Who would you S support nowadays? - Awakening: My first S support was Anna, and I would probably S support my baby Henry now. - Fates: N/A - Three Houses: N/A - Engage: My first S support was Ivy, but now it's probably Panette.

Favorite Fire Emblem class? Armor Knight

If you were a Fire Emblem character, what would be your class and stats? Would you be playable? I would be a reclassable very flexiable unit, but I would always been just below-average in everything, so just like very disappointing. One speed from doubling, and one attack from killing, but I force that luck will always be in my favor.

If you were a Three Houses character, what would be your affiliation? Yellow Team! Uhm, I mean Golden Deer

If you were an Officers Academy student, what would be your boons, banes and potential budding talent? Boons: Reason, Faith. Banes: Axes, Flying (fear of heights), Heavy Armor, Budding Talent: Bows

If you were an Engage character, which nation would you originate from? Solm! I really love Solm and it's characters, it's like Jehanna if it was cool, and didn't have a queen who died in a pretty stupid way and didn't fight back EVEN THoUGH SHE'S A TRAINED SWOR-

How do you pronounce TOA? 🤔(separate letters, to-ah, other?): T-O-A, I will not accept any other pronouncations. 

[jortsaaaaaaart]

Keep me, Use me, Change me- CHP 1

(Karl Heisenberg x female reader) This is the first thing I've written in some time! I got back into resident evil and decided to update an old idea I had! Please enjoy :) (it's a resident evil fic so please expect the same level of gore and body horror that you see in the games!)

The journey through Romania had been harrowing to say the least, and it wasn't even over yet. Your contact in Croatia had almost no useful information for you, which was a waste of Euros and time. She mentioned an old Soviet Era laboratory on the border between Moldova and Romania that had unexplained activity a few years ago. The only problem was getting there. Travelling to Bucharest then following the border north was the simplest route, but it would add a few extra days onto your travel time. The path through the mountains was much shorter, though it would involve more hiking. Unfortunately for you, the sorry state of your wallet and the urge to stay off grid won out. 

That's how you ended up here, suffering immensely, on a bus with no AC and multiple old men who had nothing better to do than talk your ear off. Truly, apart from the experiments this was the worst experience of your life.

“We’re going to be stopping at Petrila soon. Where are you going to go after that?” The tourist next to you (Victor, 65, visiting family in Romania, very excited to find someone who spoke German and had enough social anxiety to humour his constant conversations) prompted. “There are two different lines, one to Cimpa and the other to Voineasa.”

‘I'm going to walk straight into the woods and pray no one ever talks to me ever again.’ You thought to yourself. 

“I'm going to Cimpa.” You replied.

“Ah!” He smiled. “Simply lovely this time of year, but even better in the winter! That reminds me! Let me tell you about the last time I went skiing here. It's a simply riveting story, I assure you!”

Turning to gaze out the window, you resigned yourself to your fate.

….

…M .. 

.. Mi.. s….

“Miss!”

A hand was shaking you awake.

“This is the last stop before the depot, you can't stay on any longer.”

“Wha?” You wiped the sleep out of your eyes before blinking up at the driver. “Where are we?”

“The last stop before the depot, where we lock up for the night.” He explained tersely. “I’ve been trying to wake you for ages, you need to get off the bus.”

Frantically you began gathering your few belongings. “When does the next bus come?”

“Not until tomorrow morning. . .” The man paused, eyes flickering between you and the window as he ushered you off the bus. “Listen. . . If I were you I’d just stay at the stop overnight. Keep to the lit areas. The village over the mountains has . . . How should I put it. . . A bad reputation.”

A bad reputation? Were you walking into a Texas Chainsaw Massacre situation? Or even worse, The Hills Have Eyes? The ‘bus stop’ was nothing more than a single streetlight and bench, not someplace you’d feel comfortable sleeping alone. You began asking the driver if there was any way you could hitch a ride to the depot when the bus doors slammed shut behind you. He gave you one last pity filled look before tearing off, as if he couldn’t stand to be here any longer. All in all. . . You didn’t have a good feeling about this.

Golden light kissed your skin as the sun crept below the pines. The bus stop had felt too exposed for your liking. As a woman you weren’t about to sleep out in the open, so you were trying your luck with the mountain pass. At first it was a rather peaceful walk. The forests in Romania were beautiful and haunting at the same time, you could see why they inspired so many novels. If you didn't have anywhere to be you’d have liked to take your time and truly enjoy the walk. However, you were on a mission, and the farther into the woods you traveled the more . . . nervous, you became.

It was still beautiful, truly, but the air started to grow heavier with every step. The straps of your backpack bit into your shoulders as beads of sweat started running down your body. You felt as though you couldn't get a full breath of air. When had it become so damn humid? Almost if you had passed through some unseen barrier, the forest changed in an instant. The once crisp pine air now tasted sweet, like rotten wood. Mushrooms and patches of slime mold poked through the needle carpet. Wallowing in the oppressive atmosphere you didn’t realize all sounds in the forest had stopped.

All except for the shuffling of bare feet on pine. 

The shapes of whatever were stalking you flickered between the trees. Once you noticed them you kept your eyes down, hoping that playing dumb would be enough for them to lose interest. None of them had gotten close enough for you to get a clear look at them. They seemed to be waiting for something, some signal to move closer. You didn’t have to wonder why they were holding off for long. As a massive figure stepped out of the shadows to your left, the pack moved in. 

If you thought normal men were the worst of your troubles you were sadly mistaken. As usual your life spiced things up for you, free of charge, this time in the form of mutant. . . Humans? They were too humanoid to be wolves, but too wolf-like to be completely human. It was as if someone had tried to create a werewolf but failed halfway through. Their leader had a lion’s mane of silver hair and a huge hammer clutched in his taloned grasp. Nothing moved in the forest as he stared you down. 

A wolf studying a hare. The trance broke. He raised the hammer. You ran for your life. 

The pack was quite literally nipping at your heels. Jagged teeth and inhuman claws kept you sprinting through the trees. They surrounded you, leaving only a small path free of danger. And like a fool, you took it. There were lights in the distance. Yellow beacons of hope, luring you in. The beasts chased you towards them until, finally, you emerged in a desolate field. Scrap littered the property, old cars and rusted out appliances, surrounding a large compound. "Heisenberg Factory" was written across the facade in faded yellow paint. You didn't have much time to wonder what the factory was doing in the middle of no where, or what it could be making. Hurtling through a gap in the chain link fence you searched for a way into the factory. 

There it stood, lit by a flickering yellow light, an open door into the factory. An invitation and an obvious trap. You didn’t have many other choices at this point, did you. You threw yourself inside then put all your weight into the door, closing it with a long metal screech. A bolt snapped into place, locking you in and the monsters out. Stepping back from the door, you waited to see if it was sturdy enough to withstand the monsters. The sound of silence was enough to solidify the feeling of dread building in your chest. They weren’t even trying to get inside. Why would they? They had already delivered you to their master. 

Maybe you should have taken your chances out there. . .  But it was too late now. You shook your head and tried to slow your breathing and concentrate. Sounds of hissing steam and the clang of metal against metal echoed from further inside. The factory was still in operation. There had to be someone, something, keeping it running.

"What is this place?" You muttered to yourself not expecting an answer. 

Regardless of what you expected, you would soon receive one anyways. 

"This, my dear, is the Heisenberg Factory. My factory." Announced a staticky voice, almost scaring you out of your skin. "And you seem to be trespassing."

Your head whipped towards the noise. On the ceiling there was a video camera and speaker. As you peered up at it the camera whirred to life, the lens focusing on you. 

“I won’t be staying long.” 

His laughter made you grit your teeth. "That’s the spirit! You're in better shape then I would have thought. Good for you! Shame that pretty face is going to be gone soon though. Try to give me a good show, eh?"

‘Oh, I’ll give you a show alright.’ You seethed. 

With a huff you turned and scoured the floor for something you could use as a weapon. Thankfully there was a long piece of rebar laying in a pile of scrap. Through the lens the man saw you take aim, raise the pole, and throw. Laughter echoed through the halls. Picking up the rebar and stomping on the fallen camera for good measure, you made your way into the factory.

The smell hit you first. Burnt flesh and motor oil. Next was the sound of a drill rebounding from further down the hall. You kept moving forward as the sound grew closer, the source of the rumbling revealed as you rounded the corner. Something that used to be human stood guarding a door. Its body was horrifically deformed. Stomach and chest hollowed out to hold a small engine. Most of its head had been replaced by metal and its left arm was now a three foot long drill. If the radio-man expected you to cry or scream he would be sorely disappointed. This wasn’t the worst thing you’d seen, not by a long shot.

Deft feet dodged the creature's shambling lunges, dancing around the drill. You tried to swipe at its engine but it dodged every attack. Pretty impressive for something with no eyes. Eventually a clean shot to the back of its head sent it stumbling, creating an opening for you to dart through the door. With nowhere to go other than forward, you kept pressing on. Past shambling corpses carrying makeshift axes and more drill wielding creations until you were faced with something new.

Towering above you, with not one but two drills, was your newest obstacle. There was no way you were getting out of this unscathed. Feeling the radio-man’s eyes on you, you lept at the creature. 

It was faster than the others. Presumably a newer model than the one drilled types. You could barely keep out of its range. If you didn’t have something to slow it down you’d never be able to touch it. It swung both drills down at you catching your makeshift weapon and spinning it out of your grasp. Sliding across the floor you had just enough time to grab the rod before the monster descended on you. One of its drills sank into the factory floor, showing you with sparks.

This was your chance! You held your hand out, gritting your teeth as the other drill tore through your fingers, continuing up through your forearm before stopping in your shoulder. The drill stuttered, stuck deep in your bones. It tried to pull back but before it could you jabbed the rebar into its engine with all the strength you could muster. Over and over again till splatters of oil covered you. When you were sure it was dead you flipped it over and slowly pulled the mangled remains of your arm off the drill. 

"Very nice." The voice cooed. "Not many people could survive that  You might even make it out of here. If you weren't about to bleed out that is." He paused, laughing again as you flashed a vulgar gesture at the camera. "Careful, or I'll have to take that arm too-" He stopped abruptly. The state of your mangled arm coming to his attention. 

It wasn't bleeding anymore. In fact, it had already started pulling itself back together. Honestly if the drill hadn’t shattered the bones into such small pieces the process would be over already. The voice remained silent, all you could hear was a faint trace of static and your own heartbeat. Your pulse always skyrocketed when this happened. You'd learned to just ride it out. To try not to look at the flesh bubbling back into existence. The cat was out of the bag now. It was always safer to keep your mutation a secret. If someone tried to kill you like they'd kill a normal person the pain was usually manageable. If they knew you'd come back. . . You could expect a whole new level of violence.

You waited for a new monster to appear, for the master of this dungeon to throw everything in his arsenal at you just to see how you’d fare. But nothing came. With a heavy clank a new door opened up before you. 

He was inviting you into the center of the factory.

I'm going to post updates on my AO3 when I have time, please follow it there if you're interested LINK

[fancyfade]

I saw the post saying Batman fans think dc intentionally make Bruce a terrible parent to give Damian angst…just…have these people seen what dc writers and editors in interviews?

A lot of writers and editors revealed they see Damian not more than an arrogant and entitled brat that needs to learn his place and follow the status quo…which is hilarious as a lot of modern writing heroes make fucking frustrated with their holler than thou personalities.

Heck I remember the writer got Tim Drake last recent book said she liked Damian but he can be difficult at times

Oh like Ra’s and Bruce? Almost like he related to the some of the most complex mainstream comic book characters.

And from my experience, a lot of writers want to write the idolized version of Batman that made up as a kid. Which unfortunately makes Bruce treat Damian as afterthought unintentionally.

Now I don’t expect Bruce to be the perfect dad, but as you stated months ago. A lot of modern Batman writers have a fundamentally lack of desire to have Bruce act like a parent/figure. In fancy I notice this with the other batkids where their bonds with Bruce have been extremely watered down. Can you confirm that as you read more older comics than me.

Sorry for a long anon, I don’t think Bruce is meant to be a terrible father. Just a lot of writers project their personal bias against Damian into other characters…which in turn make a lot of them worse as writer forgot Damian is a child…not to mention Bruce bio son. Not saying parents and kids have 1:1 of personalities. But do writers remember Bruce can be an asshole too?

yeah a lot of the writers do project their personal biases - as well as they personally don't view Bruce's adopted kids as his actual kids* and it's more comfortable for writers to just have them do different things when batman doesn't "have" to be a parent. like dick and bruce have pretty good rapport in silver and bronze age.

for older comics its strange. like I'd say even tho golden/silver age bruce didn't refer to dick as his son, he still definitely had "dad like" qualities. like we see a golden age bruce knock dick out to stop him from following him to his presumed death**, and silver age Bruce encourages dick to spend time being a kid and enjoying basketball and for example 1 comic dick goes to his school's spirit night instead of on patrol.

bronze age dick is college age, so their dynamic is different. dick's out of the house in college, and honestly I wish writers would do this more if they just didn't want to write Bruce being a dad. Like for Damian's situation instead of Bruce being criminally negligent/stupid why can't we just see Damian living with Talia he literally has a mom. you don't want to write bruce being a dad there are options.

jason we see him being a good dad but also his tenure as robin is pretty short, and then for a while the robin of the time (tim) is important in that he is not bruce's son. he's a trainee. Bruce doesn't have any minor children for a while, and only after OYL (occurs 2006 in our world) do we see him adopt a nearly adult tim.

For which Batkids have had their bonds with Bruce watered down, I'd have to read more current batcomics. The old comics I'd say we do have phases where Dick and Bruce don't talk much, mostly due to the annoying post COIE retcons of how Dick becomes nightwing (Bruce initially tells him he can't be Robin after he gets shot, then immediately adopts Jason to make him Robin, and then later that is retconned for Bruce to kick him out). I've spoken multiple times about preferring pre COIE retcons where Dick had more agency.

Cass I am not sure if we've seen her interacting a lot with Bruce lately, due to the aforementioned not keeping up with current batcomics that don't have Damian. She does show up in spirit world but :P that's about Xanthe.

From what I hear from people who read current Tim comics, Tim's bond with Bruce is very strongly emphasized, tho I haven't read those comics myself so I can't comment firsthand.

Overall I think a lot of portrayal of Bruce as straight up negligent or abusive*** is due to writers just not caring about portraying him as a dad, they care about loner batman which maybe is the version from their head as kids? or could just be because that's a lot of what DC likes to emphasize. also the general "men express emotions by being angry and violent" thing many writers like. and DC was going to set up Damian as the villain for 5G, so they had to put him in a place where Bruce couldn't have seen this and stopped it, so they decided that he was going to claim any level of ignorance in order to not look bad (because I guess just not knowing what's going on with your child is fine)

*for a similar thing not in batman comics: i think that if Death of a Prince writers viewed Garth as Aquaman's ""actual"" kid, even though Garth was adopted by him and raised by him for a large portion of his childhood, they wouldn't have had aquaman being willing to fight aqualad to the death to save his biological child, arthur jr, at black manta's threats.

**which is also what Talia does for Damian in Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul - she knocks him out to take him away from battle and protect him

*** as opposed to realistically emotionally unavailable for his character, which I think works especially post Jason's death. but also WRT for why I think the negligent stuff is OOC (here - post)

[thefirstknife]

This question just randomly popped up in my mind, do Ana Brays face markings mean anything? If they do, would you please tell me?

Also would you please, give some interesting facts about Ana Bray? Or any lore including the involvement of Ana Bray?

Thank you!

Nothing in particular on her face markings, as far as I'm aware. We know that she didn't have them before becoming a Guardian, which means she put them on at some point after being rezed.

Her comic (part 3) also further specifies by showing her without the markings during Twilight Gap:

But the next time we see her in the same comic, when she's hiding after faking her death, she has them:

Possibly something to help her hide her identity? She also changed her hair style in the meantime. But we don't really know if they have any additional meaning.

One of my favourite Ana Bray facts was the stuff she was doing before she became a Guardian. I love her talking about her profession:

You can lead a machine to language, but you can't make it think. Well, you can't. But I can. My name is Ana Bray. If you want to insult me, call me a neurolinguist.

Not that it isn't a fine and noble profession, but neurolinguistics is about encoding language. I'm a psycholinguist. I study how language can lead to independent thought.

People don't really see her as a scholar and I've even seen people saying she's not smart, but she is absolutely incredibly smart and educated. Her profession is what led her to teaching Rasputin everything she did, in an effort to teach him not just how to speak, but essentially how to feel and think independently by using language as a base.

These are some older lore tabs that were recently reinforced with some extra details in Season of the Seraph. It's a fascinating read into Ana's expertise and thinking and her work that I've rarely, if ever, seen people mention. I linked the first bit up there, the rest in order: 2, 3, 4 and 5. Favourite part:

Military history, he's been fed by the truckload. But then I started in with operas and symphonies. I don't want him just to think about things.

Humans don't communicate strictly through data. We also communicate through art, through expression. If Rasputin is to be the most effective communications device in the Sol system, I want him to feel things.

Ana was incredible as a scientist and once you know how smart and innovative she is, you can kinda see why she always wanted to return to that passion and learn more about her pre-Guardian life. She even says it in the same comic I linked above:

At Twilight Gap, that Fallen gave me the opening I needed to let the world believe Guardian Ana Bray was dead, so that Doctor Anastasia Bray could finally do what needed to be done.

Another interesting and peculiar less known fact is that Ana was very likely a member of the Future War Cult. I kept seeing that being said, but couldn't figure out where it came from so I went to do a little research. Now for start, Future War Cult wasn't all just bad stuff we remember from Splicer; they were founded by Maya Sundaresh herself and have long lasting ties to Golden Age science and experiments. It might be that Ana joined or cooperated with FWC with that connection to the Golden Age in mind; Ana always knew who she used to be and always wanted to learn more about it. FWC could've been an early attempt to find out.

Back in Destiny 1, there was a mission that had Lakshmi sending you to Twilight Gap as part of the quest to get the exotic No Time To Explain. The quest involved a lot of different missions and included artifacts from Praedyth and Pujari, but also Ana Bray; they were artifacts manipulated by the Vex and time, with links to death. The artifact found at Twilight Gap was Ana's bracelet:

Upon returning to Lakshmi with it, she says:

Interesting! She is not only familiar with this, but she also says that the FWC inner circle will be grateful that the artifact has been "returned," sort of implying that it has been there before, with Ana. I wouldn't say it conclusively proves that Ana was a member, as the FWC may have been interested in the artifact purely for research purposes; the quest itself delves into researching artifacts that were pulled from time; Ana's bracelet may have been pulled because of the connection to No Time To Explain and Elsie. It's an interesting quest, if anyone wants to see it in its entirety, link to the only full playlist I could find is here.

Either way, it's a neat little tidbit from the past. I can definitely see Ana exploring FWC for potential links to not just her personal past, but also for the Golden Age in general.

[andreabaideas]

Djats beauty : Part two

Aka when my teen cousin (16) ask silly things about our shared fandoms (Djats and Twilight ) and then I transform It into a social genre experiment XD

Disclaimer : No animals were harmed during this process...though a (my) family was bothered with the superficial questions of a teen... helped by the too curious Adult (aka me) XD. 

It was also my experiment , to see if men and women find the same people pretty in the same way...I'm very serious about this kinds of experiments. 

Part two was between the men... Or you thought we were going to ask just about the women??? No,no,no. We're equals in my agenda!!!

We took as pretty source the actors that played the characters : Billy, Graham,Eddie, Warren, Nicky at first. I wanted to include Teddy and Rod, but my cousin said they are too old...I (obviously) won in the end or else I would help her convince the others to listen to her XD.

We divided It into categories (I told you very serious about It XD) :  eyes, face, hair , body, skin, and finally : as a whole (the one with better everything). 

Eyes : 

Women : Billy ("those eyes are wow!" "So light Green" "not they are blue" "no they are Green"...they were like the Golden White black blue dress internet meme issue..."They are beautiful let it be") , then Nicky (light and so pretty), then Rod ("his eyes look like melting caramel", "super pretty Hazel"), then Graham (again blue or green... sigh), then Eddie, then Warren, then Teddy. 

Men : "We don't care". Cousin : the women voted for the women too. M: "You women are mean to one another, thats why you judge,  we just dont give a crap about each others".... Finally they voted XD

Fiiine: Billy, then Nicky. 

Winner : Billy. 

Face :  

Women : tough Battle between Billy (perfect bone structure) and Rod (simetrical and very beautiful).  Then Nicky. Then Graham. Then Eddie. Then Warren. Finally Teddy. 

My mom and aunt liked Rod the best. My cousins Billy. 

Men : as they didn't care particularly they said :  Billy again, and then Nicky. Third was Rod. Graham IS too baby faced ,  Eddie looks "too girly for being a man, like an badly man filtered version of Karen with short hair (🤨?!). Then Teddy and Warren "they aren't hot, you women are weird".  

Winner : Billy 

Body : 

Women: Billy (Six pack perfection, wow. Me: "He said he was starved while shooting". The Girls: "We also half starve ourselves to fit in the bikinis too, he did It for humanity's benefit , he should be proud"... I can't with my family I swear. 

The rest: Nicky , Rod, Eddie, Graham, Warren,Teddy. 

Men: Billy. Rod. And the Gastón mean looking one (Nicky). 

Winner : Billy. 

Hair: 

Women : (with long hair better) Billy, then Nicky, then Eddie, then Graham, then Teddy , then Warren , finally Rod* Note : with the actors real hair Rod goes third position , but with the shows wig not ("Its atrocious kid" XD) 

Men : Billy. 

Winner : Billy.

Skin: We took into account the actors real age VS their skin appearance to judge , the glow , the color shade (uniformness and health) and the texture (acné, wrinkles...) to vote...When i tell you this was super pro XD. 

Women: Graham, Nicky, Eddie, Billy & Rod, Warren and Teddy. 

Graham looks 18, so yeah his skin IS good (1996) Nicky (1992) looks very good too. Rod Its looking fantastic for his age, way younger than his real age. Eddie looks younger too. Billy looks older than the character he plays but looks his age skin wise, not more (listen Twitter listen those wise words)...but not much less :( " Darling he looks in his middle thirties between 33- 35 years" "Yup more or less, Mom, he IS from 1986". "Close enough". 

Winner : Graham. 

As a whole : Let me count.... everything except the skin?...Who am I kidding? 

Winner: Billy. He destroyed the others... There wasn't a competition at all XD. 

It was easier with the men . Also my bratty 16, Almost 17! years  cousin was very surprised about Rod,  but like...My mom, my aunt/ her grandma, her mom (my eldest cousin) and our other aunt (half of the female votes) are his age or slightly older, between 42 to 60...what she expected?🤣. 

Hadn't there been our adopted cousins (our male cousins's wives) between 33 to 39 (I call them cousins too... once you enter my family Its like the Mafia: you belong to us and you can't really escape XD) and her best friend was there too (18), to complete the younger vote  (that voted all for Billy)... Rod would have won. 

Curious enough women can vote about other women (without any sexual attraction) while the men didnt care about voting for other men. 

Weird right?

Thats It! 

[tulipe-rose]

SO. FOLLOWERS. I FINALLY FOUND WHERE TO READ THE LNs, AND NOT JUST SOME SNIPPETS!!!

In celebration, I screenshotted every single line that caught my attention in 'Dazai's entrance exam', and wrote down notes of my thoughts on it. (This might turn into a series because damn I think too much (it's a blessing lol))

It's so interesting to see Kunikida's take on Abilities, it's very nicely phrased— important questions that definitely came to mind are mentioned here, only to hit us with the reality that no one has a theoretical explanation on it. Even the way Abilities manifest is a mystery. Some theorize it might be due to a traumatic experience, but no one truly knows.

OOO Martial arts trivia with Doppo-kun!! (Yeah I can't with myself rn, it's one am, and I decided that since Doppo is the narrator of this LN, I'll bully him a little lot; he made it super easy lmao.)

OMG DOPPO FALLS INTO DEBT?!! THAT GOES AGAINST AT LEAST 50 OF HIS IDEALS LORD THIS IS TOO FUNNY TO THINK ABOUT—

Seriously though, imagine the golden age agency members as a whole, (Kunikida, Rampo, Katai, and Yōsano) being fresh, and young adults, but also terrible at handling their funds to the point of losing all of their money every month somehow, and waiting for payday like it's their one lifeline while fighting off loansharks. Fukuzawa decided that it was about time Yōsano, and Rampo handled themselves independently, only to regret it later. Kunikida doesn't know just how his savings just disappear (ehem Rampo ehem), and Katai gets the hang of it sooner rather than later. He was just so used to having Kunikida being the one to manage the money, but once Kunikida started getting busy, he tried to be a little confident, and independent. (Epic fail)

Also justice for the law office, imagine them having to deal with all of the Mafia vs Agency crap to this day. Istg, these people have seen it all

“ blasphemous book ”

Couldn't agree more omfg– ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

“ perfume of beautiful women! ”

No words. If I start questioning where that came from, I'm afraid it'll spiral into something unpleasant–

Dazai is as high as the statue of liberty, and it's entertaining oml–

Like, yes Dazai, the anemone is definitely eating the banana, want to have some? I could ask it for you.

We're naked? Whatever floats your titanic, dear. Our approval ratings? Well, I suppose the agency is the best of the best. Oh? I suppose it can never be that simple, but I suppose tights can be a little uncomfortable depending on the material. The bank didn't see it coming, nope, the reaction was worth the uncomfort; I did mess up on the hopak steps a little though, but non of us are perfect, don't you agree?

I'm having too much fun–

Just gotta love how Doppo is just going about his day like Dazai doesn't even exist. Like:

“ That? Figment of your imagination, dear reader; I insist that there definitely isn't a high employee here. Moving on– ”

“ Why it's a little old pops! He's whispering to me, he's saying ‘Go to Tokyo; in Tokyo they make food with Miso which tastes different, and you need to try i–... ’”

Far fetched, LIKE SUPER DUPER FAR FETCHED, but could this be foreshadowing Dazai's backstory? Hear me out on this!! He's talk about an old pops, which could be referring to someone he viewed as an important, figure in his life; I think it could be an elderly man that came to Dazai's acquaintance before being found by Mōri. The old pops could've been telling Dazai all sorts of stories, and Dazai obviously memorized them all. One of the stories could be about one of pops' travels to Tokyo, where he tried Miso for the first time, and being so infatuated by it, encouraged Dazai to go try it one day. What makes me dead set on this is how Kunikida interrupted Dazai during his drunken speech, which is Asagiri's most common way of revealing/hinting at things.

I should go to sleep (neh.)

FOUL. DOPPO, THAT WAS FOUL. (But honestly... keep going. He's been so irritating to you, you're rightfully angry)

Shout out to our part timer Doppo!! Having multiple jobs is such burden, I salute you for your survival, Doppo. I bet most of the kids loved you (some didn't, but you can't have them all)

Graceful, huh? I don't see it.

OOO, I didn't see this ever being mentioned!! Like no one talks about it (as far as I've seen)!

I'm nearly certain it was at bar lupin.

ZJSBWJB I CAN'T ADD ANYMORE PICTURES >:{{

I'm making a part two, dw.

[dino-boyo-agere]

Okay, I don't know if I'm alone with it, but I can't stop thinking about Saltburn characters as age regressors & CGs, especially Felix..

I'm sorry, but this man boy had a broken bike, and instead of just.. pushing it to the destination that wasn't too far, (especially not with this long legs!!?!) all he did was sulk and sigh in the hopes somebody would take pity? He definitely belongs in the baby pile!!

Same with Annabel.. You can't tell me she doesn't use regression to cope with her messed up family life, and the fact that she had to survive in the shadow of her golden child brother..

Anyways, here are Saltburn AgeRe head canons:

Felix mainly regresses for fun and to give his true emotions an outlet.

His regression also helps to heal his inner child from the emotional neglect he had to experience throughout his childhood, but he hasn't quite figured that out yet.

He keeps it "secret" from his parents, cuz they wouldn't understand..

Elsbeth knows technically, but she thinks it's a k1nk thing & she doesn't care.

James also knows.. He doesn't understand it, but he places some baby stuff in Felix's room as a surprise every once in a while.. Felix doesn't know they're from his dad.

Duncan has become some sort of primary caregiver for Felix.

He takes credit for the gifts, because he really enjoys the happy dances, thank you hugs and pictures he gets from little Felix. Ducan thinks "if the gift giver didn't put their name on it, they probably didn't want Felix to know anyways, so there's no harm in taking the credit."

He really enjoys how loving, cuddly and vulnerable little Felix can get.

Duncan feels like he can finally raise a child of his own. (He never had time for even a relationship, bc of his job.)

Felix is still a little brat when tiny, he was raised to be one, so it's hard to shake off.

He throws fits, cries, yells or even throws physical things, when something is not going his way.

Annabel knows about his regression and is not sure how to bring up that she also is part of the baby pile.

She found it helps her cope with her mental health issues, she mainly regresses involuntarily, after bad episodes.

Felix ends up finding out and they have playdates sometimes, but they often end up fighting.

Big Felix also judges/ makes fun of her for "not being able to control her regression". He doesn't understand the concept of involuntary regressing.

He has a really hard time realizing that not everyone is exactly like him, that's just a result of being the golden child.

Annabel is often sad/ upset when tiny.

She also gets jealous when she sees how loving Duncan is to Felix.

But she also really wants Felix to like and play with her, she's desperate for his approval and a sibling connection.

At one point James finds his daughter crying, that's nothing unusual, but this time he could tell it was different.. she seemt so incredibly small and fragile.

He becomes her primary cg after that night, and their relationship immensely improves.

Felix gets upset because he doesn't get as many gifts anymore though and gives Deacon he'll for it, still thinking they where from him lol

He's happy to see Annabel and James creating such a loving relationship, but he'd never say that out loud.. he's a little jealous at the same time aswell tho.

Farleigh also finds out about their regression, but is not sure what to make of it.

He kind of wants to take care of the little ones sometimes, and that scares him.

Little Felix giggles a lot, he likes running around and playing outside & in the water.

He's also an absolute cuddle bug, but only with Ducan. He follows him around like a lost puppy and constantly seeks physical touch. (Grabbing his hand/ arm, hugging him, etc.)

Felix also really enjoys showing off his skills, to get praise from his cg.

Ducan has a whole chest full of pictures, crafts and learning pages little Felix did.

Annabel is more of the quiet type, she likes coloring and just snuggling with her Papa or a plushie.

James really values this second chance at being a good dad to his daughter, he felt a lot of remorse for always prioritizing Felix.

Annabel and Felix's relationship also ends up improving.

The fighting will probably never fully stop, that's just sibling things.

Farleigh also finds himself filling a "big sibling" role over time and he likes being the one in charge every once in a while.

He's is stricter than Ducan and James, but he's not unfair.

With Farleigh he kiddos have set bedtimes, a limit to how many sugary stuff they're allowed to consume and get scolded for fighting/ causing trouble.

The most dreaded punishment of Felix is sitting on the stairs for 5 to 10 minutes, kid hates being bored.

Unfortunately he often has to sit on the stairs, he's quite the trouble maker.

Annabel hates getting her plushie taken away, the plushie is still in the same room, but up on a shelf, she just can't cuddle it for 5 to 10 minutes.

Luckily she very rarely has to be punished, she's a very well behaved kid!

All in all, regression brings most of the family closer together! <3

That's all I can think of right now, I might add more later.

I left out Oliver on purpose, cuz he's a creepy little freak and we don't stand him in this household hehe

Hope y'all enjoyed this read!!

.ﾟ｡.･.*.ﾟ☆❗only interact if your blog is SFW❗☆ ﾟ.*.･. ｡ﾟ.

[myceliumbean]

Cars 2 Agents AU How did Rod survive III

Featuring: In which they rest

Summary: the agents were on a mission, and everything went wrong soon after they entered Russian airspace

Dammit, I just couldn't find a proper place for Rod struggling to tell them about his near-death experience and thus considering changing the chapter names

She's in golden red paint. Holley watched as Julia sneaked into the hangar, woke up Eva, bumped Boris' front tires with a cheerful smile, put down the boxes she carried, and waved goodbye to the team before leaving.

"Much like a storm of energy and cheers, right?"

"Wha- oh, yeah, she's…" Holley turned to face Alyona, who had taken out another cup of cocoa and sipping on it happily. Someone's goot to stop the forklift from taking in this much caffeine. "Is she even at your age?"

"Ah ha! Eva, you owe me one!" Alyona made a resounding "ching" with her tines. "Julia is much older than me, even Michaele, if you would like to know, maybe… let me think about someone… oh, she's like Boris' daughter, and I'm more like his granddaughter!"

The Ilyushin-76 in the background made a not-very-heartily protest and said something like "I'm not that old".

Eva chuckled and smashed the hude cargo plane on his front tires. "Aw, but you almost act like that, you and Zil are equally overprotective."

Boris rolled his eyes, and tilted to the side to take a proper look at Holley and Alyona. "Well, if that's how you want to phrase it, then I'm gonna adopt Siddeley."

Daniil choked at the unexpected words, and Michaele made a soft noise as he tried to bit back his laughter. Then, Alyona smacked the forklift on the back of his red helm, and the two bursted into laughter as they playfully chased down each other, driving circles in the big hangar.

Holley didn't realize she's smilling too, until Daniil drove up and tapped her with his tine. "You look good when you're smiling. Don't be too worried about your friends, they're safe with us."

"…thank you, Daniil. It's just- I don't know, I'm never afraid even we're pointed by guns and completely outnumbered." Holley shuddered as she recalled the feeling of Finn lying limp against her frame, or how cold Rod is when Finn told her the American spy had passed out. "I know it isn't good for us agents being too close or too attached to others, but I can't…"

"Get some rest." Daniil smiled warmly, as if he could read Holley's thought so easily like flipping a book. "You'll need it. Zil has so many things to tell you. I'll take Alyona to check on the other two agents, feel free to call us if you have any question."

"I will. Thank you, Daniil."

Watching as the two forklifts headed for the door to the hangar on the left, Holley let herself drift into her own thoughts.

Finn Mcmissile. Rod Redline. Siddeley. Even Mater, who they had mistaken as Rod. They're all great people.

Holley had joined the mission by accident. She's supposed to hand over the information and period. It was Finn who insisted that he'll need her help and pulled Holley into the center of danger. Not that she's complaining, really, she had learn so much from the field, and fron Finn himself.

If Holley's honest enough to herself, she's actually scared of how fast she became friends with Finn and Mater. Siddeley, on the other hand, was not really close to Holley, but they went well together, and their similar age made the interaction more like ordinary friends than mentor and mentee.

The jaguar would probably get lost in her thoughts forever if that bright red figure didn't stayed there for enough time at the corner of her eyes.

Holley didn't recognize that car. She casted a glance at Boris, but the big guy just continuously reading his book and use his wing to cover Siddeley up with some piece of canvas everytime when the Gulfstream V shuddered in his coma and caused the canvas to slip off.

But as far as she knew, the hangars near this one were control areas, no way they're allowing some random vehicles wandering around like that.

Holley looked at that red car, who might be a jaguar too, and got a look and a smile back.

Chrysler, why on the world was this stranger smiling at me?

That bright red jaguar waved a front tire at Holley and quickly headed to the right side of the hangar, opened the door, and disappeared behind it.

"…um, Boris?"

"Yes, Ms. Shiftwell." The Ilyushin moved his gaze from his book to the small purple jaguar. "Anything wrong?"

"Well, that red jaguar… is it fine to let someone else in? Or is the car part of the team?"

"Ah, him." Boris somehow sounded amused. "He's fine, Zil called him in for some security assistance."

"Oh, I see. Maybe I'm too worried about my friends… will you mind if I take a nap here?"

"No. Just suit yourself, Ms. Shiftwell, I'll look after you guys." Boris said certainly. "I'll wake you up if they're awake."

"That will be appreatiated, thank you. And just call me Holley."

"Good. Now sleep, Holley, Zil's gonna push you to the very end of your strength."

@longjiaojiao had joked about Julia being Zil and Boris' adopted daughter, and I think putting this in would be fun, as Eva was almost the same age as Boris (and they're both a bit younger than Zil) and one of her best interests is teasing her relatively more serious colleagues

Alyona, by the way, is the youngest of the team, even might be younger than Holley, while Siddeley being a bit older than she in this AU

And congratulate to our ghostly-wardering-around and having-too-few-canon-scene C.H.R.O.M.E. agent, Leland Turbo for making his debut in the AU!

[fanficwritingcentral]

Wrote a little fic with Apollo and Will that's been playing on my mind since I wrote a post about a scene that I really just had to write out. In it, I've also used my headcanon that Will's real name is Fitzwilliam, something I got from MsMay in their fic Courting Death. A great fic btw

So enjoy this fic 😘✌️

My dad finally acts like a real dad (ao3 link)

Summary: Will is sad about missing out on the regular teenager experience of parent teacher interviews, something normal compared to everything else he goes through, since his mum had to go do something for her work. But luckily for him, his mother is not the only parent he has.

Look.

Will understood.

No, really. He understood.

His mother was a famous singer. She did her absolute best to be there for him, to try and be a normal parent and do normal parent things. Especially as his other parent was a God, which was as far from normal you could get. She tried, but sometimes it just didn't work out and she had to go in. Something about a song lyric not working.

But sometimes, he just wished it could be different.

He buried himself under a blanket on his couch, and grabbed the remote. There's gotta be something on at this time, right. Something to take his mind off it all.

And really, why does he have to be so upset about this anyway, it's not like he doesn't know other kids wouldn't be wishing to be in his position right now. Who wouldn't love to miss parent teacher interviews and not have their parent or parents know about all their bad grades at school.

But. It's normal. It's a normal thing kids his age get to go through and is it so bad for him to wish he gets to experience at least one normal thing like them? Something so different compared to the wars he's gone through, the heavily injured bodies he's had to repair at way to young an age.

But. Like he said. He gets it.

He might not be happy about it but he gets it. And his mum promised him pizza and a movie when she gets home anyway. So at least there's that to look forward to.

Will turns on the TV and flicks through the channels, hoping to find a show to watch, maybe even something his siblings mentioned.

It's as Will finally finds a show that the front door bangs open and a familiar male voice shouts out, "Come on Will, we're going to be late!"

"Dad?" Will calls out in confusion, why would his father be here and what does he mean 'late'?

His father comes into the lounge room dressed in suit pants and a buttoned up shirt with a tie, he had a matching suit jacket over his arm and was aged the oldest Will had ever seen him. He actually looked old enough to be his father.

"Come on Fitzwilliam, up you get!"

Will cringed at the use of his full name, why did his mum have to be such a fan of Pride and Prejudice?

"Dad," Will said, looking at his father from the couch, "not that I'm not happy to see you, don't get me wrong, but why are you here? And what do you mean we'll be late?"

His father puts his free hand on his hip, "isn't it your parent teacher interview night?"

"Yeah," Will said, "but mum's not here, so I'm not going?"

His father rolled his golden eyes, "of course you're going," he said, "I'm here to take you. It's an important part of your schooling, to see where you're doing well and where you need to improve."

"You're taking me?" Will asked half up from the couch.

"Sure am Will, now go get ready, I don't want to be late."

"What about mum? Does she know?"

"You're mother knows," his father assures him, "now go put on a better shirt and pants. We can't go see your teachers looking like that."

Will doesn't even hide his beaming smile his mum tells him he gets from his father as he runs to his room to get ready. He's got parent teacher interviews to get to.

Later, when Will sits in a chair next to his father and listens to his English teacher as she talks about how his grades are low and how he doesn't seem to even try, he understands a bit better why the other kids in school hate these days.

But, turning to his father and seeing him get visibly angry. How his golden eyes, definitely hidden by the mist, burn with fury at his teacher. How his father goes to then defend him to the teacher, how he isn't lazy, that he is a very intelligent boy and absolutely always does his best.

He can't find himself to be that upset, afterall he gets to see his father act like a normal dad. And it's the best thing ever.

[gothamcityhistory]

Detective Comics #27

Where it all began

Cover:

This is a great cover to start things out! It's iconic!! I always love seeing the redraws of this!

I got this screenshot of the cover from the Batman: The Golden Age Vol. 1 which you can tell from the fact that the words "THE BATMAN!" on the cover are black and not red like the original cover from 1939. For the rest of this post I will be using screenshots from an old digitization of the comic except for a few which I got from The Golden Age Vol 1. which I use at the end. Even though it says "64 pages of action" on the cover, The "Bat-Man" story is only 9 pages long and I will only be focusing on that. (Sorry Slam Bradley fans!) Now to get into the issue.

It starts off with this title page where they introduce the "Bat-Man" to the reader. It's very nice!

It's very strange to see him labeled at the "Bat-Man". I'm just not used to it but anyways they drop it fully Detective Comics #30. (Also note that I read it like "Bat Dash Man")

It's also very sad to see The Batman only credited to Bob Kane. Bill Finger did mostly everything and didn't get recognition for it until 2015.

Anyway, Back to the comic-

Bruce Wayne and Commissioner Gordon are chilling out at Gordon's place when suddenly Gordon gets a call about a recent murder. They need him there right away and in the most laid-back way, he's like, "Hey, Bruce, buddy, pal, chum, they need me at a murder scene... Wanna come with?"

and Bruce is deadass like "Eh sure. Why not"

Everything was so casual in the 30s god damn.

Anyway, They rush over to the scene of the crime

and after "a thorough examination of the scene of the crime" they decide to talk to the victims son, who is the current murder suspect.

He's like, "I didn't do it, I only grabbed the knife when I pulled it out of my dad's chest!" And, weirdly, Gordon doesn't press any further on it. He's just like "Yep okay."

Also, he could've stayed alive if you didn't pull the knife out dummy. But I digress

He then responds to Gordon's question like "Dunno, Except these 3 guys"

Also the comedic timing of that- I made a joke to my friend when I first read this comic that the reason why Steve Crane was excited was because he bet Lambert a hundred bucks in 1939 dollars that the threat on his life was real- I know excited back then meant having excessive emotions but I just thought it was funny.

You sus mf. I SEE you Bruce. If that even is your real name.

I also love this panel.

After Crane gets shot the murderer/robber escapes with a piece of paper.

When Suddenly...

The Bat-Man shows up and beats the hell out of them and takes the paper. Then Gordon and the police arrive to Steven Crane's house as the Bat-Man runs away. Gordon then finds out Crane has been killed and decides to go to Paul Rogers house

Also look at my little man

He's so proud of himself.

I also love the fact that he drives off in Bruce Wayne's car from earlier in the issue. He's so silly

Meanwhile, Rogers goes to his friend's, Alfred Stryker's, neighboring Laboratory where he encounters Strykers assistant, Jennings, and gets smacked and trapped by him.

I thought this panel was hilarious.

Like Boi! What kind of guinea pigs are you experimenting with that you need to a jar that can fit a human inside and also why are you gassing guinea pigs???

He then seals the chamber but not before the "Bat-Man" enters, plugs the gas-jet and breaks Rogers out.

Speaks for itself really. Styker then finds out his assistant failed at killing Rogers and tries to kill him himself but the Bat-Man, who had hidden, jumps out and prevents the Stryker from killing Roger. The Bat-Man explains why Stryker like Velma at the end of an episode and then Stryker breaks out of The Bat-Mans hold and then

The Bat-Man straight up kills him and is like "Good."

Bro is so sus. No one acts this way. And then what's more is that Gordon is like "Man. bro is so bored all the time."

Look at my silly dressing up in his bat fursuit!!

Can't wait for next month!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Sorry I basically recapped the whole story. It was very short but every panel had something interesting happening!! I definitely recommend it!!

Things I liked and found interesting!!

I found it interesting how they have text explaining the situation instead of just letting the photos do the talking.

Thought It's probably like that because they only had 9 pages to tell the story.

I liked Commissioner Gordon's fit in this issue.

It's a very nice Zebra-like suit that would allow him to fit in with the the weirdo 248 issues from now. It's just so snazzy!

I also like how Gordon takes things at face value and doesn't do some deeper thinking like how I'd assume a police commissioner would. "Well obviously he didn't kill his father. He literally just said he didn't". "I just told Bruce something amazing and he looks like he had heard it before. He must lead a boring life"

I also love The Bat-Man costume in this issue

Purple glove Batman... My beloved <3

The art in this issue is great too!! I'll pick out a few of my favourite panels to show.

Thank you all for reading my first blog post!!

Come back whenever! Rarely the same Bat-Time but always the same Bat-Blog