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mundanememorize · 4 months

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okay i will rant for like two seconds my once a month rant but i have recently realized fucking psychology or i guess like modern/pop psychology especially is destroyingggg art. so bad.

like as writer/artist for like the past 2-3 years i’ve found myself being like oh i need to be able to perfectly articulate how my stories deal with mental health and then i get in this awful loop bc i’m not writing anymore im dissecting.

and on the audience part too it’s also awful. i love metas and analysis etc etc but it’s all turned into this strange phenomenon of like “proving a theory” and so many of these metas (im just going to use that for the catchall) focus on the same dissection.

just lately when it comes to art and discussion old or new academic or twitter rants i feel like i constantly see people asking “what is wrong with the artist to make them make this” instead of understanding the emotion or subject present in the piece and dissecting that as it relates to you. it has ti be clinical and hard fact and true to the creators intent.

i hate this approach so much and the way i see it effects my writing has made me crazy so i’m glad i’ve realized. i do not like to see abstract concepts put into a box im sure no one else does but being in like online art culture it’s so so so bad for that because no one can discuss anything online it has to be a debate. and then you’re debating art instead of analyzing and sharing experience.

this is all very vague and that’s kind of the point. what i’m talking about applies to anyone from like brain rotted edge lord anime girl artists to characters in mainstream/high production projects. there is no separation of art from artist on the basis of how does it make you feel it seems like it’s everyone’s wondering what’s going on in the artists head and trying to use their art as tools to figure it out. i think that has terrified me in creating and it’s made me feel like i have to make it present in my art in the first place so i have “nothing to hide” but why does an audience need to be in your psyche???

this is not me saying exploring mental health and illness and symptoms of it in art is a bad thing, it is exactly the opposite. it’s when it turns into everyone fighting about how xyz proves their headcanon correct and then no one else is allowed to interpret a character another way when the point of most art from the people i know and/or admire want the exact opposite. every character should be a mirror to a large variety of people and experiences. the same shade of green should excite one person and disgust the next. i am just so tired and appalled and over the like compartmentalization of art to enjoy it as a monolith go fuck yourself!!!!!

and i kind of got off topic with the subject of psychology present in art but looking at art with a psychological lense can be fun but that’s the lens you should already be using in the sense of connecting emotionally to pieces. i’m seeing yourself in the art right in front of you. most people (especially people who don’t create art often) go into art immediately trying to “figure it out” which i understand but how to you make it clear to everyone that they already understand, they just need to listen to what is there in front of them.

to look at art through a clinical lens is the death of art is maybe a more accurate way of talking about it. to look at art and try to dissect it, not for yourself, but to say “i know exactly what the artist was thinking” you’ll never be right. it’s fun to joke about in the basis of relation to the art but then that’s just you relating. that’s your experience and perception. you will never know the artists intent.

this is more specific and a little more silly but i feel like that^ over laps with people freaking out about character and “good/bad” representation. saying gay characters can only act this way. that characters with plurality can only be portrayed like this. that characters with a disability or neurodivergence or this or that can only say this list of things or else you’ve made a “harmful character”. of course there is harmful stereotyping but i would hope everyone able to publish and produce stuff knows what to do and not to do. i know that’s not realistic but i hope majority of writers don’t need a strict do and does list to write all of their stories!

i really mean this more in the way of making a strict view of how exactly to portray a certain character especially when it comes to marginalized identity and psychology then makes a new box that pisses people off. people did not like autistic people being portrayed as emotionless genius robots who parade as people and that’s normal because that is fucked up. but why now does every autistic character need to be almost a joke about being “too weird”. why also does a character need to be confirmed by the creator to be anything. it’s definitely nice but to me if a character portrays your experience without being confirmed anything, why not just enjoy the character in the way you perceive them. i’m also just a really big fan of ambiguity and surrealism in art so that’s how i prefer to take it but i don’t understand why every single aspect of art needs to be labeled for enjoyment. it’s killing it.

i kind of got off track with this but i hope it’s clear how i feel like psychology effects art in the ways of when you confine symptoms to one box and you put people into those boxes and those people love art and make art. then the perception of art will be affected and it’s hurting it badly. it is okay to be uncertain but i think psychology is hurting people and art badly in tandem

#there’s also the issue of black and white thibking and absolutes thta have taken over the modern day #from both political extremism to your internal morality but that’s like. this will turn into an actual ten paper essay #and to be transparent on this. this id a lot of stuff i’ve only recently realized and started to unpack because i’ve stopped being obsessed #with these labels. so i am just kind of speaking from my heart and my perception of what was making me kind of crazy #psychology like is helpful to people and that shouldn’t be taken away from them #but i also just kind of wish it could quietly exist and be helpful.#because like ten years ago it was a fucking like social death sentence to be in therapy #and now it’s all you can hear or see be misconstrued on the internet but it’s hurting people more because they get out in a box #<again two very extremist points. we can never seem to find a middle ground #and it’s not bad for people to know terms or symtpms of what they have or think they have because then they can find tools to help #but the way people dissect individuals and lump them together in ‘avoidant type’ style boxes #when people have an array of experience and trauma and hardship under their belt that’s so unique to them it’s so harmful to lump them #in with so many others with that same individual experience. why do we have to mush people together to understand people #why can’t we just meet a person and let them tell us how they are and feel and came to be #sorry this is like my one million thoughts from the past couple months so i’m like. literal essay it has to stop now because i want a #peach red bull

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ranvwoop · 8 months

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I talk a lot of crit abt pokmon here but uhh. average pokemon fan is ambivalent about pikachu, pikachus Pikachu who has been obsessed with pikachu for 16 years is an outlier and pi should not be counted. this context is important I think

#vwoop.noises #Ahem. That my secondary name is Pikachu and I use pi pronouns and in trying to exit my room you come into contact with at least four pikach #I Do A Lot Of Thinking About Pikachu.#Ok I drop this subject now I just worry about being misconstrued #I have sold my soul 2 nintendo. I can just wish things were better #I should finish the dlc.#I LIKE PKMON AS A WHOLE NOT JUST THEM. FTR. I have other favourites bc you know the hipsters r gonna call me a fake fan #But this is neither here nor there.#That's not long but I've only been sentient for a short amount of time Ok. Pkachu was my friend in kindergarten #I hope I am not just an em cee y t blog to you but also someone deeply unwell about nintendo game #Not even wish things were better. Laugh at things that are blatantly absurd

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skinnedkate · 8 months

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c***unitytwt, and specifically a**d fans, are getting on my NERVES. i made a pretty flippant joke that theyre never explicit abt him being autistic despite how everyone talks abt him, and you would think i waterboarded three puppies w their reactions.

#rant #i guess #for context i was qrting a post abt how charlie and **** have the same amt of lines abt their autism #which started bcuz c***twt was arguing charlie wasnt “actually autistic” so he’d lose a poll LMAO #but anyway #my point was that the show never ACTUALLY referred to **** as autistic #(excluding the time j*ff called him autistic as an insult or whatev before **** was actually written as such)#but ppl r all mad bcuz its heavily implied and not all autistic ppl need to say theyre autistic outloud #and like…. yeah true! <- thinks charlie is autistic #but they still never say it explicitly😭? im still right #he can be written as autistic without it ever being explicitly stated. these arent conflicting statements #i never said he WASNT autistic but ppl r still calling me a weirdo and media illiterate💀#sry for pointing out a fact!! i’ll never do it again lmao #its doubly annoying since i censored any words to do w that godforesaken show cuz i KNEW this was gonna happen #im not even engaging bcuz everyone is either deliberately misconstruing my point; GENUINELY NOT GETTING WHAT I WAS SAYING; or still in hs #btw hate the fact i cant put commas in tags. annoyingn asf #also someone said **** is better rep bcuz he likes tv and charlie is bad rep bcuz he drinks paint #which is SOOOOOOO fucking funny i wish i could shit like that without a trace of irony #how r these ppl real

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thoughtofadumbteenprotagonist · 1 year

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“You should be acknowledging this!” “Um, you should all be reblogging this actually” “think about this thing!” “Be aware of this new awful thing happening half way across the globe that you personally have no hope of every impacting in any way whatsoever, but I will word this post like it’s your fault personally!” No, actually. None of these things are my responsibility personally. Yes they’re shitty, yes they shouldn’t be happening, no I’m not going to be guilt tripped into reblogging your inane rant about it all just so someone else can get guilt tripped too.

#look I don’t remember the proper phrase for it #but there’s a word to describe this #this social pressure we put on people to Acknowledge The Awful Thing #whilst knowing the only thing that will happen is an increase in anxiety #and no hope of progress #because we are just people #and people want to help each other! which is great!#but if this pressure and anxiety keeps up #everyone will be too emotionally exhausted to do anything #because they wasted it all on your acknowledge THIS! bs tumblr rant #and before anyone misconstrues what I’m saying #obviously I wish I could help with all these awful things #and if there were a practical and realistic way for me to help #I would #but there isn’t #so I can’t #and therein lies the problem

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trendfag · 2 years

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holy shit i need to get my shit together

#i wish this would last lmao #like i wish i would do something about it #i should have got a train ticket for thursday and used friday to have a meeting w someone at uchicago while im up there #see if i cant get some help with the process of transferring / find out if its even technically a transfer at this point idk how this works #hm oh well i just will have to go back up to chicago sometime #or do a zoom meeting….sorry but i havent been in one since april and if you dont count therapy then in 2 years but im so sick of zoom meetin #i did friday because my friends have school this week #my friend im staying with when i asked how long she wants me said ‘friday to monday is fine’ ‘unless you want longer’#‘i just know during school i cant do much’ and so i took that to mean please just come friday to monday because i have school #because hes from the south and wouldnt just say that #last time i visited also for a concert it was during finals week #and they were going to the concert too but anyway so i asked how long they wanted me for and she was like since its finals week im gonna be #studying and stuff so i wont really be able to entertain you and i was like yeah no problem!! ill just come up the day before and leave day #after! and he was like thank you so much for thinking about me and finals and everything i really appreciate it #but then the day i left she was like….i wish i hadnt asked you not to stay longer #tag edit i misconstrued the thank you she gave me #so ok i asked how long do you want me he said well theres finals so probably not very long which like if youre down to just watch me study #and tske a final then thats not a problem but its up to you. and then i didnt reply for a bit probably half mental illness half being like #i want to stay longer but i dont want to like distract her and intrude and stuff so then she texyed me again asking if id decided how long i #was going to stay and i was like yeah i’ll leave day after concert so i dont distract you from studying or anything and then i think he #thought my feelings wwre hurt bc he was like im sorry i wish you could stay longer but i really appreciate you giving me my space but know #that literally any other week id be fine with you staying however long you want its just this week is a lot with the concert and finals #and i was like yeah of course i understand completely!! and idk if i realized then that he might have thought she hurt my feelings but i was #like yeah i get it! anyway. whatever.

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remuslovebot · 11 months

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sirius black being the cockiest mf ever trying to impress his crush and she is not impressed in the slightest to the point he starts getting really shy around her because he no longer knows how to act if his usual bravado doesn't work

but turns out just being his dorky, vulnerable, and still (softer) flirty self works like a charm!!

Sirius would totally the most cocky and immature tactics to get you to go out with him. it would be romantic for sure. im picturing the dance number that heath ledger sings in “10 things i hate about you.”

I hope you enjoy!

𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | 𝐒.𝐁

summery: after Sirius gives up on his boastful ways of flirting, you turn the other cheek and notice the popular marauder is sweet and dorky on the inside.

warnings: not proof read. one inappropriate joke, but that’s all 🫶🏻

pairing: sirius black x reader

Sirius Black was a charmer. That was for certain. Rumors spread like the plague of his roughish ways. You were not a fan of him, which was unfortunate for you because he was a fan of you. Constantly. Every chance he would get, he would flirt you up in the hallway.

“Hey y/n, what are you doing later?” He would ask you. You replied with, “McGonagall’s transfiguration essay.”

Sirius just smirked and returned with his cocky banter, “That’s a shame, I wish you’d do me instead.” He grinned, James and Peter behind him laughing.

It wasn’t genuine, or at least that’s how you felt. You rolled your eyes and replied with, “You wish, Black. In your dreams.”

You walked away with out seeing or hearing Sirius’ response. It frustrated you to no end that he would joke that way. You wanted to save him the trouble. He was obnoxious and too cocky for your own liking.

You missed when he was sweet and genuine. Not the popular boy that has become a staple at Hogwarts.

Sirius on the other hand, genuinely did want you. But no other tactic had gotten him a date. The rumors were misconstrued and he put on a cocky front. But in reality he was just as shy and dorky as he used to be.

One night after a hogsmeade trip, you were reading in the Gryffindor common room. It was a nice quiet night by the fire place. But all of a sudden, Sirius showed up, sat in an arm chair near you and started playing with wizarding cards.

“Could you keep that down?” You asked him, looking up from your book.

You expected a witty and cocky calculated response, but instead Sirius looked flushed. He ran a hand through this shiny hair and nodded, a little shy.

He gave up on impressing you and being so boastful. What did he have to lose? “Yeah sure, sorry.” He replied.

Sirius’ response continued to surprise you. Where were his annoyingly witty comments and jokes? Why wasn’t he flirting?

“Are you okay?” You asked, now a little confused.

“Yeah I’m fine,” he replied, lookin over at you. In his mind you looked so beautiful sitting by the fire. “Urm—actually I wanted to apologize. For making you so upset. I just think you’re really pretty an all. But I’m taking the hint and I’ll stop.”

He sounded so sweet about it and vulnerable. This was the Sirius you liked. The genuine one.

You smiled softly, “Thank you for the apology Sirius. I appreciate it. But you really think I’m pretty?” You asked.

He nodded, continuing to be sincere in his response. “Yeah, could never take my eyes off you love?” He said. It was straightforward and flirty but absolutely adorable and dorky.

You blushed. Why couldn’t be t he like this all the time?

“I like you like this.” You said, with a small smile. Sirius flushed.

“Y-you-u do?” He asked, a little surprised. This was the first time you’d shown him affection.

“Yeah. I mean when you aren’t being so boastful and cocky around me. I like the genuine you, Sirius.” You said.

With that, he sat up and walked over to the couch. He sat next you and both were facing each other.

“Sooo, I guess what you’re saying is???” He teased. You lightly pushed him and laughed.

“I’m saying if you tried to ask me out in a less boastful way. I would say yes.” You explained, blushing.

Sirius felt like he’d won the jackpot. “Really?! Uh I mean oh that’s cool.” He said, earning another giggle out of you.

“Y/n, will you go out with me?” He asked, sincerely.

You nodded, “Yes Sirius, I will.”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black headcanon #dating sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #all the young dudes #peter pettigrew #anything for our moony #marauders x you #marauders quotes #wolfstar #marauders x reader #sirius black fluff

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

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This will sound confrontational but its a genuine question, I promise. Why is it ‘embarrassing’ to wonder about the sex lives of these characters? GO is not a childrens book or show as far as i know, the characters are not underage, unable to consent, related, cheating, canonically asexual or any other thing that would make them having sex even remotely reprehensible or anything like that. They literally get called husbands every single day on this app and im sure you’re well aware people are very much writing about them having sex constantly so I’m just wondering. Is it just the word choice? If someone had asked when az and crowley ‘made tender consensual love’ instead, would there be less actual harrassment in their inbox right now? Or is it just very bad and wrong to discuss gay sex… ok maybe it is confrontational after all. oops

I think you might have misread or misconstrued what I wrote, when I said "I feel a bit embarrassed for the people sending them when they come through, but nothing more than that". My embarrassment is over what people think is appropriate to send as messages to the author, not over whatever they want to speculate about. They have the whole of Tumblr, not to mention AO3, to ponder, imagine and discuss anything they like about any and all things in the stories, including sex, gay and straight. But sending stuff like that to me is just inappropriate... it's like watching someone turn up to a school meeting drunk, or watching someone trying to tell dirty jokes to an audience that wishes they'd stop. I'm the wrong audience, and it makes me embarrassed on their behalf.

Every now and again, in the Asks, someone will write apologizing for something they sent in years before, which they've now realized was inappropriate -- or which they always knew was inappropriate and they've grown enough as people to apologize. And enough of those messages have come in over the years that I'm never upset at receiving inappropriate asks. Just embarrassed for the people sending them, and hoping they don't beat themselves up too badly when they figure out, as many of them seem to eventually, that perhaps that wasn't a very sensible thing to do.

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punkshort · 4 months

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somewhere to run | 3. the statement

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You finally visit the station to give Joel your statement about the incident and he has concerns about you returning to work.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, PTSD type symptoms, slow burn, possessive thoughts, mutual pining

WC: 5.5K

Series Masterlist

Joel's business card was taped to your fridge, a glaring beacon every time you strolled by for a glass of water or to throw something in the trash. Every single time, your eyes drifted to it, the numbers practically memorized by now.

You knew he gave you the card for professional reasons. But he did make a point of mentioning his cell phone was also listed. What did that mean? What did you want it to mean?

It's been two days. Two whole days since the attempted robbery, since that man put his hands on you, since the last time you saw Joel. You were supposed to work the dinner shift tonight. The first night back at work since the incident. Joel never came in at night, you've only ever seen him at lunch, and you felt fear. Fear of going back there, to the literal scene of the crime, and knowing this time Joel wouldn't appear from around the corner to protect you.

You took a shaky breath in and looked at the time. It was almost nine in the morning. You had been up for hours already, the anxiety of going back to work waking you far earlier than you wished. Walking back in the kitchen, you looked at that card again while you chewed on your lower lip. He did say to call him when you were ready to give your statement. You picked up your phone and stared at the black screen, your thumb hovering over it, poised to wake it up.

Which number do you call? His office, or his cell?

If you called his cell, that would mean something else, right? That's far more personal. He might misconstrue things if you called his cell, and things could get complicated. You couldn't let him get wrapped up in the drama of your personal life. He didn't deserve that. He had a daughter, he has a life. You couldn't let things get personal with him, although the lines already felt like they were blurring.

Before you lost your nerve, you punched in the number to his office and hit the green button. You paced around your kitchen, listening to ring after deafening ring until finally the line picked up. Voicemail. Shit.

Without thinking, you hung up before his outgoing message finished. You didn't anticipate leaving a message, you didn't have anything rehearsed.

You walked by the fridge again, your phone clutched in your hand, your eyes glancing at the little white card taped there. With a sigh, you punched in the second number - his cell.

While you waited for him to pick up, you nervously chewed on your nail, your heart thudding in your chest wildly. You thought his voicemail was going to pickup again, but at the last moment, the ring was cut off and you heard rustling on the other end before his deep voice carried through the speaker.

"Miller."

Your breath caught in your throat. His voice sounded stern. Stoic. You forgot to breathe. You heard him pull the phone away from his ear, checking to see if the call dropped before repeating himself a little louder into the receiver. Finally, you forced yourself to speak.

"Joel?"

Your voice sounded so small, so weak compared to his. You heard him take a breath in and say your name softly before asking you to hold on. There was more rustling on the other end, voices fading into the background before you heard the soft click of a door and then silence.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice no longer hardened.

"Yes," you lied, fidgeting nervously with the cuff of your sweatshirt. There was a long pause before he spoke again.

"Hadn't seen you at the diner. I asked, no one's heard from you and I -" he stopped talking and you realized you had stopped breathing, waiting for him to continue. "I was worried. Almost came by, but I didn't wanna upset you."

You nodded as though he could see you.

"Sorry. I just needed some time to get through it," you explained.

"You coulda called me, y'know," he said quietly. "We coulda talked about it, or if you want, I got the number of a shrink we use here to help people out when stuff like this happens. She's real good."

"That's okay," you said, declining the offer.

It was silent for another minute before you remembered the reason for your call.

"You wanted me to give a statement?"

Joel paused, realizing now that you called not for a friend, but for the sheriff.

"Right," he said, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "When are you free?"

"I work tonight, can I come by before then?"

"Yeah, 'course. I'm here all day."

"Okay. Maybe an hour?" you asked, glancing at the clock.

"Sure."

"Okay."

There was another long silence again as you waited for him to end the call. When it became clear he wasn't going to say anything, you spoke again.

"I'll see you in a bit, then."

He sighed, a deep, heavy sound filtering through the phone, then repeated your words back. See you in a bit.

You hung up, taking a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. Then you caught sight of your reflection in the toaster and you cringed. You desperately needed a shower.

You hadn't been to the police station before, but everyone in town knew where it was. It was a two story building near the center of town, with three big flagpoles and a handful of police cars parked out front. It wasn't very far from your apartment, but it was in the opposite direction of the diner. You realized as you walked up to the front door that Joel most likely walked past your apartment twice a day as he made his way back and forth for lunch. The thought of him nearby so often brought you a strange amount of comfort.

When you approached the older woman at the front desk to explain your reason for being there, she seemed to already know as she picked up the phone and hit a button, waiting for Joel to pick up on the other end. Her eyes stared a little too long at your neck as she told Joel you were there, and you self consciously fiddled with your purse strap over your shoulder. You had tried to cover up the bruises with a little bit of ancient makeup you found in a toiletry bag, but apparently you didn't do a very good job.

Moments later, you heard a door unlock and Joel step out, his eyes instantly stopping on you standing in the middle of the lobby and you felt the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He was wearing a dark blue suit you didn't remember seeing before, with a black tie and a white dress shirt. And you could have been wrong, but it looked like he had an air of nervousness about him, as well. His hair looked tousled and his voice held a small tremor when he said your name and motioned for you to follow him back.

As you walked through the station, you glanced around at the familiarity of the bullpen: rickety old desks shoved up against each other with piles of folders, empty mugs of coffee and ancient looking computers adorning them. Men hunched over eating or talking on the phone, barely sparing you a glance. You followed obediently behind Joel as he led you towards the back, towards the interrogation rooms, and you froze, a small noise slipping past your lips. He heard it and turned around.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"No," you said quickly, but he could tell you were lying. He waited, looking at you expectantly. When you still didn't say anything, he looked around, trying to figure out the problem.

"Did you prefer to talk in my office?" he finally asked, jutting his chin towards the front where there was a small, messy area with windows around the whole room so he could look out at the bullpen. You glanced at it and nodded.

His office was what you expected: a few outdated photos of him and Sarah sat on the lip of his desk, along with file folders, half of which were open with a black ballpoint pen left on top, as though he were in the middle of writing out a thought when you arrived. His computer didn't even look like it was turned on. The chair he sat in groaned under his weight, the cracked leather squeaking against his belt. You sat in the chair opposite him: an old, stained thing that you could feel had all of its padding flattened underneath the blue fabric.

"Can I get you anythin'? Coffee? Water?" he asked you, his eyes glued to his desk as he tried to tidy up his mess.

"No," you said softly, watching as he pulled out a legal pad and flipped to a fresh page, then clicking his pen and scrawling your name and date at the top with a few other notes, most likely a case file number or another identifying code.

"Alright, ever done one of these before?" he asked routinely, still writing on the pad.

"Yes."

The pen stopped.

Slowly, he brought his gaze up to meet yours, but you just waited for him to continue.

He wanted to ask. You could see it, the question burning behind his eyes, and maybe he was about to before he remembered his place, and he swallowed it down.

"Okay," he said, setting his pen down and lacing his fingers together on the desk. "Shouldn't take too long. I saw most of it. We got a few statements from other customers, too. Just need to know how it started, what you were doin', what he said. That kind of thing."

You nodded and steeled yourself with a deep breath before speaking.

"You had just walked away to use the restroom," you began, and he picked up the pen and started writing. "I had just filled your coffee. I wasn't paying attention, I was distracted that day." You glanced up at him, but he kept his eyes down on the paper. "I heard someone clear their throat. He must -"

"Marcus?"

"Yes, Marcus must have sat down when I wasn't paying attention. I apologized and grabbed another mug for him. I already had the coffee, so I walked over and poured it -"

"Did he ask for coffee?" Joel interrupted, and you stopped to think.

"No, I just poured it. Most customers ask for coffee so I guess I assumed."

"Okay, keep goin'," Joel said, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scribbled on the pad.

"I was looking down at the mug, telling him the specials and then-" you stopped, your words getting trapped in your throat. His writing paused and he looked up at you.

"It's alright," he soothed. "Take your time."

You took in a shaky breath and forced yourself to continue.

"He slid the gun across the counter, and I panicked."

"Did he say anythin'?"

"Um, I don't think so?" you replied, swallowing the lump in your throat as you dropped your eyes to your lap.

"Okay," he said softly. You looked up at him again and met his warm gaze, his eyes soft and kind, and you found the courage to continue.

"I asked him what he wanted," you said, your voice beginning to shake, but you pushed through. "He said he wanted the money in the register and gave me a bag."

"Mhmm," Joel said, nodding along as he began writing again.

"I was scared. M-my fingers - my hands were shaking. I was trying to open the drawer, but I couldn't and he was getting impatient," you said, tears welling up in your eyes now. Joel was still focused on writing but you could see the muscle in his jaw twitch as you spoke.

"Then what?" he said, his voice turning colder, and you shivered involuntarily.

"He told me to hurry the fuck up or something like that," you said, sniffling a little. "I told him I was new and I was trying-"

Joel muttered something under his breath and you stopped. You looked at him, waiting for him to repeat himself, but he just sighed.

"Sorry, go on," he said, rubbing his thumb across his forehead.

"That's when you saw him," you said. He nodded, his pen hovering over the page.

"I don't wanna make you relive it," he said, his eyes cast down. "But can you briefly explain what he did?"

"You told him to put the gun down," you continued, trying to be quick at this point. "He grabbed me by the neck and pulled me across the counter. He held me against his chest and had his gun against my head."

"Okay, thank you," Joel said firmly, effectively telling you to stop, but you kept talking.

"I couldn't breathe," you whispered, and he dropped the pen, squeezing his eyes shut, his nostrils flaring. "He was gripping my throat so tight, it made me dizzy. I was so scared, I thought-"

"That's enough!" Joel said loudly, making you jump.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, a tear trickling down your cheek. He shook his head, his eyes still closed.

"Don't apologize," he said, but his voice was tense.

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at you. At first, his gaze traveled to the tear on your cheek and guilt flashed across his face before looking into your eyes again. You swallowed and it felt like the muscles in your throat seized up. Looking at the anguish in his face, you wondered what you did wrong.

"Is that all?" you asked, breaking the silence. He just looked at you, his eyes traveling down your face and stopping on your bruised neck. His fingers twitched.

"Wish you woulda called me," he said, his voice soft again. "Shouldn't've been alone."

"I'm fine," you told him, but neither of you believed it. "I will be fine," you conceded when he gave you a look.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, then raked his fingers through his already tousled curls and you watched as each one flopped back into place.

"Tonight your first day back?"

"Yes."

He nodded and ticked his jaw to the side, his eyes moving up and down your face.

"How're you feelin' 'bout that?"

You shrugged, trying to come off nonchalant, but he saw right through it. He tilted his head to the side and gave you a look that said cut the bullshit.

"Not great. But I'll manage," you finally admitted. "Gotta move past it sometime, right?"

"You want me to pop in later?" he asked, but you quickly shook your head.

"Thank you, but no. What are the chances it'll happen twice?" you said with a dry laugh. He allowed himself a small smile for your benefit then looked down. You picked up your phone to check the time, then stood.

"I should go, I have to run some errands before work," you said, reaching down to pick up your purse as he got up from his desk, his hands on his hips.

"If you wanna talk-"

"Call you?" you finished for him, raising your eyebrows with a smirk. He smiled and nodded, then led you to the front lobby.

"Now I got your number, so you can't go disappearin' again," he reminded you.

"I didn't disappear, I had a couple days off from work," you said, rolling your eyes but you couldn't stop your lips from turning up into a smile.

"You left me with Betty, y'know."

"What's so wrong with Betty?" you asked, turning around when you reached the front door. The older woman at the front desk glanced up at you both.

"Nothin', and don't you dare go sayin' otherwise or she'll have my hide," he said, and you giggled.

"Well, you'll have me tomorrow," you assured him, and he felt a rush of blood between his legs. Get your mind outta the gutter, Miller.

"Lookin' forward to it," he murmured, and you waved goodbye, pushing the door open and leaving him standing there, his mind swirling.

He turned around once he could no longer see you walking down the sidewalk, a stupid grin on his face which quickly disappeared when he saw Helen staring at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, turning to look at her computer.

When he got back to his office, Joel mentally scolded himself for his behavior. What was he thinking? He couldn't believe he let his feelings for you get in the way of a case. But when you began to describe what happened from your perspective, something inside him snapped. He felt the rage bubbling below the surface with your every word and shaky breath. It was a miracle he didn't run in the back and strangle Marcus with his bare hands.

But he felt even worse for raising his voice at you. You didn't deserve that. All you were trying to do was what was asked of you, and he practically yelled at you.

You looked confused, but how could he explain himself? He couldn't tell you to stop talking because hearing how scared you were was doing something to him. Something that he knew was not part of the job. Something he thought before today he could keep separate.

He ran his rough hands over his beard and he exhaled slowly, letting his mind drift back to that day.

When he saw Marcus standing in front of you at the register, he never felt fear like that before. His job didn't usually put him in much danger. It was a quiet town, but every town had their bad apples. Over the years, he had a couple run-ins that might be considered close calls, but the other day at the diner took the cake.

Everyone knew Marcus was relatively harmless. He had never hurt anyone before when driven to do crazy things by his addiction. But Joel wasn't ready to take that chance. Not with you.

He had told Marcus he would have killed him, and he meant every word.

He told you over and over that he wanted you to call him if you wanted to talk about what happened, but now he wasn't sure he could. How could he, when his blood ran hot at just the mere memory of that gun pressed against your sweet, perfect face?

He was worried you would flee. That you would run back to Pennsylvania, back to your home where surely things like this never happened to you. You had been here but a couple weeks and someone already threatens your life? If it were him, he would probably consider leaving town.

When he didn't see you for the past two days, he thought that was exactly what you did. He laid awake at night, fighting the urge to sneak out while Sarah slept to see if your lights were on. He was so desperate to confirm you were still in town, he had actually paced outside of your apartment after lunch, coming dangerously close to ringing your bell, but he was too afraid. He was afraid if he rang the bell and you didn't answer, his heart would break. And he wasn't sure he could handle that. So he let you be, and prayed to whatever god was above that you were still around, because he realized far too quickly that he had no way of contacting you if you disappeared.

But now, he did. He stared down at his phone, at the number you called him from earlier that morning, and he saved it under your name. He considered briefly if he should put an emoji next to your name, but realized that would be ridiculous and just left it.

His thumb hovered over your contact, the little message symbol tempting him beyond belief. He wasn't much of a texter - he usually only texted Sarah and the occasional poker buddy - but he really wanted to send you a message. No, he shouldn't. It would come off too desperate. You just left, what else was there to say?

What a ridiculous question. There was mountains left to say, but he couldn't do it. Betty already tested the waters for him and you said no. But maybe that's changed. And if it hasn't, he would keep trying until it does. He was nothing if not persistent.

He sighed, looking out of the window of his office at the men typing away at their computers or talking on the phone. Then he remembered something. You said this wasn't the first time you gave a statement. You also seemed hesitant to follow him towards the interrogation rooms. Something happened to you, and he hoped one day you would trust him enough to tell him because he wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms and keep you safe. To prove to you that there was nothing to fear, that he would treat you right and take care of you. If only you'd let him, he would give you everything.

Even Sarah liked you. How could she not?

That night after you had pizza with them, she teased him in the car on the way home. She could see it within minutes, why couldn't you? He barely even put up a fight when Sarah brought up his obvious infatuation. What was the point? He was grateful to know that his daughter approved of him dating, he couldn't deny that. Not that he hasn't seen any women since his ex left, but it was always casual. Always secretive, until the flame burnt out and the excitement was gone and he was left all alone again.

It wasn't lost on him that women around town looked at him a certain way, but he never gave it much thought. None of them interested him. Not until you.

He thought about you, running your little errands and then getting ready for work. He looked at his shared calendar with Sarah: she had a sleepover tonight after soccer practice. Maybe he would swing by the diner. He could stay in the parking lot, just to make sure you were okay.

"I'm glad we didn't scare you off, darlin'," Tommy said after the dinner rush died down and he emerged from the kitchen, wiping sweat from his forehead and smelling like french fries.

You gave him a smile and waved him off.

"It would take a lot more than that to scare me off," you said with a laugh as you refilled the sugar caddies at the counter.

"Damn, I don't think I want to find out what that is," he said, grinning as Maria approached him with a kiss.

"Busy night," Maria told him, rubbing the palm of her hand over his back soothingly. You glanced back down at the sugar, ignoring the pang in your chest from watching their open affection for one another.

"Yeah, middle of the week, too. Must be the rain that drove everyone inside," he said, peering out the window at the sheets of rain that fell. His eyes paused on something outside and he squinted before you drew his attention back.

"I'm glad it was, it made the night go by fast," you replied, moving on from the sugar to the condiment bottles, wiping them down and refilling them as you went.

"Why don't you finish up and head out," he told you, nodding towards the door. You glanced up and agreed, regretting not bringing an umbrella but maybe if you timed it right, you could leave when there was a lull in the weather.

It was nearly ten by the time you walked out, the door locking behind you. The rain was still coming down, but you hoped the hoodie you brought with you would be enough to shield you as you hurried down the sidewalk.

It was dark out and the streets were quiet as you walked hunched over, your sneakers getting soaked from walking through the puddles. The rain was too loud and your hood covered your ears, so you didn't hear him when he approached you from behind, his own shoes splashing in the water as he jogged to catch up.

"Hey," he panted, and you yelped, jumping backwards as your heart raced in your chest.

"Jesus, Joel. You scared me!" you said with a frown, your hand resting against your heart.

"Sorry," he said with a smirk, then moved closer, just inches away from your own body. You could feel the warmth rolling off him and you could smell the shampoo from his hair, he was that close. You froze, not sure what was happening until you realized the rain was no longer pummeling your head. Glancing up, you noticed he held an umbrella over you.

"Oh," you breathed, then looked at him again. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he mumbled, his unwavering gaze burning a hole in you. Finally, you tore your eyes away and the two of you quickly walked the rest of the way to your apartment, his arm occasionally brushing up against your own, and you resisted the urge to flinch.

You fumbled nervously with your keys as he held the umbrella over you, sacrificing himself to the weather so you had enough room to maneuver the door open. You slipped inside and he moved the umbrella back over himself.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked, and you furrowed your brow, looking up at the sky.

"Do you want to come in and wait this out? Or I could drive you back -"

"Yes," he said, cutting you off and eagerly stepping forward. You held the door open as he collapsed the umbrella, giving it a few shakes and leaving it angled against the door before following you up the steps.

He shut the second door behind him, glancing around at your meager apartment as you flitted around turning on lights and closing the shades. You turned back to look at him, standing stock still in your doorway, unsure what to do with himself. You yanked your wet hoodie off over your head, your shirt riding up just a little bit and exposing your stomach for a moment, and Joel felt a stirring below his waist. He had to force himself to look away until you managed to fix your shirt, the desire coursing through his veins becoming too overwhelming.

"Let me get you a towel," you said, noticing how drenched his hair looked for the first time. He was grateful for the extra moment to collect himself as you slipped into the bathroom and grabbed two bath towels, drying your own hair as you handed him his. He thanked you and slid his shoes off while he dried his dark curls, then wiped his face and neck. You forced yourself to look away from the droplets of water trickling enticingly slow down his throat and underneath the collar of his nearly soaked T-shirt.

"Coffee?" you asked, and he chuckled at the familiar question.

"Sure," he said, taking a couple steps forward and leaning against the doorway of your little kitchen, watching as you scooped the grounds into the coffee maker next to your stove.

"How's that faucet treatin' you?"

"Good," you said with a nod, then pressed the brew button and turned to face him. "Are you a handyman on the side or something?"

"I guess I'm just a man of many talents," he said with a wink, and you felt the heat creeping up your neck. To distract yourself, you turned and walked toward the window, peeking out through the curtains as the rain pummeled down on the street below.

"It's still really coming down out there," you said, turning back around. You gasped, not realizing he had followed you over and he was standing right behind you, looking out the window as well before his gaze fell to you. You looked at each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to do something, say something, anything to acknowledge the tension in the room.

"Were you following me?" you asked quietly, and he blinked.

"Following you? No," he said, shaking his head. But he shifted his gaze away guiltily. "I was comin' back from droppin' Sarah off at practice and happened to drive by the diner, so I stopped..."

"At ten o'clock at night?" you asked. He let a huff of laughter escape his lips.

"Might've hung out in the parking lot for a bit."

"Why?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek, still not able to meet your eye.

"You seemed shook up earlier. Just wanted to make sure you were okay," he finally said.

He spent his evening in the parking lot just to keep an eye on the place? What did that mean? You swallowed and asked another question.

"Doing some overtime, then?" you all but whispered. He took a deep breath in through his nose and finally looked at you.

"No."

His eyes flicked down to your lips and you thought you were going to pass out with how fast your blood was pumping through your veins.

The beep from the coffee pot startled you both out of your trance. You blinked and shifted around him, pulling two mugs down off the shelf. Somehow, you managed to pour the liquid without burning yourself, your shaky hands betraying you as you held his cup out to him.

"Do you mind if I go change?" you asked him, and he looked up at you over his mug, surprised.

"'Course not," he said, glancing down at your damp work uniform. His eyes trailed after you as you disappeared into your bedroom and shut the door. He knew he shouldn't be there. He knew he was overwhelming you, but he just couldn't stay away. He knew if he was at home, all alone, he would just be laying on the couch half listening to some talk show and wondering what you were doing. And he really liked being able to know instead of just wonder.

You came back out of your bedroom a minute later dressed in soft pajama pants and a sleep shirt. It wasn't anything special, but he felt himself react anyway. It was intimate, being able to see what you slept in, and it excited him.

"I'm sorry, I don't have anything..." you trailed off, pointing to his now half dry T-shirt, and he smirked. He couldn't stop what he said next.

"I'm glad you don't have any men's clothes lyin' around."

I'm glad you're not dating anyone. I'm glad you aren't sleeping with anyone. Because I want it to be me.

You cleared your throat nervously and looked around, your eyes falling on the TV.

"Do you want to watch a movie or something? 'Til the rain stops?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod. He sat down slowly at the end of the couch, watching as you fished around the coffee table for the remote and turned it on, then tucked your legs underneath you as you sat down on the other end of the couch. It wasn't a big piece of furniture, but you still managed to put as much space as possible between you two. You flicked around the channels, pausing when you found a familiar movie and you turned to check with him, only to find he had been looking at you the whole time.

"Is this okay?"

"Sure," he said, not even sparing a glance at the TV. You felt your face flush and you bit your lip, trying to breathe through your nerves as you turned back to watch some actors you couldn't quite name.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger," you said, nodding to his coffee. "I'm not much of a drinker."

"That's okay, I'm not either," he said, settling back into the couch as he finally tore his gaze away from you to look at the screen.

It was a relief to hear him say that. You had spent so much time around men who drank that it turned you off from the whole idea most of the time. You opened your mouth to tell him that, but quickly snapped it shut. That would inevitably cause him to ask more questions, and you weren't ready to open that door.

The rain kept up most of the night, but you weren't sure when it stopped because even though you had drank most of your coffee, you fell asleep. You had intended on resting your head on the back of the couch and closing your eyes for just a moment, but the stress from the whole day combined with not sleeping well the night before caught up with you.

Of course, Joel noticed. He watched with a small smile as your body slowly relaxed into the couch, then your lips parted just a little bit and your breathing deepened. He probably should have woken you up, helped you to bed, then left. But he was a selfish man, and instead watched you sleep until your body began to slump closer to him. His breath caught in his throat and his body stiffened as you unconsciously leaned against him, your soft cheek coming to rest against his shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to slow his racing heart.

Fuck, you were just too pretty and sweet, and he couldn't help himself. He was just a man. He was selfish. He was weak. And he didn't care.

Slowly, he inched his way down until he was lying flat on the couch, your body sliding down with him. Your head was pressed against his shoulder, your leg draped over his own and he felt your warm exhale through the thin fabric of his shirt. He swore he would only stay like that for a little while but it was too intoxicating. Before he knew it, his body was quickly lulled to sleep, with his nose buried in your hair and his arms wrapped around your body, holding you close.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77 @nandan11 @anoverwhelmingdin @fandomscollide @survivingandenduring @honeyedmiller @pedropascalsbbg @southernbe @pedrosfanny @gobaaby-blog-blog @eloquentdreamer @yomiyasxx @mrsparknuts @missladym1981 @spacedoutdaydreamer @cosmic006533-blog @prettyinpunk85 @maried01 @sunnyskyapplepie

#joel miller x female reader #tlou hbo #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #the last of us game #sheriff!joel #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #possessive joel #protective joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller #STR fic

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 10 months

Text

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Can children consent?

According to my notifications, someone was very interested in hearing my opinion on that - leaving that question under a lot of my posts, regardless of whether they mentioned consent or had any possible connection to that question whatsoever.

Is it possible that someone, for some personal reason, just really wants to discuss the topic “children and consent” with me (and is perhaps being a bit clumsy about it but has good intentions)?

Yeah, I guess so, but: some other commentators pointed out that these questions seemed random and unrelated to my content, and were met with “So you think children can consent?”… and if you weren’t suspicious before, you should definitely be at this point.

Sadly, there are some people who will ask loaded questions to lgbt+ creators in hopes of getting an answer that they can twist into something nefarious. “Can Children consent?” is a loaded question because even a completely innocent and harmless answer could be misconstrued as “proof” that lgbt+ people are pedophiles who are trying to groom kids… if you look for proof, and are willing to twist or purposefully misunderstanding someone’s words, you’ll find proof.

Take this post for example, I didn’t even answer the question. The reason for that is that, well, I just explained how my answer would be misconstrued anyway. Plus, the answer is actually super obvious and nothing you can have one opinion or the other about (Obviously kids can’t consent to sex, they’re not mentally and emotionally developed enough to give informed consent to sexual acts) - and if you really really want to, you could interpret even that in bad faith. “He’s dodging the question!” or “He’s instantly jumping to sex! Maybe the question was just about a hug” or “Okay but why would you defend yourself if you were innocent” or… I don’t even know. It’s tiring to think about all the ways people can paint you as evil to justify their hatred of you.

And that’s also the point of me even talking about this in the first place: not just a „don’t fall for the bait” but a “it’s okay to be tired”. Having to be on the lookout for bait is tiring. Having to consider possible bad intentions is tiring. Knowing that falling for bait could end in you get harassed or doxxed or threatened… yeah, that is tiring.

Having to worry about your safety is tiring. I wish I could end this on a more positive note - but sometimes the most comforting thing we can do without lying is to admit that some things suck.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#I’ll openly admit that one of the reasons I don’t post a lot currently is the overwhelming number of ter/fs on this site #but there are also sweeter reasons (I’m in a happy and beautiful qpr now - which has distracted me in a positive way!)#lgbt #lgbt+

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bunji-enthusiast · 3 months

Note

Hope you're doing well!! Please take however long you need to get your creative juices flowing <333 may I order a Dogday recognizing Poppy's Angel is actually the former Playtime Co. employee he and many others came to love and cherish due to their kindness? The reader is THAT employee that others envy, many of the toys LOVES them and prefer to be taken care of by them.

Maybe the reader had found out the sinister nature of the company but is understandably afraid to speak up about it as they realized their old co-workers maybe weren't just fired or " quit " out of thin air after all... Perhaps something happened behind the scenes that made the reader " quits " ( Maybe they could be threatened but by a lot of pleading and bargaining, they're spared but has to keep their mouth shut and never come back, otherwise... )

The toys are devastated, angry and just lots of mixed emotions. The reader feeling more and more guilty as they venture through their once happy place and having to harm the ones they once swore to care for.

The rest is up to you! Please again, take care and take your time, all the best in everything <333

I'm So Sorry

Note || oh my hearttt the angstttt, lovely to write this as always. In the form of head canons if that is alright? ^^

WC || 1,035

Sypnosis || you knew otherwise, presumably what went on. You just didn’t mean to harm those around you.

Being aware of something most employees where not had dug you a thorough grave, you didn’t want to leave your beloved friends in the toy factory. A factory misconstrued on a basement of lies and futility you may as well be well over with, and bury it in the ground. Yet, bury in the ground they did.

Your superiors had learned of your knowledge of these things, and began sending letters. Bit by bit, they had only started off by threatening you; telling you to keep quiet. They didn’t want their precious reputation to be ruined by the likes of you. Still, you continued to stay, you didn’t want to leave your loved ones. All the friends you’ve come to love, eventually becoming like family for you.

You weren’t deaf nor blind to what the superiors at Playtime Co. do, quite literally you’d have to bandage your eyes or plug your ears to ignore all that was happening behind the scenes, you didn’t let it fall on deaf ears however. Eventually soon enough it was eating away at you to actually just quit, just straight up disappear from Playtime Co.’s eyes.

Among the many toys; Huggy, Kissy, Mommy, and Poppy, hell even CatNap began to wonder where you went. Why did you flat-out depart from working at the Factory so suddenly? One day you were visible and present, the next you had not shown up. Oddly enough they soon had gotten their answer when the Hour Of Joy had occurred, Huggy Wuggy had come across your paper of termination when he had taken upon himself in the act.

So long ago, that was a decade past you left that life behind. You really wished you would have granted them goodbyes before you had gone, yet it seemed you got that chance to do so when you received a paper in the mail that had appeared to be from your co-workers. Word for word you could remember reading, everyone thinks the staff disappeared ten years ago, we’re still here. Find the flower.

The only reason you even had to come back to the factory in the first place was because of the guilt easily overwhelming your logic, you needed answers. You needed to know what happened to your co-workers and all the toys you cared deeply for, yet you had an overwhelming suspicion you really knew what happened to all the staff in Playtime Co. you simply just weren’t present for it. Having technically already left.

Seeing Huggy Wuggy on the pedestal again brought back some memories for you, he was certainly a hoot. In a way, you really liked him along with the rest of the toys. He was certainly a unique one out of the few–especially along with Kissy Missy. You thought they were a cute pair together, Kissy always managed to calm his murderous tendencies and Huggy was always someone you can count on for a good hug if you ever had a bad day.

Killing is not something you would ever dare think of doing, it was simply not in your mind or blood to do so. So why did you have to resort to killing Huggy? You silently wept, having no time to grieve for him properly as you had to trudge on along to the flower.

Poppy was the last person (or toy, ahem) you expected to find in that case you came across. Now you find yourself in the game station, seeing her get pulled away like that right after she offered to give the code to you had you on the steels of your nerves, you were immediately very close to being in an angry mood.

Now you had to deal with Mommy’s antics, you felt for her, but you certainly wouldn’t want to go through the trouble of trying to get the code from Mommy. Least of all having to resort to killing her, as she would not listen to your words. Convincing her was impossible to do, trying to make her remember you was a whole different story.

Crap.

Why’d she have to go in a rage? Now she’s dead too, and what in the seven circles of hell did she mean by “HE’LL MAKE ME PART OF HIM! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!” You shudder when a mechanical hand comes to pull away Mommy’s corpse, you mentally make a note that is the Prototype. As you’ve come to learn the name after you had scavenged Elliot’s office.

Soon you learn what Mommy had meant, arguably enough you were angry that Poppy had derailed your only train to get out of Playtime Co. but your heart had ached too much to not finish what you started. Now CatNap was hunting you while you ran around in Playcare, you just never expected to see such an untimely sight that nobody should be put in.

DogDay was hurt, real bad. His legs were severed, he wasn’t long and limber like you remember him to be. His life seemed to be completely drained and sucked away from him, you wince when he moved, movement appeared to be harsh to even put energy into. Your heart bleeds for him, yet you are surprised when he actually recognizes you from before, all those years ago.

“Angel, you! Y-You're the one that cared for so many of us.” You nod, parental instinct already kicking in to free him from his belts from which he hung from. DogDay doesn’t deserve a fate like this, not then and especially not now. “You don’t need to, leave me here.”

“Oh hell no, you need to live.” You refute, shushing him before DogDay begins to protest. You sigh in relief once he finally is free, as selfish as it may be, he hadn’t ever attempted to kill you. You wanted someone with you that actually remembers you and doesn’t try to gun for you the moment you even step into the vicinity.

Gosh, you really hoped to get this over with. Guilt weighing heavily in mind as you had to kill so many toys, so many that you cared for.

At Least it meant to be in the name of self defense.

Right?

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime angst?#dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime huggy #poppy playtime x reader #all the stuff

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komaniyaexpress · 7 months

Text

— is this .. me?! .. ♪

sagau — they find a piece of artwork made by the creator; of .. them.

— featuring furina, wanderer, freminet, and neuvillette .. ♪

cw. none wc. 200-400 ea.

furina

it goes without saying .. furina is ecstatic. i mean.. why wouldn’t she be? she wouldn’t make this known, however, because “of course you’re going to wish to capture my enthralling beauty on paper — it’s only fair when faced with such divine radiance!” inside.. she’s a mess. her widened eyes flit over every tiny detail, every little stroke of the pen or paintbrush. “enthralling beauty”, she says, “divine radiance”, she says — but is she truly talking about herself or the way you interpreted her? never in all the centuries she’d been alive would she admit this, but she couldn’t help but feel as if you had made her look much more ethereal than she truly was. she does make it known that she likes it, though. when you turn away from her and murmur something about how you’re not the most proud of this particular piece, she scoffs indignantly. “what? how— ugh, how could you ever say such a thing? do you dare question my judgement?!” she leans back against the couch, hardly able to focus on the taste of the small pastry half-eaten in her hand. she’s incredibly grateful it’s only you two alone, because she has an entirely embarrassing blush upon her face as she chews.

wanderer

“.. seriously?” he kind of just.. glares at it. i’m sorry, but i don’t really know what you were expecting. depending on the kind of mood he’s in, he’ll either simply cast it aside without a second glance or attempt to mockingly chew you out over it. it doesn’t matter whether he actually likes it or not; he is not going to let you live it down. he’s not amused, but i can’t really imagine him actually getting upset about it either. he’ll scoff, maybe roll his eyes if he’s feeling generous enough, then go about his day without another thought to it. even with his nonchalant, near-annoyed demeanor over the whole thing, when you’ve left and he’s alone — he looks for it again and stares at it like he didn’t get to before. as his eyes travel the lines that form a quite accurate depiction of his visage — implying you spent a lot of time looking at him — he can’t help but wonder why, of all people, you chose him as your muse. he does.. appreciate the sentiment, though, even if he’ll never voice it. he catches himself before he spirals. it doesn’t matter, he reminds himself. with a huff, he sets it down again and crosses his arms, trying to ignore the fact it does indeed make him feel.

freminet

if you were expecting anything other than freminet being an absolute mess.. you’d be sorely mistaken. of course, he’s not upset at all. he’s just.. very, very embarrassed. he loves your art, he does. he doesn’t want you to misconstrue this, and makes sure you know it’s not your problem, but his own. make sure to reassure him. the moment he lays his eyes upon it, it’s evident; his eyes widen almost comically, and, suddenly, he has the surely inexplicable urge to run for his life. that wouldn’t be fair to you, though, so he bites it back and forces himself to stay put. the gears whir in his mind like he’s a piece of the machinery he holds so dear. he doesn’t know how to thank you — should he thank you? he doesn’t know what to say at all, more like. he clears his throat, unable to get any words out; his mouth goes dry and his heart practically beats out of his chest, all the while he’s looking just as frozen in time as your rendition of him. he lets out an audible sigh of relief when you reassure him that he doesn’t need to speak. he can’t handle you when you stare at him like this, and asks if you’d be okay with him putting on his diving helmet. once you’ve given him your permission — which you reiterate he doesn’t need — he quickly places it over his head, letting out a soft sigh of relief when you can no longer see his face. his gaze doesn’t leave the art, not for a moment. he stands still and stares at it, unable to tear his eyes away from the lines that, somehow, paints a clear picture of.. him. that you made. he still does not make any move to talk, and he’s very glad that you’re so understanding. eventually, he murmurs an apology, and through the lump in his throat, reassures you that (if there was ever any doubt), he likes it.

neuvillette

it was raining. it had been raining all day. naturally, this worried you, and your first thought was to check up on neuvillette. exhausted yet unchanging, neuvillette sifted through his paperwork without taking a single break to rest. however, all things must, and eventually, his tire overcame him — letting out a sigh, he placed his palm upon his forehead and leaned into it, his eyes fluttering closed. it took him a moment to open them again, but when he finally did.. after such a long day, eyes sore with the strain of reading fine print jammed together so thickly the pages looked more inky than ivory, the last thing he expected was to see was a piece of blank paper on his desk. curious, he picks it up and flips it over, assuming it to be more writing on the other side — only to be met with.. himself, staring right back at him. the neuvillette now is slightly slouched over, eyes drooping with the weight of an unrelenting week. he’s unable to see his true reflection — in a mirror or water, not a near-perfect version of him on paper — so he couldn’t really tell, but even so, he can’t help but feel as if this version of him must appear much more composed. he pushes the thought away, stares at the piece a bit closer, and he eases a bit. not only was it a splendid break to the monotony of monochromatic paperwork, it was made by you. it’s now that you walk into the room. in a split second, you realize what he’s holding. you blink. he smiles, gentle and soft. the rain stops pouring.

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