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netherfeildren · 17 hours ago

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Busy, Dying. Part 2;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, They're behaving badly and doing things they shouldn't be doing idk, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Scenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/sub Undertones, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, He’s a loser your honor!!!

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Part 2;

It is your own conspiracy that if you say the words three times in the mirror—I am so alone I am so alone I am so alone—the feeling will go away. Banished ghost.

You commit yourself to this practice religiously for three weeks before you feel you must absolutely return to the meetings held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church or you might just die.

The first Friday back, you watch him. He blunders around the crowd, struggling to find a seat when he rushes in late that evening, trying to sit as far away from you as possible and, to his great misfortune, ending up right behind you. Squashed between two old ladies, his big body comically trying to fold itself into the tight rows. You laugh at him the whole way through the meeting.

He’s like a raging bull after that. Scowly and unapproachable as the omegas in the group inevitably make their meager attempts to talk to him. It makes it all the more irreconcilable, a man like that here in a place like this—all the while with a wife at home.

You wonder about her.

“That one has a bad temper,” Maria warns as the two of you watch him. They seem to know each other in some way outside of this church, and it takes everything in you not to beg for details. “Big and hairy like a bad, lonely dog.”

You say, “I think he’s shy.”

She watches you very peculiarly after that, and tells you, “You’re lost, girl. Joel Miller isn’t what you need finding you.”

But you know this, you assure her, and you continue to avoid him.

The following Friday, he’s the one playing the disappearing act. The next week, as well—no show. You start to dread even your own shadow, wondering where he is, wondering if he’s ever coming back, if he has children and how old he is. Wondering if he wonders about you. Wondering why you’re so obsessed.

Too full of curiosity for your own good, you hover when he finally appears once again. Circling him and Maria, desperate for any sort of information.

His wife had been sick, he says. He’d had to take her to the doctor.

You wonder if her sickness might be his baby—sick to your stomach at the thought of it yourself.

Finally, the week after, the two of you break your fast from one another.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says, coming up from behind, ambushing you once again at the dessert and coffee trough. This is supposed to be a safe space, yet it feels anything but with him near.

“No I haven’t.”

“You’re not supposed to tell lies in church. It’s a sin.”

“I don’t believe in sin.” You turn to face him, and your stomach hurts.

He’s got on a dark green fisherman’s sweater—well worn but knit sturdy. A thing that looks as if it’s been his for years.

You’re feeling thin-skinned and unable to face him today, and for no good reason. You don't know this man. You have no right to punish him with your silence, no right to be angry, to wonder about him. But that sternness from before, the one that looked too heavy for him to carry, has been wiped away from his face now, and in its place he only looks very earnest, like he really wants to talk to you. And it’s only that, well you don’t know him, yes, but you’d felt that you needed to, or that you would. That you were meant to find him in this place, and you’re angry at yourself and at him at how wrong you’d been, still even after all these weeks of radio silence while he’d been busy caring for his sick wife.

“Me either,” he gives a small huff of laughter, shoving his fists into the pockets of his dark jeans.

Setting the donut in your hand back on the table—rude and gross, but it’s an afterthought—you wipe your sweet sweaty palm against your hip, appetite all gone now. The basement is suddenly unbearably hot, your heart beating in your throat.

“Anywho, I gotta run. Somewhere to be—” you mumble, brushing past him. There’s a sudden rush of itching heat burning its way up your chest, your throat, ants crawling over your scalp. The room is stifling, your limbs leaden and too many bodies; so many disgusting, clashing scents: pheromones, and desperation and such terrible loneliness, and him at the center of it, ambrosial.

You’ll have to recite your mantra more faithfully in the mirror every night, not a single miss. Remind yourself, I am so alone, so that the feeling might go away, and you’ll forget him and the way he smells and his eyes like amber green river stones, more quickly.

“Whoah, hold on,” he calls after you, following to the exit and up the steps to the world outside of this church. You’d brought a coat today, unable to enjoy the cold the way you usually do, uncharacteristically chill, aching limbs, miserable in the biting morning air. He calls your name, and you clutch the wool against your chest, trying to hurry away from his much longer legs and pace as he catches up.

Suddenly, though, you change your mind. Whirling around to look up, you stop your running, and he’s right there, so close. “I haven’t been ignoring you. You were gone.” Mind changing again, your gaze falls, unable to hold his eyes. You watch his left hand flex like he wants to do something with it.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

A scoff. “What are you apologizing to me for?”

“You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” He says it quietly by way of explanation, like another apology.

“You must not have met very many interesting people.”

It feels hot and cold at the same time out here. Your stomach still hurts. Your eyes ache as if you could cry, which is ridiculous because you have absolutely no reason to cry.

“Maybe not,” he says very low. It seems he’s drifting closer, like you’ll float away. A car honks its horn loudly somewhere in the background, and you still can’t look at his face. His own coat is clutched in his fist and now the honker is shouting too, expletives and God’s name being taken in vain.

“You should go back in there,” you tip your chin at the depths you’d just fled from, stealing a quick glance at his face, “Find someone else who’s interesting.”

He grunts once, a wordless no and lifts his coat to drape it over your shoulders—you decide you’re even colder now, you don’t think you’ll ever be warm again—and takes yours from your listless grip, draping it over his elbow.

This man. “Aren’t you here to get to know people?” You demand, finally looking up at him angrily.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go for a walk.” His palm at your bicep urging you towards Arlington and the garden sends all sound skittering out of your ears. He reminds you of your earlier words, that he might like to walk, and you can hear yourself agreeing while you look up at the muted light of the late November afternoon leaching through the cloud cover. Through the wool and cotton you feel your skin sucking heat from that singular point of contact, warming you entirely.

It had been blisteringly cold last night, the alluring taste of incumbent winter in the air, and a vicious frost had ermined all the tree trunks within the Boston Public Garden, roughened the surface of the grass.

Joel chooses a quiet spot by the pond, the willow weeps above your head and all around the two of you the sharp autumn air is lightly laced with the fragrance of leaf rot. An elderly couple floats serenely in a lone swan boat at the center of the pond, not a ripple in the surface, as if they weren’t really there.

Helping you to sit, he gently pulls his coat from your shoulders, laying the garment for you to rest on protected from the frigid ground and carefully looping your arms through your own coat now, he pulls the excess fabric of his up, draped over your shoulders once again, leaving you securely enveloped from the cold.

“Here, let me help you,” he says, and the sudden gentleness in his voice makes you want to burst into tears. His character, that of some matryoshkin sort, one embedded in another in another, never knowing which is the realest one, the truest one, which will come next. Angry snarling dog one day, a gentleness that burns the next. You have the sense that a person could know him for decades and still never reach the center, never cease to discover more.

Sitting before you—you perch alone on the island of his given coat—he tilts his head, leaning back braced on thick arms to look up at the swaying vines with just an impression of brilliant yellow-green, as if that were the color of the air. A sudden breeze stirs the softness of his hair, lifting a stubborn cowlick, and at that exact moment, the cloud cover parts on the face of the sun. In the brilliant shaft of buttered sunlight, his dark curls glint with specks of purest silver, leaving you wishing you could touch the fan of fine lines at the corner of his eyes, feel his age with your fingertips.

“You’re angry with me,” he finally says, head still tilted towards the sky. You watch him very closely, learning. His voice is deep, quiet. He looks tired, the violet shadows beneath the brilliant hazel eyes. Still beautiful, the full, slightly sulky curve of his mouth surrounded by dark beard. He is everything, all of him, masculine.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Finally, he looks at you, too. He’s got a big head, proportionate to his big body, that falls back heavily. You can’t help smiling at him, it feels too natural.

“Now you’re honest.”

“I wouldn’t tell a lie here,” you say, and he sighs like you’re a supremely difficult little omega, too impossible to be reasoned with. But turning back to the sky, eyes closed now, there’s a smile across his mouth also, and you wish the two of you could sit here and laugh forever in this moment.

The silence between the two of you is marvelous enough to be unnerving. Settled beneath his great coat, you’d never believed you could feel the cold so little—learning every fine detail that makes up the man. Even inches away from him, he seems utterly unattainable, each of the two of you existing on your separate islands—you trace the woolen edge of his coat against the ground—some twenty years your senior and married. But the cold has given you such a feeling of grounding buoyancy. You’d awoken angry, miserable, so full of despair you would’ve been sick with it if it were possible. And now—you hadn’t felt this alive or awake in years, perhaps your entire life. He is a marvel, and there are bubbles in your head threatening to take you floating away, and yet, your feet are firmly melded to the ground in reality.

How attractive, how delicious the prospect of intimacy is with someone who you know will never grant it. It fills you with something ferocious or hungry or snapping, something pathetic that makes you want it all the worse. And he, with a gravitational pull too strong to even think of escaping.

Yes. You hadn't felt so happy in years.

“How old are you?” Breaking the silence, you ask him.

“Forty three.”

“You have a brother.” He nods. “I have one too.”

“Do you speak to yours? I don’t.”

“He calls me once a month. It’s all he can bear of me.”

“Mine won’t speak to me.” He sounds sad saying so.

“Why not?”

“I hurt him. Scared him.”

“My brother, he says my whole life is papier-mâché. My values are all wrong, I’m a crowd-pleaser. It’s probably true.” You’d felt it impossible to better yourself, and yet still, you tried for him. “How did you hurt him?”

“You can’t change a man, only make him more secure. Depending on his character that may then bring happiness or strength or success. Tommy’s failure of this in me was more than he could bear, also.”

The willow becomes your confessional. “I spiked my own drink once just to see what it would be like. A doctor told me afterwards that I have self destructive tendencies. I want to hurt myself, but I don’t want to actually feel the hurt, which makes me all the more addicted to it. A supernumerary on the stage of my own life, too afraid of hurting and hungry for it at the same time.”

The heel of his left hand, you notice, is bearing down on an old acorn burr, and yet he seems not to feel the pain.

He’s looking at you very intently now. Some glimmering streak in his eye. It almost looks aggressive, and a muscle flutters madly at the edge of his jaw. He straightens, sitting up to face you. The acorn burr is left flattened and disfigured in his wake.

“The last doctor I saw told me I was depressed. I never went back after.”

“Are you?”

He laughs surprisingly full of humor and then instantly serious again. “Probably. I’ve been watching my life, scratching at it trying to get in. I can’t. It’s right there.” The matryoshka shuffles, locked in his melancholy one moment, spilling brightness the next.

You want to understand him so badly your hands shake with it.

“What’s your favorite thing about your work?” You ask him.

Where does his wife think he is right now?

“That’s a nice question. Maybe…” he thinks a moment, “Getting to make things that’ll go in people’s homes. The idea that something that came from me will be surrounded by a family.”

You can’t help yourself. “Why aren’t you at home?” You ask him imploringly, unbearably sad for him, sick with need, desperate to understand what it is he’s doing here, and all at once, utterly certain of what it is you are. “Don’t you love your wife?” The question is posed with no bravery, and yet it still comes out into the world demanding.

He clicks his tongue, taken aback, a shocked breath, maybe even a small, reproving smile. A hundred different emotions coming to life across his face in that single moment.

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I remember loving her. Maybe. At best? She’s a stranger. At worst? An excuse?” But he says it like a question. He’s asking you, not telling, for he isn’t even sure of it himself. You’ve caught him off guard.

“No…” the click of his tongue snapping you to attention, “That's too generous. We’re trapped in a box together, but completely strange to one another.” It suddenly feels like he shouldn’t be telling you this—about her. You’re sure he shouldn’t be.

“Do you hate each other?” You ask anyway. There’s something…your only example of love and marriage being two people who had always hated one another and filled the home where their children lived with more hate. It’s difficult to fathom something different than what that had looked like.

If you were truly brave, you’d ask if he has children, too.

“No,” he says immediately, a non option, his brow furrowed. “That would take too much effort.”

Now you understand. He’s alone anyways. The feeling of urgency within you mounts. You’re frightened by this moment of discovery.

“You’re Southern. Your accent…” You can’t discuss this anymore, needing to change the subject.

“Texas.”

“When did you leave?”

“Long time ago.”

“Do you miss it?”

At his, he laughs like the question is ironic. “No. Where are you from?”

“Sometimes it feels like I can’t even remember.”

And as if he’d pulled the feeling straight from your mouth, he tells you that he understands what that’s like, and you can’t help it when you reach for his hand, being as careful with him as you would any shy creature, needing to hold him.

“I’ve never been in love,” you tell him, childish look of recklessness and valor coming across your face as you pick up on the earlier thread of conversation you’d frightened yourself with. “It seems too daring, even grotesque.”

He thinks he wants to capture that look in a bottle and take it everywhere with him. His entire body throbs with a heartbeat and the shape of your hand fits his as if every joint and muscle and soft ligament had been specifically designed for him to hold, filled suddenly with a terrible sense of foreboding. Looking at you, one just knows there’ll be a broken heart.

Your small thumb smooths gently over his large one, and he marvels that such an exquisite creature would touch him. God, but you’re beautiful. Your touch, soft and enticing and painful all at once. No one had ever been so gentle with him.

“Won’t you tell me a secret?” You beg.

He will. He might give you anything in this moment. In the weeks he’d been kept away, he’d desperately counted the days and minutes until he could return to that place of worship and honesty.

“I think about you,” voice hushed, the shaking of the leaves not loud enough to mask the soft breath you suck in as he gives you his confession. He maps the architecture of the small hands in his grasp, fingers tracing fingers, uncured clay fragile before the heat. He feels tired and strangely spent, almost drunk on your touch. His thumb slides upwards, marveling at the softness of your wrist, and then there, beneath the shivering distraction of your pulse and his disturbing search, the unlocked fragrance of your scent gland. It drifts towards him slowly like smoke rising from sleep.

The air seems to pulse between the two of you with heat and premonition. That singular moment before everything goes terribly wrong, he can see it in your eyes. Such vibrancy, excitement, recklessness turned danger.

“We should…” you feel him begin to pull away, grappling to hold on to the moment and his hand, “We should fuck.” He takes himself back, letting you go. Where else was this being led?

He cringes away from you. “Excuse me?”

“Sex. You’ve had it before.” His mind reels. His body’s reaction at hearing your mouth say these things, the way it shapes them, the soft, full lips wrapped around the words.

Looking away, he watches the pond’s couple help each other out of the swan. In his periphery, he can see you begin to bristle at his silence.

“Don’t be peevish. It’s unbecoming.”

He can’t help feeling angry. “I’m not. I’m old enough to be your father.” And you laugh at him. You’re deviating paths now, going opposite ways and angry at one another for it.

“We could pretend that—if that’s what you want,” you say, voice husky and seductive. A small palm smooths up his thigh and his gaze snaps fire at you, hand clamping painfully at your wrist, fingernails digging at your gland, disturbing more of that gorgeous scent into the air.

You make a pained sound. He needs to leave. He needs to never see you again.

“Don’t be disgusting,” he shoots back, hot everywhere.

“Don’t be a prude.” He flings your wrist away, and you cradle it against your chest as if he’d hurt you. The heat turns to guilt pulsing through his limbs.

Warring to wounded then, your eyes. You wrap your fingers around your discarded wrist. “What if we lose everything? What if tomorrow’s the end of the world? What if we’re so thoroughly cured of our loneliness after all this is done, we never feel like we need another person this way again?”

His muscles tense with the need to flee or attack, the thought of you needing him, of being needed in such a way—he’s like some creature coming upon its mate.

Despite his age, he had never tried to truly seduce anyone. He had never truly wanted anyone. Not in any real and base sort of way. Desire for him had been a mute and ordinary thing. But he could have you now, turned into a thing he’d never been before, he could mount you and rut you into the dirt like an animal. Never so much a product of his designation as he feels in this instant.

He can’t even form word, and your body seems to pulse against his with embarrassed heat and indignation.

“Have you ever even fucked an omega?” You spit at him meanly.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” Voice carefully restrained, each syllable off his tongue is measured with his tenuous control.

“Tell me anyways,” you demand, shoving his coat off your shoulders being the thing that almost makes him lose it.

“It’s cold. Put that back on.”

“Tell me.” And he shouldn’t. You should have no sway over him. No demand of his honesty or anything else that belongs to him.

“Once. Only because I wanted to know what it was like.” He’s man enough to admit to himself the embarrassment he feels telling you this.

But it seems to quell some tremor in your eyes, and you sit back, palm petting at your throat as if you’re trying to soothe yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you say, gaze averted, glassy, delirious look there. “I’ve always gotten my feelings hurt easily. I’m—” you shake your head quickly, sucking on your lip. “...too sensitive. Sometimes I feel like I’ll float away if I don’t find anyone to hold me down.”

He should tell you that you’re not, wants to, but the image of you weak and pinned beneath him churns in his mind. Whole body aching suddenly, needing his hands on you before he does something truly heinous—he straightens abruptly, abandoning your reassuring warmth. Feeling suddenly cold despite the sweat dotting his spine.

Without another word he turns to leave you there, alone, while the swan pair watches from across the pond as the two of you part ways.

The next morning he awakens stiff and burning, his cock a brand of heat against his stomach. And works his entire day in a static haze, lavender spots at the edge of his vision where all he can think about is how you smell and the way your hand feels in his. By five o’clock, his fingers ache, spasming painfully from gripping his tools too hard. Breaking his weeks-long habit, he decides to attend the Saturday night meeting, full of constrained energy and sullen moodiness. Reasoning that a pretty, young girl like you wouldn’t waste her weekend in the basement of a church abandoned by God.

And is sick to his stomach with equal measures elation and dread when he spots you sitting amongst the crowd of metal folding chairs—wearing his coat. He doesn’t hesitate even a little when he claims the seat next to yours.

The two of you sit in strained silence the entire meeting, the other alphas and omegas surrounding throwing alarmed and intrigued glances your way as the tension brews hotter and more frenzied.

His body hurts. This is a painful kind of lust.

He listens to the speakers tonight with only half an ear, instead, occupied with the memory of what you’d looked like the other week eating a jelly and cream filled donut, imagining what your mouth would look like smeared with his blood and come. He can smell your body, how hot and trembling nervous you are. So unlike all that blistering, innocent valor from yesterday.

The omega with the cruel husband turned sick one is taking her turn again tonight. Now that he looks at her, she has hair that at one time was vibrant red, now turned a softened copper threaded through with white. Time is such a painful, slow thing, Joel thinks.

“Have you ever been with someone you knew you were too good for?” The omega asks the room, while the one beside him begins to shake, knee jolting nervously.

You’re anxious, and it makes him angry that you should be made so by his actions.

Too rough for forbearance, his palm clamps down tightly on your knee, holding it still, and you make some supplicant whimper at the back of your throat. Almost imperceptibly, you draw away from him, the line of your shoulders growing rigid, and a wild, irrational sense of loss steals his breath.

He’s been so busy lately, distracted. He’s hungry, overstrained, anxious himself. He doesn’t mean to be brusque with you. He just can’t help himself.

Would we be here if we had? Someone lost in the crowd pipes back.

The woman laughs, she has a kind face. “Me either.” You shove his palm off your leg as if it burns. “But there was someone… once. A chance, maybe. Someone I didn’t choose but should have. We were friends. We came very close to being happy.”

And he suddenly feels a wave of desolation so overwhelming wash over him. He turns to look at you, your vibrating profile, so pretty, and he’s gentle this time when he touches your knee. Just to feel you. How terrible, he thinks, to only come very close to being happy.

The speaker changes, and then it’s Maria’s voice talking to them all. Joel still can’t look away from you as you, in turn, refuse to look at him. “Stop, Joel,” you whisper. But he can’t.

“At the start of this, we usually discuss a second option for those of you who aren’t able to find what you’re looking for in this. Sometimes it’s not so simple,” Maria tells them.

A miracle move on drug, she calls it.

The group’s coalition is sponsored by a pharmaceutical company, one testing a cure for loneliness. Something they think of as pilled perfection, something to numb the pain of loss. Any emotional wound, now with the potential to be a thing of the past. The young omega handing out the pamphlets had promised an easy cure, it seems this is what he’d been referring to. And if the potential side effects included an inability to hold on to any sort of emotional attachment afterward, well, the encounter groups they’d targeted thus far were grateful for it in the end anyway. They were all alone after all.

“It’ll help you let go of everything you can’t let go of,” Maria tells them. “Help make you forget. Help make you un-lonely. We’ll be holding a session Wednesday morning for anyone who’s interested in being part of the trial. Our sponsor company, Firefly, is very happy to welcome as many of you as possible.”

Beside him, you whisper, “Only a coward would take that option. What a cheat.” He hesitates, perplexed and wounded by your words.

“You’ll never have to grieve or miss something you can’t get back, ever again. I know that for many of you, this is the ultimate fantasy,” Maria says.

“I think it sounds like something to help let go. Like what I came here for.”

You exchange cards. Now it’s your turn, the wounded look.

When Maria’s through, bidding the group goodnight and setting them all free to mingle, you’re up and out of your seat before he can get a word in. He watches you go as if he were some sort of abandoned lapdog, only for a second, before he’s once again, striding after you.

You weave almost drunkenly through the crowd, first heading towards the exit, then to the beverage station, then correcting and veering towards the back hall where the restrooms and catechism classrooms are.

Gaining on you, he takes you by the elbow, pushing you deep into the darkness of the long hallway. Going far enough the din of desperate socialization turns a quiet murmur. You’re really in the belly of the beast now. So quiet and dust infused it feels as if it’s been years since a soul stepped through here.

“What’s wrong with you?” Your face glows with fevered sweat.

“I’m sick,” you mumble on the tail end of a whine when he shakes your arm into responsive compliance. “Let me go. Stop,” you fight, trying to claw away from him.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I threw up all night. And you have the personality of a snarling dog more than a man. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shoving at his chest now feebly.

Ignoring your caterwauling, he takes you in entirely. “You’re not sick,” he says again, sure now.

There’s a timeless hunger gnawing at his gut. Joel suddenly feels more himself than he think he’s ever felt in his entire life.

Dragging you high against his chest by the collar of his own coat, he brings the tip of his nose slowly to the valley of sweet fragrance at the side of your throat. Inhaling deeply at the flushed, swollen scent gland there. The sound of your toes scuffing against the floor excites him even more.

“You’re not sick. You’re going into heat,” he says slowly; gathering the overwhelmed, shivering creature as gently as he can in his arms.

Your fingers claw at his own throat in return, as if digging for his own answering scent. “No. But it’s not time. I had one not so long ago.” You sound on the verge of tears, and he makes a deep, soothing sound in his chest. “My blockers...I— I can’t be. It’s not time yet.”

“It’s a breakthrough heat.” His other hand comes around to the small of your back and ever so slowly, he presses your hips closer to his. “It’s mine. Because of me.”

“No.” You shove back with renewed strength suddenly, spinning around to scurry deeper down the dark hall and then careening on weak legs into an abandoned classroom.

Heart beating madly at the prospect of the hunt, he takes a singular calming breath before he’s prowling after the sound of your crying.

“You need to not run from me right now. It’ll make my rut come faster,” his deep voice comes from somewhere in the dark unknown.

You scramble around the children’s desks, weaving your way clumsy with disorientation to the far end of the classroom. You don’t want to go into heat right now. You can’t. Not with him. You need to be safe and alone in the confines of your warm, comfortable bedroom, far away from the temptation of him.

His heavy, panting breath sounds closer and there’s a shriek in your throat like a struggling kitten.

“You want me to lose my self control. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” There’s a loud crash as he shoves one of the little desks out of his way, followed by your answering shriek. And then he’s here, coming up behind you but finding mercy enough to hold himself back at the last moment, panting as if he’d just run miles fighting against himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. Come here, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s okay.” He takes a step closer, and the slowing of his breath and soothe of his voice calms you in turn. “You’re only going into heat, that’s all, sweet girl. I’ve triggered it for you and I’m sorry. Let me come to you.”

You let out a high and harried sound, palm smoothing over your throat over and over again. “Joel,” you say once.

“I’m here. It’s okay.”

“It’s only that—”

“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m embarrassed.” A helpless tear spills out over the edge of your eyelid.

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about with me. Ever. We understand each other, you and I. Don’t we?”

And he’s right of course. You’d picked his face out of the crowd in instant recognition, after all. “I’ve had heats…but I’ve never—never had a, a heat with someone. With an alpha.”

He’s utterly silent and you feel deranged enough you’re almost certain you can hear the pound of his heart inside his chest.

“You’ve never had a knot take your cunt?”

“No.” You swallow. “Never.”

You hear a muttered fuck, and his breathing goes quick and shallow and then even again. He has better control over himself than you do at this moment.

“Then how?”

You flush full of heat, embarrassed. “T—toys,” you stutter. “Medication to help ease it.”

When he steps closer, only calm accompanies him. All is suddenly quiet. You want him. Your disjointed mind, overwhelmed by too many confusing emotions had gone into overdrive for a moment, but now, with the scent of hot, aggravated alpha surrounding you, it’s obvious this was all you’d needed to calm down.

You can feel his hot breath against your forehead, the wash of heat on each exhale and the lingering scent of sweet musk at his inhale. You touch his cheek with shaking fingers and feel him turn ever so slightly into your palm, and then he’s bending slowly.

First, it’s a soft, wet nudge of his mouth, your bodies held apart. Then his strong nose bumping into the side of yours, the splendor of inexperience turning to knowing, a nuzzle. Coming in again hungry, with the slick of tongue now, and the deep inhale of shock at first taste. Your breaths rush through one another, and you feel yourself backing away in maybe fear, more likely overwhelm, but his mouth follows your retreat and then his palms are at your waist, tugging you into himself, pressing you tightly to his body with a ragged groan.

“Your mouth…Your mouth is so beautiful,” he says.

Everything in your lower belly cramps in painful agony, and you scratch at his arms and neck without much strength, trying to climb higher and take more of him into your mouth. Oh, you want this so badly. You want it to be everything you’ve dreamed of so obsessively the past weeks. Nothing else in the world exists except for your two mouths pressed together.

His lips burn a wet path across your cheekbone, sliding to the side of your neck to suckle at your scent gland. “Fuck.” His scraped teeth along the patch of sensitive skin. “Have you had sex before?” The question is gentle, understanding, his tongue tasting your sensitive earlobe, head ducking suddenly to give a sharp bite at your breast.

“Yes.” His erection is pressed firm at your belly, hot even through his jeans and your sweater. His large body radiates heat. At your back, his palm finds the edge of your top, sliding underneath to make first contact, blistering skin against blistering skin.

“But not an alpha.” He says it smugly, the bastard. Palm sliding down to your rump, tucking you more tightly against his hard cock. You shake your head at the crook of his neck, fingertips twisting in the back of his hair. Your breath comes in wet little pants that sound too pathetic to bear.

“It’s going to feel so good,” he promises, rubbing slow circles low on your back with that wide, strong palm. “It’s different. It’s…” That palm slides lower, squeezees the curve of your ass. “It’s ordinary if it isn’t with someone…special. If there’s not the possibility of—”

You tell him you understand what he’s trying to say.

“I think it’ll be so good between us,” he finishes.

At the waist of your skirt, his fingers press between your skin and the stretch of your tights, forcing his large hand into their confines. Your breath skips into his open mouth, panting into one another he cups you between your legs and suddenly all you can focus on is the tight ache there, the nylon soaked obscenely between your thighs. His arm around your back squeezes you tighter to his chest and his fingertips are pushing past lace edge to feel the slick swell of wet cunt.

“Oh, Joel. Not here,” you moan. “Someone will come in.” He’s circling your clit, so sensitive and so swollen it hurts. You tug him impossibly closer, and he presses you back into the cold stone wall. “We can’t in a church.” Your protestations sound weak even to your own ears as you spread your legs wider for him.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

He takes your mouth again, sucking deeply, groaning even deeper when he presses inside of you to the first knuckle. “Tight, baby,” he breathes into your neck, his hips slowly grinding into your pelvis.

He feeds you more, then presses a second finger, holding still for a second, then another. Panting like a rabbit caught in a trap with three of his too thick fingers stuffed in your overstretched cunt. The sound of popping seams moves up your spine.

“Can feel your little cunt shaking around me. Jesus—” he groans. It’s all mine, whispered into your hair.

Suddenly, there’s the open and close of a door nearby. And then the sound of someone’s voice calling your names. Joel huddles you further into the dark corner, confined by the protection of his body, his fingers still moving in and out of you, stretching you well enough to burn as he presses as deeply as he can and with the utmost gentleness, pets lightly at the painfully sensitive mouth of your cervix. Humming in satisfaction at the feel of you.

“Right there?” He hums.

You’re crying, clutching at him even more tightly. Your name sounds again, being searched for, like a warning.

“If I fuck you, nobody else ever will.” His voice is so dark it’s menacing. It’s recklessness, verging on a lie. Maybe it’s hope.

Pressing lightly again, petting, petting, he pulls his fingers back a little, the loud sucking sound of your cunt trying to hold onto him, and you’re coming for him, crying into his neck, sucking on his scent gland so that the taste of him floods your mouth. The sound of a door opening, and you hear him growl at someone to fuck off in a very scary voice, his fingers never ceasing their steady thrust inside of your clenching pussy, and the frightened slam of a door.

“It’s alright. You’re alright. That’s my good girl,” he pets and soothes at you, pressing a kiss to your temple, your eyelids, your mouth again and again.

Part 3;

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#busy dying fic #vic fic #joel miller #joel miller x you #Joel Miller fanfiction #tlou au

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dufferpuffer · 9 hours ago

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(Note: idk the characters OP mentions or what they are from, I wanted to talk about peoples reaction to disability rep in general)

I think it's fantastic when non-disabled people talk positively about disabled characters, even if they do it a little clumsily (though not in the face of disabled people critiquing it... yeesh...) Just like with other marginalized groups. eg: we can be happy about having more PoC characters... even if we might not fully understand the nuances in their representation. We can be taught about that nuance by those who do understand - and that's how we learn to understand better. That's awesome.

The thing that's annoying, as OP describes, is that - especially for disability representation - existence seems to be the bar for entry. They see a prosthetic and go 'Wowee! Good enough :)'

Maybe existing can pass as 'good representation' for some things - like race, gender or sexual orientation (arguably - important: it depends on the particular media) But that doesn't really work for disability.

Depending on the setting and themes of a narrative, being a different race, gender or orientation doesn't alter how you can live. Having a disability, by definition, DOES alter how you live.

Example: Innocent little kids show, where a bunch of kids go on adventures together, doesn't need to display topics like racism, homophobia, transphobia etc. to be good representation. The kids can just exist the same as everyone else - just existing is enough.

But a disabled kid HAS to be disabled. Their life has to be shown as altered in unique ways - otherwise it risks being harmful. It doesn't need to be anything big, or sad, or the topic of an episode... Infact it's often better when it isn't.

+ Have a character wake their friend up early, knocking on her window - she says 'Wait! Let me get my leg on!!' + They go swimming - and she takes her leg off to swim. + It gets really muddy, so she gets a piggy-back from a friend so she doesn't get her leg stuck. + Or it DOES get stuck and someone pulls it out for her. + She's training for a race and she switches her leg to a running one. + Maybe she isn't in an episode - the other characters can't rely on her skills to solve an issue, because its Physical Therapy day.

You don't need to draw attention to it, she doesn't need to suffer - but she has to be different. She has to live with different worries. She can't just be the exact same as everyone else, because she isn't like everyone else. That's what being disabled means.

If she just does everything everyone else does, with no thought put into the fact she has a fake leg other than 'one of her legs is blue'... you are teaching that disabled people don't live differently. But we DO. We HAVE to. A little kid seeing a character never put any thought into the things they need to worry about doesn't feel GOOD. It feels WORSE.

People of minority racial groups, and people of differing identities, dream of a world where that doesn't matter, they can be the same. Disabled people don't get that dream. Having a leg re-grown...? God, even thinking about the physical therapy, training to walk again... It would just be nice if there was more understanding, more facilities and support, that some of us need to live different lives.

...I am not an amputee. My digestive organs are all messed up - and I have PTSD. That is a very different experience to being an amputee. But I can talk about what I think is good or bad representation, even if it might be clumsy sometimes, because: I understand that good disability representation is in how the character is affected by their disability, not by just existing.

And that's what I would want to share with any non-disabled person who feels excitement seeing a disabled character: think about how it affects their life. Think about the choices they make because of it.

Toph from Avatar isn't 'cool disability representation' because her blindness is accurate or realistic. It isn't. It's fantasy blindness. It's cool because she has to live differently. She uses her bending to super-power 'see' - but not in water, or sand, or for flying things... There is no 'fix' that gives her sight back. Only tools to help. ''How does blindness affect how she can live'' has been considered.

So... you have a character 'you didn't even notice had a prosthetic'. Is there no way in which she is shown to act or think differently because of it...? That's not particularly good representation. There can still be cool parts of it that are worthwhile representation, like an interesting history, or design, or function... ...but she isn't disabled unless she is disabled. Yknow...?

I really wish non-disabled folks would stop commenting on weather or not something is good disability rep, especially when people with those disabilities are critiquing the specific things these folks are bringing up as examples of why the character is so good.

I swear, if I hear one more person say "I didn't even realise Neve was an amputee, that's such good representation!" I'm going to scream lol.

Also just to clarify, I don't think Neve is bad, my feelings on her from a disability representation stance are more complicated, but her disability having such a small impact on her that a shocking number of players said they didnt even notice it until she tells you how she lost her leg is NOT what makes her good. "You cant even tell she's disabled" is not a flex. We've talked about this. Twice.

Same goes for the inquisitor and Hezencost but they're pretty minor characters so I'm seeing less of it there.

#disability #actually disabled #disability representation #disability in media #mywrite #this is important to me

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mcraftdoodles · 2 days ago

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Please take care of yourself and your mental health. I am so sorry for everything that happened. Stay safe

So I just woke up to a tonne of DMs and asks on all my socials. Thank you all, I was very confused until I read the news.

Stress and Iskall were my favourite hermits and I am saddened by the news as it means we will never see a finished murder street.

Now, from what I have seen since waking up, is that Mumbo stated no minors were involved and Doc saying the hermits cannot talk about it.

I have no idea what is happening and while I could DM Iskall and Stress I do not wish to break their privacy and cause them more issues while this is still a hot topic.

In terms of fandom I see more complaints about Doc online than I do any other hermit so I have no idea what complaints would have made them resign, as the only public ones featuring Iskall and Stress is that they are often away from the server, Stress is always away the same time of year due to her kids, and Iskall was facing burn out and later developing VHSMP, so idk.

I personally have had no issues with them either publicly or privately via DMs. Stress has always been sweet, and Iskall, well, there's only one complaint I have with Iskall, but that's why he tends to always pay a rush fee. Man leaves things to the last second, which I come to expect, even with the TCG cards I was added because Iskall saw a message from Beef stating if he didn't respond he wouldn't be involved with his cards, and managed to see that within the time frame Beef gave it was like 12h or 24h I can't remember, and so I was added last minute and had only a month to draw them. This is already public knowledge as Iskall mentioned it on stream. But seriously, that is my only complaint at this current time. Is he is blind to time.

So I am fine, until it is public knowledge about why he resigned, I will have no stance. He has done nothing wrong to me, and as far as knowledge goes, no minors were involved.

#asks

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ppupkit · 2 days ago

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how are you doing after the last 3 episodes of arcane

full spoilers for act 3 , long rant ahead ( sorry ദ്��ി (ᵒ̴̶̷᷄﹏ᵒ̴̶̷᷅) ). apologies if this is incoherent i ended up pulling an all nighter to watch act 3 and have had a busy few couple of days so i am a very gleeby little maddie atm..

i'm mostly upset and angry about it because it was just handled so poorly... like it was genuinely so ( ._. )"" i've talked about it elsewhere but i don't even really know what to say. i'm so upset about the way they sidelined the important character arcs and actual plot for timebomb sillies and a goofy over the top mel arc that was extremely rushed and didn't even bring the closure it was meant to about her dad and all of that. also 90% of the act being jayvik and it completely ignoring isha , sevika , and for the most part jinx , caitlyn , and vi... it's so disheartening i'm honestly not taking it well i feel just sort of upset and overall down. arcane has meant so much to me and it feels like all of the characters who i love so much just didn't even matter like i went on this journey with them all for nothing. there's so much more i could and would like to say but this is already getting long and i just feel an overwhelming amount of negative emotions at the moment. i'm going to continue making content for arcane ( mostly focusing around maddie , maddiecait , and maddiecaitvi because autism goes crazy ) but i might need a day or two to gather my thoughts and process everything. this act was super disappointing in every way. like i love mel and for the whole rest of the season was curious about her arc but it went from 0 to 100 so fast and was so campy it just didn't even feel like arcane. i think it's so insane that sevika didn't even speak once and that isha wasn't even mentioned like i just can't get past that. also they rushed caitvi's relationship so badly like we needed to see caitlyn's arc fully wrapped up with her coming to terms with all that she'd done , taking responsibility and apologizing to vi. we didn't get any of that though which is baffling to me..... also the implication of vi being a cop , sevika being on the council , vi just brushing over jinx's death ? it's so out of character. also with maddie , i have mixed feelings. i was hoping she'd do something big and i think i can definitely get behind the idea of her being a spy but it just doesn't line up with what was shown onscreen ? it felt like a major copout idk. i have many maddiecait and maddiecaitvi thoughts that i'll post on my main having to do with it but i'm just REALLY wishing we got to see more of maddie behind the scenes and that she got to be more fleshed out onscreen and not just through implications. like i like timebomb they're cute and all but episode 7 just felt so pointless and wasted like we could've used that time to actually be able to flesh out maddie or focus more on caitlyn / caitvi or on jinx and isha. i just don't see the point at all of that episode and i can't get past them just pretending isha never existed in favor of having a cute little timebomb au episode. : \

#ೀ maddie's .ೃ࿔*:･#ೀ askies .ೃ࿔*:･#arcane #arcane act 3 #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 #caitvi #maddie arcane #maddie nolen #maddiecait #maddiecaitvi #isha arcane #sevika #vi #jinx #caitlyn kiramman

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notachair · 12 hours ago

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I think... this puts to word some of what I felt was kinda of with how handled things. Some anyway. I've been trying to articulate what feels... off. It's rough so bear with me trying to untangle more of it... and I'm so sorry but this is a wall... on your post... tell me if you want me to make my own and just link to this instead.

When it comes to Jayce's little speech there's this line, as an example...

And what got me immediately here is... when have we really been shown that to be true, to "always" be true? I felt like this was an assumption put onto Viktor by the writers. Internalized ableism is a bitch, but I think they're doing a lot here with the implication of "always". Disabled folks all have our own journeys with it, but I don't think moments of falling prey to it- is something that should define his whole historic relationship to his disability. (Also one's allowed to vent about one's experiences with one's disability and the realities of how one's met with in the world, without it being taken as a diminishing of one's own worth.) And as you say, none of that really address the whys of the structural aspects affecting him both physically and mentally. Like (in regards to the internalized ableism) what is it that is constantly trying to make those shards of pain and inadequacy they'd put in him- to expand and consume, despite whatever fight he'd put up against it on either the internal or external front? And then there's also the difference between wanting to manage one's disability and... you know, hoping to cure one's *terminal* illness in fear of death's face.

I won't deny other disabled people feeling any comfort in those words. I do think there's something delicate and meaningful in having someone care for you and remind you of your worth when those shards, unwittingly or not, have spread and festered a wound in your self perception, because people keep saying it should be there and trying to create it if it's not. It's not that it can't be or isn't impactful, but... was that it? The big message? In combination with everything else, it felt more... preachy? And to a certain degree patronizing? The issue is that I felt *talked at* from someone's able-bodied* perspective. *Yes, even if Jayce no longer is non-disabled himself, that current commonality isn't emphasized, and even so- disabilities and disabled experiences aren't 1 = 1 (this applies to me too), never mind the *terminal* aspect, his leg's also an acquired disability.

Okay so what only ever Jayce apparently managed to have Viktor see, was essentially: "only you can show me that perfection perceived is not something worth seeking- an empty reward. There's beauty in imperfections", or something right? And his mode of attack was... that. Idk I am left unimpressed. I understand the point of putting value on perceived "imperfections", and that Viktor (could... actually... I had a whole section on internalized ableism I removed lol. But.)... that his disabilities could be and was perceived as "imperfections" within his new framework (btw, I saw him using the hexcore on his bad leg as a means to test out his chances for curing his terminal illness- 🤔 not really as a "I kinda just really wanted to cure my leg idk", and it would make for the most obvious results if it worked without messing with the vital organs of his torso, though he was only allowed to keep it for so long by that hexcore). But also, the philosophy he presents was more about than just his own disability or actual terminal illness (!!), it's about a flawed perspective on the general human condition, put to the extreme after Viktor became increasingly isolated (despite being surrounded by people mind and body, "we are one") and grew further detached, partly to the nature of his new existence* (*thoughts to be had here though, and also, whatever happened to the build up and clarification of to whatever degree the hexcore itself influenced him?).

Motive: on his desire to help others, emotionality.

A core part of Viktor's character is his desire to help and aid people, particularly those of the Undercity, and with Jayce it becomes about helping people through the science of hextech (a renewable and non-exhaustive energy source, I think there's a Point there) (tho I've gotta say... their presented products in S1Act2... can't say it's impossible for geniuses to be kinda dumb, it wasn't what I expected anyhow lmao). Act 3 Viktor, post-"imperfections of emotions and individual agency leads to pain and strife, as the other inextricably bound side of the coin = humanity's self-corrupting contradiction" conclusion, basically ended up out there trying to calculate himself to solving human suffering on an evolutionary level (truly Singed's apprentice that way), which was just eugenics in the end.

Even if that point of validation, of acceptance, is nice, especially when previously thought something forsaken to you... and despite what some would previously read/portray him within fandom- he DOES care about the interpersonal, like there's a reason he clings onto that goddamn tattered blanket 😭 And he continues to make a point of wanting Jayce by his side again in both act 2 and 3. But I still feel like it misses the "point" when the majority of the focus ends up on "you're doing this because of internalized ableism but I'm telling you that you matter actually, to me". I feel like it simplifies a lot to draw such conclusions of the matter, and make that the most effective point of "attack". I mean- seeing himself and what he was about to make the world into- kinda did after the mask broke a bit. But- other than Viktor's lines of "why do you persist? After everything I've done?", the "you were never broken" ends up defining this important built up scene. And I dislike this focus that completely overrides the structural issues involved, and basically works as a good-feel band-aid. I dislike the way Viktor's character motivation feels reduced to that point, with that "always" in particular, as well as the "only you" when that was the conviction made. Combating ableism 101.

Like I get he's attacking the personal projections that could drive the conviction, but he sorta kinda didn't hit all the marks there. Uh- not to say that I don't know he's just being sincere here as well, in expressing his care and love for Viktor. But I feel like it works as a deflection that shouldn't have been entirely effective on its own (yes the future-vision, but it's not emphasized in a way I'd like), story-wise anyway. I thought maybe they'd emphasize more on the emotional part, of his overall self-perception and of Viktor hurting (and not just in the "internalized ableism" way) despite however unaffected he might or might not seem (def not all gone). I can see Viktor in his state of upset and alienation of his body (and mind?)... see that hurt (grown from affection) as something, on a personal level, that holds or has held him back from actually follow up on those dreams of helping people (which become *that* in result). And with the access to the power that he has... conveniently think to attempt ridding himself of it, distancing himself, rather than process it. There's a certain... distancing happening just from that nature of having access to the experiences of so many people too, through that hivemind even if it's the most intimate thing as well and would stir a lot of emotion within him. And then there's him getting offed by Jayce in act 2 where he has his whole "two sides of the same coin" moment, and in the end, seeing "the glorious revolution" as a final calculated solution to strife (and- perhaps his own internal strife). There's something too to that "the line" sequence after being rejected in episode 8. But yea, there is a point here that could have been made in terms of valuing "imperfections" of the human condition, but it's... not really being made? "They're part of everything that makes you you, and everything that I admired about you" (paraphrasing), sure, but what about some emphasis on other things idk. He's more than that and all that, but I feel like they ironically made everything about his disabilities instead, and I'm dreading the state of readings and depictions🧍

(Btw on that note of "part of what makes you you", I did like that even the herald still had his braces and ect. fused to his body, and even glowing up in the astral plane. I liked that the ones that were "cured", was not left unmarked by the change. Of note- a lot of those people seemed to have had similar conditions to Viktor, in the sense that they affected the limbs. Pretty sure that one kid who led Jayce was the kid in a wheelchair beside Ekko in ep 7 when watching Heimerdinger's performance)

Also, I would... have liked... more of him taking a side with the Undercity though... and agency, non-agency, death, transformation…go rage some my guy 🔥

Motive: on Piltover / Zaun, the structural.

So on another point... a very important aspect here for Viktor IS that initial dream of theirs WITH the sociopolitical circumstances. Before all of the cult stuff, the main tension between Jayce and Viktor is the matter of the Undercity and how they're dealing with the hextech (I've kinda wanted to make a post about it). And similarly with catvi and the story otherwise, that element does not get as acknowledged, and it suffers for it. Their dynamic and history is not removed from its sociopolitical context. And there... is something to that shard of insecurity impacting him more than he'd thought. But what it comes back to- is the structural injustices he has been faced with both as disabled and a Zaunite/someone of the Undercity. Like his terminal illness was literally fucking because of the damn injustices Piltover inflicted upon them, majorly didn't care to fix and would punish people for protesting. And as I said, their common initial dream, was essentially about helping people through the science of hextech, like- people of the Undercity. Something which they failed to follow up on, and then Viktor was dying, accidentally involved Sky in his own risky business that resulted in her death and him getting suicidal, then- died from Jinx's attack- frankensteined in violation of his agency (!!!)- and then Viktor leaves Jayce *after seeing the hextech weapons plans* (double betrayal). And there really is something to Sky's significance here... But yea, Viktor leaves with a totem to those hopeful dreams, in order to try to help or aid people of the Undercity with the new abilities he had. Like he's not wrong for wanting to do that, I get why he'd just up and leave. His philosophy about things resulting into the idea of a "glorious evolution" to solve human strife and the details of those transformation do essentially just become eugenics in the end though (btw, whatever was their choices with "all those willing" to forceful turning...?).

I think there are ways they could have explored further nuances around all of this, but like with the other things, the journey was cut short and simplified. In a sense I'm glad he had more agency than people were speculating, but at the same time... And I think there is a Choice done in making Viktor's "glorious evolution" the bigger bad (together with Ambessa and whatever she was doing all of that for), AND that it served as a way to override majorly every other conflict by presenting a bigger bad for Zaun and Piltover to "unite against a common enemy" for. If they'd emphasized more on him being a reaction to those injustices, with a hexcore boost, to Piltover's structural injustices against the Undercity (which includes that social model of disability), then maybe it could work more. AND with it having a presence in the Viktor-Jayce confrontation/resolution. But it's more "both sides"-ing the issue, with its favour in Piltover's hands despite it all. And like- "I dreamt about giving magic to the people-" yes, but what was the reason why? I'll give him points for the "now" in "now I only want my partner back" anyhow. Idk, I don't see the disregard of the implicit "wanting to help people" part as a win. Though it's presented through the emphasis of "magic" which has been demonstrated as... sinister to a degree, but also... not? Potentially. But the magic was never THE issue.

Even on just the interpersonal level between the too (which it's not restricted to at all)- I, again, dislike this focus that completely overrides the structural issues, and works as a good-feel band-aid. It needs to extend further, and sure it does in a sense on the individual basis with his choice to stay with Viktor even when he gave him an out. But as an important message moment? It doesn't demonstrate enough to extend outside of it, because we don't see it applied in different contexts, like properly addressing his whys. And with Viktor's one line of "why do you persist? after everything I've done" "because I promised you"... it's not that what Viktor did and was about to do wasn't Fucked Up (and he was having a lot of guilt about accidentally having Sky killed, I can see him getting fixated on trying to "make up for" it somewhat after being brought back to life in his alienated body, and in a sense uh... overcompensating), but idk.. I wish there was something that extended Jayce's way too? That addressed those points of tension in their history? I am not a Jayce-hater, but I don't think he's an uncritical "hero" here. Viktor ends up having little voice at this level despite his speeches (we barely hear him talk after the mask fractured some). And the matter of his forceful transformation, is not really brought up other than potentially with "this chain of events, started with you" in that one council room confrontation. "I never asked for this!"- neither did he <3<3<3. Anyway.

THERE IS SO MUCH TO SAY. But I gotta round it up eventually, so I've cutting off all my other things that found its place on this reblog while I've had it in the drafts.

Agency, disability, biomechanics and transhumanism is a TOPIC though. A topic with many fine lines.

Thank you so much for incredible disability representation!! Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess it's okay that there's no acknowledgement of the social model of disability... Oh, our character's feelings about his body and the treatment he faced aren't really discussed in detail? I guess that's alright. 'You were never broken... there's beauty in imperfection... they made you who you are'? That could be appropriate given context, yeah! Oh, no? Not addressing his pain or the discrimination against him or the fact his disabling factors were preventable?

No acknowledgement of how the world should be made better and safer for people who actually have disabilities? Only a message of 'disabilities don't make you inherently broken' that feels aimed at abled folks? ...Okay.

Anyway... thank you for the incredible disability representation.

#oh there's... SO MANY LAYERS TO THIS WHOLE THING. SO MUCH THAT COULD BE SAID.#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane spoilers #disability #my rambles #long post #disabled

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mendelsohnben · 18 days ago

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Jack Robinson Perching™

#miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #perioddramaedit #jack robinson #nathan page #tv #my edits #sitting like that with those big-ass thighs and hands is certainly a Choice (positive)#are his quads showing through the suit in gif 7 i fucking can't man #side thought: i stanned ben mendo with his huge fucking hands and here comes jack/np with some stiff competition lmao #what am i even talking about any more idk

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 month ago

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Suddenly remembered something I wanted to say re:Akechi, because I think it's really core to his character (at least the way I interpreted him?) and I feel like it explains a lot of his contradictions. Essentially, he is incapable of seeing himself as just a person - he's either the greatest hero/detective ever, or he's some violent monster, and it's like there's no in-between. It's very in keeping with his obvious superiority-inferiority complex, but it goes deeper than that too; when he's in a role, it seems like his self-perception kind of changes too depending on how he is perceived by others. He really does get a confidence boost from being the Detective Prince. He really does shut down emotionally as the Black Mask.

They're masks that he's made, and it's not that aspects of them aren't based in truth to some extent, but I think it goes to show why he's not actually that fantastic a liar (imo, I found the outright lies pretty obvious), but he is a very good actor. He's either an angel or a demon, and never a person, but there are conditions to that. He is an angel when he is perfect - to society. He is a demon when he is vengeful - again, to society. He is never a person, because he never was seen as one - to society. He was disregarded. To be anything of value or notoriety, whether that's hero or villain, he has to be wildly more or less than who he actually is, and he's been building these masks up for so long that I really think he lost sight of the actual person behind it all. And I don't think he wanted to see that person anyways, because that person "wasn't good enough" and I do think he'd rather be anything other than himself. That trickery, that deflection from the person within, in itself brings him pride and satisfaction. He wants to be loved and needed instead of being cast aside, but I also think that if he can't have that then he'd much rather be hated than never have mattered at all. He weaponizes his own loneliness - if he can't ever be accepted then he'll build his own pedestal apart from everyone else.

It's so fascinating too, because I just wonder how much of this he was consciously aware of pre, during, and post engine room. There's this recurring thing with him where he goes "I can only be myself" etc but I just want to shake him because, well, who is that, Akechi??? Or, who do you think that is? Do you actually have an answer? Is it predicated on your actual feelings or solely on your success at fooling everyone around you? Is there any part of you that you actually like that isn't based on a painstakingly constructed mask? Isn't it all mostly lies to deflect from the truth? Isn't it all founded mostly on truth, nonetheless?

It drives me insane. And I think this is a big reason why he breaks so hard in the engine room, because so much of his mask requires his "audience" to perform in a particular way. And here he is, and the Thieves have beaten him, so there goes the first mask, because he's no longer "perfect". He swings wildly into the ugliest sides of him, but this mask is broken too, amidst him vehemently and desperately denying that he has any other emotions than hatred and rage, or any other needs or desires than vengeance. And after that, it's just him. And they should reject him, right? That's what happens. He's not useful, he's not needed or perfect, his hands are stained with blood. But the Thieves, again, don't play the role he expects them to. They, despite everything, relate to him - because he is in fact very similar in a lot of ways and they acknowledge him as a person - not a hero, or idol, or villain, or tool, or unwanted child - but as a damaged teen like the rest of them. And he does not know what to do with that. His identity is intrinsically dependent on getting the right reactions from other people as a form of ingratiating himself - if he does not get that reciprocal reaction he's looking for, his act falters, and, I really do believe that so does his self-perception. That's why you see different aspects of him seep out when he's spending time with Joker, because Joker does not react the way he expects, and Akechi both does and does not like this, because it leaves him feeling both intrigued and vulnerable.

I do think this particular aspect of his character is something a lot of the Thieves don't fully grasp - certainly, I think Joker "I need the mask" Persona 5 understands to a degree, but the sheer degree of reliance and the level of pride attached to it is something that confuses him a little, I think, especially in Mementos Mission. I think the thief that comes closest is actually Morgana, who has a similar superiority-inferiority complex and a desperate need to be seen as competent and useful lest he be discarded. (This is a big part of why the rather lackluster writing with Morgana's arc frustrates me so much because I really do feel it was meant to be contrasted with Akechi's, but I digress.) Morgana is the one to make that emotional appeal to Akechi, which makes a degree of sense - Morgana struggled all along with finding a place in the world. His form leads others to underestimate him; he visually doesn't fit in. He's acting out the role of a chivalrous and cool phantom thief but is more pragmatic with how he views relationships, at least at first. He wants a place to belong where he is appreciated more than anything but his pride won't let him spit it out. Accepting that he belongs and that he is loved even if he really did have nothing of value to provide is a big part of the resolution of his arc. He tries to offer that learned lesson to Akechi in turn ("Follow your true feelings. Even if you think people hate you, or don't want you around-"), but Akechi just wasn't in the right space to listen. There's also an important distinction between the two - Morgana envies humans and looks up to them. Akechi envies humans and looks down on them. Morgana is perfectly happy once he is assured a place amongst the group, but Akechi see-saws wildly between wanting to belong and wanting to be a step above the rest and separating himself further. So while Morgana actually really did cut to the core of the issue, his appeal would never have worked at this point because a) Akechi's pride is dependent on him maintaining his solo act, and b) he just got outed as not actually hating Joker in front of seven other people including Joker himself lmao.

So, uh, sorry, Morgana. Points for trying.

#oh no this got long again hfdsjfshbf #anyways i do have more akechi thoughts wrt parallels with other characters but i think i should stop bc i keep talking about him #and it's probably annoying #also i should probably wait to see what he's like in third semester because it seems like he's taking a lead role here #and he's definitely changed so i'm curious to see who he is now #storyrambles #does this even make sense. idk.#what a fascinating character. i can't stand him. i hope he gets lovingly dunked on for the rest of time.#story plays persona 5 #p5r #goro akechi #p5 meta #p5 morgana #call me ace detective the way i am ace. and also a detective.#<-i feel the need to clarify on any post involving akechi that this is my standard analysis tag that has nothing to do with him #i am not a kinnie i don't think i could take that

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starpros-sunshine · 3 months ago

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Eichi gives away the mask so easily because it was never meant to be an "engagement ring" like you delulu wataeis imagined it to be lmao. It was wataru saying that he will continue playing tsumugi clown role in fine and won't leave it for hokuto's mother troupe after graduation. Do you dumb fucks even read the stories? Eichi didn't even understand tf that mask meant when wataru gave it to him and wataru referenced fucking tsumugi in his "proporsal". I dunno why the f you think it's ok to lie about "! EnDiNG wItH wAtAeI EnGaGeMEnT" when the chapter it happened wasn't even close to the end of ep:link. Cope

PS: how do you live with the fact that Eichi clearly admitted to never being in love in his life and Wataru said that even though Eichi likes him, he still can easily discard him for the sake of his objectives?

I love you anon thank you for giving me a nice reason to ramble again beautiful ask 10/10 I'm sorry this is probably not how you hoped this would go but this is such a funny block of text delightful really thank you for the enrichment please marry me

But okay yes now to get down to the actual ask just to disclaim I am solely relying on translations seeing as I do not speak japanese well enough to understant the original text so if anyone has anything to add to this or to correct me on please feel free to do so.

Now to get started I'm not sure if one could say Eichi gave away the mask "So easily" seeing as he claimed that it was "a hard choice to make"? Which, as one might know, implies unease with an idea and pondering and debating and a general amount of thinking behind a decision so? I know this isn't really the main focus of this ask but I'm just a tad miffed with the semantics of it is all. And in either case giving the mask back to Wataru while expecting it back still shows a certain degree of trust in their relationship it wouldn't have been such a big deal for him (as it apparently was) if the mask didn't have a lot of sentimental value to him (the both of them really if we look at the whole exchange).

Now to the claim that the mask was "only" Watarus promise to stay with fine and "continue playing Tsumugis clown role". This is not entirely incorrect. Regarding the acting troupe and staying with fine bit at least.

I'm assuming this bit in EP:Link Deadend/7 is what you are referencing, and I see where you're coming from. But the bluebird line

from literally three dialogue lines further down, which references this line of dialogue (notorious Eichi line everyone should be familiar with)

kind of somewhat really recontextualises that? Because you see this is a reference to a fairytale about a pair of siblings and they get sent out by a nice fairy to find the bluebird of happiness for her sad daughter to make her happy again so they both go on an adventure and travel far and search and search but they can not find the bluebird of happiness and then when they return home again, disappointed because they couldn't find the blue bird, they realise only one night has actually passed and the journey was probably just a dream. But then their eyes fall upon their pet dove in it's cage which appears blue all of a sudden and so they gift it to the fairies sad daughter which becomes happy again and sets the bird free. The real bluebird of happiness is a dove. At least in the version of the story I'm familiar with but I mean everyone sees the symbolism right? It's. very hard to miss.

And then dropping this?

I'm not sure how to say this properly but in the overall context this makes it pretty clear that Tsumugi has nothing to do with this anymore this is Fully between Wataru and Eichi. And I am the last person to dismiss Tsumugis significance in the course of Wataeis relationship as characters I will be among the first to protest when someone dismisses the importance of Tsumugis and Eichis relationship in favour of some image they have of Wataei but he has nothing to do with this one.

Yes Tsumugi gets namedropped but - again - I don't really see how that would lessen the sentiment Wataru is triying to convey here? Because. Yes. Why wouldn't he mention Tsumugi?

The entire conversation pretty much boils down to "Yes I was initially only in this because I thought I could replace Tsumugis role in your life and then I wanted to leave but we have spent so much time together that I realised that that is definitely not working out because I really do love you. I love you as a teammate; I love you as a friend; I love you as a person and I am very angry at myself for not managing to get that into your head. So please allow me to stay with you for as long as you'll have me." And then also Eichi not understanding because he has the emotional self awareness of a very emotionally unaware loaf of bread and also because he hates himself that is a very big thing about his character huge part of his character arc actually that he. you know? Hates himself? And feels guitly for his actions during the war? And doesn't think he deserves love and companionship? Which is why Wataru wanting to stay with him for him and not for some twisted form of revenge is such an alien concept to him? Because he is projecting his insecurities onto Wataru? As one is wont to do when they hate themself? "EiChi Didn'T eVen UnDErStanD WhAt tf ThAT Mask MEAnt" Yeah. That's. That's the point? So he can think about it and come to that conclusion himself which works as a keymoment in his characters journey from hating life and himself to enjoying being alive and wanting to live on because of the people he's surrounded with? He literally explains why he didn't immediately understand the mask during the EP:Link Epilogue/4

And to get back to the "I dunno why the f you think it's ok to lie about "! EnDiNG wItH wAtAeI EnGaGeMEnT" about which I have two things to say:

"Lying" implies further intent and an effort. Neither of which exist in this case.

He literally went down on one knee while making a big proclamation of offering himself to Eichi with a very personal item that works as a symbol for their commitment to each other on a starlit rooftop. The comparison writes itself.

3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joke

And then I expected there to be a proper reason given and instead you proceed to follow that up with "when the chapter it happened wasn't even close to the end of ep:link". I know the shame is on me for expecting something sensical from an ask which has been near constant in it's lack of correct statements but such is human nature I suppose. And you are not wrong. Deadend/7 isn't very close to the end of EP:Link. That is true.

But do you know what Is very close to the end of EP:Link? The Epilogue Chapters 3-5.

Do you know what the content of those chapters is? I do. Very well actually :)

(Eichi literally explains why he didn't get it)

So if this answers your "Do you dumb fucks even read the stories?" questions, Yes. And I think I'm a lot better at it than you. So I'd say I'm coping quite well over here :p

PS: Regarding your PS, I take the "I've never been in love before so I wouldn't know" comment with a lot of humour actually as an aroace person who's emotional self awareness also ends at "good" and "Not good" I think it's very funny all things considered especially because he mentioned the loving Wataru thing several times before that and I'm generally of the belief that actions speak louder than words and also am in a happy long term relationship with the concept of "Reading Subtext". So please excuse me for not breaking down in tears everytime someone reminds me of that one singuar line of text in one of my favourite all time enstars stories that came out three years ago which also brought us the single best card set in the entire game

as well as absolute banger dialogue such as

Among others <33

And there are soooooo many other examples of wataei dialogue that simply make me swoon but I have already had to take out so many of the one's I wish I could put here so this wouldn't get "Do you love the colour of the sky" long

And also, regarding your "Wataru said that even though Eichi likes him, he still can easily discard him for the sake of his objectives" I'll just say that no he absolutely could not. I mean he'd say that and if pull comes to shove and he has no other option then he might seriously consider it but may I mention that Wataru was gone for a few days at most but really not that long of a time during Sanctuary and Eichi stopped considering being a normal rational person that doesn't leave helpless 17 year olds in the midst of a construction site. Very different situation but I feel like it's worth mentioninh here. Another example is Eichis almost not being able to go through with the war because of Wataru. Wataru had to actively come and tell Eichi to go through with it. Wataru isn't the reason Eichi started the war, that is wrong, but he is the reason Eichi almost didn't finish it. and during the war era that was his Main objective. Again I'm part of the fraction "actions speak louder than words" Show don't tell and all that, but even the words are pushing it.

And that concludes my essay :)

#I so won this #there were so many pictures and quotes I wanted to include but the limit..... :'(#if any of you were wondering I am still as insane about them as I ever was #thank you anon really genuinely and fully this has been a blast #if anyone reads the whole thing....mwah let's run off into the ocean together #or something like that idk but it is appreciated #they are my everything they really are #I'm very enamoured with the ''Cope''#Cope with what? I have nothing to cope with? well nothing wataei related at least #or the ''How do you live with the fact'' yadda yadda #How am I supposed to live with it it's funny i think it's very funny #You really trust what enstars characters say and take it at face value without examining the subtext further? amateur mistake #it's so passionate too anon i admire you #imagine disliking something so intensely you sent a very wordy ask to someone because of a silly post they made #I wish I had that much vigor in me #I mean i'd be too polite to even if I did but still it has somehting admireable to it #thanks to you i got to reread some of my favourite wataei interactions so now I think the last three hours were three hours well spent :)#genuinely thank you for the enrichment #I hope youll have a nice day we might not see eye to eye on this and I'm also objectively better at reading these stories and understanding #the characters but I still hope you'll have a nice day #as good karma or something #I'm currently still on that dopamine high from writing this i think it's obvious #best mood I've been in in ages I love talking about wataei #okay good I'll conclude the tags I've already stretched this post out so far i might as well spare the poor tag reader #but then again if you have read the post this far what's a few more tags to you #I really like the fact that the real bluebird is a dove it's soooooooo #it's good it's really good in the overall context #wataei #eichi tenshouin #hibiki wataru

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