#haven't articulated it before

[nostalgic-shamefest]

This post is so interesting to me cause my mind, no joke, fully erased all his neutral deeds. Like I had a false memory that he for sure killed the immigrants and Margarethe, but like you're obviously correct he didn't. He's so often portrayed as the Salamanca wearing the human suit most convincingly, but idk I think this one may be the Salamanca feeling the human suit most frighteningly. Literally to his detriment with Nacho (even if you don't read the relationship as romantic). The seeds they planted that make you give a fuck about this evil fuck are most obviously his charisma and normal person riz, his "seeming normalcy"! But most importantly I think, what makes you genuinely care is that he's just pretending to be a silly little guy having fun to the point where he let's it affect him! Like is he fully pretending or is he trying something on he can't wear otherwise? Like he's not all that in control. Like maybe Kim pointed not only to an insecurity but a deep seated desire for him to have normal people bonds. So he throws himself at the first person in his radius he has deemed most human, and it's obviously Nacho. Throws caution to the wind, takes him to his house, tries to reassure him, comfort him, host him. That sudden trip reeks desperation. It's not like Nacho is that convincing, this is a massive lapse in judgement. He's for sure rationalising it as strategy but during their moment in the firepit, he's attempting real connection. I think to a degree he may be envious of Nacho, look up to him even, for his genuine humanity. He's trying to have that kind of person close so he can maybe feel less alone. Feel like what he wants to be can work in this environment. Which makes us watching him eat absolute grass in "something unforgivable" all the more devestating. We see him be punished for craving something real and then reverting fully into what is demanded of him by the cartel, and in a meta way, by the show. But then again he doesn't kill Margarethe. He's still there, even after his absolutely embarrassing failure at being a human being (at least he would perceive it a such seeing as the only world he knows is the cartel, although I have my headcanons that say otherwise). Idk maybe I'm just a Lalo apologist, maybe I'm reading too much into it, maybe it's Tony's fault, idk guys!

Quick summary: Lalo pretending to be normal points to him genuinely wanting that and not knowing how to perform it beside a surface level (I've been watching too much Barry guys help)

I wonder who are these women? His aunts? Maybe one of them is his mother? The lady on the right looks at him with as much pride as a loving mother could.

[bookwyrminspiration]

Call me out if I’m wrong here, but I feel like sometimes, when you’re in this fandom, there’s a lot of contradictory?

I feel like not that long ago people were upset that others were saying they didn’t like something, so wording changed.

I do believe that we should be honest on whether or not we like something (while being kind/gracious about it), but that might be the reason why some people are more nervous to just come out and say it?

Again I may be so incredibly wrong; I’ve been dipping my toes in and out of the fandom for a while now.

I think you have a valid point. There's a lot of people in the fandom, and we have different opinions, some of which contradict each other. Sometimes one view dominates, then the other. We vacillate and change, which is only natural.

Regarding the recent wording change, I'm not sure what specific thing that was in response to--there was some conversation in the vein of "if you don't like it, why are you here?" Which was more in response to the overwhelming negativity the series has started to accrue with the long interims, its current direction, and fans getting older. The sort of "people don't want to hear about how much you hate the thing they love." Even if you've established yourself as a fan of it previously.

Which I think can coexist alongside simply saying you don't like something. I can say the new cover isn't really hitting for me without tearing it apart and making those who really enjoy it feel bad, you know? I don't mind it, understand why it's like that, and appreciate Jason Chan's artistic prowess, but that doesn't make it interesting to look at.

But you're right, there's been this push to justify why you dislike things, at least in online spaces. So it's harder/makes people nervous to say "I just don't like this." Myself included. Instead it's "this was rushed" "this was last minute" "Shannon's publishers are pressuring her" "her editor's are pressuring her" etc.

Which, again, is entirely possible. Writing and publishing is hard; it takes a lot of work and pleasing the industry isn't easy. But there are points where--I think--people approach it with bad faith.

To use the cover as an example again, a lot of people are saying it's rushed. Possible. But is there a history of rushing covers? Not that we've seen, all the others have been spectacular, detailed, and thorough. What would they gain by rushing it? They could meet deadlines sooner, have something to share with the audience since we're in a weird period. But they could also damage their marketing with a subpar product, especially given the series' popularity. Why do we think the cover looks rushed? Its simplicity, its different mood. But, again, Shannon said that was intentional. There's Keefe's appearance, which is really hit or miss for people. I don't think Keefe not looking as attractive as people imagine/want is a result of rushing, but because there's an impossible standard for him as The Boy of the series. And so on and so forth.

The point of that being we've come to this conclusion, I think, hastily. While book 9.5 wasn't the original plan so of course timelines change, I don't think S&S has a history or motive to rush. There's already an established precedent for delays when necessary, the cover came out later than others, and there's (i think) a solid, purposeful reason the mood is different.

Could I be wrong? Absolutely. But the rapidity of the conclusion and with how much it feels we've been outsourcing our dislike the past few years I'm started to feel a little skeptical. Boy who cried wolf kinda thing. Was it rushed again, or do we just not like it? Feels like a slapstick explanation without further examination

And of course you don't have to analyze everything, but some things are a bit more complex, you know?

Point is: I think we're overusing these explanations (pressured, rushed) and at this point if we don't delve further into it it starts to lose its meaning. There is an argument for being rushed and pressured! But without getting into it, I can't tell if we're thinking it through or just avoiding saying we don't like something for fear of judgment/reprisal.

[pilotstreets]

not to get sappy but i adore tumblr clique so much and like. i've been involved in the clique across various social medias on and off since i got into twenty one pilots but there's always been homophobic comments on those places and people often justified it as "well the boys are christian so they probs don't support gay people ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯" and as an nb lesbian (and the many other labels i've used while trying to figure myself out y'know) that really made me feel out of place whenever it happened but tumblr clique is the only place i've actually stayed in for more than a month at a time and it's so nice and refreshing to not see any homophobic bs ever and seeing so many people being just being supportive and seeing other queer clikkies it's just. happy pride i love you tumblr clique <3

[crows-bite]

Thought too hard about Ailani Knight.

You know, I think the thing that kills me the most is that she gets it. Like, she really does understand why what happened to her and Skunk happened. She spent the whole week leading up to her death terrified out of her mind because she wasn't able to see or hear or touch the one person she felt safe with - and the one person she couldn't bear to see get hurt. Like, fuck dude! I'd be lying if I said she hadn't thought about ending the motive herself! So she understands how the twins felt and why they did it and I think it just kills her. It would be so much easier if all she could feel was anger, if she could just blame the people in front of her and wipe her hands of the whole thing.

But she gets it. She understands the circumstances better than anyone, honestly, and she understands the reasoning and understands that the twins would never, ever have done that if they'd had their memories - and if they weren't in a place that's built to break you.

I think there's this horrible feeling that - the longer she stays away from the Hearts, the more people will start to forget about what happened. Or to stop caring as much, to put it aside and go right back to loving the twins, and that when she comes back they'll all take their side. Nobody will be there to catch her. Like, it scares her from going home even if there's nowhere she wants to be more. Even if all the people that understand what she went through best are there. She needs to be there but it's hard, and it hurts that the place that's meant to feel the most safe is the hardest in the world to be. It's physically painful that the the people she's supposed to belong with and the place she's supposed to belong to, aren't easy to be around anymore. She feels like an intruder in her own family, man.

Idk. There are a lot of conflicting feelings. Like, it needs to be made clear that she loves the Torres twins. They're her family and that will never change. But the other thing that will never change is what they did to her and Skunk, and the scars and the fear and the memories are really... it's hard to wrestle with, there's just a total disconnect between her memories of the twins as Flaming Hearts and her memories of the twins chasing her through the market as she bled to death that she's been trying to reconcile with. And I don't know if that feeling of dread when she sees them will ever go away. Memories or no, the way she died was genuinely so fucking awful like the twins aren't in the clear just for forgetting what she meant to them, you know? Christ, and to die in such a terrible way and then to realize After The Fact that the people that did that to you are people you fully trusted with your life. It's the most devastating stab in the back AFTER ALREADY QUITE LITERALLY BEING STABBED IN THE BACK.

She loves them. She can't be around them without feeling the need to crawl out of their skin. She wants them to be happy, she wants them to have friends. She also really, really cannot be around anyone who still talks to them on friendly terms. To her it feels like... if you're willing to talk to the people that brutally murdered someone you consider family - and remain friends with them - then you are... giving up on that victim. She feels so very insignificant, like the things she went through - her death - mean nothing. She feels so easily forgettable when her family is so willing to try and get back to the way things were before that they're choosing to ignore what happened after. Things can't go back to normal because they have changed, permanently. They're trying to put together a puzzle but the pieces won't fit anymore. It makes me fucking miserable.

It's no wonder that she's scared to go back, honestly. Like, so few people have openly voiced their support to her. So few people have checked in on her, so few people have explicitly told her that they're not talking to the twins. And then other people seem to take offense when she tells them she doesn't want to speak to them if they're still on good terms with the twins for the sake of her own mental state. It's fucking wild to me that she's putting more trust in Kanuha, the guy who watched her die without doing a thing to help, than most other people because zey were the one who told her that other people were still trying to talk to zem and the twins. She had the broken heart emoji next to her name up until the finale for a reason. :emotions:

Dude this is turning into an essay, sorry about that . But yeah, this isn't even to mention the fact that Luciano and Tomas are dating. Whoof. This is another bit where she really does get it. She understands Tomas's point of view, because the guy can't afford to pick sides. He can't afford to be divided among his people, he needs to stand strong as the leader who'll be there for all of them. So she's not mad about it. She's happy for them, even. But it's not something she can spend too long thinking about and it's not something she feels she can actively support either of them in.

Ummm. But yeah. She hates the feeling of knowing people are walking on eggshells around her because they don't want to bring up the twins. And she knows going back to the Hearts is gonna be that feeling nonstop, and it's gonna hurt, and it's gonna suck, but she wants to be there more than anything at the same time because that's her family. So many contradictions, I know. She just doesn't want to feel like her murderers are getting more support than her and Skunk. Be gentle with her, ok, she makes me really sad. :emotions:

[niuxita21]

TFW the Girl You Love Tells You “Thanks But No Thanks. You’re Still My Best Friend, Tho!” - A novel by Ana

[houseofwolvess]

why am i feeling emotional over medication. what the fuck

[benevolentvampire]

.

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[neo-shitty]

spring day never latches on to a permanent face. it takes the form of the people i miss whom i have no way of reconnecting with. ever since i read that message in my inbox, it has taken the form of you, kesya.

[sclfmastery]

So like. Please notice how much the Master already talks and acts like the Doctor, because that’s crucial here. Please notice this has always been true (twink Ten? Twink Simm; Scottish Twelve? Scottish Missy; perky quirky cut-off-trousers manic Thirteen? perky quirky cut-off-trousers manic Dhawan).  But it’s gotten even worse, and Yaz is at the center of that. 

It’s known that the Master wanted Yaz to be involved with him, either romantically or platonically. The script was originally going to push even further that he “wanted Yaz to like him,” according (I think?) to Sacha himself. A lot of people say this is evidence for an ot3, and if that’s what they want to glean, that’s cool. But I genuinely think it goes deeper?

I think that the Master recognizes his constant strategic disadvantage (and a source of his incredible existential suffering) is that he is alone. He has minions, but he has no friends, no companions, no “fam.”

I just saw elsewhere on the dash, a Big Finish audio where one of the Doctor’s other enemies says, “You’d save everyone, wouldn’t you, Doctor? Everyone and anyone.” And I was surprised that wasn’t a Master line, because that’s exactly the bitterness, disdain, and envy he feels here.  That’s exactly why Yaz drove in the knife by saying “the Doctor’s power is she is loved.” After being hijacked, flirted with, begged and threatened by the Master-as-Doctor to just “have fun” with him, the way the Doctor’s companions do, she knows what he wants and cannot have. 

Compounding already profound trauma and mental illness on top of other neurodivergencies, the Master truly believes that he can reclaim his bond with the Doctor by “erasing” her and then coopting her very existence. He can use the very ability that led Tecteun and all of dawning TL society to predate on a small “abandoned” (debatable) child in order to obtain relative immortality. He can reclaim that awful ability from that awful source to become not only the ONLY person he has EVER loved, but also to become a person he objectively KNOWS is “more” happier than he.  He couldn’t wound the Doctor (Simm). He couldn’t play the Doctor (Missy).  He couldn’t die together with the Doctor (Dhawan, third appearance).  So all that was left was to merge with her on the molecular level, and come to terms with his own downward spiral to self-loathing (begun with his Timeless Child revelation).  

Obtaining Yaz’s friendship, having his turn as the one person he could never get (in his mind, at least) to respect, fear, or love him, was the one way he felt he could confirm to himself that he could escape miserable obsolescence.  Because Yaz is the Doctor’s current favorite human, and he clocked that in Spyfall Part 1. Yaz is symbolic of becoming the “so much more” that the Doctor called herself to his face, the last time they met, and she let a virtual stranger--a human--try and kill him.  If Yaz, who is good, who loves the Doctor, can love the Master, that means the Master has regained cosmic significance. 

Yaz is proof that the Master will never know peace until he finds friendship outside of the Doctor and the Doctor’s companions.  That’s why he gets in her face and screams with a rage and a loss of control we’e NEVER seen from ANY other Master, at Yaz, “I AM THE DOCTOR NOW!”, when she won’t accept his new identity.

Leave Earth now, Doctor, or it will be the death of you. Because really, honestly, truly... this is the day you die. No, not just die.

DOCTOR WHO The Power of the Doctor

[ms-demeanor]

Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

[joelscruff]

to freeze or to thaw (joel miller x f!reader)

a/n idk what this is. it's very short and kinda weird but when inspiration strikes you just gotta go with it lmao. pls read the warnings! and here's my kofi if you'd like to support me. summary: joel stole you away to be his special girl. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dark!joel, mentions of past dubcon & coercion, daddy kink, ddlg dynamic, unprotected p in v sex, praise kink, pet names (use of 'little one') lap sitting, riding, thumb sucking, snow sex, creampie, squirting, crying word count: 1.5k

No one can see you amidst the thick brush of greenery; he hides you like a secret behind the shelter of trees and freshly fallen snow, quiet and careful.

He always holds you so close, loose and malleable in his lap, large hands crowding your small form. You feel safe and warm there despite the biting cold, the unforgiving wind. His cock is so big inside of you, pumping slow and rhythmic while he plays with your hair, whispers praises, rubs your back.

You whimper and whine, can't help it, can never help it. He feels so good, so warm and thick and so so so deep inside your body that sometimes you feel you might cry. No one's ever made you feel this way, no one's ever been so deep, left you feeling so full, so whole.

He slips his thumb past your lips, watches with those dark and familiar eyes as you take him easily and languidly, cheeks hollowing and tongue pressing firm against his skin. He holds it there for just a moment, stills you on his cock and waits for you to slowly begin to suck, eyes closing.

"That's my good girl," he murmurs, deep and rough, "Daddy's girl."

The words are filthy but you're used to them by now, love the way they sound slipping past his lips. You haven't known him very long, maybe a month at most - you'd gotten separated from your previous group, hoped to find them again and found his instead. He'd welcomed you with open arms, promised he'd take care of you, keep you safe. Within the first few days you already belonged to him somehow, felt the pull toward him like a magnetic pulse, an ache you couldn't articulate.

Your rescuer, your savior.

And then he'd snuck into your tent on the third night, covered your mouth and slipped his big hand inside your nightdress. You'd stared wide eyed and unsure as he'd slowly rubbed your clit with his thick fingers, slipped one inside to the knuckle and whispered that everything would be okay, that he was just keeping his promise, just taking care of you. You'd mumbled only a vague protest, lost beneath the weight of his palm, and before long he'd had you crying on his cock while he praised you softly and called you his girl, Daddy's girl. Crowding your space, crossing all boundaries. And you let him.

You don't really know how or why he chose you, just know that now you would do anything, say anything, be anything he asked. And you do. You're a warm mouth for him in the early mornings, a wet cunt for him when darkness falls, a pliant doll in his lap whenever he needs relief. His special girl.

He starts to fuck up into you again, leans his back against the haggard bark of the tree and watches your face, your expression. His thumb moves at the same pace as his hips, pumping slowly in and out of your mouth while his fat cock eases in and out of you with barely any strain. Your thighs are bare, your jeans and panties folded neatly in the snow nearby, and yet you aren't cold.

"Bounce on it for me," he tells you - an order.

You do as he tells you, as you always do. You start to bounce, brows furrowing in pleasure as your cunt squeezes around the length of him, repeatedly finds a home at the base of his cock where your clit twitches against the dark and coarse hair there. He leans forward and noses your cheek, keeps his eyes on your face as he eases his thumb in and out.

"So full o'me," he says, voice softer now, "Made to take this cock, huh? Made just for me."

You whimper around his thumb and he just smiles lazily, kisses your cheek gently while his other hand palms your back, rubs it soothingly like he's easing you to sleep. The tip of his cock pulses deliciously against your cervix with every bounce and you can't help but cry out when it hits that special place deep within that only he knows how to reach.

"Shhh," he hushes, pulling you close and bringing his lips to your ear, hand still firm at your back, "It's okay, shhh, doin' so good for me. So good. Just a little longer."

You whimper again and he just shushes you once more, pushes his thumb further inside and lets you suck. It's so big in your mouth, taking up more space than you ever could imagine, clouding your senses, soothing the ache in your pussy. You stop bouncing then, when his hand travels back down to your waist and he starts fucking into you, hips thrusting upward. You moan around his thumb and he gives you a look of sympathy.

"I know," he murmurs, "I know, little one." His fingers tremble slightly against the side of your face, the tip of his thumb pressing against the back of your tongue. Your eyes flutter closed, another breathy sound falling from your lips as you feel yourself start to gag.

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth before you do, and you open your eyes to see him peering at you with that dark, gluttonous stare. The one he gave you on the night he found you, like he already owned you. Like he'd already decided what you were made for.

His thumb, soaked with your saliva, finds its way to your clit. He rubs it softly, slowly, watches your expression as you start to come completely undone. Tears sting your eyes and you clench tightly around his cock, mouth still open, drool spilling down your chin.

"Daddy," you whimper, fists clenching and banging fruitlessly against his chest, afraid you'll fall apart, "Daddy."

"Shh," he soothes again, hand coming up to cradle the back of your head and pull you close, press your face into the warm down of his jacket as you start to cry. "Daddy's got you."

He impales you on his cock only a few more times, continues his slow and torturous movements against your clit, and then his grip tightens and you know he's about to come. You hear him groan in your ear, animalistic and masculine, a brief moment of vulnerability before his cock twitches inside you and pumps you with his release. It fills you so deep, hot and thick and steady; it's like you don't know where he ends and you begin. Your eyes roll back and you shudder on top of him as your own orgasm takes over, sends warmth to your cheeks and a gush of liquid from your pussy.

"Ohhh, there she goes," he murmurs softly, rubbing your back as you shake and writhe and push out another heavy stream of release, incoherent noises tearing from your throat as you gush around his cock. You can feel your juices mixing with his, feel the way it drips out of you and dribbles down to make a mess on his belly.

"Daddy," you whimper, a sob wracking from somewhere deep within. He tightens his arms around you, fucks himself up inside you once more as another small squirt of liquid spurts from your fucked-out hole. You sob again, tears streaming down your face.

"That's it, little one," he murmurs, hand still rubbing soothing circles into your back, "My special girl."

His special girl.

You cry into his shoulder until he pulls you away to look at him, brows narrowed as he peers at you with those dark eyes again, serious.

"That's enough," he tells you sternly, and with one final sniffle you nod and wipe the back of your hand across your face. His hands travel down to your bare hips and it's only then that you finally feel the biting cold, the sharp sting of ice and snow as he tugs you off his cock. Your thighs are dripping with both his come and yours, slowly beginning to freeze against your gradually cooling skin. You watch as he tucks his softening cock back into his jeans and tugs down his shirt and jacket to cover his soaked tummy.

"M'cold, daddy," you whisper, hunching in on yourself and wrapping your arms tight around your body. He reaches for your jeans and soundlessly opens them up for you, helps you place each leg inside while you place your hands shakily against his shoulders for support.

"Let's get you back to camp then, little one," he murmurs, reaching for your boots and helping you slip your thickly socked feet into each one, "Get you nice n' warmed up."

You hum appreciatively, knowing he means it. Knowing he'll build you a fire and feed you soup and wrap you up in warm blankets; knowing that he'll take care of you - like he always does, like he promised.

He pockets your discarded panties - wet spot already frozen on the soft fabric - and wraps an arm around you, turning you away from the trees and back toward camp. You lean into his embrace, melt into his warmth and peer up at his strong form, his greying hair and scratchy beard, those eyes that tell a thousand stories, curved nose that fits ever so delicately against your mound on lazy afternoons. You're not sure if it scares you that you can barely remember a time before this anymore.

You close your eyes and let him lead you home.

[annachibi]

I talked a lot about the "demiurge" and what it means in the discord, but it really is fascinating! There are so many places they could go with it. I also think the ending, even the FD one, stops right at the precipice before real understanding. What does escaping the spiral mean for them? Is the Dark Presence trapped in it this way or did Alan accept it? Where is Alice? What will happen if Zane gets out? And that's besides more mundane questions like what everyone will do now and how the FBC will handle all this. Which is why I think it's silly when people dance around the idea of Alan Wake 3. Like of course there's going to be a 3rd game! It's always been meant as a trilogy! Fortunately, those people are few and far between. As for the Yötön Yö parallels, hoowhee, yeah I won't even try to figure out what all of that means lol

I ran with some of the Greek philosophy in my fanfic, likening the Dark Place and the waters of the lake to "apeiron" or primordial chaos, partly because it fits so well with the whole "demiurge" idea. The wikipedia article on the word is actually pretty comprehensive, but I also like linking people to this video that goes into it even more in-depth. But with that interpretation, Alan could essentially be saying that he has artistic control over physical reality via the Dark Place, as the demiurge fashions the world from chaos. Is that good? I mean, he's already done a ton of damage with what limited power he had, so possibly not. If he tries to fix everything, he may end up doing more harm than good. I'm not sure where Remedy is going with it, nor would I want to make any concrete guesses. BUT I would love if it involved Alan, and by extension Zane, learning that people have to accept reality as it is, with the good and the bad.

technically alan wake 2 final draft (spoilers ahead) is a Happy ending for the characters, but the spiral writers room video calling his enlightened self a possible demiurge or demon unsettled me far more than the original ending. that version, by his nature, already existing and overlapping with past loops, influencing and manipulating things without known reasons (to us and the Alan we play). it really makes that Alan out to be something else entirely through ascension and that this is inevitable. this could partially be because I kept seeing people say that the final draft was the happy end with a happy resolution for everyone, but I can’t stop thinking about what this means for Alan—and Alice!—going forward. That, along with the direct parallels to Yötön Yö playing out. It’s SO much to unpack

[themultifanshipper]

Really, even though you were friends, the last thing Logan should be asking the Williams HR representative about, in her office, is sex.

Warnings: oral, petnames, lots of petnames

Based on true events that happened to me last week. Only difference is it was in my appartment, and I didn't actually come.

Do I use too much italics? Probably. Do I care? Not one iota.

So yeah, this was probably breaching several clauses in both your contracts.

But Logan came into your office, looking a bit sheepish, and sat down on the grey sofa in the corner without a word. You just stared at him, waiting for him to say something, but he just avoided your gaze.

"What can I do for you Logan?"

He didn't answer, just squinting at the floor, contemplative.

He came into your office quite often. Probably more than was strictly appropriate but after all, you used to be on the media team and had become friends with most of the drivers during your years at williams. Usually Logan and Alex (and occasionally others who "happened to be passing by") would come in for a chat, generally cheerful or angry or sad, depending on the kind of day they were having.

Today however, Logan was fully silent.

"Logan?"

He squinted again, this time at you, trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind.

"Lo, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong"

He took a deep breath before responding.

"So you know I'm a virgin, right?"

You, in fact, did not know that. You didn't think you were that close a friend, although you didn't exactly mind. It was just a bit sudden.

"What?!"

"Well technically I had sex once but it went really badly. And I haven't had any practice since, because I'm scared of picking up girls because I don't know what I'm doing and I'm an F1 driver so I'm supposed to be having loads of sex but imagine I'm really bad and it got out, it would be super embarrassing and I'd have to ask you, my friend, for an NDA about bad sex, which is just another level of weird and I'd hate for you to stop tal-"

"Logan!"

He stopped ranting and looked at you, obviously feeling rather vulnerable.

"Logan... have you just come into my office to tell me you're inexperienced at sex?"

He pursed his lips and frowned.

"Yes"

"Okay.... why?"

"Because I want you to teach me how to pleasure a woman"

He looked you straight in the eyes, with way too much confidence for someone who was suddenly eligible for a lawsuit.

You raised your eyebrows at him. "Logan, couldn't have waited until... oh I don't know, until we weren't in our workplace to ask me for sex?"

"Um... I guess?" He had the audacity to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I read this wrong. Do you uhh- not want to?"

You studied him for a second. What the fuck. It wasn't that the idea was unappealing, he was an attractive young driver with probably incredible stamina. Which is why you found the idea of him being inexperienced so odd. And why was he asking you for... guidance? A lesson? It was weird to think of him as anything other than your friend slash coworker Logan, who you had now known for nearly two years.

If someone had told you this morning that this is how your day was going to go, you would have told them to fuck off and gone back to sleep. You realised you must be taking too long to respond when Logan sighed and rubbed his face.

"Okay nevermind, I'm sorry I brought it up, we can just- pretend this conversation never happened"

He sounded almost sad as he got up to leave but stopped as you blurted out "No, wait!"

He stared at you questioningly.

"I'll do it" You sounded breathless "I'll teach you- how to do uhh... sex. With me."

His eyes lit up as he laughed "I hope you'll be more articulate than that "

"Oh fuck off" you hit his shoulder in retaliation "You're the one who looked like you were going to shit a brick when you walked in here!"

"Hey! That's a low blow" He pouted.

The atmosphere became more comfortable with the bickering but there was still an undercurrent of nervousness. He took a couple of steps towards you and leaned in but you stopped him with a hand on his unsurprisingly firm chest.

"You want to do this now?" You hissed "Are you fucking mental?"

He pouted again "why not, the bosses aren't here today, it's just us, and the engineers are working on the cars" He wiggled his eyebrows.

Well when you put it that way....

Fuck's sake.

You leaned in slowly, as if aiming for his mouth before swerving at the last second and pecked him on the cheek before whispering in his ear. "Lock the door for me will you, darling?"

His eyes darkened "Yes ma'am" and he turned away to lock the door.

You sat down on the sofa and spread your legs, beckoning him over and silently motioning for him to kneel between them. He did so and put his hands on your thighs, then looked up at you expectantly.

Oh, right. You were supposed to be teaching him.

"Okay so first you're gonna want to get me naked"

He giggled at your obvious statement before hooking his fingers into your waistband. "Sure thing, princess" Pulling them down and off, underwear soon following as he let out a breath, eyes and hands roaming over your newly exposed skin. "Shit, you're already so wet." He looked up at you again.

"Can I?" He asked.

So polite.

"Be my guest" you smiled at him as he lowered his body. He kissed the inside of your thighs, slowly inching towards where you needed him most. When he got there, you let out a strained half-sigh half-moan as he licked a stripe from your taint to your clit. The noise made him look up as he licked his lips, eye contact making you shiver. He then spread your thighs further and immediately buried his face between them like man starved, making a valiant effort to find your clit with his tongue.

"A bit lower- lower- a bit right. Wait no, your right"

He followed your instructions dilligently and when he found it, he sucked on your clit with fervour, which made you gasp and let out a shaky moan. "There, right there." as your right hand weaved itself into his hair.

Eyes on yours, he blinked up at you and you nodded to tell him he was doing a good job. Satisfied, he carried on, closing his eyes in concentration.

You grabbed one of his hands and started licking at his fingers, it startled him a bit and he looked back up at you, still surprisingly efficient with his mouth. The sight was absolutely sinful, blonde hair a mess, eyes blown wide, tongue out, working over your flesh. When you sucked one of his fingers into your mouth, straight down to the knuckle, he groaned, the vibrations making your hips twitch. You slid a second finger into your mouth, then a third, ensuring they were nice and wet, then pulled them out. "You can start putting them inside now".

He put the first one in, reaching so much deeper than you could manage on your own, all the while still lapping at your clit. You were so wet it didn't take long for a second one to join as he pushed them in and out gently.

"Okay now sort of hook them upwards" you showed him the movement with your own hand and he nodded, hooking his fingers and it felt so good you moaned quite loudly, hoping none of the engineers would be passing by your part of the building. He put a third finger in and the stretch was delicious as he pressed upwards again and flattened his tongue over your clit.

You could slowly feel an orgasm building and he felt you clench around his fingers, going slightly faster with both his hand and mouth.

"Oh god whatever you do, do not stop!" You panted above him as he used his other hand to hook a leg over his shoulder and he sat up a bit, changing your position slightly and making his fingers hit even deeper inside you.

"Fuck!" You clenched around his fingers as you came hard and he slowed down, helping you ride it out for a while before you had to physically push him off because he wanted to seemingly carry on forever.

"Geez Lo, give a girl a minute, yeah?" You laughed, a bit out of breath. You felt boneless as Logan started kissing his way up your body and finally sealed his mouth over yours. His face was sticky, and your hands went to his hair and pulled on it, making him groan into the kiss. You pulled his head back and he whined, his hips bucking against the sofa, searching for some relief. You lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Please" he panted. You glanced down.

"Need some help down there, soldier?"

He grinned, lopsided. "Sargeant, actually"

Oh yes, you were going to have some fun with this one.

[ddejavvu]

you’re probably sick of animagus reader fics but if you’re up for it i was wondering whether you were in the mood for some remus x fem reader?

maybe r is a dormouse or smth and just practically stays tucked inside rem’s sweaters or the inside pockets of his robes/blazer. r possibly falls out his sweater is a really crowded corridor (can’t change back) and rem panics cause he doesn’t fancy his girl being flattened <3

You make a mental note, while fleeing the shadows of impending doom that cascade onto the chilled stone floor around you, that you need to make sure Remus never buys another pair of pants with such shallow pockets. You typically cling to the inside of his sweater, but he's bundled up a little too warm for your taste today, and you'd tucked yourself into the linty confines of his corduroys instead.

It had all been going well, until someone had bumped rather aggressively into his thigh, the one that you were pressed worriedly against, and you'd darted to your left to escape the pain. Unfortunately, left was the direction of the pocket's opening, and the fall to the stone tile beneath you had been a monumental one for your small size.

Thankfully, you hadn't splattered against the tile, but you're running for your life now, and you seem to be swimming upstream no matter which direction you turn. There's always feet working against you, feet close to trampling your tail, feet threatening to squash your lungs, and you yearn for the solace of Remus's plush pocket once more.

Remus only gets a few steps away from the spot where you'd tumbled unceremoniously to the ground before he reaches his hand into his pocket, intent on scooping you out and discreetly moving you to his sweater. But there's nothing in his pockets save for a button that had fallen off of the inside of his book bag, and panic seizes his chest in its heavy, unforgiving claws.

"Uh-" He flounders, steps hesitantly stuttering over the floor as the ebb and flow of students around him becomes suffocating. Now, all of a sudden, he's not a part of the crowd, he's what they're fighting against, and he pats down his other pockets in case you'd just moved addresses.

You haven't.

Dropping to his knees is rather difficult amidst a stampede, and it's not only his weary joints that ache, but his hands as disgruntled students hoof over them. He ignores the way his pinky smarts, twinging pink with a pained flush beneath the toe of a third-year, and ducks his head to the ground to see if he can spot you scampering amongst the students.

There's movement all around him, but none if it is your size. Black and red and green and blue and yellow blur through his vision as students of all houses flood the halls, and each second that he doesn't find you alive and well worries at his heart with panic's mangled claws. He thinks he sees you to his left, but- oh, that's a cat, and that's worse, so he ducks even further to the ground, and redoubles his effots.

Thankfully, you've noticed the deviated path the students are now taking, annoyed grumbles about the idiot stooped in the hallway. That's your idiot, you think, and you scamper as fast as your tiny legs allow to meet Remus where he knees.

He sees you coming, his pretty eyes flood with a relief so palpable you can feel it in your own chest, and just before you can scurry into his outstretched hand, you feel something heavy land on your tail and trap you in your place. You feel a puff of breath against your back, and the snare of cat's claws against the meat of your tail, but before the beast can lean down and devour you, Remus lunges for your body, cupping his hand over your trembling form and swatting the animal away.

"Absolutely not, thank you." Remus snaps at the cat, and a second-year gives him a rather apprehensive stare as she hurries around him, "Darling, are you okay?"

You're not very articulate in mouse form, but you manage a thankful squeak, one that Remus smiles fondly at while straightening up.

The cat doesn't look very happy with him, but Remus isn't afraid of a few more scratches on his arm, and you nestle securely into his palm when he straightens, limbs limp with confident exhaustion, that he'd let the cat claw open each one of his scars ten times before he ever let it get a shot at you.

[erwinsvow]

what abt shy!reader sleeping over at rafes for the first time?? 😊😊

you'd been so nervous, slathering way too much frosting onto chocolate cupcakes while rafe told you the agenda he'd planned for tonight's date. in between mentions of dinner at this restaurant he liked on the water and stopping to get some ice cream before the outdoor movie, he'd thrown in a sentence that made your heart thud in your chest.

"unless you wanna come watch a movie here. we can eat all this crap you jus' made." you look up, butter knife almost slipping out of your hand.

"watch a movie.. here?"

"yeah. couch's comfy. got enough dessert to get a cavity. you can sleep over. how's that sound?"

it sounded terrifying. this was a milestone, one you needed several days and a new set of pajamas to prepare for. rafe looks down at your worried eyes, knitted eyebrows. you set down the cupcake before you drop it.

"sleep over?" you repeat it softly.

"snap out of it, kid. you don't have to." though the words feel like they should be mean, they're not. spoken with a sweetness you often found yourself wondering came naturally to your boyfriend, or if you brought it out in him. you hope for both.

"no, i want to," you correct quickly, blinking fast. "um, can you bring me home to get my stuff?"

"yeah. before dinner."

you turn back to your cupcakes with a smile, one that he stares at while you finish up. true to his word, he brings you home—you drop off a few sweets for your parents, give your kitten a treat while you pack a quick bag and grab your toothbrush. you don't change for dinner, keeping the pretty dress on until he gets you back into his bedroom later that night.

you've brought clothes to sleep in, but you hover in front of rafe's dresser still, working up the nerve to ask for one of his shirts to wear to bed. you can't seem to find it, deciding just to wear your pajamas, no matter how silly they are, when rafe opens the drawer and pulls out two shirts. he hands you one.

"get changed. m'gonna go change in the bathroom. be right back." you think you'd marry the boy if he asked right now—he seems to know your every thought before you can even finish thinking it, or figure out how to articulate it.

when rafe comes back you're a vision in one of his old frat shirts, playing with your hair while you sit on the foot of his bed.

"ready to sleep?" he asks, and you look up from your knees, smiling at him the way he wish you wouldn't sometimes, the way that makes his chest hurt with the amount of love pouring through your pretty eyes.

"what about dessert?" you ask with a laugh, smiling bigger when he rolls his eyes.

"haven't you had enough? how do you still have teeth?"

"i floss."

"shut up. get in bed." you crawl under his covers, inhaling the way everything smells like him. you lay your head down on one of his pillows, staring when he gets in next to you. "you okay?"

you love that he asks, that he cares enough to make sure.

"yeah. i'm okay."

"good. get some sleep." he doesn't say anything, but he still brings you in close to his chest, head on top of his heart, an arm around you, legs tangled together. when he thinks you're asleep, you hear the quiet sound.

"night, kid."