#i have a more gothic fit that I think would be better and would be funny

[karsmybeloved]

Dying to see this himbo in the cinema

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap 10

masterpost

The guy did turn out to be Jason, but he wasn’t in a very good mood with Tim. He basically didn’t talk at all. That was fair. Tim had hit him. He hung back and tried to not be annoying as Jason contacted the police, found the hostage, and talked to her in a low voice. When they heard sirens Jason grabbed Tim and took him out the door and onto his motorcycle. They went like, really fast.

The motorcycle was cool, but where it stopped was even better. Tim lifted his arms up obligingly so that Jason could pick him up by his armpits and set him down. Tim took a single step away before Jason shot his hand out lightning-fast and grabbed at Tim’s hand. He took his helmet off with one hand and dropped it onto a handle.

“Let’s stay together, Baby Bird.” Jason sounded exhausted. Tim was a little distracted from that, even though he really should have been more considerate of the adults in the area.

This was even cooler than his hideout. It was kinda gothic and damp and smelled a little funny. An apartment building couldn’t really compete with that.

“Wow,” Tim enthused. He tried to walk away to explore but Jason tugged him back by his hand. “I love it here. Can I live here?” He pointed up at the craggy ceiling, which really just looked like a natural cave with stalactites and all. “Maybe with the bats.” His tone tilted up into an optimistic question. The bats were neat. Were they local brown bats? That was fine, but he thought black bats would really fit Batman’s aesthetic more.

Jason let out a big sigh. “It’s not up to me,” he dodged the question. “Wanna press a button on the Bat computer?”

“Absolutely yes I do.” Tim chirped. Jason started towing him along again, uncaring or maybe even not noticing that Tim was craning in every direction to see the amazing sights. “Why’s it called a Bat Computer? Is it shaped like a bat? Hey, is Big Bird real?” he asked. “I’ve been concerned about that. I want to believe that he’s not real. But if he is, is he a predator? You have to tell me.”

“Big Bird is real and he is an omnivore,” Jason muttered. “Come on, why are you so wiggly?”

“An omnivore?” Tim echoed. He held Jason’s hand a little tighter. “What- does he eat kids? Because I think it’s highly suspicious that he spends all his time with little kids. Also, the kids change every season, and no one ever explains where they went.”

Jason stopped walking and stared at him directly as Tim outlined his troubling theory.

Tim waited.

“Yes,” Jason said. “That’s it exactly. Big Bird eats little boys. So stay close to me, okay?”

Tim clung to Jason’s whole arm in response. “Okay,” he said, as casually as he could manage. Internally he was screaming. Why would Batman hang out with Big Bird?

He felt… a little betrayed about it, actually. Batman didn’t kill people. He punched a lot of people like Dr. Ivy and Dr. Crane, but that wasn’t like eating kids!

‘How can they cooperate with Big Bird when Jason is investigating the sausage guy for doing the same thing?’ Tim thought, indignant. It was hypocritical. It was intolerable. It was a total abdication of his moral responsibility.

He was going to confront Batman about it. 

He started internally preparing his arguments. He went quiet enough that Jason got suspicious about it. Tim was sorry that he couldn’t spend more time comforting Jason, but he was busy.

“Hey, you wanted to use the computer, right?” Jason shook him lightly.

Tim shrugged and hunched over a little. 

“...It’s not that serious, kiddo,” Jason said, sounding kinda unsure. He was an awkward guy.

“I’m fine,” Tim said shortly. He just wanted Jason to let him think in peace. 

The older boy sighed and started hitting buttons. He picked up something. “Hey, Bats,” he drawled.

The sound of a horn honking suddenly rang out. 

“Little Wing?” said one of the people who had tried to break into Tim’s hideout. He buried his face in Jason’s side. Jason absently put a hand on his ribs and sort of patted. “Why are you in- you’re hailing from the Batcave?”

‘That was one of Batman’s associates? Why was Batman allowing a break in of my house?’ Tim felt his heart rate start to go up. Was he in trouble? The lady had said he was in trouble, but- but Oracle made him feel safe. He pressed himself a little closer into Jason and clung to his weird jacket.

“Red Hood.” 

Batman’s voice didn’t make Tim feel as safe as it usually did. This future or universe was weird and he didn’t like it. 

“Report,” Batman said, when no one responded to what he said. 

Jason’s torso moved. Tim extracted his face just enough to see that Jason had flipped off the computer. “You are so bad at bird keeping,” Jason drawled. “All of you. Absolutely horrendous. There’s a situation, and there’s been a situation for days.” He sounded extremely cranky about it. He sounded like customs had taken his bags from him and cancelled his connecting flight and left him stranded in a Peruvian airport overnight with only his wits, a neck pillow, and a few thousand dollars.

“I suspected,” said a… A child’s voice. Tim felt his brow crinkle. He looked up. That was a young voice. Like, irresponsibly young. What was Batman doing? “As I told you, Red Robin has been eaten by the lion that escaped from the Denver zoo. If I had only been allowed to find and rehabilitate it, we could have avoided-”

“Right bird, wrong problem,” Jason cut him off. That was a shame. Tim wanted to know more about the lion situation. “Get your big ass back here and parent, motherfucker.”

Tim giggled.

“What-” - “”Did you just-” - “Is that a-”

Jason turned off the computer and then unplugged it. “Assholes,” he said to no one, very smugly. “That’ll put a bee in their…” His voice trailed off. He was looking down at Tim.

“Where will it put a bee?” Tim asked, eyes as large as he could make them. He was just messing with Jason now. He knew that expression. It was ‘bonnet’. Like, an old lady hat. What he didn’t know was why Jason wanted to censor that.

“...In Big Bird’s beak,” Jason said weakly.

Tim considered this outright weird deflection. “A suspicious amount of things seem to connect to Big Bird.” He said it cautiously, trying to feel out Jason’s position on this.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it,” Jason said vaguely. Tim gave him a disgusted expression and Jason had the audacity to laugh.

Of course he was worried about it. 

Something beeped.

“Hey Barbie,” Jason said to absolutely no one. He moved his legs further apart and sort of…posed.

Tim looked around. He didn’t see anyone.

‘Barbie as in Barbara Gordon??’ He looked a little harder for the person Jason had greeted. That was Batgirl. Batgirl was a known quantity.

“I think I know,” said Oracle. “Because I am the all-knowing eye and all of that.”

Jason made a rude sound. “If you knew, you would have locked the baby in a genius-proof jail so that he didn’t go try and feed himself to the Sausage Man.”

“He- what?” Oracle’s voice went flat. “I knew that he was de-aged, he didn’t want Dick to bother him and baby him while he looks like this. He did not go try to do field work while he looks 6 years old.” Her tone was extremely unimpressed.

“No, no,” Jason said. He made a theatrical hand gesture. It occurred to Tim that he was enjoying himself. “That’s definitely not what he did. He took his legitimately 9 year old body with accompanying 9 year old brain off to investigate a cannibal.”

“Tim.” Oracle sounded like she was in pain. “Do you know who I am?”

“From context, I think that you’re Batgirl,” Tim admitted shyly. He wished that Jason hadn’t stepped away. He had felt weirdly secure with his hands in Jason’s pockets. He did the same thing to his Dad and it always made him feel-

‘Oh no, that doesn’t bode well for my marriage,’ Tim realized. ‘I- I can’t be comparing him to my Dad.’ He put his hands in his own pockets, like the mature little man he was.

There was a very long silence that Tim kind of noticed while he was busy fretting. He realized it was probably his fault and he should fix it.

“Big fan,” Tim added meekly. It was true.

Oracle said a bad word.

“Comm is on speaker,” Jason said cheerfully. “Little guy is hearing you loud and clear, with his 9 year old ears..”

She repeated the bad word, louder this time. “I already messaged Zatanna, but I’m going to go set off the fire alarm in her hotel right now so she sees it.”

“You do that,” Jason agreed. He had a nice smile, even though he was clearly enjoying other people feeling flustered. Tim suddenly remembered that he kind of genuinely wanted to date Jason and felt his face turn red.

After they finished talking to Batgirl Oracle, Jason and Tim spent some time looking at Batman’s crime scene photography. 

“What do you think happened here?” Jason said, shifting in the chair. 

“I think this is the aftermath of human trafficking,” Tim decided.

Jason clicked to the next photo. “What’s this?”

Tim squinted at it. In the distance, an engine came into earshot and approached rapidly. Tim hummed and kicked his heels. “I think that this is a much better photo,” he said. He distantly recognized that there were two separate engines. “That’s my first impression. Look at the composition.” Tim frowned. “Hey, stop laughing! The lighting is-”

A door opened and then slammed shut.

“Big Bird’s home,” Jason said gleefully. He stood up and grabbed Tim under the armpits. He turned Tim around and then hoisted him in the air. He dangled. It was an undignified experience that he didn’t have the ability to process it immediately.

For a single disorienting moment, Tim tracked the glint of light off the Batmobile and off a motorcycle. A guy was on the motorcycle. The door was opening on the passenger side of the Batmobile. That had to be Big Bird. Tim was dangling in the air helpless, presented for Big Bird’s approval.

‘He’s feeding me to Big Bird,’ Tim realized. 

He screamed. He kicked wildly midair and his heels connected with Jason’s chest.

“What the f-”

“He’s little!” said the man who tried to break into Tim’s hideout. He seemed delighted by this turn of events. What, was Tim smaller than the usual bird chow?

He screamed again, high and sharp. Tim contorted to kick Jason in the face. Jason let him go by accident and then Tim was falling to the ground shoulder-first, he wasn’t going to be able to run away-

The scary apartment intruder caught him. “Tim?” He was baffled. “What’s wrong-”

Tim screamed again and tried to squirm away. He couldn’t escape. 

“Fuck,” Jason said, voice muffled through his elbow. “Fuck!” There was blood coming from his nose.

“This is typical,” said the child from earlier. Tim tried to see the speaker.

A Robin was standing there, arms crossed and unimpressed. 

Oh.

That was who got out of the passenger door. Tim calmed down and squirmed so that he could see Robin better. “What were you saying about a lion?” he asked. “Do you have a good place to keep one? Where would you put it? Have you had a lion before?”

“I have had tigers,” said Robin. “So you agree that it would be better-”

“Robin, no,” interrupted Batman. He was- Okay, Tim already knew that he was big. But he was truly huge up close.

The bad guy relaxed his grip. “Are you gonna break my nose if I let you go?” he asked Tim. He kind of laughed as he said it. 

Tim paused. He felt a little bad. “As long as there’s not really Big Bird here,” he reluctantly promised.

“...What?” said the bad man.

Jason started laughing hysterically. “That’s why-” He made a horrible groan and kind of lilted forward. “Fuck…”

The bad man let Tim go. Tim scrambled away and gave him a cautious head nod. Maybe he wasn’t that bad, even though he was an intruder.

“Why did you try to break into my hideout?” he asked. He did his level best to look intimidating. They didn’t know he was that scared. He’d managed to hurt Jason, after all, and Jason was even bigger than this guy.

Robin let out an irritated fricative. “Everyone here is a fool.” His announcement was so confident that Tim looked to him for elaboration. “Todd was bullying you by referring to Richard as ‘Big Bird.’ It is an asinine nickname. As I have said before, it only introduces unnecessary confusion and distress.” He was… kind of unpleasantly smug, Tim decided. But he wasn’t wrong.

“You’re not wrong,” Tim said. It was good manners to repeat your nice thoughts out loud. “So…” his voice trailed off and got small as he realized just how silly he looked. He’d had a total false alarm. “There’s no… the yellow Big Bird that eats children isn’t here?” His voice got really small by the end.

There was a moment of perfect silence.

“You told him that I eat children?” Richard- oh!!! Robin!!! That was the real Robin!!!!- kind of shouted at Jason. He was really mad. Wow! Tim beamed at him, fear forgotten. Holy cow, Robin!! Well, big Robin- oh, the nickname made more sense now!

Jason flipped Richard off.  He sort of snarled. “Serves you right, you walking sphincter-”

“Boys, please.” Batman took off his cowl. It was Bruceman Waynebat alright, but–

“You’re really old,” Tim said, too surprised to keep that inside thought where it belonged.

Batman looked exhausted.

“That is correct,” Robin agreed. “Father, I will escort Timothy-”

“No!” said all three of the adults at the same time.

That… That made Tim feel a little suspicious of Robin. He edged away the slightest bit.

Robin crossed his arms again. “Egregious,” he muttered to himself, and then turned on his heel with a flutter of his cape. He left the room without further comment.

Tim felt a little bad. “Bye!” he called. Robin did not slow down or respond at all. Tim wilted a little bit. It kind of felt like nobody liked him here. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Everyone looked at him. “Why are you sorry?” asked Richard.

Oh. Tim shrunk back. He didn’t know what the right answer was. What did they want? “Because I hit Jason with Mrs. Henderson’s mace?” he guessed meekly.

“He sprayed you with mace?” Richard seemed delighted.

Tim shook his head wildly, sending hair flying. “No!” He was distressed. “That would be mean!”

“Stop helping,” Jason muttered, but it was too late to stop saying,

“She has a Gothic mace,” Tim reported. “It weighs about 2 kilograms and I think it was from Western Europe. I don’t know if she legally owns it. It may be a replica but now that I think about it, it could be real and that would be neat.”

Richard made a sound like air escaping a balloon.

“Shut up!” Jason said. Then he looked at Tim. “Mrs. Henderson- why did you know that?” His voice was higher. “Was that your first time at Orange’s house?”

“He was WHERE,” Richard said, at the same time that Batman demanded, “Report!”

Everyone ignored Batman.

“No.” Tim shrunk back a bit. “I went there yesterday, too. Mrs. Henderson gave me hot chocolate and told me about child labor.”

Jason put his face in his hands again. His nose blood was trailing down his neck now. 

“I didn’t go into Mr. Orange’s house yesterday,” Tim admitted in the interest of fairness. “His windows were all closed. But I did talk to him a little.”

Richard made another teapot sound and picked Tim up. 

The big computer turned itself on. A pretty woman was-

“Batgirl!” Tim said, and waved enthusiastically at her. 

She lifted a hand back and stared at him. She had dark undereye circles, but she was still really pretty. “Zatanna should be there in a couple of minutes, so no one shoot her.”

Jason flipped Batgirl off as well and sort of sulked.

“Tim, I’m sorry that I missed your condition,” Batgirl said. “I would have offered you more support.”

“It’s okay,” Tim reassured her. “I had a good time. Tam gave me lots of fun stuff to do. And Jason was really nice to me.”

Everyone looked at Jason.

“Oh?” Batgirl said.

“I was not,” Jason said, sounding harassed. 

“Of course he was,” Tim said, kind of confused by the way they were acting. “Doesn’t he have to be?” He waited a moment. “He’s my boyfriend, right?”

Jason choked. Richard let out a loud “HA!” Batman made a sound that Tim had never heard before from a human and didn’t know how to classify. Kind of a ‘yack!” with lots of phlegm involved.

Oh, no. Tim laid out his evidence hastily. “He called me Baby,” Tim listed. 

“Baby Bird,” Jason corrected desperately.

“That’s not any better,” Richard said. He had a horrible weird grin that stretched too wide across his face. “It's certainly a pet name.”

“Die-”

Tim continued over their commentary, counting on his fingers. “He brought me soup!” He stressed it. “With dumplings in it- real dumplings!” That was important evidence. No one had made him real dumplings before that!

“I said that meant nothing!” Jason snapped.

“And my email signature says Tim Drake-Wayne,” Tim continued. “Bruce and Richard are really really old, so I couldn’t have married either one of them,” he said, practically. It was unthinkable.

Batgirl made a snort-laugh. “Good theory,” she said, catlike grin firmly in place. Richard was silent at that part.

“I’m gathering from context that I was wrong,” Tim admitted. He crossed his arms. “But I had good reason for the theory.” He felt a bit sullen about it. He didn’t deserve to get laughed at. 

“Tim.” Batman knelt in front of him and used his soft ‘I love you voice.’

Oh.

“I adopted you,” he said. He made serious eye contact.

Tim stared back. “Did you marry my mom?” he asked, heartbroken. “Wait- my Dad? Did you marry my Dad?!” He hit Batman in the chest, suddenly hysterical. “I hate you! You broke up my parents’ marriage?! Why would you seduce them?” He felt betrayed.

Batman caught his hands and hefted him up. “No, no, sweetheart,” he soothed. Everyone else was very quiet.

That was worse than Batman breaking up his parents’ marriage.

It had been a long week. That was Tim’s justification for bursting into tears if anyone asked him. He had been desperately avoiding thinking about the years-old postcard on the fridge and the fact that Mom hadn't video called him even once in the week he had been stranded here.

Batman bounced him and made shushing noises, his big warm hand moving up and down Tim’s back. 

“I wanna go hoooome,” Tim howled. He pressed his full body into Batman and clung with all his might. “I wanna go home, I want my mom!” He wailed.

“Oh, buddy,” Bruce said sadly. His breath hitched. “I know. I know, sweetheart.”

“Is it a bad time?”

Tim lifted his face. Through blurry tears he saw a new lady was there. “Where are your pants?” he sniffled.

“Yeah, Zatanna,” Jason said sweetly. “Where are your pants?”

She gave him a withering look. “This is Red Robin as a chick, then?” She pursed her lips at him. “Cute kid. You wanna go home?” She made a gesture for Batman to put him down.

Bruce hesitated. Tim smacked at his chest. “Yes,” he said. Bruce sort of sighed and let Tim down to the ground again.

“Let me get a good look at you.” She knelt to his level and muttered something with an offhand sort of gesture that she didn’t seem to do on purpose. Tim kept his back straight. “Alright, this is a quick fix. Wanna say goodbye?”

“Goodbye, little Timmy,” Richard said quickly. He sort of sniffled. Batgirl quickly echoed him. Batman sort of squeezed his shoulder and forced out a gruff goodbye.

Tim looked at Jason. Everyone else did, too. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything to your boyfriend?” Richard stage-whispered. Zatanna made a weird face.

Jason looked like he’d tasted something terrible. Tim shrunk back. “It’s okay,” he said in a small voice. “He doesn’t have to-”

“There goes my reputation,” Jason muttered, and came over to give Tim a hug. “Goodbye, baby bird. You did a really good job and we are all proud of you. Go home and give your Mom a hug for me, okay?”

“Softie,” Richard hissed. Tim didn’t care.

“I love you too,” Tim said, because that was the kind of thing adults meant when they said they were proud of you. “Okay, Miss Katana. I’m ready to go.”

“Zatanna,” she said. “Sa uoy erew eforeb!”

He sort of blacked out for a second.

Then Tim was 19 years old, 5 foot 6 inches tall, and standing in the Batcave surrounded by people who would make fun of him mercilessly for thinking Jason was his husband if he did not immediately deflect and make him the target of mockery instead. He was very lucky that he’d been dressed in his own clothes when he’d transformed. At least he looked normal. 

Bruce opened his mouth to ask a question. 

Tim cut him off. “You’re a big softie,” he immediately accused Jason. “Those dumplings were homemade. You checked in on me so many times. Can’t believe you accuse Dick of mothering us.” He made a shitty grin.

Jason reared back, affronted. Dick made a vindicated sound, apparently recovered from the psychic damage of being put in the same category of ‘too old’ as Bruce. Tim mentally lowered the risk level of Dick starting a teasing campaign against him in retaliation.

“Haha, you love me,” Tim taunted Jason, dangerously close to be playing this kind of game and too reckless to care. He wasn’t going down for this mess. “L!” He put his thumb and forefinger up to make an L on his forehead. “Loser!”

“Listen, you little shit,” Jason started. He balled up a fist and took a step forward.

Bruce cut him off. “Jason, it’s not embarrassing to love your little brother. Thank you for being so mindful of his health and checking in on his welfare. I’m very proud of you.”

Jason made a sound like a cat throwing up.

“Yeah, I’m going to go,” Zatanna said flatly. She nodded to Tim. “If anything seems wrong, just text me. Oracle, don’t contact me.”

“Love you too,” Barbara said cheerfully. 

Zatanna gave her a withering look and portalled away.

Tim ducked away and ran upstairs before Jason could lunge at him. Behind him he heard a scuffle start up. “Little Wing, you need to get checked out,” Dick said sweetly. Glass broke. “Alfred! Jason needs caretaking!”

“No, I need to kick Tim’s ass!” Jason howled. Tim made it to the stairs and started taking them two at a time.

He passed Alfred going the other way. “Master Tim,” Alfred said, forcing him to stop fleeing. Jason wouldn’t get him with Alfred right there anyway. Alfred was home base for these games. “Are you staying for the night?”

Tim opened his mouth to say ‘No’ because really, he didn’t need to be here when he was an adult who had his own place. Then he thought about how he’d felt alone in his apartment for the last week, longing for human connections and so hungry for approval that he’d gratefully accepted whatever task a friendly stranger suggested to him. 

“Yeah, I’ll stay for the weekend,” Tim said, and ambushed Alfred with a hug. Alfred went stiff, but wrapped an arm around his back a moment later. “Love you.” He broke away and started running up the stairs again. He barely heard the answering sentiment.

It was good to be home.

…He kind of wanted soup.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for catfishing/lying to my friends?

Ok, I know some people will say this is fake or bait or whatever but 🤷‍♂️ This isn't pressing or anything, either, I just wanna see what people think because the situation was wild.

I'm not sure if this fits into what people consider catfishing but I don't think there's a better word for it. When I (ftm) was young (11 or so) I faked having a boyfriend to all my friends. He was a cool, older emo boy that I talked to on kik.

My friends eventually asked more questions (I'm pretty sure they thought he was fake lmao) I made a fake kik for him so they could talk to him. I would pretend to be him to talk to them.

From there things just spiraled. They asked to talk to him other ways? I made an email and got a texting app on my ipod. They wanted to see him? I got pictures that were just random emo boys off of google images.

I kept up this lie for all of middle school (11-13) for about 3-6 girls I was close friends with. I never came clean.

Now, I'm sure they had to know? I'd use pictures of different emo boys, it was rarely consistent. He had a super fake name (think like, gothic literary references). In hindsight? I was just enjoying pretending to be a boy and being treated like one. But still, probably weird. They talked to him pretty regularly as if he was human. I'm autistic though, and if they didn't believe in him and were all laughing behind my back I had no idea. I think they really did believe though, because, I'll be honest, a few of them were a little gullible (I'm not above this! I believed another friend when she said she was a mermaid princess.)

I'm only submitting this because I told the story to some friends recently and they all reacted with shock and horror. I think it's weird tween girl behavior tbh, no big deal. He was just another member of our friend group in a distant way. I was weirdly addicted to lying for attention or something. No harm no foul. I'd ask these girls/come clean, but we don't talk anymore and it's been like over a decade. If I was an asshole I'll just know not to tell it as a funny anecdote anymore.

(Also if any of the girls involved happen across this, hiiii, sorry. And double sorry if this is how you realize he was fake 😬)

tl;dr: When I was 11 I pretended to be my own emo boyfriend to like, be friends with my own friends x2 and to get more attention ig? I have no idea if this is a funny story I can tell my friends a decade later now, or if I should bury it in shame and never tell anyone.

What are these acronyms?

[princelylove]

Sometimes it just feels better to turn your brain off and let someone else do aaaallll of the thinking for you.

Dumbification comes in a few different forms. Dollification and bimbofication, mainly. What's the difference?

Wellll. Dollification could be a number of things. People like all different kinds of dolls. Porcelain ones that sit on the shelf and do nothing but collect dust all day, action figures that can be posed, sex dolls that you inflate like a balloon and have your way with, rag dolls that have been through the war, actual stuffed animals, the list goes on. A doll is anything their owner wants them to be that day. That's what playing pretend is all about!

I see quite a few of my yandere interpretations being into dollifcation for their darling. Unfortunately not many for themself, but it's alright.

I think it's obvious that Jotaro loves dolls. Porcelain dolls, those fabric dolls with frilly dresses... he thinks they're just oh-so-cute. It's a shame they break so easily. He usually would go for someone that's already a bit doll-like- maybe their skin resembles porcelain, or their fashion sense makes for an obvious comparison.

I've spoken a bit in the past about Jotaro's fascination with lolita fashion, but it really does make a little too much sense to me. It scratches an itch for him. You either get it or you don't. The 'sweeter' styles- classic lolita, sweet lolita, hime lolita, even gothic lolita, they're all appealing. It's not necessarily the colors, it's about the amount of frills and lace and layers. He probably has a thing for petticoats because of it.

Jotaro's ideal day with his favorite dolly is nothing special. He'd prefer his doll on a shelf, safe and sound from the elements. It's not that he's a collector, it's that his darling is his prized possession. Taking care of it makes sense. He just wishes you'd stop thinking so much.

Yukako thinks you're better when you're finally broken in. You're just so much cuter when you let her dress you up and take you out! It irks her that you're not talking, but she can get you a voice box! Communication cards? Something! Maybe you're just shy. Aha. Ahahahahahahahahahahha.

She thinks a darling with a modern, feminine fashion sense is the cutest. Girly, but fitting for her age. If that isn't what she initially wears, Yukako has no problem gifting her some pieces here and there until her closet is full of cute clothes! Or, just. You know. Kidnapping her and not giving her any say in the matter. Either works. Have fun taking lots of pictures with Yukako!

There's a lot of yandere interpretations of mine that enjoy 'total bombshells,' but what about an actual bimbo? For some yanderes, it's about taking an entirely normal person and making them a mindless slut, for others it's about trapping one out in the wild and taking it home. It's your own little barbie! Or a bratz doll, depending on their style, I guess. Who can really tell?

Pannacotta isn't the type to openly degrade someone, his insults take a second or two to really process. He loves the adorable look on your face while you're thinking about it. Really, he's fine with you dressing however you want to, he just wanted you to know that it's fine in the first place. You know, some people don't prefer their girlfriends to dress like that, but he doesn't mind at all.

He knows how to keep his darling in the mindset. I think I've spoken a bit about Pannacotta's inclination for mind games and conditioning, of course he's into the process of bimbofication. So rewarding to do it himself, even more rewarding to keep his darling in such a state. It's a slow process, but it's worth it. He's more patient than his interactions with Narancia would have you believe. You're not Narancia, are you? Gooood, no you're not. It's simple, really. Reward behaviors you want to repeat, punish behaviors you want to stop. The reward depends on the darling, but the punishment.... it's Pannacotta. You can guess.

His conditioning is very slow. It takes a while to break someone in, but it takes an even longer while to learn someone's exact niche. He starts off by 'helping' with simple things. Things you can absolutely do by yourself, but are currently having an issue with. He'll use a machine for you, like a coffee machine or a ticket machine. Can't think of a word? Tell him the definition, he'll help. Pannacotta's gentle and firm, and fine with taking the time to learn what makes his darling tick. He loves to study, anyway. He'll figure out what his darling appreciates, and harp on it. It's often infantilizing, but hey, Panna's just Like That. Oftentimes both Guido and Narancia will excuse his behavior for him, the guy's a bit of a control freak. Just let him have whatever he's worried about and the guy'll go away.

He likes to emphasize the syllables in 'big' words here and there for you. Slowly says them, even. It's im...pera...tive... that you don't forget to call him back later.

Jolyne has never felt comfortable embracing her girlier side, she appreciates people that are openly feminine and comfortable about it. She just has a sort of mental block when it comes to her own femininity- she used to love being called "Jojo," and God knows what other cutesy, girly names, but now cringes at the thought. To her, femininity is vulnerability, and she's just not ready to embrace her old self again. Pretending- no, really being- tough is her new way of life. A darling that's already feminine, and needs her.... it's hitting a niche she didn't think she'd like.

Honestly, the dumber they are, the better. The first time Jolyne ever heard her darling say "Huuuh?" it was love. She wouldn't consider herself to be above average when it comes to stuff like that, but she's smart enough, in her eyes. She loooves when her darling asks her questions- rely on her. Keep coming to her. No, she's got zero fuckin' idea how half of the shit you're asking about works, but she can read something and sum it up for you. Maybe read it to you, add in a few extra words she thinks you don't know... (Author's note: Jolyne actually does know some niche things, she pulls out a Mobius strip in canon. Her intelligence and creativity is negated by the fact that darling is probably asking if she knows if there's carbs in butter. No idea, sweetheart.... no idea. Let's go look.)

Jolyne isn't really one for mind games, so breaking in her darling isn't going to come naturally. She's more likely to fall for someone that's already like that, or shows signs of it. Jolyne's someone that struggles to use her words, but finds it easy to do things for someone she likes or bring them gifts. Girls like you like makeup, yeah? Here. She'll leave it where only you could find it- assuming you're both in jail, she'd put it in your bed, under the covers. Seriously prays you aren't all tuckered out after headcount and don't just drop your dead weight on this palette she had to fork over a benjamin for....

It's worth it when she gets to watch your lips as you talk. Perfect, glossy.... sooo much happier now that she's helping you express yourself... Huh? She heard you, yeah. Say it again though, but slower...

[seireitonin]

What alternative subcultures the Creepypastas would be in!!(pt 1)

This was an ask I accidentally deleted! Oops! I also listen to all the music I put in here! So it’s also a small glimpse into what I listen to! Also as some of you know I’m in the scemo and goth subcultures! But I know a lot about alternative cultures period so this was fun to make!

LJ: VICTORIAN GOTH 100%!! / Victorian Circus Core

I mean he’s literally from that era

The feathered shaw, the black and white color scheme, the black lipstick and guy liner with the pale white face!!

Literally a goth king. That’s an outfit I would definitely see at a goth club!(I’ve been to many)

Another part of goth culture is liking horror/ monsters. Since LJ is a monster he’d fit right in!

He’d be accepted by most goths despite his looks bc goths have morbid dark fashion senses themselves!

So if they saw his swirly cone nose and sharp teeth they’d be like: omg! I love your look!

He’d definitely listen to classical music and other goth music Specifically Switchblade symphony and Cocteau Twins

He definitely listens to old PATD

I can see him wearing other Victorian inspired clothes too!

Like dis:

Jeff: Metalhead/ with 90s emo(for nostalgia.)

I mean look at him

He’d definitely shit on nu metal and still listen to it

The long greasy black hair, not showering, thinking he’s better than everyone else yeah sounds like a metal head to me/ hj

He listens Cattle Decapitation, Peeling Flesh, Suicide Silence, Cannibal Corpse, Avatar and literally anything with machine gun drums

He listens to some 90s emo but will never admit

Definitely wears band shirts especially the ones he got from concerts when he was a teen

He loves a good mosh pit

You know, the ones where you come out all bloody?

Yeah he loves those

He can hurt people in them and it’ll be fine? Sign him up! (Man has no pit manners smh)

Definitely a metal elitist

“You like SOAD? Ugh that not REAL metal”

Stfu Jeff.

Yeah. Metalhead to his core.

LJill (I love her, so underrated)

Victorian goth as well, but she leans more in the gothic Lolita side of it

Wears pretty gothic Lolita dresses with lots of black and white lace, buttons and she’ll have a matching bonnet and parasol to match when she’s feeling extra fancy!

She feels so elegant and feminine when she puts her multiple layers of petticoats on! She wouldn’t be caught dead without them!

Her makeup and lipstick is always perfect.

Her hair is always either perfectly curled or perfectly straightened

The goal is to look as doll like as possible ( also because she is one!)

She listens to music box like music if that makes sense?? For example Swan Lake by Fairy Lullaby or Porcelain Eyes

She, like LJ listens to classical music and goth music

But mainly classical and music box!

Will go to tea parties and knows how to make tea cakes and sandwiches

Just a lady all around!

Jane: Trad Goth/ Casual Goth/ Amy Lee

Since Jane is always on the move and doesn’t really have time to get all dressed up

So she’ll usually be in a simple black dress or black pants and a turtleneck

But when she does get a chance to dress up

She dresses trad goth mixed with Amy Lee

She’ll have her hair long with bangs covering her forehead

Trad goth makeup, but a bit more modern,big eyeliner and arched brows

She’ll be wearing corsets and waist trainers

Long skirts, ripped leggings

High heel platforms

She goes all out and she looks great!

Listens to music like The Cure, Siouxsie and the Banshees, New Years Day and The Birthday Massacre

Can do goth dances very well

God she’s beautiful

Toby: Midwestern Emo/ early 2000s emo/ a tad grunge/ indie

He just looks like one tbh

But seriously he had a hard life and emo music gives him comfort

Toby wears flannel shirts, grandpa sweaters, simple tee shirts and pants that are loose but not too loose

Hiking boots, sneakers

He listens to Chidos, The Front Bottoms, State Champs, Real Friends, Nirvana, Yawning, Hail the Sun, The Used, A Lot Like Birds, Static Dress, Mild High Club and many many more

He can play the guitar, drums and sing pretty well

He needed something to keep him busy while he was homeschooled after all! And it took his mind off of the horrible things he was going through

Plus with him feeling no pain, he could practice his hands bleed so his hands are really calloused

He likes to sit in the woods and just listen to music sometimes

He’s a loner like that

Especially in the fall when the leaves are so pretty

He feels almost peaceful. Almost

EJ: Tbh I can’t put him in a single box I feel like he’d be everything

He’ll listen to whatever whenever

Except religious music it freaks him out

Ya know because of the cult that took his eyes

But I see him liking dark ,dreamy music if that makes sense

His taste actually lines up with Toby’s pretty well

Static dress, MGMT, YKWIM by Yot Club, Homage by the Mild High club, My Bloody Valentine, Grouper

Also anything with sad guitars like wish by sign crushes motorist (Toby likes music like this too)

Sometimes even lo-fi if he has to unwind

Jack wears all black most of the time. Just so he doesn’t look too dirty

Black hoodie, black shirt, black pants, black shoes

He also feels like any other color won’t go with his now grey skin

But yeah EJ is just a dude with a wide music taste

We love that for him

Nina: Obviously Scene+Emo= scemo

Do I even have to explain?

She listens to Pierce the Veil, Sleeping with Sirens, Bring Me the Horizon, Paramore, AFI, FOB, Get Scared, Hey Monday, MCR, Ghosttown, Millionaires, Brokencyde, Medic Driod, Dot Dot Curve, A Skylight Drive, ISMFOF ,everything Toby listens too as well(and many more)

Nina wears either all black with colorful hair or has her signature black and pink with more colorful outfits

Cheeta print, skulls, DIY stuff, band shirts, tube tops, tutus, skinny jeans, brass knuckle necklaces, hoop earrings, black eyeshadow, big teased hair with raccoon tails

Yeah she’s 2000s emo fs

Goes to raves and concerts like crazy

But she’s not opposed to any kind of music and will do goth makeup for fun

And wear Jane’s clothes

She thinks goth is really pretty but it’s just not her

She’ll stick with scemo lol

Jason The Toymaker: Steampunk/ Victorian Circus Core

The copper in his clothes

The bright red hair

The long flowing jacket with intimate details

Yeah he’s definitely steam punk

Im not sure what kind of music steampunks listen to but I’d like to know!

Jason definitely listens to Emilie Autumn and old PATD

BEN: EDM

I mean…it was obvious

Skillix, deadmouse, xxxanteria, Luci4, old Flying Lotus albums, 9lives

He’s literally code so I think he’d like it

Not much else to say here tbh

I’m getting tired so lmk if you want a part 2 lol

[lightningant]

I've never seen characterizations of Tom and Harry the way yours is. I love how neurotic and messed up they both are -- they're *SO CUTE* too. <3 <3 <3

Tom is just so exhausted and cynical and Harry is a manic catastrophe with sooo many crossed wires and they're HILARIOUS. XD

And just so well written, I cannot tell you how distracted I was for at least a week after I read what you had for your fic -- I truly, truly admire your narration and dialogue and characterizations (I already said that but PLEASE I LOVE THEM SO **BAD** >O< ) Soooo funny and well made.

They're realistic! Tom and Harry are so messy and also normal people at the end of the day who make mistakes and aren't super cool all the time (really, they're utter dorks, and you TOTALLY show thatt) but also they're competent and scary and stubborn and you just have suchh a nice blend of their facets and I JUST....aghhh, I love itt.

Also I ADORE your designs -- I love how Tom is so sickly and neat (you said it best "Victorian child with tuberculosis" LMAO), and Harry is so IDK, he's just a Guy but in the most wonderful way -- I'm not actually good with words :,))))

I just love your art style in general, it's like, realistic yknow. You don't get rid of normal people "imperfections", they're a part of the design or enhance them -- I don't think the word imperfections is right, I just mean like, you don't exclude non-conventionally attractive aspects of bodies or facial expressions??? Idk, I'm trying here, I really am. Just, just, just I like it a lot and I wanna be like that toooooo >.<

IIIIIIII dunno if I have accurately gotten anything across or even given an actual good compliment in this entire thing but anyways you're very cool and awesome and also PLEASE forget that I said they were Babygirl I've never used that word before in my LIFEE and don't know if that was right at all -- if it was nevermind I meant it all and am so cool -- ANYWAYS bye :,)

I don't think I've succeeded in lessening my embarrassment but uhhhhh, I hope I've at least articulated myself better :,)))

Askbomb swag. Thank you, this message was so sweet :) I shall try to match energies.

One of the things I love most is that the kind of person who puts up pretensions is, innately, trying to hide something about themselves they find sub-par. Tom isn't just a scary and incredibly powerful domineering sigma male who is a master manipulator, he is a person who is actively attempting to turn himself into that man, and in my fic he is still a teenager and still tripping his way through that mental image he has of himself. The two worst ages to ever be are 15 and 20; fifteen, when you are ready to shed childhood but don't know what maturity looks like just yet, and 20, when you are ready to become your own person and achieve adulthood, picking your way across existence-defining beliefs. And his only friend for the past like, 7 months? has been his 16-year-old self who has the single-minded objective of looking cool and mature to his adult self. A hell of his own making.

Harry is also 20. He is one of those 'unusually mature for his age' kids and he has an inflated sense of his own righteousness and capability, despite being the actual one with the emotional range of a teaspoon (he just knows to keep it himself). There is no way Harry would detect he is having a manic fit, especially if he is having one that is triggered by his arrested feelings on Sirius. It's incredibly fun writing him perform this extremely risky and reality-altering plan and his plan was "idk, kill him?" and picking shit up off the ground whenever he sees it, the DADA position included. our hero.

Beautiful tragic terminally ill gothic prince / fit jock is really a match made in heaven aesthetically. Cannot get enough of it

Thank you for art compliment too ^_^ I used to lean more to anime fandoms so Harry Potter really let me stretch my legs on more 'normal people' facial features like big noses and soft chins and I'm glad it's clear how much fun I'm having doing that. Yay! Though one of the compliments I've always gotten that I've always been proud of is how distinct the way I draw expressions is.

No no...you're right. Tom is absolutely a babygirl. And Harry...well he was certainly Ginny's babygirl, and I'm sure a part of him is really itching to have someone put their hand on the small of his back 😔

[warrioreowynofrohan]

I want to comment on art in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and Jane Eyre, because I think it’s an illustrative comparison.

In both books, the heroines have an interest in and a talent for art. I’m a little behind on Wildfell Weekly, but in chapter 18, “The Miniature”, we see Huntingdon looking at Helen’s art on several occasions. On all of them, he shows no interest in the art itself or Helen’s thoughts as an artist (as with a scene where he calls her away to look at a Van Dyke painting and she’s actually interested in it, but he cuts off her thoughts as he doesn’t care about it and only wanted to get her alone), but only what the art demonstrates about her feelings for him, which please his ego.

On the first occasion, he is looking through Helen’s drawings, but we get none of his comments on them until he is delighted to find a sketch of his face on the back of one of them, and some erased but still visible attempts at other sketches of him. He is delighted by this, flaunts his power over Helen by ignoring her for the rest of the evening and flirting with another woman, and then kisses her (a very unacceptable advance on a woman you weren’t married or engaged to at the time, and one which Helen does not consent to).

The next day, he sees Helen working on a detailed painting of a young girl in a glade of the forest looking up at a pair of nesting turtledoves, a symbol of love.

“Very pretty, i’faith!” said he, after attentively regarding it for a few seconds; “and a very fitting study for a young lady. Spring just opening into summer—morning just approaching noon—girlhood just ripening into womanhood, and hope just verging on fruition. She’s a sweet creature! but why didn’t you make her hair black?” [Helen’s hair is dark.]

“I thought light hair would suit her better. You see I have made her blue-eyed and plump, and fair and rosy.”

“Upon my word—a very Hebe! I should fall in love with her if I hadn’t the artist before me. Sweet innocent! she’s thinking there will come a time when she will be wooed and won like that pretty hen-dove by as fond and fervent a lover; and she’s thinking how pleasant it will be, and how tender and faithful he will find her.”

“And perhaps,” suggested I, “how tender and faithful she shall find him.”

“Perhaps—for there is no limit to the wild extravagance of Hope’s imaginings at such an age.”

Helen gets him to walk the last comment back, but his takeaway from the painting - another assurance that she’s in love with him, and he can use that and rely on it without giving anything in return - is, again, one that satisfies his vanity and sense of power. And immediately after, he takes Helen’s works in progress and looks at them, ignoring her refusal, and laughs at finding a miniature of his portrait she has drawn.

This contrasts with a scene in Jane Eyre where Rochester is looking at Jane’s art: he is not interested in what they say about how she feels about him (this is still early in their acquaintanceship), but in what they say about her and her thoughts.

Rochester looks through her portfolio closely and picks out three, all with rather Gothic subjects and tone (in contrast to the more sentimental tone of Helen’s turtledove painting):

one of a shipwreck in storm, with the arm of a drowned woman, and a cormorant holding a jewelled bracelet that the waves had torn from her wrist

the peak of a grassy hill in wind, with a deep blue twilight sky showing the shoulders and head of the figure of a woman with a star on her brow (Silmarillion fans, imagine fanart of Varda and you’ll get the idea)

An iceberg in polar winter, with the northern lights, and a vast, pale-white head in the sky, half- veiled and representing Death.

Even as a narrator of the book, Jane is diffident, saying the pictures are “nothing wonderful”, but she describes them in great detail, and in answer to Rochester’s question of whether she was happy when she painted them, admits that “to paint them was to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known”, and that when she painted them she worked on them from morning to night.

That Rochester focused on these three paintings, which are very different from the calm, composed, and dutiful image Jane projects to the outside world, already says a lot about his understanding of her; he is seeing something in her that almost no one else has noticed. He observes, before she has told him anything, that they took “much time, and some thought.” Jane, despite having loved working on them, says in response to his questions that she is dissatisfied with them: “in each case I had imagined something which I was quite powerless to realize.”

Rochester is clearly impressed by both the art and the thoughts, though he is blunt and not flattering:

“You have secured the shadow of your thought; but no more, probably. You had not enough of the artist’s skill and science to give it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening Star you must have seen in a dream. How could you make them look so clear, and yet not at all brilliant? for the planet above quells their rays. And what meaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught you to paint wind? There is a high gale in that sky, and on that hill-top.”

Huntingdon is interested in Helen’s art only insofar as it reveals her attraction to him and flatters his vanity. Rochester is interested in Jane’s art for what it says about her and her thoughts; she is reserved with most people, and he probably gets a better sense of her personality and character - and shows more interest in it - from that one conversation than anyone else has in Jane’s adult life. His questions are blunt, but she answers them with honesty and emotion, like it’s a relief and pleasure to meet someone who wants to know. She wants the side of her revealed in those paintings to be understood, and he’s the only person she’s met who understands it; that’s central to why they fall in love.

[yeyinde]

Oh my god yeyinde! Your latest fic with dog/definitely not dog!Johnny has been going through my brain nonstop since I read it. This may not be my most eloquently written praise as I’m sick, but I HAD to comment on the absolutely gothic, eerie beauty of this fic. I get deep mountain, Appalachian vibes- isolated, dark- a place your parents warned you NOT to move to (because there’s no way a homegrown Appalachian native would’ve let that dog into the house). I reads like a legend your grandparents would warn you about and you’d roll your eyes hearing it but then in the dead of might hear a dog howling in your yard and close your blinds and check your door locks remembering the story. It’s so eerie and brilliant- it reminds me of the image on tumblr associated with Margret Atwood’s poem “let now let us praise stupid women”. I’ll the image in my comment. But I love the fact she’s not naive- she knows it’s not her dog, but the idea of confronting it, dealing with it is almost more horrifying than just straight up denying it and going to sleep to pretend it’s not real. It’s haunting, devastating, bone-chill, and reads like a brilliant urban legend. You’re such an artist with words!

you are living inside my head rn lmao i also hope you feel better soon!!!!

i love dog/animal/pet horror but i think it's sooo underutilized and poorly executed. there's something about the monster being your dog, your pet, that's infinitely more horrifying than some random, separate entity. your dog suddenly turning on you (or in this case, being taken over) is so terrifying to me. i also have an irrational fear of letting my dog outside at night and something else coming in. something that looks and acts just like him, but isn't. so!! there's that.

that's such a fitting poem too!!! it might not be everyone's fave but i love characters who refuse to accept reality until they're in the jaws of the beast. spinning themselves in circles as they struggle to come up with excuses for what they're seeing, or just not looking at it at all. brushing it under the rug. i just think the arc from "this is not happening everything is fine" to "everything needs to keep being fine and the only way to do that is to keep this thing happy so i can pretend it doesn't exist" is such a good plot point.

like, the slow pan from an obvious slaughter, a bloodbath, with the dogthing just licking it's paws like it normally does after eating, to them just numbly cleaning it up is beautiful. they ignore the missing posters stapled to the utilitypoles because everything is fine. he's just hungry. all dogs are. he just needs something wild to eat. it's fine if it's just a random animal. a stray. the neighbours dog just got away. it's not your boy. it can't be him. it's fine. everything is fine. it's their fault for getting too close to him. don't they know he doesn't like that? of course he'd snap. of course he'd eat them. he's just doing what dogs do.

he's a growing boy, of course he needs to eat.

and you didn't really like your neighbour much, anyway.

[jackiestarsister]

Thoughts while rereading Jane Eyre

I first read Jane Eyre in its entirety when I was in high school, and it has remained one of my all-time favorite books! After reading the Manga Classics adaptation and seeing both the old and new editions of the stage musical, I finally reread it, or rather listened to the audiobook.

These were my thoughts on this reading (with spoilers):

~ Jane’s autobiography begins with the line, “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.” I take this to mean that if she had taken a walk that day, none of the following events would have happened! John Reed would not have attacked her at that time and place, leading to her traumatic punishment, her meeting with Mr. Lloyd, and going to Lowood Institution.

~ Charlotte Bronte vividly shows the intensity of children’s emotions. I don’t think that was common in British literature at the time!

~ Jane enters and leaves the lives of the Reeds, the Thornfield residents, and the Rivers siblings in very Gothic fashions! I can imagine parts of the story being told from other characters’ perspectives to great dramatic effect.

~ Knowing the whole story, there are many seeds of foreshadowing to be found throughout the story! Great setup and payoff.

~ Jane says about Helen’s grave, “for fifteen years after her death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a grey marble tablet marks the spot.” Jane must have gone back to Lowood when she was about 25, and paid for a fitting monument for her first and life-changing friend!

~ Pilot seems almost like a Disney hero’s sidekick, urging the two love interests to meet each other!

~ Mr. Rochester seems to judge Jane’s character partly by observing how she treats Pilot and Adele, and the contrast against Blanche Ingram’s treatment of them!

~ If Eliza and Georgiana are supposed to represent the extremes of unfeelingness and too effusive feelings, are they basically Eleanor and Marianne Dashwood? I know Charlotte Bronte disliked Pride and Prejudice; maybe she was pushing back against Austen’s other characters too?

~ Rochester actually calls Jane the “adopted daughter” of Mrs. Fairfax and “little English mother” of Adele! I wish this familial dynamic had been brought out more.

~ The impulsive way Jane flees from Thornfield reminds me that she is still a teenager! She does not think of the fact that she has an uncle who wants to give her an inheritance, or of the solicitor’s advice to stay put until she hears news of him. She does not seek help from Mrs. Fairfax or the Leavens family to find a new situation. She might have spared herself a lot of suffering if she had formed a better plan for finding a new home and had her mail forwarded there!

~ St. John, Diana, and Mary Rivers are like a reversed reflection of John, Eliza, and Georgiana Reed—both sets of cousins, but completely opposite dynamics with Jane.

~ Jane’s relationship with St. John Rivers is waaaay more toxic than her relationship with Edward Rochester. Jane can stand her ground with Rochester, who would never force her to do anything she decidedly did not want; but she feels compelled to do whatever St. John tells her, and he urges her to do things against her own desires.

~ Rochester literally loses his eye and hand, just like Jesus says about temptation in Matthew 18:8-9!

~ Jane and Rochester’s relationship is bookended by scenes of her supporting him as he walks!

~ Were the parson and clerk who officiated Jane and Rochester’s marriage the same ones who were at the interrupted wedding?! Unless there was a change in position during the year of separation, they probably were the same ones!

~ My headcanon is that all the Thornfield servants placed bets on how long it would take Jane and Rochester to work things out. This is supported by the innkeeper’s account of how the servants observed Jane and Rochester, and John and Mary’s reactions after they finally get married!

[spookykoolkat]

the red j.m. | chapter four

CHAPTER FOUR: NO GOOD

series masterlist | main masterlist |

previous chapter | next chapter

pairings: older!joel miller x plus sized!younger!reader

chapter summary: you've been in jackson for a month now and things are still a little rough. you haven't found the right crowd to fit into yet, and thought maybe you might have to settle for the family of four you already know, until you meet your patrol partner, tyler. unfortunately, joel doesn't seem to like the idea of you with any other man but him.

warnings: 18+ age gap (joel is 57, reader is turning 26), inappropriate thoughts, sexual language, teasing, touching, slight jealous!joel, x-rated descriptions, crude language, perv!joel, creepy!joel, mean joel not too mean tho, MDNI!!!

wc: 6.2k

na: HI! thank you for alllll of the love oh my god my little gothic heart is so full i love you guys!!! i hope this series is everything and more to you guys bc i love this so much! hopefully as chapters go by, i get better in my writing and hope everyone enjoys it! i appreciate all of your kind words and interactions with me and making me feel welcome since i am new to writing on tumblr and kind of took a six year break from writing oneshots/fanfictions LOL. anyways please enjoy this chapter things are g3tting a little hot and heavy :P I CANT WAITT i hope that my writing is cathartic for my big girls we do not get enough representation for us in stories and writings!please enjoy! smut coming soon fr fr LMFAOO

i appreciate all reblogs, likes and comments feel free to do any one of those things or ALL! if u think its deserved :P

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DECEMBER 21ST, 2024

YOU

you’ve been in jackson for a month now. you couldn’t believe it, you truly had every doubt about staying even a week. but, it’s probably the calmest life you’ve lived in a very long time. you enjoyed it and you truly felt you’d made the right decision, it didn’t take much convincing either. but, you still haven’t unpacked the items maria gave you and continues to give you. just in case. 

the neighbors are learning your name, as you are with them, and they actually care. as much as you let them. you felt quite bad because you found yourself still not clicking with anyone around you. and you’ve tried. the people your age find you boring, almost a dark cloud over them, bursting their bubbles. younger kids only approach you because of ellie, asking for advice on stance and grip. the older group, around tommy and joel’s age, finds you a bit much. 

your language, your lack of social awareness–sometimes it gets embarrassing. saying something old heads wouldn’t necessarily like, being too blunt and a little explicit. joel figured you should hang around your age group, yet you didn’t really click in with the rest. he was far from embarrassed being around you, you just said the things he was thinking out loud.

you only found yourself clicking with joel. in many ways, as much as he let you. he was standoffish most of the time, barely cracking a smile at your weird habits and the noises you make when you’re passed out on the couch. he refused to let you break him, this wall that he had up to survive. do not get attached. he thought, maybe the less he knew you the less it’d hurt to have anything happen to you. but it seems even as little as he does know you, he’s still feeling that tug at his heart laying his eyes on you. 

it was too late. whoops.

joel doesn’t want to address that feeling, and he doesn’t want to call it as it is. he actually cares about you. he had no choice but to call it that, because why else would he lie to you about finding cassettes in the house?— so that you didn’t know what he really did to get you whatever he could get his hands on. 

he didn’t want you to know that he actually smuggled in goods that he and his family needed, and while bribing, stealing, trading and selling for necessities, he made it a mission to find at least one cassette tape for you. he didn’t know you actually saw him red handed, and you still didn’t know where those boxes were coming from. he figured if you knew, you’d bring it up. 

he made it his mission for two whole weeks, after your first week of staying with him, and finally got his hands on some actual music for you. joel hadn’t made efforts like this in a long time, and he knew that denying the fact that he at least cared for you would mean he was being delusional. 

but he was always worried about you. you were his object of affection and he craved to find a way to get you out of his mind. he actually felt guilty for thinking about you in ways you’ve probably never been before, he felt guilty for wanting nothing but to make you feel good—however that was. 

you doubted it strongly of course, shaking the feeling off as your own delusion and insanity, but you always hoped. hoped that maybe his generosity and southern hospitality was actually him caring about you in a different way, but he was a grown man. you tried to off yourself in front of him–you were insane to think he’d even look at you as anything but a liability, he hardly looked your way as it was. 

at least you thought so.

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joel paid attention to every single thing he sees and hears. he doesn’t show it, he doesn’t acknowledge it—all he does is observe. some more than others. 

you didn’t talk to him unless he talked to you, you kept your distance like he wanted, but somehow he knew everything that was going on. he didn’t have to talk to you to know you, and that’s what he was ashamed of. he watched you. 

he was a creep, he felt like someone who was abnormal and making things weirder than they had to be. he was studying you and you didn’t even know. he picked up on what made you smile, which cassettes you listened to the most, which just so happened to be the ones he was ‘holding on to.’ and in the midst of observing you, he checked you out any time he got. 

when you weren’t looking mostly, but even sometimes when you were talking to him about something not so important. he realized that if you did see that his eyes wandered over you, you were probably gaslighting yourself into thinking he wasn’t doing exactly what you thought he was doing. he loved your body. and he loved the way you dressed your body, the way the shirts you wore always clung to your heavy breasts, how even when you dressed in baggy clothes he still wanted to ruin you like that. 

sick. you’re a sick old pervert, ya kno’ that? he knew. what joel didn’t know is why you made him feel this way, why you drove him to do the things that he does for you. why he acted feral every time you bent over, why he would storm out of the room when you got on your hands and knees to pick something you dropped up off the floor. 

but he also studied you because he wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling how you felt the night you woke up in jackson, to make sure you weren’t feeling depressed or like you didn’t want to be here anymore. just talk to her fucker. he couldn’t. he would never admit it, but he’s eavesdropped near ellie’s garage to hear conversations between the two girls. 

“ellie, i mean it, you cannot tell joel.” you hushed as you glanced towards the door, back to ellie. 

she scoffed. “like i’d tell him, lay it on me.” you noticed the irritation in her eyes when you brought up joel, asking yourself if maybe there was something that wasn’t being said. you just put a pin in it. 

“okay. one, i’m finally allowed a gun and i got my patrol route.” you cheered in a hush and joel almost pressed his ear into the door. 

ellie rolled her eyes, grabbing the piece of paper. “no fucking fair. good looks, telling me bad news first. what’s two?” she joked. 

“i met my patrol partner. his name’s uh, tyler? i think. yeah,” you looked down and nodded, assuring yourself. joel made it a note to tell ellie how thin her walls were, not right now though. 

“tyler… tyler m?” joel thought of every man in this town named tyler with the letter M as his last name. instantly made a mental list of five tylers. 

“i don’t know. but he asked me for a drink. tonight, he was gonna meet me here but i told him i’d meet him there. lesson number 5, always have a way to leave anywhere you are if you need to.” you said. you figured it’d be best to teach her as much as you could, telling her things she needed to hear to survive. 

that’s how joel knew immediately what was happening when he heard your soft singing from your cracked door. you were getting ready for him. he actually hated it. he couldn’t remember the last time he felt that heat in his chest, biting the tongue—it wasn’t until his face turned down into the old familiar feeling, what he recognized as jealousy. 

who was he to be jealous? for what? it was a saturday night, most people were off of work, and everyone was settling in the town’s circle to drink and watch movies. everyone but joel. he was now classified as a bitter old man, with a dark whiskey in his glass. maybe now a bitter, creepy old man as he knocks slightly on the cracked door and you invite him in. 

you were fixing the laces on your shoes, simple black converse, and his eyes made his way up from there to your face. a deep v neck shirt that looked like a second skin from how tight it was, and faded black jeans with tiny holes from being lived in that hugged the fat of your thighs. he never noticed the gold dainty necklace that sat in the middle of your chest, but it sits right between the curves of your breasts. were they always that big? he felt like a kid, ogling and asking stupid questions.  

“hellooo? joel?” you called to him as you rested your palms on the width of your thighs. he saw your lips, coated in a sheen and your hair split down the middle instead of being in a pony tail or bun. creepy old man. you’re being creepy joel!!! he shook his head. 

“headin’ to the circle?” he asked. if he were close enough you could smell the whiskey on his breath. 

“yeah i-,” you thought for a minute. joel didn’t trust the next person as much as you did. you saw his protectiveness through ellie, you felt maybe he’d feel the same for you. even if you were a bit delusional. 

“-was gonna catch a movie with ellie, most likely be back around 12.” you said as you glanced at the clock, 9:32. 

“‘s that right?” he said suggestively, like he knew something you didn’t. he did. 

“yeah. that’s right,” you stood firm, even shot him a dirty look. “why don’t you enjoy the night, joel. you got the house to yourself, ain’t that what you’ve been mopin’ around for?” you stood up and grabbed your gun to put in your waistband behind your shirt, sticking a knife in your high top converse and one in your jean pocket. 

maybe you got too defensive, but you were right in a way. he looked miserable around the house, storming in just to grab a beer and lock himself in the library or room. 

“that’s right,” he was just smug. so smug you couldn’t stand it, you wanted to slap him. 

“whatever joel,” you wanted to be right so bad. you wanted to prove to even yourself that you were right. but neither of you were buying into this act you played, and you knew it. he was making you nervous with his stare, the hard shell you had was practically ripped off of you when he grabbed your wrist before you left the room. he held you, shoulder to shoulder and looked at your face, down your neck and to your chest. 

“if you need anythin’, you let me know darlin’.” darlin’? it was so foreign to you, so alien that you didn’t even have time to process it before your mouth moved to say a small alright and taking your arm from his grip. when you did, it was cold and you could feel the print of his hand around your wrist down the stairs. 

it was so different, something that leaked off of his words when he spoke to you. and you wanted to hear more of it, explore that with him. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

before you could psych yourself out of going through the bar’s doors, you heard someone call for your name and turned your head to the left to see tyler, walking towards you with a big grin on his face. tyler was just two years older than you, someone you met while you were in combat and patrol classes, and didn’t acknowledge until he approached you, re-introducing himself as your partner for the first two weeks. you couldn’t be cold and shoo him away, you just smiled and introduced yourself, really looking at him. 

he was not joel miller. tyler’s skin wasn’t as tan as joel’s but he wasn’t pale, and he was actually a bit lanky even under the thick coats he layered. you noticed that his chest wasn’t as broad and strong as joel’s, hell his arms were smaller than yours. he was a skinny tall thing, while you were a bit short and thick everywhere. and when he embraced you lightly at the entrance of the bar, you just felt cold. no warmth, no comfort, you felt like you’d break him. 

“hey, i was hoping you’d actually come.” he breathed in as he pulled away, still, it wasn’t feeling right. 

“why wouldn’t i?” 

“cause you’re out of my league,” he said with a seductive smile and you wanted to believe him. wanted to enjoy the night as it comes and maybe have a few drinks, talk. but your mind was on a bitter man who sat in a house all by his lonesome. 

the thing about ‘dates’ now is that small talk doesn’t happen anymore. what’s your mom like? she’s dead actually. really? mine too! it was pointless. if you ended up here, you knew that you were alone. 

it wasn’t long before you and tyler were sitting on two stools, side by side. your knees were in between his as the two of you talked, flirted, gave simple touches. you were having fun. doing what would seem normal at a bar, just enjoying the company of someone who actually liked you. 

“how come you’ve never hung out with anyone else? i never see you with anyone.” he said, his fingers tapping on your knee. 

“mmm, i’m just not for everyone.” you flirted, covering his fingers with yours. you knew this wasn’t going anywhere, but you’d like to live in it just a little longer. the touch of a man, someone who desired you even if it wasn’t how you wanted. something you started to crave from joel. 

“maybe you’re just for me then?” he suggested, and you decided to just play into it. it was kind of hard not to when you were thinking of joel, you needed to act out on it. 

“i doubt that, honey,” you said, tugging at the collar of his shirt. he smelled like tequila and grass, something not that appealing but you ignore it. you wanted something out of him tonight, because for some reason the words joel spoke to you kept ringing in your ears. if you need anything, you let me know darlin’. the words rumbled through your body and straight to your core, because if there’s anything you need he could definitely be of help. 

you didn’t know how long you stayed at this bar, teasing and touching each other until you felt the ache in your core, aching for a touch that you’ve had once before. but you didn’t give a shit about purity or virginity, you wanted the ache gone and you knew tyler was the best bet. 

“tyler,” you whispered in his ear as the bar started to empty. 

“yes, beautiful?” he answered and slid his hand up your thigh. 

“show me how good you are with your fingers, yeah?” 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

he followed you back to joel’s, hand in hand as you turned the key to the house and softly opened the door to prevent the creaking. granted, you didn’t think this through, like everything else. maybe you should’ve gone to his. you cringed a bit, walking inside. 

it was dark inside, nothing but the sizzle of a freshly put out fire. you put your fingers to your lips to shush him, taking him slowly upstairs and to your room. you couldn’t help but find yourself glancing at joel’s door, which is cracked open. 

you finally made it to your room with the lanky man groping your body and trying to slither you out of your jeans, letting him. 

“only want your fingers, okay? if not you can leave.” you established as you stood in your panties and tight shirt. 

“fuck, yeah that’s okay,” tyler himself was craving a woman’s touch, he didn’t even care if he got off. he just wanted to see you, a woman’s body, to feel you. 

“can i touch you? like anywhere?” he asked as he sat on the edge of your bed, his cock already hardened against his pants. it didn’t sound right coming from him. you wondered what it’d sound like with the texas twang you craved to hear from a certain man. 

it still made your core twinge a bit, remembering the last time you were this vulnerable. you couldn’t lie, even if it wasn’t what you wanted, you fell in to the odd touch of the man desperately trying to touch you. 

“anywhere. keep your dick in your pants, i’ll touch as i go if you want me to.” you moved over to him and crawled into your bed, and he slipped in next to you as he propped himself on his elbow to look at you. 

“you’re so pretty, really.” he said, genuinely and you smiled. your stomach even fluttered a bit. it’s been a long time hearing that, hearing desire. 

“touch me, please.” 

tyler took his time, a little more than you’d liked but he was busy distracted with the way your tits pushed up to your chin, like you were suffocating. touching and teasing, his touch felt good but it still didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel heartstopping. maybe you’re expecting too much. 

but he didn’t talk to you when he dipped his hand in your panties, you just heard his whimpers and panting as he rutted his hard on into the side of your fat thigh, barely focused on you. you weren’t feeling it anymore, your wetness wasn’t even directed towards him really. everything you did with him was what you wanted to do with joel. you weren’t interested anymore and it started to feel wrong, it never felt good because tyler wasn’t worried about you. just his nut, and you didn’t like that. you didn’t like to feel used. 

“okay, wait, wait—i said wait!” you said and grabbed his wrist, pulling it from your panties and moving off of the bed. 

“wait, fuck i’m sorry, i was just so, fuck i’m so sorry.” he said a bit loudly, and you swore you heard a creak in the hallway as you moved to the door. 

“it’s okay, i just, i’m not–i’m tired. i think you should go.” you said, hugging your arm as he adjusted himself in his pants and got up. 

“i’m sorry, i,-” he tried again and you waved him off. 

“it’s done and forgotten, you didn’t do anything you were just really into it. i wasn’t.” you were careful with your words, not as tough as you would be because you’re vulnerable. but he wouldn’t get far if he hurt you, you knew that. 

“i’m sorry, goodnight. can we kind of like, forget this?” he asked rubbing the back of his neck and you softly laughed. 

“forget what?” you smiled and he returned it, giving a small kiss on the cheek before he left. he was a nice man, a good kid, and he meant no harm. he didn’t need a ruthless beating or yelling, just needed to tell him it wasn’t meant to be. you couldn’t shake the feeling of how wrong it was, how wrong it felt being tyler touching you. 

you knew who you wanted to touch you. as sweet and kind and charming tyler was, he wasn’t what you wanted. the man you wanted was across the hall from you, on the other side of the stairs. sleeping, maybe. 

you knew ellie was at a friends house doing only god knows what, so with the hope in mind that joel was asleep in his room, you trotted downstairs braless, and bottomless. you were still in the same tight shirt you left in, but now just in the pink panties that were apart of the gifts maria got you. just new/traded clothing you needed. the shirt hugged you and cut off at the dip of your curve, the fat of your tummy slightly protruding between the shirt and your panties. 

you didn’t look towards the fireplace where the sofas were, instead you grab a small cup and let faucet water pour into it, taking a drink. 

“work up a sweat?” a deep southern voice said behind you, from a distance. you jumped at the sudden break of silence and turned quickly to the sofas. 

“joel? what the fuck,” you breathed and stepped out to walk to the sofas. somehow, you completely disregarded the fact that all you had on was a shirt and panties, standing in joel miller’s living room. 

“what made you think it was a bright idea to invite a bastard in my home like that? not only that,” he said. you finally saw the light from outside shining on his face as he stood up, something glimmering in his hand. a gun. “but letting him touch all over you? that prick?” 

you had a lot to say, a lot to yell out. but the only thing to say was a snarky comment. “you know he called you the same thing.” 

which, he did. but you were too drunk on the flirting and drinks to care or to know why, even though you already knew. joel wasn’t nice to anyone but ellie. tommy and maria even think he’s an asshole, but that’s tommy’s brother and maria’s brother in law. he’s family. but there were things that you didn’t know about joel miller. things he didn’t want you to know either. 

“why do you even care? who’s touching me, i mean.” you scoff, feeling less embarrassed about your state of clothing. but being a lot more aware as he steps closer and closer to your curvy figure, putting his gun in the waistband of his sweatpants. 

he was intimidating like this. towering over you with his fists clenched, searching your face for something. you felt your heartbeat pick up as his eyes raked over you and fell on your lips. he was drunk off of you, the sight of your fat cunt only being clothed by a single piece of fabric drove him to dig his nails in his palms. the nakedness of your thighs, and the midriff showing—it was going to kill him.

“if you’re gonna fuck these town folk, make sure it ain’t in my house.” he spit, and you just rolled your eyes. you felt like you were in trouble for sneaking out, like a teenager. 

“i didn’t fuck anyone. we didn’t do anything. he wanted to, i didn’t.” you defended, feeling small now but still holding yourself tall.

joel just looked at you, not wondering if you were lying or not. he knew you weren’t, he heard it himself the minute he heard something bang against your wall. it was just you shuffling to get up, and he heard you consoling him. you weren’t satisfied. 

“why’d you lie to me? bout’ seein’ him tonight?” he asked, your head tilted up to his as he steps one step closer. your chest is almost touch his, and your breathing was getting heavier. 

“figured you wouldn’t trust him,” you said, sounding like you wanted to say something else but keeping it to yourself. 

he was watching you like you were his prey. like you were something he wanted to take and devour for himself, like you were something for his eyes only. 

“smart girl,” 

“he touch you wrong?” he couldn’t help but ask, the curiosity killing him slowly as time passes with you standing in front of him with your tight pink panties on. he looked down between the two of you and saw the hardened pebbles that were your nipples showing up through your black tight shirt, down to your tummy that was pressed against his. he liked the softness of your belly, he was practically dying to grip it himself. he wanted to grip every part of you, to palm your pussy and feel how warm you were in his grip. he even found himself hating his own mind as thought of what your pussy would look like sucking him in. 

“i, he,” you were stuttering, embarrassing yourself as his hand trailed up your arm, thinking of all the ways he could watch you take his cock for him. 

you watched him watch you. how his eyes went dark again, how there was a slight touch of possessiveness in his voice. you didn’t assume though.

“can’t find the words, hm? he wasn’t makin’ you feel good?” he asked softly, watching as you closed your eyes and breathed through your mouth, opening again to see a small grin playing on his lips, his head tilted to the side. his fingers barely left your wrist, and made their way to your fleshy hip, tapping against the bare skin. he was enjoying this. making you squirm. making you nervous. 

“fuck off, joel,” you meant it to come out a lot stronger than it did, even you thought you sounded needy. “s’ none of your damn business,” you spit, stronger this time.

and before you could even wallow in your retorts, a smile tugged very faintly at his lips. you weren’t so convincing when you were practically trying to pull him to your body with your fists buried in his sweater. he appreciated the effort though, he's never met someone with as much bite in their bark as you.

he just liked to watch you writhe for him. you wanted to whine with how eager you were for him, how mean he was being to you for no reason. you needed him.

“it’s like you’re not even tryin’, what’s the matter? do i make you nervous sweetheart?” he gleamed in his power over you, the way your eyes searched for him and your mouth parted, just for him. he wanted to ruin you in every way. ruin every man for you, show you how to truly be taken care of.

"go fuck yourself," you retorted and he actually laughed. and he laughed at you. a sudden heat rushed to your cheeks, embarrassment filling you.

“i didn’t tell you but,” he paused as he leaned into your ear, grazing his cheek against yours and smiling to himself, “you looked real pretty today, ya know that? you look even prettier like this, all flustered for me.” 

you had to be dreaming. had to have gone to sleep after tyler left, and this was your wet dream making up for it. there was no way you were this exposed to joel and he was practically pressed up against your body as he told you how pretty you looked. you couldn’t speak, your tongue was tied and joel smiled to himself as he realized he got you to shut up.

“would ya let me touch you, sweet girl? maybe you'd be nicer if someone knew how to touch you,” he asked, his fingers playing on your hip. 

you still couldn’t answer. it felt like a trap, like if you let yourself give in to his words, every guard you put up was pointless. you were frozen, and suddenly felt insanely vulnerable but his voice was so inviting, so impossible to not fall into.

“touch me where?” you asked, treading lightly. you wanted to hear it, you wanted him to tell you he wanted you as bad as you wanted him. you wanted to prove to yourself that you hadn't lost your mind yet. but you also wanted to stretch whatever this was as long as possible before you find yourself on your knees for him without even asking.

joel felt like he was out of his body. like he was watching you squirm and move under his presence from above. he was so distracted by how hard your nipples were rubbing against him that he didn’t even notice your fists balled into his shirt, trying to take him in closer. maybe it was the alcohol he drank to ignore the jealousy he felt, or maybe it was the fact that tommy came to tell joel about the boy you were seeing. how the two of you were practically on top of each other before he left, how he was touching you in public–he was angry. 

nothing was done, nothing more than joel grabbing your almost bare hip and you tugging on his shirt, but it still felt like something that was crossing a line. a line you wanted to cross.

until he got the courage to grab the hand that was buried in his sweater, taking it in his own and touching you with your hand. he was answering your question. his hand ghosted on top of yours as his eyes watched your eyes train on the sight between the two of the bodies, enjoying how soft and pink you look. you were hot and bothered, and he could get used to seeing you like this. 

“first place i’d touch you, baby,” he breathes, his lips practically against your cheek now. he was breathing you in, drinking you in, “is right here,” 

his hand guided you to cup your mound, angry that it wasn’t his hand touching you. your breath was shaky while you watched him, your eyes flickering from his moving hand to his eyes, and every time he made sure your eyes latched onto his. he wanted you to know how much he was enjoying teasing you like this, he wanted you to remember the way he looked at you while you panted against him. 

“but like this, lemme show you ‘xactly how i’d touch you sweetheart,” he was lost, drunken only on you, ignoring the world around him. “don’t think that boy would be enough for a woman like you, ain’t that right?"

he took his own hand as you were still pressed against his front, his lips now teasing the skin of the crook of your neck and starting to pull your panties away from your skin to dip his hand inside. your breathing was uneven and your soft whimpers were getting louder the more he trailed down into your underwear, and he was loving them.

the second he felt the scruff of your unshaved mound, he heard you release a shaky, sexy breath, and he grew harder against your bare abdomen. even feeling the heat of your skin on his clothed cock made him want to get on his knees and worship you.

"needy little fuckin' thing, that desperate for me huh? you gonna let me feel this pretty pussy how i want?"

he was so fucking filthy. so filthy for someone who hasn't even seen you naked, so filthy for someone who didn't even talk to you before this. it was agonizing, you were melting into his harsh words and wanted to listen to him make you feel small like this all night.

"joel, i swear," you warned as his breath hit your lips with his eyes on yours.

you had a bush, he thought to himself. he really didn’t think that would turn him on of course,  but now he pictured you standing in front of him, bottomless. how your belly would look with your curves, the way your breasts would rest at their natural position, your thighs fat and wide all for him, and the pretty fat mound waiting for him to feel and taste. worst time to think all of that of course, because it sent a flood of blood and excitement to his groin, giving him another thing to be nervous about. but god did he want to see it, see all of you laid in his bed, and tugging on the thatch of hair on your mound. he was fucked.

and god forbid you figured out that he’s been picturing you bent and folded in every way just so he could reach to the back of your cervix, if you figured out that his anger towards you is pent up sexual frustration because every time you’re in the shower, he’s thinking of the way you looked lathered in soap, waiting for him to join you. he was a sick man to think of you like this, but all of his desires and fantasies were threatening to barge in, to unleash all of his wants and needs to you. 

he was fighting himself to be a respectable man, a man who doesn’t think of women who were young enough to be his own kid in ways that were sinful. he shouldn’t be wanting to fill your throat with his cock when you smart mouth him. he was losing whoever he thought was himself, and letting heart and cock do his thinking. 

you couldn't think right, nothing was processing as you felt the heat of his hand on your cunt. you felt another wave of pleasure hit you and suddenly, you could feel your wetness pooling for him in your panties. you had a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that joel actually wanted you too, even if he wanted to put you in your place for once and shut you up.

you didn't care how he wanted you. you were a bitch, but you were desperate for him.

"mmm, you're real scary, baby, threats ain't gettin' you anywhere. you have t' beg me for my fingers," he teased, rubbing the hair on your mound.

"oh fuck off, i'm not begging you for shit," you're putting up a fight with yourself, and you were winning. at leadt you thought so. even if you were letting him touch you this way, you weren't goping to beg him or give him the pleasure of watching you submit to him.

"yeah? maybe i'll jus' make ya," he grinned, his sinister smile forming while he rested his forehead on yours, his hand inside your panties as the two of you watched him tease your lips.

the second joel’s finger moves from your hairy mound to the fat lips of your cunt to spread and feel just how much you ached for him, to tease your hole so you'd be sent into a fit of desperation, the two of you heard the doorknob jiggle and a loud laugh from the outside, meaning it was ellie. joel pulled his hand and body away quickly and nodded upstairs with a hard look, giving you the hint to go before ellie saw you in your panties. 

your face expressed everything to him, you needed him. and you didn’t want to let go. he watched as you walked up the stairs, your ass practically eating up the fabric of your panties. it left nothing to the imagination and he groaned, something you swore you heard, before he fixed himself in his pants. 

ellie walked in, and you stayed at the top of the stairs out of sight to hear the lecturing. 

“are you outta your damn mind, ellie? it’s three in the mornin’,” his paternal instincts were coming out, and you smiled. 

“i was down the street. relax, i just didn’t want to stay there.” ellie defended as she slipped her shoes off. 

“did somethin’ happen? are you hurt?” he asked quickly, examining ellie to see if he saw blood or cuts anywhere. 

“jeez, no joel lay off. why are you up anyways isn’t it like six hours past your bedtime?” she scoffed, annoyed at the father figure lecturing her right now. what was he gonna tell her? 

“was waitin for your friend to come home, so i can lock up before bed,” he lied. he was lying and you knew it. you came home an hour ago, and he was still up. 

“you’re in love aren’t ya? old man,” ellie teased. her demeanor was a little more playful than she’d been this last month and he shook his head annoyed, but to you it was silent. your lips pinched into a thin line as you heard joel grunt.

“go to be ellie. now.” he ordered and she rolled her eyes, saying her good nights and going to the garage to sleep in her space. 

a part of you wanted joel to come upstairs, into your room and to do everything he wanted to do. you didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do, but with the touching and flirting he was doing, it seemed like he wanted you. maybe he was drunk, you could smell it on his breath! he seemed pretty sober talking to ellie. you cursed yourself as you moved quietly to your room, leaving the door cracked open just in case. 

but nothing. you heard him trudge up the stairs, and walk directly the opposite direction into his own room. you were frustrated at this point. sexually frustrated if you must say, and the ache in your core was not leaving any time soon. 

you felt embarrassed, and you felt like joel was toying with you. all of the sudden this comes up and he's trying to finger fuck you in the living room when you genuinely thought he didn't even acknowledge your mere existence. it was so confusing for you, but the only thing you knew for sure now after a few weeks of deciding is that you craved joel miller.

it was a weird feeling. only because growing up in an apocalyptic world as a teenager and a young adult meant your chances of love and relationships were slim to none, at least for you. but you met joel in times where you had given up already.

as you lied in bed, wondering if joel was asleep or thinking about you too, you felt silly. you were setting yourself up for disaster by having hope that whatever this was with joel was more than that, and not just that. you worried you were getting ahead of yourself, maybe you were taking joel's advances too seriously. what if he just wants an easy fuck? nothing serious, something for pleasure in this dark world where everyone seeks a way to alleviate their pain

you felt like maybe you were geting into your head like you always do. maybe this could be good. maybe this could be your chance to let go, be vulnreable again, let someone make you feel like a teenager again. you had your fair share of crushes when you were in the QZ, you remembered that innocent feeling of liking someone, the shyness that came with it, how nervous you got around them. and with joel, you felt that times one hundred.

the flutters in your stomach, the goosebumps on your skin when he stands too close to you. he made you feel good even without trying.

but nothing good comes from joel miller.

[mutual-vigilance]

The Traveller and the Tyrant

This is my honest review and critique of the Witness's characterisation. I would ask you to "enjoy", but, considering its themes and the fact that it is over 3,700 words long, perhaps a better phrase would be: "you have been warned."

When I loaded into Excision last week, I was immediately struck by the opening cutscene’s resemblance to the final, climactic battle of The Lord of the Rings, where the steadfast commander of humanity gave a rousing speech to his allied troops before bravely charging forward into the shambling mass of deformed, mutated enemy foot-soldiers, all under the shadow of a monolithic tower, the abode of the ultimate villain of the story. This was nearly enough to make me tune out, and, alas, what followed was not much better.

I have myriad complaints about the Witness’s portrayal in Destiny, and this cinematic is as good a place as any to begin. I do not think the introduction to Excision was fitting for the end of the Light and Darkness saga. Throughout the series, we have fought off a number of escalating threats, beginning with opportunistic Eliksni scavengers, and ending with a being that can end the universe itself. I do not think that a horde of Scorn ought to be the best this being can come up with for its final stand. I would have preferred to see it bend reality, drag us into the arm-tunnel shown in the trailer, shatter an allied warship on the spot, do anything, anything other than tread the worn war-paths of Sauron and his hundreds of imitators in various works of fantasy. First, because this is science fantasy after all, and second, because many of those themes are deeply rooted in xenophobia, unfitting for our current day and age.

The visual designs of the Witness itself and its precursors draw heavily from the historical and present cultures of southwest Asia and north Africa. Their monumental structures of stone evoke the architecture of the region. Their tetrahedral ships remind one of the Egyptian pyramids, and their murals, of the intricate paintings in buried tombs. They are said to hail from the sandy desert. The precursor aliens covered their heads and sometimes entire bodies in cloth; the concept art clearly contains sketches based on humans who dress this way, in burqas; and even the Witness is clad in a long, black robe that hides its lower face, showing only its dark, single brow and dark eyes. I could go on, but I believe I have said enough to back up my next statement: It was not a wise decision to base this particular sci-fi faction on the peoples of the Levant.

The Witness’s army of Scorn is portrayed as a savage horde, in stark contrast to humanity and our allies. The Scorn don’t even have guns. They have crossbows and torches, yet they are a deadly threat to our shining ships. We are told that our enemy is magnitudes more powerful than us, but we are shown that its troops hail from the Bronze Age. Why is the Witness not allowed to demonstrate its technological or paracausal superiority? We are told that it is made of many people, but it is single-minded, ruthless, and its cruelty is unmatched. In fact, its constituent minds are not even slaves; they literally do not have individuality until they dissent, and any dissent is, of course, summarily suppressed. These characteristics – the savagery or “backwardness”, the collectivism and despotism – are common Orientalist stereotypes. And to top it all off, the Witness is driven purely by religious fanaticism. Its robed, veiled selves are ontologically evil and irredeemable, except in death, naturally. I note that Savathûn gets a pass, decked out as she and her throne world are in Gothic imagery and ball gowns, and roll my eyes. And in the game, our characters speak of the Witness as a poison, a disease. A corrupter of all that is good. A foreign snake in our Traveller’s garden. There is concept art of that. Appalling. 

I have always known that Destiny is a game made by and for Americans, or the West in general. I was even recently reminded of this by the way that Bungie hiked up the price of The Final Shape expansion for many non-USD currencies, but I still held hope for a satisfactory conclusion. I was too optimistic. It appears that even in this modern tale, the tired tropes that have plagued genre fiction since genre fiction existed are inescapable. I saw the Witness’s multi-armed form (reminding me immediately of Guanyin and perhaps others of Shiva) coming from a long way off, and I still laughed when I first finished Iconoclasm. It was like finding myself situated in that old drawing depicting the Christian nations of Europe as a group of humans, arming themselves against the distant, threatening silhouette of... the Buddha. An image published in 1895. Maybe a being with a thousand arms is threatening, who knows, but I’ve seen too many sticks of incense burnt before her altar to be afraid or awed. Buddhist villains are rare in fiction, and there was some potential in contrasting the Witness’s concept of the world as made of suffering with similar ideas in Buddhism, but the resemblance, in the end, was used for superficial, visual shock value. Sigh.

So then I went ahead anyway, defending the City upon the Hill (ringed with spears) against Satan, via feats of marksmanship and acrobatics through five exciting encounters, riffling through a diary that I picked up in the Monolith to try and learn more about my enemy. If I knew my enemy, and knew myself, then I could potentially complete Salvation’s Edge in a reasonable time-frame! Or not. The raid took my team and me a month and a half. Probably because the lore left me more confused about my enemy than I was at the start.

We are told that the Witness comprised a multitude when it first entered the Traveller, since people were still actively being cut out of it shortly thereafter. And then, by the end of Excision, the game implies that the multitude is gone, and only a single consciousness remains, which we kill with little fanfare (when we could’ve used a 2-minute cutscene. In my completely unbiased opinion). 

Where did the many go? Did they all become dissenters? How? Why?

It is possible that, like the lower-case gardener described in page 2 of the raid's lorebook, all of the constituent minds grew frustrated with being unable to achieve perfection even with the Traveller’s Light, abandoned their original goal of imposing the Final Shape upon the universe, and were sealed off into statues one by one until only the last remained. But this would imply that we, the player, had little to do with the Witness’s downfall, that it imploded from its own loss of faith. Hardly a triumphant victory for us to brag about when we go home, and it comes with the “bonus” moral that mortals should not aspire to godhood because such attempts are doomed to failure. This explanation is too dull for me to accept.

The alternative, then, is that we did do something to cause the constituent minds to defect en masse. But I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what. Remember, we killed the dissenters to weaken the Witness. Why would committing murder make other people dissent, people that are one hundred percent committed to the Witness’s goal? I imagine myself as a sailor on a warship in the heat of battle, or a member of a raid-race team that has been awake for 47 hours straight. I see the enemy ship fire at me. I see the 48-hour deadline drawing closer and closer. What could possibly make me turn against my own crew, sabotage my own team? Yes, it could be because my captain has been yelling at me and I am completely fed up with them and I would rather die than suffer them for another minute, but that is also either a preexisting weakness that we merely exploit, or a stress fracture within the Witness that is caused by destroying everything and everyone it throws in our way, not by convincing these constituent minds that our philosophy and goals are better than theirs. Yes, this is the genre of game where shooting and slashing solves all problems, but come on. It could’ve been different.

On page 4 of The Rubicon, the raid’s lorebook, we learn of a previous occasion upon which the Witness was nearly defeated. Its adversary offered it peace, but the Witness struck it down. The dissenter narrating this story was not shocked into individuality by the betrayal, but by the fact that the thing they created to be literally single-minded in its pursuit of the Final Shape... is single-minded in its pursuit of the Final Shape? And then, more pertinently, the dissenter dismisses any notion that the Witness could be changed, and begs us little lights to not hesitate when we are the ones holding the knife to its throat.

This dissenter, while earnest, is wrong. The death of the adversary did change the Witness. It dislodged one mind from the collective, did it not?

So imagine, if you will. 

We encounter the dissenters. We listen to their story. They beg us to destroy them to weaken the Witness. They desired to be exonerated in death, to be redeemed, to be saved by us and the paracausal entity behind us. 

And we refuse.

We are given a blade, but we strike the statues with the hilt instead, cracking the stone. We pull their living flesh – made of what, we do not know, but it is living – from the rubble and we spirit them away to the camps we’ve made. We sit them by the fire and we protect them from retribution and, though these nocturnal beings do not see very well in the Light, the Witness sees, and it knows. It may seethe at how we escape its clutches time after time, it may sneer that we are making everything harder for ourselves, that we forget the ultimate goal is survival, but, through our selflessness and our seemingly endless capacity to forgive, we stir up hope within the multitude that what awaits them could be better than death, than even finality. They begin to remember the ancient enemies that once offered them mercy, and they are confronted by a new enemy who, for the first time, uniting Light and Darkness, has the power to defend such a truce. Slowly, they realise that they do not want to be our enemy. They are cast off. We save every person we can. And in the end, together with all our allies, we confront those vicious minds that remain.

But page number 4 shut that down, and all I’m left with is my fireteam member’s gripe that wow, this is just like how the United States deals with uppity foreign countries. It doesn’t really attempt to show that it is better, but prefers to fund dissident groups within the enemy state until it collapses, and everyone there is worse off. Which is harsh, but I can understand my friend’s position, since I have related gripes of my own. You see, the campaign forced me to protect the Traveller, the very model of a foreign interventionist, and I cannot overstate how much I resent that.

I started to become interested in Destiny’s lore after seeing some amazing fanart. Through copious amounts of research, I came to the conclusion that the Traveller is a downright bastard. If you haven’t read Shattered Suns, Rhulk’s backstory, you should. But below is a summary of what Rhulk said about his society as he sat on the Witness’s therapy couch, looking directly into the camera:

“Long ago, my planet, Lubrae, was inhabited by clans of hunter-gatherers. One day, the Traveller came and provided us with resources that helped us survive the dangerous flora and fauna of the forest where we lived. (It may have also genetically modified his people, if his ‘we evolved’ phrasing is to be taken at face value.) People were of two minds about how to continue after that. Some wanted to take advantage of these resources and settle down in a well-protected City. Others preferred to stay in the forest, and live like how they did before. As a result, they fought, and they were still fighting by the time I was born. I grew up watching the better-fed, better-armed City people murder members of my forest-dwelling clan on sight.”

His clan, Rhulk explained, was egalitarian, and relied on one another for safety. The Traveller’s uplifting of his species changed all of that. Lubraeans were able to manufacture Glaives and other tools to better protect themselves against the wildlife. The newly-introduced technology shifted their very conception of safety from the clan to the Glaive, from their fellow Lubraeans to objects that could be gathered into one City, be cordoned off, monopolised, hoarded, controlled. In that City, they invented oligarchy, soldiering as a profession, and the death penalty. They started to march troops into the forest, trying to rid it of its original inhabitants.

I have read books and reports on modern hunter-gatherer societies, and all of them conclude that first contact, if unavoidable, should be made with extreme caution. To quote the 2013 IWGIA report on indigenous peoples in voluntary isolation and initial contact:

“[When we make initial contact,] what we are actually doing is forming the spearhead of a complex, cold and determined society that does not excuse adversaries with inferior technology. We are invading the lands they live on without being invited, without their agreement. We are introducing needs they have never had. We are destroying extremely rich social organisations. We are taking their peace and tranquillity away from them. We are launching them into a different, cruel and hard world. Often, we are leading them to their death.”

I do not like how the narrative of Destiny persistently exonerates the Traveller. At times, a character will rail vaguely against the “chaos” it causes, and the most frequent complaint we hear about it is that it left their species too soon. Rhulk was, to my knowledge, the only one to see the Traveller come to his world, distribute its technology among his people, dump a pile of societal problems into their laps as a result, saunter off without so much as a word, and subsequently come to the conclusion that Lubrae never needed the Traveller in the first place. And he was correct; it never did. I hope it is abundantly clear that if humans were to ever encounter an alien planet inhabited by hunter-gatherers who are themselves hunted by predators, our first course of action should not be to hand out shotguns left and right.

But what if we granted them different technology, such as high-yield crops? If human history is anything to go by, they would go on to invent chattel slavery. Agriculture increased the efficiency of food production, but humans, instead of distributing the labour evenly, have universally chosen to create an artificial underclass, and then force them to perform the majority of the labour. This was true in 2000 BC, and it remains true today. The fact of the matter is, societal issues can be much, much more difficult to solve than technological ones. The Traveller tripled human lifespan? So what? Humanity has already doubled it on our own, but we’re still struggling with concepts like “women deserve rights.”

Some might say that it does not matter, because those aliens would have invented all these things sooner or later, both the good and the bad; that the Traveller merely eased their transition into a prosperous future. To which I would respond: it does matter. They must be allowed to choose their fate. At the very least, they deserve an answer for why their prayers for safety and sustenance were answered in this ham-fisted manner. We are told that the Traveller wants to grant us freedom, but all it does is run roughshod over peoples’ right to self-determination. Look at what it did to the Witness’s homeworld. It terraformed an environment that sapient beings were already living in. Were the precursors not already adapted to the dry environment, physically and culturally? What is the purpose of making a forest sprout from the sand? Is it for the benefit of the nomads of the desert, or is it to reinforce the audience’s preconception of how utopia should look? Why does the game’s narrative re-iterate that the precursors ceaselessly sought answers from the Traveller, framing them as greedy, entitled, and unsatisfied with the “blessings” bestowed upon them? If I were a precursor, I would have questions too: what was wrong with the way I lived before? Why do you get to decide how I ought to live? Is walking away even an option at this point? Paradise is a prison when you cannot leave. Lubrae’s Wanderers tried, but they could not escape the new material conditions that the Light had imposed upon them.

Humans have had our share of prophets, many associated with millennia of internecine warfare. Now imagine if God, literal God, showed up in the desert one day, and stuck around until we achieved interstellar flight. The Traveller destroyed the precursors. We’re the unfortunate ones who have to deal with the consequences of its actions, if not its words. Destiny’s narrative insists that because the Traveller was silent, it is not responsible for what befell the precursors. That is untrue. Silent or not, the damage was done. The Traveller touched world after world, sending their peoples into crisis after crisis, and all the lore says on the subject is how much the Traveller cares about all of them. Truly. It can care all it likes, as long as it stops wielding the weapon of mass destruction strapped to its belly. Come here. Hand over the beam.

My opinion may sound extraordinary, but I assure you it is not. The following are some translated user comments, taken from the most-viewed version of the Witness origin cutscene from the Season of the Deep uploaded on Bilibili (video ID BV1Jm4y1t7cn):

“I feel that Traveller was messing around with the entire universe. In order to stop it, the Witness's people discovered the Veil and the Darkness, and tried to stop the Traveller from flooding everyone with its ‘kindness’. This caused the Traveller to embark on a foolish journey, drawing even more species into a cosmic war, just so it can continue to spread its so-called grace.”

“In summary: the Traveller tosses technology everywhere to all species, and then every species wants to expand their territory. It’s just setting fires everywhere.”

“I think the narrative may end up depicting the Traveller as a neutral power, or even close to a villain. After all, its existence has disrupted the fates of many species in the universe. No matter its original intentions, its unilateral interference is not a good thing. I don’t know how the plot will resolve; whether Light and Darkness will no longer continue to interfere in the universe, or whether the Darkness (Veil) will show its true face after the Witness is defeated…”

I am not cherry-picking. These are all highly-rated comments. You can go see for yourself. It’s fascinating that reactions like these are almost completely absent from the Anglophone fandom. I only reached my own opinion on the Traveller after extensive research, yet these fans on Bilibili took one look at that cutscene, and instinctively decided that our war is the Traveller’s fault. A vast Pacific lies between the writers of Destiny, and the messaging these players saw in its story. The game insists that the Traveller is innocent, that it always had good intentions; these fans say that intentions don’t matter when its actions have been the ruin of so many. Self-determination is more precious than any paradise a foreign saviour can grant.

On page 5 of The Rubicon, we see that the precursors learned well from their god. They began to journey among the stars, and render aid unto the other species they encountered. They did one better than the Traveller, in fact, as it appears that they actually bothered to ask those species beforehand why they may or may not desire aid, rather than park their ships in their skies and skip straight to the terraforming. Unfortunately, after too many refusals, the precursors decided to go to an even further extreme than their god. They would interfere in the life of every being in existence, all at once, forcing them to exist in an eternal, perfect moment. And unlike the Traveller, they would tell everyone exactly what was coming. The Final Shape.

Early on in the eponymous expansion, we discovered that the afterlife exists. Cayde-6 was perfectly aware and conscious after his death, suspended in a bright and comforting forever alongside his Ghost, Sundance. He enjoyed the experience, and disliked being resurrected yet again. This raises an incredible number of questions, but the thing that stood out to me the most was how familiar it sounded. How much it resembled what the Witness promised. For Zavala to be reunited with Hakim. For Crow to be reunited with Amanda. For Ikora to find peace in victory. And for us to…

I do not think the Witness was lying when it offered all of those things. It was not lying when it gave each of its disciples a different vision of its ultimate goal. Whether it was capable of carrying through is one thing, but whether it was honest is another, and I believe it was honest. Its Final Shape is a natural extension of what Guardians receive in death. Whereas Guardians are granted a peaceful eternity with their Ghost, the Witness would try to simultaneously grant every sapient creature an end in kind, tailored to their individual desires. That is not to say, I agree with its end. The Witness was a tyrant as much as the Traveller is a bastard, especially since it threatened to punish people for eternity, too, out of nothing but the pettiness in its bitter heart. Yes, I concur, I am a pawn of the light, but I will not suffer to be your pawn, either.

What I wanted to say after that, rebuking its offer to make me into a disciple, is: “I will join you, if you let me save you.”

[syluscrows]

Sylus x gothic reader

Contents: Traditional goth / Romantic goth / vampire goth centred ideas, female reader perspective.

➹ This man absolutely loves your style. Your unique makeup, an expression of your creativity, alongside the beautiful rings, earrings, necklaces. This man is instantly obsessed.

➹ Of course he buys you multiple gifts a week, mainly outfits he wants to see you in, as well as homeware, trinkets.. everything you can imagine. Especially lingerie.

➹ The pretty dainty chokers make him so weak.

➹ omg he loves your piercings! He will absently fiddle with your face piercings (and if you have your 🍒 pierced you'll see that man become a beast..)

➹ what you want a tattoo? Appointment booked, be ready in the morning! He absolutely loves looking at your body, talking about how you're adding even more artwork to what is already to him a piece of art.

➹ you may even be able to convince him to get one. How this mans face stayed so stoic even while getting tattooed, we will never know...

➹ Forget about his clothes, everything he buys from now on is somewhat matching, whether it's the pattern, the material, the colour, when you're out on fancy dates he is coordinating his outfits accordingly with yours.

➹ You sometimes sneakily take photos with mephisto, but you obviously aren't allowed to post them. (sighhh..)

➹ He helps you tighten your corsets.. puts your stockings on for you... RAHHHHHHH!!!!!!

➹ Of course he buys you jewellery that has gemstones the same colour as his eyes. This man is so far up his own arse, how couldn't he?

➹ Good luck trying to put on your makeup without him keeping a very close eye on you. He finds it so satisfying to watch.

➹ You're thinking of getting your hair dyed? Or a different style? Or you want extensions? He will make sure you go to the best hairdressers to suit your needs.

➹ I feel like he wouldn't mind gothic/metal/rock/alt music, although it's not quite his thing, he will happily listen with you.

➹ MAYBE he will let you do his makeup one day.. MAYBE...

➹ I feel like false eyelashes would absolutely strain this man's heart. He just thinks they look so pretty..

➹ Also you better be ready for the closet he builds you. A gothic vanity, a massive space for your shoes, custom shelves to fit your platforms and heels, as well as beautiful accents... Eek my heart

➹ Or maybe you want to dye your hair.. at home? He will help you, but he won't be happy about it. He feels like a bad pookie for not being able to spoil you when you buy a cheap box of dye.

➹ You hardly get much choice when you're getting your nails done. Choose the colour, the add-ons, but the shape is his choice, he's addicted to long coffin nails, they leave the best marks on his back after all.

➹ Custom motorcycle helmets too....

[fandomtherapy44]

Sober Buddies Ch.1 Help lines and cults

Summary: Y/n is new at college and trying to find a footing in everything. When she meets a guy who introduces her to something that could really help find her path.

warnings : Swearing

WC/ 2.3k

AN/ Hey Ya'll welcome to my serious I'm so excited to make this series. So it will use some plot lines from season six but a lot will change including CJ but his key character notes will still be there. Without further ado enjoy Sober buddies.

I got the divider from

Firefly Graphics

College, was an escape from my life at home, something I had always wanted. And in Boston: my dream since I was a freshman in high school. At Worthington, I had worked so hard to get here, and I finally did. It's about two weeks away from the start of school and today I get to check out my dorm that I’m sharing with two other girls- which should be fun, hopefully. I walked into the room where three beds were barely fitting together. I put my things on the middle bed when the door bursts open. “Uh, who the hell are you?” I turn and a pretty blond girl is standing there. 

“Um, I'm Y/N, your roommate, nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand and she looks down at it like it was covered in shit. “Okay, I'm just going to assume that you're a germaphobe.” 

“Don't mind her, she's Audrey, and I'm Joey.” This girl, a brunette, actually shakes my hand. “Y/N, I'm so happy this worked out!” Audrey looks confused. “Well, she needed a place and thought, why not us?” Joey explained to Audrey, who looked like you had killed her dog in front of her.

“I promise I won't be annoying. I will even let you have the first shower of the morning Audrey.” I tried to appeal to her queen bee side.

“Fine you can stay, but don’t touch my clothes, okay?”

I raise my right hand in the air as if swearing an oath. “I promise and cross my heart and all that.” Hopefully these girls and I can become friends and Audrey won't kill me in my sleep for accidentally grabbing her dress.

It had been a couple of weeks- and it was now one week before school started. Audrey and I hadn't really been besties, but Joey and I had a pretty great rapport going on. I was looking at my classes and trying to get a handle on what I should be studying, when Audrey came bursting in. “Omg oh my gosh, do you know where Joey is?” 

I looked around. Clearly not, I thought. “I don't know Audrey, I think studying at the library, maybe.” Audrey sits down on her bed with a huff.

“Why is she studying? School doesn't even start for another week,” Audrey sighs. I knew that Joey’s English class was stressing her out. 

“Um, probably for her English class, I heard it's super hard.” 

“Right, little Miss Perfect does the super hard class and will probably get all A’s.” I could tell by the tone of her voice that this was mostly a projection of whatever had happened that she needed to talk to Joey about. 

“You know, Audrey, you could always talk to me. I can guarantee you that I've faced a similar problem.” She gives me a dirty side eye but gives in.

“I guess since you're the only one here.” 

“Great, I love being the last choice.” I set down my books and sit down on the ground criss-cross applesauce style. She rolls her eyes at me. 

“Shush my problems, remember.” 

“Yes, I do,” I reply.

“Well, I was at the bar with my boyfriend. His name is Pacey.” I nod my head trying to keep up. “And we were playing pool when this gothic hot chick came walking up- and this is the woman that he wants to live with!” Audrey threw her arms up in a dramatic flare.

“I'm confused, Audrey. Number one: what do you mean by living with her and two: why would that be a problem?” She looks shocked by my answer. 

“What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’? She's hot, he wants to move, and she has space in her apartment.”

“Okay, but I'm still confused as to why it would be bad to move to a better place.” At my response, I notice Audrey is becoming more impatient.

“Because Duh! Y/N, she's hot!”

It seems like this girl has a whole lot of issues- but I'm not one to talk on that. “Look, Audrey, do you trust Pacey?” She doesn't even hesitate. 

“Yes but-” 

“There's your answer.” 

“But-” 

“But, you trust your boyfriend, and that’s what matters, even if the girl is a supermodel. If he's as good as you make him sound, then he won't even look in her direction.” Audrey takes that in. 

“I guess you're right, you know, you're not half bad L/N.” She gives me a little respectful nod. 

“Same to you, Lindell.” 

School was happening tomorrow, and I had thankfully gotten all things done. Now, I had more time to get to know Jen and her grandma, who were really sweet so far. They are sitting at a table and I go to them. “Hey Jen, Evelyn.” I greeted as I sat. 

“Oh please sweetheart, call me Grams, everyone does.” She smiles at me warmly.

“Okay great! If it's okay with you, what are we talking about?” Jen has no problem catching me up.

“Well, Y/N, Grams here has only picked up a math book because of a certain someone who teaches it.” 

“Aww, I think that's cute.” Jen did not agree with me. 

“l think it's a slippery slope. l mean, one minute you're taking an interest, and the next...you're sublimating your own thoughts and desires, and for what? For a chance to participate in the great patriarchal heterosexist fraud…”

“...that is better known as monogamy?” I answer in her pause. She gives me a quick look.

“ls that how you wanna spend your golden years? Folding some man's laundry and pretending to share an interest? l mean, haven't we come further as a sex--?” She stops and looks behind me. And she stares for a second. 

“Hi. I'm sorry, are we bothering you?” Jen asked the stranger behind me. I got curious enough and turned to see one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. “Because if it's not too much trouble, you could get your own conversation.”

“No. Sorry.” He apologized but I had a feeling he wasn't done yet. “I've been sitting there trying to figure out where l met you before… and suddenly I realized I've never met you before.” I chuckle at that. 

“Great. Well, I'm really glad that we got that figured out,” Jen states, blandly.

“I've heard you on the radio.” I knew he wasn't done.

“Jen, you were on the radio? I never knew!” I exclaimed while hitting her arm in excitement. 

“Ow! And you didn't know because it's not important. And you.” She turned back to the guy. “Okay, you got me. I'm busted. l was on the radio. But I'm not anymore, so thank you very much for listening, and bye-bye.” She tried to end the conversation. 

“So, did you get fired, or what?” The man continued.

“What is this, an interview?” Jen looks annoyed.

“I'm just curious.” 

“Well, let's just say that l had some artistic differences with the new management.” Well, that sucks she had to give that up because of a dick in a suit, I thought. “Fine. Then we'll just say that,” Jen concludes.

“Fine.” The man replies. Then Grams comes in for the clutch. 

“Excuse me, young man. Would you care to join us?”

Grams had gone, I assume, to talk to the particular professor teaching math. While the guy had joined us. 

“I'm CJ.” 

“Y/N, and this radio host is Jen.” She rolls her eyes and I nudge her. 

“It's nice to meet you two.” 

“You too, CJ.” We had gotten on the subject of where we were living, and Jen mentioned that she is currently living with her grandma.

“No, l think it's nice.” 

“Yeah, that's what everybody says. ‘Oh, you live with your grandma. That's so sweet,’. How do they know l don't beat her and leave her tied to the radiator all winter?” 

“Ah, so that's the screaming I hear when I come over.” I added in. CJ laughed at my joke.

“ls this a cry for help?” CJ asked Jen. 

“Do l look like l need help?” 

“No. Actually, you look like someone who'd probably be good at giving it.” Jen hears that and immediately gets up and begins leaving, practically running for the hills.

“This has happened to me before. This religion thing is not really–” She is already halfway down the stairs. 

“Ha, just one Second CJ,” I say. He gives me a friendly smile. 

“Sure.” I went after her.

“Jen, wait- we should hear him out.” 

“Y/N, he was totally giving weird vibes. Are you coming?” I looked back and I felt something. 

“I think I'll stay.” 

“Well, call me if you need help out of the cult and remember nine for Joey’s surprise.” 

“Gotcha.” With that, she leaves. I turn back to CJ trying to think of some good reason.

“Hey, uh, so she had to leave for a class.” We sat back down. 

“No she didn't, class doesn't start till tomorrow.” I give a small smile. 

“You're right, sorry.” 

“It's okay I know everyone isn't for the whole ‘helping thing,’ but you're still here.” I looked around and he was right, I was, which was weird for me too. 

“I guess I am- uh, you said something about helping people?” I question. 

“Right- um… no matter how I say this I'm going to sound like a dork. Have you ever heard of The Stand?” He looks at me like he expects me to run away. 

“No, no, I never have. I just moved here from Cali so I don't know a lot of stuff here. What's The Stand?” CJ gets this look of confidence. 

“It’s a peer counseling program.” I think about it. 

“So I help people.” 

“Yes yes exactly! There's an information session tonight at seven.” He hands me a pamphlet on it. 

“I'll be there and maybe I can convince Jen that this is not a cult,” He says, with a small chuckle.

“That would be great! I can't wait to see you there.” He pats my shoulder in a friendly way and he leaves. I felt a sensation of butterflies rising up from my stomach, but I quickly grabbed a fly swatter and squished them. 

I had walked over to Jen’s house. “Hey, was escaping the cult hard?” I sat down on the couch laughing at her joke. 

“Very funny Jen, actually he was talking about the stand. Have you heard about that?” She gives me a comical look. 

“Yes, it's a call line where people call to complain about who's dating who and if the professor is going to give them an A or not.”

“I thought it was a little more serious than that,” I replied. “Well, whatever it is, I'm going to go to the information session tonight. You should come; if CJ was right about anything, it is that you would be good with helping people.” She sighs and glances down.

“Ok fine I'll go. We can pick up Joey’s gift after. And are you sure that you're not doing this just because CJ is ungodly hot?”

“No, I mean it helps, but he's not the reason I'm going to go.” I wish there was something like this when I was going through… no, I'm not going to think about that. I'm here to move on from that.

Jen and I went into the building and it was covered in inspiring posters and quotes. “On the nose much?” Jen commented, scanning the room. 

“I like it, let's get a good seat.” Which wouldn't be hard. There were tons of spots; I guess the word didn't get out. The speaker started and I was trying hard to listen, but Jen- not so much.

“So as l was saying, most of what we do around here. is simply information and referrals. And 99 times out of 100 just reminding someone to take a deep breath and to keep on breathing is enough. Tomorrow will be another day. For you too. Which brings me to our number one rule around here: Never be afraid to ask for a hug at the end of a tough day.” At that Jen left. I leave my bag.

“Jen, wait, wait!”

“I'm sorry Y/N, I can't do that. If you want to stay, great, but I can't. I'll see you later.” She turns to leave. 

“Jen!” I sadly go back to my space on the couch. I go to look at my notes when the space next to me gets seated. 

“You came.” I swung my head and CJ was right there. 

“Yeah, I did.”

“So, there's the coffee maker, and here's the mini fridge that definitely is working.” CJ tells me as he shakes his head, indicating sarcasm.

“Ha, and I definitely won't smell any weird smells from here.” 

“Yes definitely.” We both laughed and I looked at the window and it had gotten dark. 

“Wow, time really does fly.” 

“So, what made you want to stay?” He looks at me with those piercing green eyes.

“Because I know a place like this would have been amazing for me when I was younger, so If I can help someone avoid those feelings that I went through, then I'm for it a hundred percent.” CJ heard me and truly felt I meant it. 

“That's the same reason I did it.” 

“Really? That's so cool!” I exclaimed happily. “So, what do you do for fun? I haven't been here for long, so if you know of any places...” He thinks about it. 

“Yeah I mean the typical places like bars, clubs, parties.” 

“Would you want to go to one together?” I asked abruptly which I never did, especially with people I just met.

“I totally would, but it wouldn't be much fun.” 

“Why?” I asked. He hesitates for a second, pondering something.

“…I don't drink.” 

“Oh my gosh, that's amazing!” I heard what I just said and felt embarrassed. “I'm sorry, that sounded super weird, but I don't drink either.” 

“Wow, it's hard to find a college girl not drinking.” CJ searches my eyes.

“True, but it's what's best for me and I'm sure for you. What about this: we’ll be each other's sober buddies.” 

“Sober buddies?”

“Yeah, when we are at the same parties, we’ll make sure the other won't even look at drinks.” He thinks about it for a second and I look at the clock. “Shit I'm going to be late and then Audrey is going to kill me.” I grab my stuff and run to the door but before I leave I turn back. “CJ sober buddies?” He gives me a smirk and nods. 

“Sober buddies.” 

I will get chapter two out as soon as possible thank you for reading!

[bellatrixnightshade]

What is your favorite Edgar Allan Poe story?

And if you’ve read any of the ones with murderous doubles or twins in them, what do you make of them in relation to the prequels?

Hmm that is a difficult one, but I'd say it's a tie with "The Masque of Red Death," "The Cask of Amontillado," or "Morella."

With the double ("William Wilson") I suppose it could reflect the twins and themes of insanity, or being each other's half, in a vague way? I think Poe's poetry fits SGE's universe better as a whole though, rather than many of his short stories, because I think Poe's stories touch a lot more on vice, evil, and just plain grotesque situations without a moralistic, dualistic part to them. Maybe they could serve well as Never stories, but I don't know. Maybe if Soman did SGE more Gothic, hehe.

I do think maybe Aric's father could potentially be a spin on "The Raven," where Lenore is Leonora and she left him, so he became insane, tortured by the Raven. Maybe even ghost Rafal had something to do with it, as this man may have been associated with Rhian or someone else Rafal doesn't trust.

Also, a lot of Poe's recurring plots involve the death of beautiful women, and that could include Sophie, Evelyn (permanently), and Callis, with the sadness, emptiness, or chaos it leaves behind. Never after vaguely reminds me of "Never more."

Maybe "The Masque of Red Death" fits Rafal trying to beat the prophecy of one brother dying for himself, when ultimately Death got to him in the end. Also, the colors of Rhian being blue reminds me of the symbolism in the story.

I would like to say Montresor is like Rafal, but I think Rafal would be dead if he even tried to stand a chance against Montresor. Rafal has a sadistic, twisted sense of fairness, but Montresor is just plain vengeful, and I think Rafal would resort to a more physical death than luring someone to it by pretending to be nice. Rafal would be nice to use people, but not kill them, per se. I don't think Rafal would kill black cats, like another short story, or his wife in the act of trying to do so, if he had one. BUT main series Rafal/ Rhian killed Sophie while trying to kill Agatha, who reminds me of a black cat. Also, the man was initially nice but he took to drinking and fell into vice, which reminds me of Rhian's downfall.

So I think Poe fits main series more, which had more instances of borderline dark dark darkness than prequels per se? I don't know. It just hits differently.

I think Agatha would love reading this stuff, too.

Thanks for the ask!

[whole-circus]

hi dear ! could you maybe do liu, jane and toby with a reader that collects haunted dolls ? my special interest is spirits and haunted materials so i am super interested in haunted dolls, i’d love to see some cute headcanons with a reader like that ♥︎ maybe add in some gothic lolita fashion too ? thank you ! gn reader would be fine .

Homicidal Liu, Jane the Killer and Ticci Toby with gothic lolita reader that collects haunted dolls!

➥ Hi hun!! Its such a cool idea!! I kinda mixed it up together so hope its still fine!! Take care!!!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚　　 .　　. 　　　✦　　　　˚

Homicidal Liu

Liu is pretty open-minded person, like he is just glad you got somethig you are interested in!! Haunted dolls? Oh okay, he didnt expected that..isnt it a bit creepy? But even if he has no idea what is going on then he would love to hear you talk to him about your special interest!! Like come on!! He wants to hear everything, do they have names? Can you talk with them? ..Why are they haunted in the first place..? Introduce them to him!! Your eyes lit up in pretty way so he wants you to keep talking (plus he is obv interested!!). Liu isnt really scared, just a bit distant at first. Give him some time, and he will even take care of them if you couldnt be with them!

About your fashion sense, you are absolutely mesmerezing to him! Boy could stare at you for hours but that would propably be too creepy. Even if his fashion sense is pretty basic, Liu would totally let you dress him up!! He won't match your fashion sense at daily basis, but enjoys you making him look all pretty and he just loves spending more time with you! That way he can actually feel why you like to wear what you wear! Absolutely adores how well aesthetically you match to your interests.

Jane the Killer

Oh i feel like she would actually be into all this creepy, unsettling stuff! Horror movies, urban legends and of course haunted dolls! You are perfect match tbh. Jane is obviously curious about your collection, its impressive and she just love hearing you talking!! Like she would literally look at you with this sweet and caring gaze, maybe even holding you on her lap and caress your hair as you just spare informations with her! Treats your dolls with respect, and likes to keep them clean and safe (but if you dont feel comfy with letting other people touching you collections then she is more than fine too!), she is anything but scared!

I just love, love the idea of Jane being goth. Maybe a victorian one or romantic? Please it fits her soooo well! Yeah but thats just me saying silly things. So with your gothic lolita fashion, you match pretty well! You both will look amazing and you are this great looking couple whenewer you show up anywhere 😭 Would also like to try your style just for fun and do the same for you!!

Ticci Toby

Toby is scared and interested all at once!! Loves hearing you talking but would be scared to sleep at night.. better not leave him alone with them. He propably starts to remember all horror movies about haunted dolls and is scared for his life that they would kill him.. Just reassure him that its nothing like that and as the time pass by he will have more friendy attitude. But even tho he is scared, then he doesnt mind your passion at all! Whatever makes his partner happy!

You are like this overdressed partner x causal bf duo!! You dress so cool and there is Toby with his old and pilled sweater. I think that he would be even intimidate by your look at first, he would be shy too even look at you. Also, he would be happy to try some of your clothes (just like evryone here..) but he definitely prefer his cozy sweaters. Toby really likes to watch you getting ready when you are going somewhere, hair, make up or just choosing outfit..he cant look away! He isnt also the type of bf to get mad for waiting at you long time, so take as much time as you need!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚　　 .　　. 　　　✦　　　　˚

[arc-misadventures]

The VTuber: Cookie With A Gun

Errant: Hello everyone! Everyone having a good day today?

~~~ Stream Chat~~~

EverbornChild: Hi, Errant!

VIXENFOX389: Hello, darling~!

Kajin@1797: So far so good.

Triffle: Been better.

Kantrop67: It’s okay.

~~~~~~

Errant: A resounding, ‘Okay’ then. Alright then. Now as you’ve no doubt seen in the title of this stream, we will be playing, ‘Wizard with a Gun,’ made by, Galvanic Games. Now I streamed the demo version of this game a while back, and I have been patiently waiting for it to come out since. And, now that it’s finally out, we’re gonna stream it! However, I’m not going to be playing this alone…

~~~ Stream Chat~~~

TumbleDownTheBay: Wait! Is this what I think it is?!

GriffinTalon: A rare collab stream?!

CandiceX: Pleasepleaseplease!

14ever: Please be the hot blonde chick!

CaroporealBannana: No, the sexy catgirl!

BlondeInferno: No the saucy brunette!

~~~~~~

Jaune’s, VTuber model looked at the chat stream with a soft laugh as he shook his head towards their crazy antics.

Errant: I know two blonde chicks, two cat girls, and several brunettes, so you’ll have to specify who precisely it is you’re talking about. Although… ‘Saucy brunette?’ I know at least two people who would best fit that description. But, this person is none of them, she’s more of a gremlin really, one of two gremlins of the Remnant VTuber verse! I’ve done enough teasing, and who am I to leave a lady in waiting…

~~~ Stream Chat ~~~

GaspingDesire: You can leave me waiting as long as you want handsome~!

VixenVolpen: I can wait dear~!

Tender$$: I’m waiting like a steak ready to be eaten!

~~~

Errant: Alright, settle down chat… Ahem! Now, may I present to you everyone’s loveable little gremlin: CookieMonster!

From the right side of the screen soon emerged a girl, who was best described as a brunette with red tips, dressed as a gothic lolita. A girl with a warm, and carrying personality, whose sweet demeanour appeared nonexistent when given a gun. For the, CookieMonster as she referred to herself as was one of the kindest, VTuber’s around, she was also an infamous, and highly skilled FPS player, wining several rewards for her skills, and earning the nickname of: Red Reaper. But, to her fans she was an adorable ball of sunshine, CookieMonster.

Errant: Hello, Cookie! You excited for today?

Cookie: I am super excited! I’ve been so looking forward to this game, and I am super happy you asked me to join you in playing it!

Cookie’s joy, and excitement was palpable as she spoke in her happy-go-luck aura she excluded over herself. Errant found himself smiling at her words, but it fell as he adopted an inquisitive look across his face.

Errant: Uhh…? D-Didn’t you ask me if I wanted to do a collab, and stream this together?

Cookie couldn’t help but look away nervously at being caught before she nervously replied back.

Cookie: I’m super happy you said yes to doing a collab stream with me!

Errant: Alright. So you ready to play, Cookie?

Cookie: Almost, just gotta say to my chat, and we can begin. Is that alright?

Errant: By all means, go ahead.

Cookie: Thank you~!

Cookie swiftly muted herself so, Errant couldn’t hear him as she looked down at her chat feed. Her face was all smiles before the smile fell, and she screamed in terror at her chat.

Cookie: FUUUUUCK! I screwed it up already guys!

~~~Stream Chat~~~

DrukenBailer: Did you?

FallenStar789: It was a slip of the tongue

Haloboy: Youre fine you got this!

Birdinthesky: Can’t wait to see her flirt if this is the best shes got

Candlebrewer0174: Youve got this!

Kittycat1976: You got this!

DavidStermtiger: I believe in you!

~~~~~~

Cookie: You’re right! It’s only just started I can do this! You guys are with me, there’s nothing we can’t do! Such as flirting with my very hot, cool VTuber crush…

Her voice slowly trailed off into a whisper as she grew too embarrassed to continue speaking. Her chat kept showering her in reassuring compliments, and comments on how cute she was. Cookie was soon taken away from her calm stupor as she heard the sound of clicking, and clanking: The sound of a rifles bolt loading a new bullet into the firing chamber. A sound that may have startled many, but it was all to common for, Cookie’s stream since it was her donation sound after all.

Cookie: Hey, SamathaDesires thanks for the ten li…?!

~~~Donation~~~

SamanthaDesires: Get your hands off of my man you skank!

~~~~~~

Cookie’s mouth fell in shock, her, VTuber model clearly showing to everyone the shear shock she felt, and dispear at the rude comment she had just received.

Cookie: …

Cookie: WHY ARE YOU GUYS SO MEAN?!!

~~~~~~

Although he couldn’t hear her, Errant could clearly see, Cookie’s model and the way her body spazzed about. Her facial expressions swapping on the dime to convey a wide range of emotions; from despair, to fear, to hope, to an oddly calm sense of serenity, then to absolute fury.

Errant: …

Errant: She does know I can see her freaking out right?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

TumbleDownTheBay: Not likely

VixenVolpen: Doesn’t look like she does.

Vilvian: What is she freaking out about?

~~~~~~

Errant: Beats me chat. Unless… Are you guys bullying her? Chat be honest; I won’t be mad. Just… disappointed…

~~~Stream Chat~~~

14ever: That’s dad for mad!

Dinonuggies: Sounds like you will be mad

8teenlover: Anyone else think that was hot?

GrendalWizard: Damn hot

~~~~~~

Errant: Great, I can’t tell you lot to behave because some of you will get off to it… peachy. Haa… Is, Cookie ready, or…?

Errant looked back to, Cookie’s stream before doing a double take to look at her in utter bewilderment. HerVTuber model was standing and quickly looking at a writing board, and jotting something down before returning to address her chat.

Errant: When the hell did she pull out that writing board?! And, the devil is she writing; that chicken scratch is so illegible that its like using sign language to speak to a blind man.

~~~ Stream Chat~~~

GriffonTalon: 🤣🤣🤣

VixenVolpen: Oh that’s mean

Falling4Angels: now that’s funny

Allerix: low blow man

~~~~~~

Errant: Alright lets try, and get this…? I-Is she barking at them?

Errant looked to, Cookie to see her shouting at her chat, since he couldn’t hear what she was saying she looked like an angry dog barking at someone walking by her house.

Errant: Okay, lets put a stop to… whatever the hell this is.

Errant quickly reopened the chat so he could hear whatever it was, Cookie was yelling about.

Ccokie: And, that’s why I deserve to be his loving waifu, you…?!

Errant: Cookie?

Cookie: AHHHH?!!

(THUD!)

Errant: …?!

Cookie: Owwww…

Errant’s little interjection to grab, Cookie’s attention, resulted in her screaming her head off, and falling into a heap on the floor, out of camera. The only sound emanating from her now the was pained growing as she laid upon the ground.

Errant looked towards his chat before uttering a single word that would become to define the events of todays stream.

Errant: Whoops…