#even though it might seem obvious. Nowadays

[dev1lm4n]

all glory

masterlist | kofi (support me here!)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel has been feeling insecure, finding it hard to come to terms that he's indeed aging. tommy suggests a clever solution: a post-apocalyptic glory hole

word count: 4.8k of pure filth

warnings: minors dni (18+), post-outbreak, joel is 56 here hehe hot old men, insecurities, glory hole, fingering, unsafe piv, slight breeding kink, no pregnancy stuff tho cuz im terrified of that, reader calls him sir, pet name (darling)

note: i decided to create a kofi bcs im a broke college student lol. anyways hope yall enjoy this, do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :)

Joel Miller had always been a man of confidence.

Being left as a single father for Sarah at an early age, he’s been through thick and thin, trying his best to make ends meet so that they wouldn’t have to end up in one of those run-down shelters. But never once did he question his ability to attract women. 

He’s always had it in him. With a mere glance from his expressive eyes, he can ensnare hearts and leave an everlasting impression on anyone fortunate enough to encounter him. Rugged masculinity and striking refinement; a deathly mix that kept girls swarming after him like bees. After the world descended into chaos, he’s not much different either. Perhaps the bone-deep trauma had left him looking eternally exhausted with sunken eyebags, or that gray filaments started becoming a welcomed addition to his beard, but all in all he’s still charming.

He didn’t have to seek, because people seek for him. Joel had plenty of erotic rendezvous in times where society crumbled and the rule of law eroded, more so now that everyday could be his last and he didn’t have the privilege to take it slow like a true Southern gentleman. He’s done it everywhere. Inside a stuffy closet while hiding from a clicking monstrosity, behind a thin wall while her husband sat cluelessly on the other side, and even taking sexual compensation for his little business. Joel Miller wasn’t a saint. Neither he one for God and he’d like to make it obvious.

Nowadays though, within the tall foreboding walls of Jackson City, that type of attention has faded away. He’s no longer getting those longing stares from across the floor, no longer being begged to corrupt just for some extra wad of cards, no longer being flirted and fawned over like a goddamn stud. Joel didn’t have any problem with it at first. He’s growing old. Instead of those naughty strands of white peeking out of his head, he’s now a complete mix of salt and pepper. Instead of just having a fun smile line, forehead rolls and crows’ feet are now imprinted deep into every crevice. Joel wasn’t the man he used to be. 

He’s weathered away, he thought, unsuited for fun and adventure.

Perhaps it had something to do with his daughter as well. Even when Ellie’s not from his actual blood, everyone in town viewed her that way. He’s her father. Thus, everyone seemed to perceive and treat him as merely a father and not as an actual person that has his own needs and wants. Joel loved his daughter. Terribly so in ways he couldn’t decipher. A part of him has made up his mind that this would be how he should spend the rest of his life: in celibacy. Though the retirement of his sexual and romantic life has slowly taken a toll towards his self-esteem. Tommy, who’s always known to be rather slow and imperceptive, was surprisingly the first one to take notice of his gradual change.

“Maria told me you might be here.”

Tommy’s gruff voice brought him out of his trance. Joel looked up, meeting the familiar figure crouch to get into his little workshop. It was his newfound hobby these days, becoming a hermit and isolating himself from the community. He’d craft a wooden figure or two each night while he relived each and every one of his memories. Good and bad. Of death and of birth. Then by the end of the night he’d feel mildly satisfied with a wooden sculpture shaped like memorabilia from the old world. Joel couldn’t admit it outloud, but insecurity had taken over him. It festered deep into his soul that he couldn’t even bear looking at himself in the mirror anymore or present himself to society.

“Yeah, just..” he paused to ponder on a better way to answer. “Just doin’ my own thing.”

“You skippin’ dinner again?” Tommy’s curiosity sounded oddly suspicious, enough that Joel already knew he’s about to say something obnoxious or entirely uncalled for. The older quirked his thick eyebrows in return.

“Made myself my own plate,” Joel cocked his head towards where a lone plate sat. Judging from the crimson stain smeared on top, it must’ve been one of those canned pastas that he picked out.

“Brother..” Tommy started out, visibly nervous of how his brother would take it. “Is there something wrong?”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you.”

“No, not that I could think of,” Joel hummed. “I ain’t bitten or anythin’, why are ya asking such a dumb question anyway?”

“You’re just different these days,” Tommy reasoned with a small frown. “You barely come out of your house and if you do, you’re huddled up in this place, carving things for hours on end.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with wanting to be alone. Is there?” he challenged.

“No, but you’re.. different. Almost like your mind’s troubled for once.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong, Tommy,” he insisted.

Joel was actively avoiding the accusations. He stood up from where he’s been perched upon for hours on end, bringing his half-carved wooden slab with him to set it on one of the displays he had. He’s grown quite the collection. It’s been going on far longer than he’d expected, the crippling fear of being undesirable and hideous, and it brought up an immense feeling of embarrassment. He couldn’t possibly admit such things to Tommy, could he? Tommy was different from him. His first child was on its way to be birthed, but girls still chatter about his charming smile and strong figure. They’d still gossip and make dirty guesses about his size. How long he endured such activities, the position he enjoyed best, and how sweet he was to his partner.

Tommy couldn’t possibly understand his fear.

“You can’t help me even if I told ya,” he grumbled.

“Put some trust in me, will ya?” Tommy chuckled as he spun around his seat to follow Joel’s every move. “Tell me what’s troublin’ you, big brother.”

“They don’t look at me the same way.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“The ladies,” Joel muttered.

His words were barely above a whisper. It almost seemed as if he saw the phenomenon as something humiliating, up to the point where he couldn’t even look Tommy in the eye in fear of having him laugh. He’s never talked about this with anyone else. It didn’t help that he truly didn’t have anyone to talk to in general aside from the few acquaintances his brother introduced him to and well.. Ellie. But none of them seem to be the right person to talk to regarding this. 

Regarding his failure in masculinity. His unspoken worries that he didn’t have any of the strong, chiseled jawline or any of the tightly packed abdomen with six separate squares to admire. He’s grown old and weak. Five years ago, he could’ve probably still sweet-talk his way into a woman's heart, but now he couldn’t even look one in the eye without the fear of being put to shame.

“They still do, Joel,” Tommy assured him. He’s telling the truth. Joel knew that Tommy didn’t have it in him to lie, he’d have sounded like a strangled bird or a squeaky dog’s toy if he did. But his mind couldn’t believe it one bit.

“I don’t know, Tommy..” he muttered. “They don’t look at me the same way. They don’t look at me at all even.. and I’m fine with that I 'spose. I ain’t a whorin’ bastard who couldn’t accept that he’s agin’..”

“But they do, Joel.”

“I’m old,” he sucked in the air. “Lately there are these moments where I.. where I’d look a girl in the eye and all I could feel was humiliation.”

“Humiliation?”

“Like they’re lookin’ at me as if I’m some.. some sort of repulsive creature,” he whispered. “I feel like I could hear ‘em gigglin’ with their girlfriends on how shameless I am.”

Tommy was deduced into silence. Time ticked by as he cranked up his brain to figure out the best way to aid his older brother out of his misery. It’s all in his head, Tommy knew that Joel knew that as well, but it’s easier patching up an oozing wound than a troubled mind. He brought his hand together on top of his jeans as he waited for the younger to make another comment, whether of comfort or of a harsh reality.

“I’ll offer you a solution,” Tommy spoke up. “But you gotta promise not to lose your head over it.”

“It ain’t drugs, is it?”

“No, no..” Tommy chuckled humorlessly.

“I’m open to anythin’” Joel dropped his arms to his side as he curiously eyed Tommy.

“Have you ever heard of a glory hole?”

Joel’s expression contorted in such a way that the younger Miller couldn’t possibly read what he’s thinking any longer.

“I ain’t goin’ outside those borders just to go to some sketchy brothel, Tommy. That’d be pathetic.”

“Well, the thing is this whole operation ain’t sketchy,” Tommy reasoned. “The girls were tested and approved by the local doctor before..”

“Local doctor? You tellin’ me this is happenin’ within Jackson?”

“I operate it, Joel,” he sighed, knowing he’s about to be bombarded with a handful of questions. “And before you ask, no this ain’t considered prostitution as there’s no material exchange.”

“You mean..”

“Yes. The girls do it for free. Volunteers. They do it for their own pleasure and I help make their dreams come true.”

Joel looked at his own brother as if he was a mad man. Who wouldn’t? When he’s just told him that they had an actual glory hole installed without most of the public knowing. Or perhaps they knew, they were just not talking about it in front of Joel.

“Ten to twelve. There’s a small house across the sheep field. One girl every Friday night.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy. Maria knows about this?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

“No, but it’s better off she doesn’t.”

Joel felt his morals set askew for a second. This sounded like a terrible idea, despite the fact that he’s confirmed it himself that it’d be the safest a glory hole could possibly be. He scratched his beard and took it into deep consideration.

In the quiet stillness of a winter’s night, the world was wrapped in a soft, white blanket of snow. The moon hung low in the dark sky - a beacon towards those who chose to travel in the deepest hours of nighttime. Joel blew puffs of warm air onto his gloved fingertips, hoping it’d satiate the coolness that made his joints ache and his skin itch. The air was crisp and biting, each breath producing a frosty cloud which quickly amalgamated into the air. He watched as gentle snowflakes, alike to elegant ballet dancers, fell from the heavens up above and twirled and swirled into an intricate pattern. He’s been waiting for way too long.

“So what are ya sayin’? Are you gonna let me take you tomorrow night?” Tommy broke the silence.

Tommy promised to meet him on the edge of the sheep field, where they’d herd livestocks all throughout the warmer times of the year, but he’s yet to see his tall nose and dark hair from any of the cardinal directions. He’s been waiting for too long to keep the same mindset Tommy’s trained him into, that this was simply a beneficial exchange for every party involved and that he shouldn’t feel shameful for something so instinctive. Waiting gave him time to weigh out the cons, how this was naturally an act of debauchery that wounded both his moral values and beliefs. He ain’t a God preacher, but he’s sure to keep some of those Southern manners.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

None of Tommy’s ideas are ever well thought out. Starting from his sudden gravitation towards the military, to his desires to hand over his entire life towards the Fireflies, and now this. He knew his younger brother wasn’t the brightest of men, but creating an entire glory hole to keep the town’s morale up might be the stupidest one he’s heard yet. Especially when Maria’s not aware of it. He feared for the day when the beans spilled out of its jar, but tonight wasn’t that day. During the time in which he contemplated his decisions, Joel didn’t notice the crunching of snow against thick boots. Tommy was here and he looked far too calm for a self-made procucer.

Tommy beckoned him to follow the path his boots had made. Joel sucked in some of that painfully cold air into his lungs, before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started trailing along. There were a few street lamps across the field, a ruddy glow emanating from them as they were adorned with a light dusting of snow. He kept his guards up while he scanned through the whistling field of crop, that traumatized part of him always keeping in check of abrupt movements and unsettling sceneries. After a quiet walk for a good three minutes, they finally arrived. The house fronts looked dark enough, and the windows even darker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs.

There was snow piling up outside as well, dirtier ones whose last deposit had been plowed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and wagons. He scrutinized over the tracks, wondering if this was meant to be used as a makeshift grain tower. If it was, then Tommy must’ve been a great scheming asshole to turn such a place into his own little heaven. Not one soul was around, which confused Joel even more. Wasn’t this supposed to be a public glory hole? Weren’t it supposed to be disgustingly packed with sweating men, adorned with walls covered in left-over spurts of cum and other bodily fluids, and smelled like sex itself?

Joel continued to pursue Tommy even when he’s overly skeptical about this entirely new scene. His boots were scuffed as he was dragging his feet through the front door, a fight against his defense system that’s begging him to flee out the door at the unfamiliarity. The establishment consisted of a long narrow hallway that eventually led up to an imposing door. Wooden, large, and mysterious.

To his surprise, what was beyond that door wasn’t some tacky sex dungeon with rattling chains and leather whips, it was a modest looking box. Square, he’d assume one meter wide and half a meter tall. He took in the wood it was made from. His pointer finger slowly traced the circumference out of habit. Oak, he concluded, making it sturdy and cool even in the warmer weather. What he failed to notice from the get-go was a pair of legs that were stretched open, chained onto the wall from the considerably-sized gap. Joel’s heart dropped to his stomach, he forgot for an entire minute what he was planning to do, and he’s starting to get cold feet.

“Darlin’, I’ve got someone for you,” Tommy cooed.

“You do, Tommy?”

Normally, people acquire hobbies in order to soothe their brief but occasional boredom, though you have discovered a unique way to tackle long hours of the night. This brilliant discovery of yours was birthed from a fated moment. One where you accidentally stumble across the conversation Tommy had with one of his patrol friends. It began a fantasy in your head. One you didn’t believe could come true until you overheard a passionate storytelling session one of the barmaids gave their friend. Only then did you gather enough courage to talk to Tommy about it. Despite his initial disapproval, saying things like you look too good and gentle to be doing such things, you managed to convince him with a week's worth of nagging.

“Mhm, one of my good friends here,” he hummed. “You’ll let him use you like a good fucking girl, won’t you?”

Goosebumps trailed from your backbone down to where your legs spread wide. Your nervousness made you flinch, effectively causing your legs to rattle against the metal restraints.

“Yes, I will, Tommy.”

When did you get so.. obedient?

“Alright then. I’ll see you in um.. twenty?”

“Thirty,” the foreign voice spoke up, masculine with a twinge of accent.

“Thirty it is.”

The entire room went quiet for an entire minute, only then did you finally hear the door slammed back shut. You swallowed back the throbbing fear in your heart, pushing back those persistent thoughts constantly warning you of the dangers. Even if you trusted Tommy with all your life, you didn’t trust the random strangers Tommy’s picked out. How could you trust them when you didn’t know who they were for sure? They could’ve been someone you see on the daily. The friendly guards, the cafeteria guy who’d always beam a sweet smile your way and give out more bread than standard, or even.. Tommy’s hunk of a brother. The same one who wouldn’t even spare you a look when you’re obviously sending heart eyes his way.

“Darlin’ is your name, ain’t that right?”

There was something so.. alluring about his voice. The type that makes your knees buckle inevitably, despite your best efforts to push it apart.

“That’s right,” you squeaked out.

“Darlin’, it’s been a long long time since I’ve done this, so let me indulge in you alright?”

“Okay,” you breathed out unsurely.

Your eyes instinctively followed the direction of the hushed voice, but all you could see from the dim box was a piece of dark fabric that was hung from above the hole. It was to keep your identity a secret so that the patrons across from you could only see you from the belly button down. Though now you felt more inclined than ever to pull on the draping and meet this man’s eyes. Your thoughts soon diminished when you felt a large hand over your inner thighs. Nowhere dangerous, just resting below where your kneecaps sat. You closed your eyes to try and envision the kind of hands touching you.

Were they soft and unsullied like a baby’s bum? Or were they rough and ridged with years of work?

That large hand traveled down South, inching with an irritatingly slow pace down towards where you ached the most. He was a fair man. He treated both of your thighs in the same manner before the two gathered together in a v-shape over your cotton panties. You wondered if you should’ve worn something more enticing, something which suited a person like you - someone willing to spread their legs for a true stranger. But the man on the other side didn’t seem to have a problem. He didn’t seem like he was bothered by the simplicity of your presentation, instead he was keen on pressing his thumb down the center.

They were the latter. 

His fingers were textured and it felt too good to be true. At the briefest touch, you followed after his movement, hips reaching further up to chase after his departing touch. You whined. Frustrated that he’s cruel enough to press your sensitive clit and leave you all hot and bothered. He let out a deep chuckle, one that came out from the depth of his stomach as he placed his thumb back where it belonged. Your hole clenched and unclenched at the stimulating sensation. Your cotton panties seemed to be a great aid for your needy clit. It felt similar to grinding over a pillow, just this time, it felt a lot more real and animated.

“How long have you been doin’ this, darlin’?”

“Doin’ what, sir?”

So polite. It’s laughable the fact that you’re so soft spoken. Your lips spilled out a gentle moan as his thumb dug deeper into that sensitive spot.

“Lettin’ strangers fuck you,” he was frank with his words that’s for sure.

“This is my first time.. in the box that is,” your voice cracked almost immediately under pressure. “Been thinking of this for a long long time though.”

The gruff man hummed noncommittally as he continued to please you with his thumb. You used to be shy when it comes to being reactive during intercourse, but with the box, it almost felt like you could finally be your true primal self with your utmost carnal desires. He slowly eased your stained panties to the side once he saw an increasingly growing wetness, knowing that it’s time to move on to his next way of torture. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air immediately, it felt like the air was nipping at the sensitive skin all around. He took his two fingers - his middle and pointer finger being his favorite choice despite the controversy - and slowly dragged it atop the slick canal.

“A pretty girl like you gettin’ all wet from a little touchin’,” he chided. “You haven’t been fucked well or somethin’?”

What a considerate man. He called you pretty when he could barely tell what you look like.

“No, maybe, I-” you were flustered. You’ve never had to exchange proper talk when someone’s touching your dirty, wet cunt. “None of Jackson’s men did good. That’s why I hoped..”

Your voice trailed off into a garble of nonsense when he teased at your entrance, trying to decide whether you’re soaked enough to push a finger in comfortably. You whined, louder this time, as your legs fought against the uncomfortable metal cuffs wrapped around your ankle. He decided to play nice for once and made your dreams come true by inserting that thick finger of his. Fingering has never felt good for you, it always felt like an intrusion rather than a welcomed feeling, but he’s making it feel like heaven on earth.

“Hoped a stranger would fuck me well enough,” you took awhile to finish that statement.

He let out one of those noises of disapproval, at your skewed moral direction perhaps or at the tone of desperation your voice must’ve let out. You could only suck in a shallow breath when he started making proper, continuous motions with his finger. He pushed upwards to poke the tip of his finger onto that squishy part, playing around to find out where exactly made you react the most. You loved how he’s patient. You’re half-expecting the men to just stuff their cocks in you like you’re some sex doll instead of taking their time, which you don’t mind either. Half the pleasure was from being treated like nothing.

“Dirty gal,” he degraded, which you found both surprising and exciting. “Just wanted her pussy stuffed with any cock she could have, hm?”

Your hips thrusted up at a larger interruption. This time, the man managed to insert two of his thick fingers inside your eased cunt. He twisted it one-hundred-eighty degrees to the left, then back to the right, before he curled it in a come-here motion. The motion had left you dumb. A combination of ah ah ah’s and unfinished pleads for him to keep still. The man never once fully removed his fingers out of you. He’d slowly pull back to only have a single knuckle stuck inside before pushing it all the way in once more. For once, someone didn’t finger you like you’re a pizza dough waiting to be pounded.

“A-ah, sir. I really.. mmh- I really like that,” you moaned out shamelessly. “Feels really good in my.. in my pussy.”

“You like what, darlin’?”

“Like your fingers.. fingers in my ah- ah pussy!” you whined when he deepened his reach by rotating his wrist upwards. “Something- fuck- something’s coming! Please.. Please don’t sto-”

You warned him like a goddamn virgin and there it was, you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the way your pussy squelched around his finger at the new wave of sticky fluids. The noises were filthy and lewd that you were embarrassed for the first time that night. It coated your throbbing cunt and slowly ebbed out of your hole, dribbling down onto the wooden floor boards under. Strings of almost translucent thickness proof of his success. It’s pretty. The way you gaped around his fingers, tightened and relaxed at his fingers that still kept you full.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

He must be experienced, because he was quick to rub your clit precisely as you went through the throes of orgasm. His broad palm never missed where that bundle of nerves were, until you’re dripping all over the place. Only when you’re right towards the end did he land a small smack atop your pussy, keeping pressure where your womb is to maintain the pleasure for as long as you could. It felt like this wasn’t a shit place for once. It felt like this stranger could surely turn the flesh-eating monsters into a field of rainbows and flowers from how good he’s making you feel.

“You taste sweet,” he muttered. “Someone ever told you that?”

It took you a while to notice that his fingers weren’t there to stuff you full. He was busy tasting you. You could imagine him on the other side of the room, rough fingers deep in his mouth, drenched in your arousal. The thought made you squirm, growing wet once more. You shook your head as his hand slid back up. His fingers ran over your clit with one long stroke before they stayed there. His thumb sat right atop the throbbing spot, unmoving. 

"Perfect little thing, ain't ya?” he asked, and you nodded, your muscles tense as anticipation ran high. "Gonna fill you up real nice."

As soon as the dull tip of his cock prodded against your entrance, your whole body convulsed. Tears slowly crept into your eyes, frustrated, you might as well cry out a pathetic plea if he kept on stalling. Your palms banged flat against the side of the box. Overwhelmed and on the verge of tears when he purposefully missed your weeping hole. His length slid upwards, the warm tip rubbed against your clit from below before it shied away once more. Your toes curled and he must’ve taken the hint from behind the curtains.

The perfect stranger pushed himself up to where his mushroom-like tip ended, allowing you to adjust to the dimensions of his cock before he eased himself deeper.

You let out a strained moan. 

You almost bump the top of your head on the oak boards when he forced his way in. His cock was fully inside you at last. You were ecstatic. Eyes shut close as you bit into your bottom lip, flesh tearing beneath your canines. It was too much all of a sudden. Too good. Too large. Too full. You could hear the loud squelching noise your spongy hole made as he pulled back and stuffed himself back in.

“Fuck,” he groaned silently. “Don’t squeeze around me, darlin’. You're gonna get me in big trouble.”

He chuckled and fuck did it sound so hot.

You felt his fingers gently reach for the width of your hips. His grip was tight and harsh as he guided your every movement with them. He thrusted like a man on a shooting range, with much precision and prowess. You liked this. Liked feeling as if you’re just a doll for people to use and dump their loads in, especially when it's for someone like him. His cock made you writhe and fight against the metal cuffs holding your legs up. Eager to have him speed up to meet your desires yet he was persistent in keeping a stable speed. The sensation was growing. Slowly but surely.

“A-ah.. mmph.. oh God!”

“God ain’t here to save you, darlin’. It’s just this old man right here,” he cooed crudely. 

He made sure to keep you full at all times. Never once did his perfectly-sized cock leave your sloppy hole, it just kept on twitching and growing in size with the help of your warm embrace. “You like this, don’t ya?”

“Oh- oh yes. I like it. Love your..,” he stopped your lewd confession by placing his thumb back atop your once neglected clit, drawing lazily with what’s left of your wetness. You could feel him starting to seep. A tinge of his own arousal mixing in with yours. “Cock! Love your c- cock.”

His heavy pants started to intensify in volume, such a lovely melody when combined with your pathetic whimpers. He’s close.

“Gonna cum in you, darlin’” he muttered out breathlessly. “Gonna make sure you’re all fucked out with my cum.”

You couldn’t think straight. Not when you’re on a highway to heaven. Your little hole tightened, so eager to milk him dry.

“Yeah, you’d like that, won’t you?”

“O-oh.. oh yes. Please.. fuck,”

“Please?”

“Please fill me up.”

His tip started oozing out ribbons after ribbons of cum, quickly filling you up relentlessly. Though he hasn’t stopped bottoming himself up into you. His load sloshed around, coated his length a perfect milky shade, and dribbled down your rear deliciously. Did you really just let a complete stranger fill you up to the top? Did you truly just let him pour his seed up your needy hole?

Maybe you did.

And maybe it’s reckless.

But oddly enough, you don’t feel too bad about it.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #tlou fic #tlou #the last of us

[secretwritingspot]

Home is Where the Heart is (That Heart Just Won't Stop Racing)

Pairing: OPLA Sanji x Reader

Rating/Content Warnings: pretty much none/the same as the first one. Has strong d/s themes but in a very soft, entirely sfw way. Mostly just fluff and emotional hurt/comfort.

Summary: unplanned sequel to Too Much (Take Me Home), reader works up the guts to ask for a repeat performance and Sanji takes on the responsibility of fixing a human piece of fine china. Starting with their aversion to compliments.

Disclaimer(s): none that I can really think of? Reader is called 'puppy' again numerous times but again, in a sfw context. Reader is very briefly referred to as a "lady" in reference to Sanji being a fucking simp, but other than that it is very gender neutral. But definitely keep that line in mind if it might trigger any nasty feelings for y'all, stay safe!!! <3

Since that night, things had been rather normal between you two. Eerily normal.

He's sure it's some mix of the genuine bond the two of you have keeping your interactions mostly the same and your awkward embarrassment- which he's happy to say he's getting to see more often nowadays, especially any time the events of that night are alluded to.

The fidgeting hands, the faint blush, the avoiding eye contact and trying to look serious with a "yeah, whatever" completely devoid of any of the intimidation it attempts.

He doesn't mind, though. The return to normalcy gives him time to plan his next move. He knows that this is delicate, something he will have to take strategically. And, okay, yeah. He's been thinking about it. Of course he doesn't actually stop thinking about it, how could he!? Instead, the break gives him time to come up with new ideas, prepare for the next time you eventually ask him for that type of help.

He waits patiently for the next time you seek him out, knowing there would be one at some point.

Even so, the anticipation kills him. He wants desperately to hear what you want from him in your own words. He knows it's something to do with his approval. The more he thinks about it, the more it seems like it's about approval in general. Though a selfish part of him wants to think that his specifically has some particular sway.

It was obvious the first time how hard it was for you to accept his affectionate words and approval even when you wanted to, and he knew that was something it would take a while to work out of you. The righteous self-reliance, the lingering feeling you didn't deserve soft things. Thoughts so deeply embedded for so long would take work to undo.

So when you come to him shyly one night, wordlessly offering up his ring in the palm of your hand as you refuse to meet his eyes, he knows what he wants to try.

He feels that familiar fluttering in his chest when you offer the ring back in silence. He can tell by your expression that there's so much going through your head, and that it has something to do with what happened that night when you asked him to take the responsibility for making you feel small.

"You wanna tell me something, puppy?"

His voice is soft and expression patient, like he's already working to create that warm, safe atmosphere that made you so pliant before.

The subtle use of the pet name tells you he knows exactly what you want, that he remembers that night as vividly at you do. But the gentle, hopeful uncertainty in his voice tells you he needs your words to know this is okay.

Your words are barely a whisper as an embarrassed blush burns up your face.

"I...want to- to be able to-" Your words are barely a whisper as an embarrassed blush burns up your face. "...let me submit to you again. Please."

His heart melts at your words, the way they shift and stutter. You always seem to change your wording when asking for things - "let me" and "can I" instead of "I want" (or god forbid need) - like it's shameful for you to want anything at all.

"Of course, love."

He answers softly, putting down his drink and closing the book that had been resting open in his hand, setting it down on the end table next to the couch. He keeps his legs open enough to give you a space to sit between them in his lap, gesturing his head towards himself in calling.

"C'mere."

You blush and look down, still avoiding his eyes as you nod and slowly pad towards him, nervous, embarrassed energy radiating from you as you drop to your knees at his feet like the last time.

Though the sight is just as gorgeous as it was then, he shakes his head softly with a click of his tongue, having something else in mind. He holds one of his hands out for you to take, the other cupping your cheek and caressing the skin comfortingly with his thumb.

"Not this time, puppy."

He chides lightly, voice soft and without even a hint of chastising for your assumption, pure care and warmth and fondness in his smile as he pats his lap gently.

"Up here."

Your flush darkens at the idea of being that close but you do it anyway - of course you do, perfect, obedient little thing that you are - climbing onto the couch until you're situated in between his legs, studying his tie with an intensity that gives away your shy desire to look anywhere other than his face right now.

He smiles sweetly, his hands resting on your thighs when you sit in his lap. His gaze is soft and sweet, as if looking down on a child. His voice is warm, talking to you like something precious.

"No need to be nervous, love. But I'm gonna have to ask you to look at me this time, okay?"

His gaze stays soft, as if he isn't expecting an answer from you, his hands moving to your cheek as he tilts your head up.

You go willingly, letting him tilt your head up to face him with two fingers under your jaw, his thumb gently pressed to your chin so he can angle your face as he pleases. Your face is pink and you're obviously still having trouble with eye contact, especially in a position as vulnerable as this, but he can see that you're trying.

And that's all he'd ever ask of you anyway.

Now that you're looking at him, all up close and personal like he'd planned, he can start his real plan for the evening- to start rewiring those frustratingly selfless parts of your brain, get you accustomed to praise and love and care and reassurance and the fact that you deserve all of it until he starves that horribly anxious, self-hating part of you out.

"Look at me, puppy."

He can't help but chuckle fondly when you instinctively turn to look away, turning you back to face him. He does it so gently, not scolding you for it whenever you look away, instead turning you back patiently each and every time. You almost want him to get mad at you, but his expression is the same every time he turns you to face him- never-ending patience.

"That's it, good. Just like that."

His fingers stroke against your cheek again soothingly, his gaze holding yours in place.

The lack of any anger or annoyance or exasperation makes your chest feel all fluttery while at the same time burning your face with guilt- this is all too good for you, Sanji is entirely too good for you.

He can practically see the thought process on your face, not that it surprises him. After all, that's what he'd set out to start fixing tonight, planning to slowly work away that reflex each time you give him the gift of letting him put you under like this.

"Listen to me, alright love?" He smiles once more and moves his free hand to your knee to give it a gentle squeeze. "I'll be saying a lot of words, and all I need you to do is listen and keep your eyes on me. D'you think you can do that for me?"

He speaks slowly, softly, so that you can still keep up even if you space out once or twice. His gentle tone is reassuring, as if everything's okay and would continue to be as long as you keep looking into his eyes.

You sigh breathlessly at the pet names and the gentle tone of voice and the way he touches you like you're made of porcelain, fragile and precious and expensive. You swallow before feeling yourself nod, managing to mumble out a quiet, shy-

"...okay."

He grins at your agreement, all warm and fond and proud of himself - proud of you, maybe, you can't tell. It almost makes you nauseous.

"Good. This is gonna be a long talk, alright? I'm gonna tell you a lot of things, and I expect you to remember them. You need to listen, love. Is that understood?"

You nod your head wordlessly in obedience, the slight firmness to his gentle tone and the commands that come with it making it so easy to melt into this. The instruction that he expects you to remember, that you need to listen making your mind go hazy with the bliss of simplicity- no choice, no confusion, no control, simply following instructions for someone you know will always take care of you.

He pats your cheek lightly, his voice soothing and sweet as he begins talking.

"You do everything you can for other people. You do everything you can for me. And it's not that that's bad or even that you don't want to. But you let other people get away with so much more than you'd ever let yourself. You make excuses for us, but for yourself you're harsh and you're critical and you're never satisfied. It's not fair."

When he starts talking, the first few things he says make your brow crease in confusion. He watches a brief flicker of panic spark in your eyes when you realize what he's doing, that he wants you to sit and look at him and listen as he praises you and reassures you and says things far too nice to possibly be true. You feel raw and exposed under the intensity of his words and yet...you stay. You trust him enough, want to be good for him enough that you breathe through the panic, trying to relax into the words that threaten to make you flinch.

His breath hitches in his chest seeing the anxiety in your eyes. Your trust for him is overwhelming, and he feels his heart swell with gratitude.

"So perfect... I'm proud of you for trusting me, sweetheart. I have a lot more I want to tell you, alright? Can you look at me again, so I know you're still listening to me?"

You sniffle lightly and nod, looking back up at him though you feel positively flayed alive by the words "I'm proud of you". When you look back up at him your eyes are glassy, a mix of the glazed-over look of subspace and unshed tears.

He thinks he's never seen anything so precious.

Eventually, he promises himself, whether it takes days or weeks or months of sessions like this, he's going to get you to a point where simple praise like this doesn't leave you trembling and teary-eyed.

But for now, he lets himself enjoy just how stunning you look like this.

He can feel you trembling underneath him, but he doesn't bother to move his hands from your thighs to hold you steady. He figures it isn't needed if he keeps talking slow and steady. His thumb gently brushes away one of your tears, and he pouts at how quickly you're overwhelmed by praise with fond sympathy.

"Oh, precious. You're doing so well for me, love. You're being so patient, and you're doing exactly what I asked you to do. You're so good, sweetheart."

The gentle feeling of his touch - how lovingly he caresses you, the rhythm steady and slow as he brushes his thumb across your cheek - you drag in a breath as well as you can, the air feeling like it rasps through your throat and gets stuck in your lungs. You part your lips as if to say something but the words won't come, only a tiny wounded noise, barely audible even in the unbearable quiet.

Despite yourself you shiver- "doing so well, precious, exactly what I asked, patient, sweetheart, good", the words nothing but sugar when he speaks. For a moment, despite his instructions, you close your eyes. You have to - it's too much, not enough, you can't tell anymore - but to his heart-rending pride, you open them again after a shaky, steadying breath.

He smiles at you, his heart aching at how precious you are in this moment.

"Good job, love. You can do this...you're doing so well. I know it's hard, but there's so much more I want you to hear."

He pauses, and for a moment you think fearfully that he's going to say he loves you. Not that that would be a bad thing.

...shit, you didn't really just think that, did you? That- that it wouldn't be bad? If he-?

In any case, it wouldn't be good for your pride. You know yourself, at least. That's one thing you could say, you were self-aware. And if Sanji ever said anything like that to you, you know you'd cry. Thankfully, that's not what he says. What he says instead is sweet, just not in the way you thought it would be.

"Can you be good and keep your eyes on me, sweetheart? If it's too much, or if you need a break, all you have to is tell me, alright?"

You sniffle quietly and do your best to blink back the tears, nodding your head in a slow affirmation of both of his questions. If you need a break, tell him. Keep your eyes up. You want so desperately - and isn't that another problem in itself, that you want - to tell him that you're trying, you're trying so hard, you want to be good.

You've never been very good with eye-contact, even without the added discomfort of being seen like this, being praised like something special, something entirely too soft and gentle and sweet for a warrior.

His free hand caresses your face, moving back the strands of hair that hang over your eyes. He can see how hard this is for you, in the way you hold your breath in between swallows, the shake of your voice, your trembling hands clasped in your lap. The way you look up at him.

But you're trying. Really, you are. And you don't need to say it - though you try to do that too before discovering that talking is too much right now - he knows. Of course he knows. Sweet, obedient, desperate-to-be-good-puppy, who's never done anything else but try your best for him.

"Puppy...I know you're trying. I know how hard it is for you. But I also know you like it, at least a little bit. Or maybe a lot. Maybe that's why you're still sitting here?"

Your face floods with pink at the words and it's hard to follow his instructions, it's so hard, your immediate reflex to that kind of embarrassment is to look away, pretend you don't notice how his eyes catch on your blush and his lips pull into a smirk.

But you don't.

Somehow, somehow, you keep your eyes trained to his.

That is why you're still here, of course. You do like it - a lot, in fact - though sometimes you desperately wish you didn't. Just like the (ignored) desire to look away, this too is a reflex- the way you bend towards praise and reassurance like flame to a pan or water to the ground.

His smirk falters and his expression softens.

"Oh love, that was so good. Keeping your eyes on me like that when I know it's hard for you...for a moment there I was afraid you'd let me do something you didn't want. I know how good the praise feels to you. Even if you want to pretend you're a warrior who's never wanted something so lovely."

He teases playfully, voice sweet and loving.

It's far too close to the truth when he speaks - you had tried for so long to convince yourself that you didn't want anything this lovely, but then all of a sudden it was here and your heart ached and for the first time you noticed it, because this time Sanji was here.

Here and real and solid and warm and right in front of you.

Sanji who wanted nothing more than to take care of his crew. Sanji who worked and labored tirelessly to keep your little family together. Sanji who had never treated you as anything less than a miracle. Sanji who took care of you.

It was the first time you ever even considered you could have something like this, the hope that you'd tried to smother increasing tenfold when Sanji joined them because it turns out it's so much easier to want something when you can see it right in front of you.

His fingers stroke your jaw gently, voice filled with affection.

"There's so much to want in life, love. Just because you've never wanted them before doesn't mean you can't start. Just because you didn't know what to do with it when you first had it doesn't mean you can never learn what it means to have something."

He tilts your face upwards gently, brushing his fingers against your cheek lovingly. And then, quietly-

"...you have all of us. You have me. And you have the right to want me. And you do, don't you?"

"Please."

Is all you can answer, immediate and breathless and mumbled as your bottom lip trembles. It's hard to explain how you're feeling- it isn't bad, isn't anything you don't enjoy, it's just so much. It's so much to be allowed to want, allowed to be good, to be touched like something gentle rather than a weapon. It makes every muscle in your body seem to shift and relax, everything going loose and pliable even as light shivers wrack through you.

"Good, love. Just be like this for me as long as you want. You're doing so well."

He pats your thigh affectionately, his gaze staying soft as his other hand comes to caress the back of your neck. You can feel his gaze on you, his smile.

For a moment he lets the words sit, giving you time in the silence to absorb them.

"...I think I've managed to say all that I need to say for now. Unless you think there's something else we need to talk about."

When you don't say anything he smiles softly, shaking his head.

"Okay. That was a lot for you for one day, yeah? You can close your eyes now, love, if it helps."

You let go of a sigh of relief you didn't even know was in you when he gives you permission to close your eyes, immediately shutting them as you try to calm down, focus on just his words and his touch.

He has no reservations about playing it safe from here- he knows he's pushed you pretty hard already. So he sticks with basic praises, the ones he knows don't mess with your head so much. The 'such a good puppy' and 'precious little thing, you're so perfect like this' that work to turn your brain off and let you shut down, washing over you in gentle waves as opposed to the overwhelming words he'd been using before.

Your breathing was quick and shallow, and he could feel your heart racing. That doesn't stop his fingers from stroking your face softly, caressing you lovingly.

It hits you that for the first time in a long time, you feel safe. You feel completely safe, don't you? You'd forgotten what that felt like.

Maybe it had been too long.

His hand moves from your head down to the back of your neck, giving it a soft massage.

"We can talk about some more important things tomorrow, yeah? But for now...just let me take care of you."

You nod with a hum when he practically pleads to be allowed to take care of you, letting your eyes stay closed as one of his hands massages your shoulder lightly, the other scratching at the sweet spot behind your ear that he found last time. You'll be good for him, so good for him, sitting there without breaking eye contact while he praises you. He intends to completely spoil you with affection and touch in reward.

Like exposure therapy. Getting you used to hearing things like that through positive reinforcement and slow, gradual steps.

"Can I ask you a question, love? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

You nods slowly, head already staring to feel heavy. It's quicker slipping into subspace this time, he assumes from immediately coming off of such an overwhelming amount of praise and all of a sudden you're just falling, nothing to tether you to solid ground.

And you're...okay with it.

Just like last time, the easy submissive haze you fall into makes his heart melt.

You're happy after all that just to sink into him, to melt in his lap and let your thoughts go, let someone else take care of you for a change.

"Why do you insist on taking care of everyone? You're the one who takes the worst jobs on the crew, and I know most of it is just so you can spend time with us, but why do you always do it?"

He can feel your body sink into his as your weight leans against him, snuggling into his chest. He keeps his voice gentle and slow to not startle you, his fingers moving to your hair and running through it as if to encourage you to answer.

And, really, who are you to deny him anything?

Even if you know - and you know, of course you do - that the one, honest answer you have won't be the one he wants.

"Wanna be useful. So you'll be proud."

You admit quietly, voice soft and mumbled as your words slur together, sweet and right and perfect despite the way his heart drops to his stomach at the answer.

"...and- 'nd so you guys keep me around."

He draws in a shaky, gasped breath, though he tries for your sake not to make it too obvious.

He knew, he thinks. Even from the beginning. He knew that's what you would say. Even though he hoped - and god, did he hope, a hope beyond hope like nothing he'd ever felt before - that he would be wrong. His voice trembles when he finally convinces himself to speak, trying not to be sick.

"So we keep you around?"

He pauses, his hands slowing to a stop in your hair as he waits for you to respond. He needs to hear it. No matter what you say, no matter how much it kills him, he needs to hear you say it.

"You're just-"

You swallow and look away as your cheeks color in an even deeper pink, not sure why you're getting so choked up about this.

Actually, that's a lie. You know exactly why- because when you keep feelings like this one buried, it's easier to pretend they're not there. But saying it...saying it makes it real.

"...you're all so affectionate. And- and love-y. I just-"

You force yourself to draw in another breath, wishing it weren't so hard to do so. Why is oxygen suddenly so difficult? Why is hot embarrassment burning so shamefully up your face? Why is it hard for you to speak when all he's asking is why you work so hard for your crew?

"I n-need to earn it."

Your words make him wince, his expression darkening when you continue to turn away from him. That was too real, too raw, for him to ignore. He reaches a hand out to cup the side of your face, turning it gently to face him, voice firm and stern when he speaks.

"No, love, you don't. You don't need to "earn" anything. Attention and love are things you are owed. Especially by us. By your family."

Your eyes widen at his words when his voice goes stern. He raises a brow at you in warning.

"...unless, of course, you think you know better and intend to stop me from giving you the treatment you deserve?"

"I-"

The sudden authority in his tone makes you blush and fumble over your words, cutting off what was sure to be a protest about needing to earn affection.

Good, he thinks, because no one is allowed to talk that way about the things that belong to him, not even themselves. It's endearing how the firmer tone makes you stumble over yourself, like it takes hold of some part of your mind and squeezes, your voice a sheepish mumble when you fall in line immediately, response barely a whisper.

"...no sir. Sorry."

"Then I'll say it again: this treatment is not something you "earned." It's what you deserve. It's mine to give, and it's yours to accept. Understood?"

His voice remains stern, a look of warning in his eyes. He isn't sure what words exactly would trigger you like that, wrap themselves around your subconscious and tighten, but he hates to see you talk to yourself like that. You're family and family looks out for each other, and that means he had to look out for you.

"U-understood."

You can't help but shiver and melt into the firmness of his voice, and he makes another note of that, adding to the growing catalogue of you in his head. You like when he's gentle, but you fall in line quite quickly when presented with any semblance of authority, crumbling into obedience with your voice little more than a whisper.

He smiles, his voice taking on a softer tone.

"Good. Don't ever talk badly about what's mine again, yeah? You deserve all the love in the world, and if you try to deny it again I'm going to have to use force to get you to admit how wrong you are. And you know I don't like getting forceful with ladies."

He chuckles, gently stroking your hair.

"Can you open your eyes for me? I want to look at you again, you precious little thing."

You open your eyes obediently when he asks, blinking open glassy eyes with big, blown pupils. All of the things he said seem to swirl around in your head for a moment as you try to process all the wildly varying information- the words "precious little thing" going straight to your cheeks in the form of a blush, "good" and "you deserve all the love in the world" collecting warm in your chest with the rest of his praise, "I'm going to have to use force" feeding into some morbidly curious, possibly masochistic corner of your brain.

The last thing that manages to penetrate your subconscious is, ironically, one of the first things he said: "don't ever talk badly about what's mine".

Mine.

That word rattles around in your skull for a moment and makes you shudder pleasantly, lips parting around a request before you can think.

"Say it again. Please."

"...'Mine'? Sure. Mine."

His voice is soft but his eyes are sharp with intrigue, looking for something that he can't place in your gaze as he acquiesces.

"Why, does it feel good to hear someone say it? Are you wondering if I really mean it, or did you just want to hear it again?

Your blush spreads all the way to your ears at his questions, how immediately he pinpoints exactly what you're feeling ("why, does it feel good to hear someone say it?"). Yes. Of course, yes. To be someone's, belong to someone, the idea floods you with a near unbearable warmth. His.

"...I think I like when you're possesive."

You admit in a shy mumble, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, face hot with blush as you fidget with his shirt buttons sheepishly. Your voice is barely audible, only more evidence to how embarrassed you are by the revelation, but he's pretty sure he's never heard something more adorable.

"Feels...warm."

You watch the smile bloom across his face, slow and warm and blindingly bright and how did he have the right to smile like that? To look like that at all?

"...I think I like it when you ask for things, brave little thing."

The smile on his face is as soft as it can get, his voice gentle and loving. He strokes your hair softly, his tone light and playful as he speaks.

"You like being mine? Being something belonging to me rather than something that belongs to the world?"

You nod against his warmth, the softness of his words hitting you directly in the chest. Something belonging to him rather than the world. Christ, isn't that an idea?

"Will you- will you keep s-saying things like that? Please?"

When you ask, your face is hidden in his shoulder and your voice is muffled. For now, he decides to allow it, knowing how hard it is for you to ask for anything at all, always the type to assume you don't deserve whatever it is without even bringing embarrassment into play.

And oh, does embarrassment come into play.

Even with your face hidden against him, the mortification is obvious in every aspect of your being. It seems to roll off of you in waves at the prospect of even admitting that you like those things, but here you are. Shame seeping from every pore and still, somehow, he brings these things out of you.

He's never been more proud at the fact that you asked him anything at all, even if you're hiding.

"Makes me feel...w-wanted. Belonging to someone."

His lips touch your cheek in the softest kiss, a reward for your bravery, and he can feel every skip and ache in his heart the longer he has you like this.

Power, uncoiled and twitching in his lap like it's harmless.

"Oh, love. Belonging? That's what this is about? Of course you belong. You belong to this crew, to your family. You belong to me. It's a shame you've not felt that more in your life."

His lips move to your ear, and he nuzzles the sensitive skin gently, words whisper-soft.

"You were brave for asking for those things, especially when you're not used to them. Allow me to make up for lost time, lovely. Please."

By the end, his begging seems more for himself than it is for you. Like he'll fall apart if you don't let him cradle your broken pieces, coddle you like you should've been your whole life.

And he will. Of course he will. How could anyone see a thing like you and not - vulnerable and soft and wanting and the most stunningly enchanting thing he's ever seen, breathtaking in a way that has him wondering how in the world anyone could ever miss that you were something to be handled lightly, a delicacy to be protected with careful touches and soft words. He has a whole lifetime to make up for and, if you'll let him, he'll compensate for every single year

Every second, if it's what you want. It's what you deserve, that he's sure of. But he knows that as much as he wants to smother you completely with the weight of his affections, it's something you need to accept. Something you need to be willing to ask for.

Even if you don't think you deserve it, something you'll allow. You don't have to be used to it, it doesn't have to be easy. As long as it's allowed, that would be enough. He could work from there.

"...okay."

Okay.

A/N: Hey lovelies!!! Have some sustenance! Even though it's been a week into winter break I'm only just now getting over finals which is why I haven't been so active. BUT that being said, now that I'm over it and it's break expect WAY more frequent food!!!

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #opla #opla x reader #sanji x you #opla Sanji x you #opla x you #one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece x you #opla x y/n #opla sanji x y/n #sanji x y/n #opla sanji x you

[myx-on-earth]

Content Warning: Landfall Game's April Fools Triumph

For the Content!

It would seem that an April Fools joke of a game has resulted in overnight indie success. Landfall Games, a beloved indie game studio, has a yearly April Fools tradition they call “Landfall Day”, where their devs put together essentially a parody of whatever game is popular at the time. They’ve parodied everything from DayZ to battle royales (Twice, with Totally Accurate Battlegrounds and Knightfall), and this year it would seem it’s Lethal Company’s turn.

Lethal Company is a game known for silly co-op shenanigans that seem to instantly translate into YouTube content- and Content Warning takes that idea and turns it up to 11, making being an influencer a part of the game mechanics. You and a group of friends take a diving bell to “The Old World”, a spooky map filled with monsters and traps entirely for the sake of internet entertainment value. With a single camera and 90 seconds of film, your group has to make the spookiest, funniest video possible- because your only source of income is Spooktube, and that revenue doesn’t come easily.

It's such a brilliant parody of both the horror genre Lethal Company tapped into and the loop of content creation in the internet age that it, somehow, wraps around to being an excellent game in of itself, though Landfall is no stranger to finding gold through satire. Previously, their first battle royale parody (Totally Accurate Battlegrounds, a riff on PUBG) found some success, enough that Landfall turned it into a full venture. It’s not as popular nowadays, but it IS legitimately good- and Content Warning seems to be turning out the same way with its initial popularity and engaging premise.

Typical Content Warning video result, featuring myself, @thatpocketninja, @squiddskipp, and a third friend who requested to remain anonymous

In the space of video game development, April Fools seems to be not so much a “joke” day, but a day that allows ideas to be thrown around that might not otherwise have been considered, which can lead to majorly creative leaps of faith. With examples like the Yakuza series’ pivot to turn-based combat, Far Cry 3: Blood Dragon’s continued success in the midst of a floundering Ubisoft, and even Lilith Walther’s upcoming definitely-not-Bloodborne Kart (now known as Nightmare Kart), the idea of “joke turned legitimate gamedev venture” isn’t exactly new.

I actually had the pleasure of exchanging emails with Hanna Fogelberg (@thebirdmountain on Twitter), Landfall's Head of Community, who provided some insight into Content Warning’s development and the overwhelming response in the interview below.

1. What's it like to go to bed seeing some success, then waking up to find your joke game is a viral hit? Did you expect this at all, given the surprising amount of polish it has?

"We couldn't sleep to tell you the truth! Even if the team said good night at about 2am we kept texting the player numbers to each other throughout the night, we were very wired! We always knew there was the potential of the game going really well, there's something about the design and shareability of the videos you make that we knew could hit it big but it's still surprising it went THIS well."

2. How long did it take to develop Content Warning?

"Content Warning was made in about six weeks of active game development, but the idea came to us back in December!"

3. What were your main inspirations for the game? (Beyond Lethal Company, of course)

“Lethal Company and similar games were an obvious reference for the gameplay loop, we love that game! That said, what was most interesting to us was the core of the game - the filming and video creation. We were inspired by YouTubers and influencer culture, there's something interesting in people risking life and limb for content that we wanted to play off of. 

Other than that, the vibes of The Older World were inspired by Junji Ito and a specific H.R Giger painting while The Over World references the Swedish children's book Pettson och Findus.”

4. How experienced was the dev team?

“We're pretty experienced, the Landfall team has been making games for over 10 years with previous releases being Totally Accurate Battle Simulator, Stick Fight: The Game, Clustertruck and Rounds to mention a few.”

5. How does this experience compare to the last semi-viral success Landfall had with a Landfall Day game? (TABG)

“This game outdid TABG in player numbers several times over! So it's hard to compare, this is by far our most viral hit to date.” 6. Any plans for the future of the game? Or just basic bug fixes and some more content? 

“We will see! Currently, we're focusing on fixing bigger bugs and other issues but we already have some new content planned. We're kind of playing it by ear at this point, it all depends on how things go in the coming weeks.”

Some may attribute Content Warning’s success to multiple factors- the 24 hour free period, how it riffs on Lethal Company and the tropes it already employs, or even that it was “designed to go viral”- but you can’t deny that, even as an iterative piece, it still manages to find its own identity and already seems to have captured the content creation hearts of everyone who gives it a chance. Games like this, that aren’t reliant on micro transactions and are buoyed by the PEOPLE you play with, rather than the money that one must spend on it, are the hope- and, hopefully, the future- of the video games industry. You can find Content Warning (No longer free, but still very cheap!) at the link below: https://store.steampowered.com/app/2881650/Content_Warning/

#indie games #gaming #journalism #landfall #content warning game #honestly a legitimately fantastic game #i will be absolutely playing more #better than lethal company??!?!!?!?! jk 2 legends can exist

[cherieiu]

words of comfort

sypnosis: he's afraid that he'll lose you, and you know this as well.

characters: diluc, wanderer, tartaglia, xiao x gn!reader

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst.

author's notes: feeling super burnt out rn so i might not post as much as before. i hope you understand and pls enjoy :) ❤️ also thank you all sm for 181 followers! it rlly means a lot to me knowing that you enjoy my writing (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)❤️❤️❤️

diluc - the shadow of dawn

he knows that your existence will be at threat whenever you're in his presence. let it be fatui or monsters, your life will be in danger. he's warned you countless times, yet you tell him that you'll stay, even for the cost of your life.

dreams constantly haunt him, that one day, he'll lose you, either out of will or by force. the loss of his father already punctured a wound to his chest, you would only leave another stab to his heart.

you've realised how he constantly holds you like you're going to disappear in his arms, kisses lasting longer than before. his gaze is constant on you, making sure that you're not a hallucination.

" diluc, are you alright? " you ask, snapping him out of his headspace. your eyes are soft as you give him a look of concern.

" i hate to say it, but, i constantly believe i'll lose you, " glancing at you, he turned his head in preparation for a retort.

" you'll never lose me diluc, i promise you that, " smiling at him, you stick your pinky for the promise to be sealed.

" i know this is childish but, in that way, the promise will always be there. "

his pinky crosses yours, sealing the promise. diluc quickly embraces you, muttering a " thank you " under his breath.

wanderer - eons adrift

he's scared that he'll lose you, your life burning away while his remains the same. a candle eventually melts, but he doesn't. his bottom lip trembling, his eyes begin to water at the thought of you being gone from his life.

you still have many years to go, but he can't help but wonder whenever that day will come. even lesser lord kusanali can't save you from the cycle of life and death, so what hope does he have?

he doesn't want to lose you, really. wanderer now tends to hold your hand in public, despite him disliking any sort of affection outside. he's more aggressive to those who accidentally trip you, and you can't help but realise how he felt inside.

" love, i have to say something. it's about you, " you saw his figure tense up at your words, his hands trembling at the thought of what you'll say.

" are you alright nowadays? you seem.. scared. "

was it really that obvious? his days of wandering earnt him the ability to hide what he felt, yet you saw through him like a frame of glasswork.

" i'm scared that i'll lose you. so, please, don't go, " arms held your figure, with such security you've never felt before. tears stream from his eyes, flowing down to your neck as he buried his face within the crook of your neck.

" i promise i won't. "

tartaglia - childe

his line of work puts your life on a single thread, if broken, there's no going back. everyday, you dangle from this thread, even though there's an option for you to untie yourself and leave the chaos. yet you don't. tartaglia still wonders to this day as to why you're still here with him, when you could be living free from dangers. he's told you to go back several times, to save yourself before enemies strike at you, the 11th's beloved. you say you love him, yet it's barely enough to ensure him that it's alright for you to stay with him.

he knows he's beginning to become over-protective of you, but the need to know you're safe is much more important. a single fatui guard turned into three, every bite of food that's given to you is thoroughly inspected for the slightest drop of poison. you've noticed these changes too, knowing how much pressure your love in under. anything to lessen the burden of his shoulders.

" ajax? " your voice gains his attention, his lips faking a smile.

" are you feeling okay? i'm a bit worried. "

the smile on his lips drop as he heard the words, knowing full well that you've noticed the changes in your life. a harbinger's resolve is to be absolute, yet you saw through the smiles and saw his insecurities.

" i'm sorry, but i was afraid, i admit. afraid that i'll lose you, " tartaglia only looks at you for a brief moment before you're in his arms, the familiar comfort around you once more.

" i promise you won't lose me, ajax. i love you. "

xiao - vigilant yaksha

his karma will eventually be forced upon you, the very love of his life. knowing that he's the reason you're always in the constant presence of danger digs a wound into his heart. xiao feels at constant guilt whenever you get the slightest scratch, believing that he is the cause of your pain. many nights, you repeat the same words, " it's not because of you ", yet they aren't enough for him.

he began to become more anxious around you, constantly having his gaze on you before you could trip and fall. avoiding you has been a great obstacle for him to tackle, perhaps even worse than corrupt monsters. if he were to be the reason as for your death, he'll gladly sacrifice himself over and over, just to see you alive and breathing again.

you realised how distant xiao becoming, once soft gazes turned to quick side glances. so, you plan to confront him.

" xiao, are you doing alright? you seem more distant now, " you breathed out, your eyes nervously staring into his.

" truth be told, no. i'm afraid that i'll lose you because of my karmic debt. "

pressing your head into the crook of his neck, you embraced him, whispering soft promises into the shell of his ear. his arms eventually found a place on your back as he pulled you closer.

" you won't xiao, i promise. "

©kueiko - please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works.

reblogs are very appreciated though! ⁠♡

#childe x reader #xiao x reader #diluc x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #scara x reader #genshin imagines #genshin characters #genshin impact

[cuubism]

please please please more silly rabbit au? (eyes)

i... literally had to go write more because there was none XD

more... utter nonsense designed specifically to satisfy @magnusbae 😂

--

The Middle Ages had been getting… weird, lately.

Not the Middle Ages, the historical time period, though that was always reliably weirder than expected, in Daisy’s experience. No, what was truly weird nowadays, and getting weirder by the minute, was The Middle Ages, history and literature class taught by Professor Robert Gadling.

Daisy had heard a lot about Professor Gadling before enrolling in his class. She’d heard he took a common man’s approach to history, focusing at least as much, if not more, on the experiences of average people than on the movements of kings. She’d heard he’d read everything under the sun and was far better than Google if you needed a source for your paper. She’d heard he had a playful lecture style that the burned-out older students, in particular, appreciated.

She had not heard about the boyfriend.

This was, admittedly, a new development, at least according to the gossip mill. Which was feverish, as Prof. Gadling was both well-liked and mysterious, a deadly combo.

But now there was the boyfriend, and what a boyfriend.

If Daisy had been asked to picture what any boyfriend of Professor Gadling might be like, she would definitely not have pictured this pretty goth thing, this being with a preternatural elegance to him. Where did this guy even come from? He even managed to look elegant dressed down and comfy in jeans and a sweatshirt as he was.

The rumors said that he was way younger than the professor, but Daisy didn’t think so. There was something… unaccountably ancient about him, no matter how young he looked on the surface. An old soul, she supposed.

One who just happened to win the genetic lottery and age – or rather not age – like a god.

Morpheus, which was apparently what his name was – and that was a whole other trip – was reclining in one of the seats near the front of the lecture hall. Reclining, quite literally, as he had his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, notebook balanced on his thighs.

And he was writing with a quill. A fucking quill.

Daisy would have thought he’d just be listening, not being a real student and all (she assumed and also hoped), but he seemed to be taking proper notes, unreadable, swooping cursive notes though they were.

He was also doodling birds in the margins of the page.

Daisy should really stop staring. She forced her gaze back to the front of the room.

Professor Gadling was in the midst of explaining the historical background of the text they were reading, The Book of Margery Kempe. It was a fascinating book, actually. If only Daisy didn’t keep getting distracted by whatever strange competitive game it seemed to be inspiring in her weird professor and his weird boyfriend.

The first time Morpheus had interrupted the lecture with a comment, Prof. Gadling had straight up ignored him, just steamrolled over him, waited until he raised his hand, and then called on him. Morpheus had not seemed embarrassed or chastised about this in the slightest, just blithely asked, “Professor, are we certain that Margery’s visitation from Jesus was a psychotic break, or could it have possibly been a dream?”

Professor Gadling had sighed, hands on his hips. “I think you’re going to have to answer that one for yourself, Morpheus. Also, we haven’t even gotten to that part of the text!”

“I read ahead.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure that you did.”

This sort of thing had continued apace for the rest of the lecture.

Then there had been the eye-fucking. Dear God, the eye-fucking. Every time Morpheus made a snarky comment. Daisy wondered if they knew how obvious they were being.

Daisy had to give the prof credit, though. Despite all the antics he never skipped a beat in his lecture. Didn’t miss a goddamn bullet point.

Daisy really hadn’t thought university would be like this, though.

Now it seemed they were again having an argument over the book.

“It’s said that Margery’s tale is the only surviving firsthand account of an ordinary person’s life in the late thirteen-hundreds,” Prof. Gadling was saying, when Morpheus interrupted, very much in a drawl—

“Oh, but I don’t think that’s quite true.”

Prof. Gadling raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Morpheus smiled, very snake-like. “Quite.”

“Care to share with the class, Morpheus?”

Morpheus leaned further back in his chair, arms crossed. “I think you know whereof I speak.”

“Oh, I see.” Prof. Gadling’s smile was pleasant. Too pleasant. “You’re talking about that one lost manuscript. Very much lost and not accessible.”

“If that is how you wish to interpret my words.”

“That’s how I wish to interpret it, you git. Stop interrupting the class.”

“I’m simply engaging with the material,” Morpheus protested, pouting. “I believed this was a modern classroom.”

“You can engage with the material later,” Prof. Gadling said, with a significant look, which brought a smirk back to Morpheus’s face.

Oh God, back to the eye-fucking. Daisy did not need this. Right in front of her lecture notes and everything.

“Right,” said Prof. Gadling, forcibly dragging himself back to the classroom and the present. He pointed at Morpheus. “You, quiet. Does anyone else have questions or comments?”

Based on that one class, Daisy might have assumed they had a sort of contentious and snarky relationship. But at the end of the lecture, she caught something different.

She’d lingered behind to ask Professor Gadling a question about the assignment – though she was starting to think that question was better left for office hours later.

As the students were filing out, Morpheus climbed down from his lounging position in his seat, picking his way down the steps until he was standing by Prof. Gadling at the board. Daisy hadn’t noticed before that his notebook had ravens on the cover; why was that so cute?

Prof. Gadling ran a hand through Morpheus’s hair, then let it fall to rest on the side of his neck, softer than Daisy would have expected after their snappy conversation from earlier. “Going to have to ban you from sitting in on lectures, love.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow. “You would dare?”

“I would dare.” There was something soft about the way he said it, though. Like he was daring to steal a kiss rather than kicking him out of the lecture hall.

Morpheus tipped his head back, looking at Professor Gadling from under his eyelashes. “What if I promise to behave myself?”

Prof. Gadling played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You can’t be giving away all my secrets.”

“Never,” murmured Morpheus, his free hand finding Prof. Gadling’s jacket. “Though it has occurred to me that your students are missing out on some unique historical knowledge.”

Prof. Gadling sighed. “Can’t do much about that. Such is life.”

“Full of frustration?”

“Full of give and take,” Professor Gadling corrected. “Most blessings require a sacrifice of some kind, too, you know.”

“Oh?” said Morpheus. “And which am I?”

Professor Gadling smiled, fond. “Which do you think?”

Morpheus gave him a look that was sly, mischievous. “Nightmare.”

“Oh, too right.”

Prof. Gadling pulled him into a kiss, tilting his head into it with a hand on his jaw, and Morpheus dropped his notebook to bring his hands up to Prof. Gadling’s shoulders.

Daisy realized she was staring again, and slunk out of the classroom before she could be caught.

Yeah. She’d definitely just be waiting until office hours.

#this random student oc is having quite a day #the utter nonsense and silliness that is this au god #ask #anonymous #silly rabbit au #my writing #i think the thesis of this au is actually just Let Dream Have Fun 2kForever altho the version of 'fun' going on here is... interesting #long post

[loosingmoreletters]

Summary: Jin Ling has never met Lan Sizhui. On Dafan mountain, confronted with a statue they can't defeat on their own, he learns why.

Jin Ling has known all his life that he would one day lead a sect. Nowadays, he knows there was a time when it wasn’t certain which sect it would be, if he might have been presented as the Jiang Heir under the guise of while his cousin would have inherited the Jin Sect. But Jin Rusong is dead, which leaves Jin Ling with his father’s sect and too many cousins and sect heirs to talk to. He’s been exposed to the children of most famous cultivators, their parents hoping to make some connection.

The only one he’s never met is Lan Sizhui, which stands at odds with how close their families are. Their uncles are sworn brothers, it is obvious they should’ve met, but Lan Wangji keeps his son by his side and far away from politics.

If they weren’t running from a cursed statue hellbent on killing them all, Jin Ling would probably be expected to make introductions, but he has trouble keeping even far away from it to make an attack.

“Sizhui!” a loud Lan boy shouts, panic carved into his very heart. “Sizhui, get away! You’re not supposed to fight something like that!”

Supposed to, Jin Ling notes while he tries to pretend he isn’t shaking in fear. He said supposed to, not can’t.

Lan Sizhui smiles in a manner Jin Ling would categorize as apologetic, then he straightens his back and walks into the path of the attacking statue.

“Sizhui!” the Lan boy cries just as the statue’s arm pulls back to strike Lan Sizhui down.

Jin Ling can’t do anything but watch as her hand approaches, ready to squeeze the other teenager to death. He waits for the impact with fear in his gut, eyes open wide even though he wants to tear away from the sight of destruction.

It’ll be over in a moment, Jin Ling thinks hysterically. She’ll just kill him, and nobody’s moving to protect him. There’s not a single adult around, if jiujiu were just here—

The statue towers above Lan Sizhui and just when the impact should come, an unholy scream leaves her and resentful energy explodes around Lan Sizhui. The resentment forces Jin Ling and every other cultivator in vicinity to the ground as it spreads and spills, ripping into the statue like a pack of feral dogs.

Jin Ling struggles to keep his eyes open at the brutality. Even though a stone statue isn’t made of flesh, he can still see her bleed as the resentful energy feeds on her.

And right in the middle of that assault stands Lan Sizhui, not a single injury dealt to him.

He has to be in control of the resentful energy, but the thought alone seems ridiculous enough to startle Jin Ling into a breathy laugh. The righteous Gusu Lan wouldn’t tolerate a demonic cultivator in their midst, and yet while disturbed, none of the Lan cultivators in attendance seem surprised.

Eventually, the statue’s body stops twitching and the resentful energy returns to Lan Sizhui’s side, dark smoke twirling around him in an almost playful manner. How can Lan Sizhui stand it without throwing up? How did Jin Ling not sense it before?

“Jin Ling!”

Turning his head feels like a task as tiresome as running the steps at Koi Tower up and down, but he manages just in time for Jiang Cheng to arrive at his side and kneel down next to him.

“Jin Ling, what happened?” Jiang Cheng asks, but Jin Ling has no answer for him. How is he meant to explain that Gusu Lan has been harboring a demonic cultivator?

But his uncle is a Sect Leader, and he’s the strongest person Jin Ling knows. If anyone can deal with this, then it must be him. He’s been protecting Jin Ling for as long as he’s been alive.

The resentful energy around Lan Sizhui doesn’t seem to disappear. From a distance, Jin Ling can’t tell perfectly, but it almost seems like it’s not putting any strain on Lan Sizhui either. If anything, he appears to brighten as the energy tightens around him and wraps him up like an odd approximation of a hug. The limbs are too long, and the skin is as pale as a ghost’s. It can’t be human what steps out of the twilight there with its hair hanging in dark ribbons, dragging over the floor like rivers through Yunmeng, but it has a mouth that’s far too wide, turned up in a mockery of a smile.

And then a high pitch hum leaves its throat.

“A-Yuan,” it croons. “A-Yuan, my A-Yuan.”

It comes out like a song that sends shivers down his spine. Jin Ling thinks of the spirits of mothers who lost their children. They always linger, and they sing to him just as sweetly.

The clearing is dead silent; not even the forest around them dares to speak, thus making Lan Sizhui’s words echo all the louder.

“Hello, Xian-gege,” Lan Sizhui greets and leans into the monster’s touch. “Thank you for protecting me.”

It purrs in delight and wraps even more of itself around Lan Sizhui, who embraces it just the same.

“Always protect my A-Yuan,” the monster promises. “Always and always and always.”

And then it turns its head to stare at the cultivators surrounding them and Lan Sizhui’s robes wrinkle beneath the monster’s grip tightening. “Are they hurting my A-Yuan? They can’t hurt you, I won’t let them, I won’t tolerate it.”

“No, Xian-gege,” Lan Sizhui is quick to reassure, his voice only now strained. “I am fine. You kept me safe, right?”

“Yes,” says the monster, but it doesn’t look away. “I keep my A-Yuan safe. Nobody will hurt you, I won’t—”

The monster interrupts itself with a snarl and sends another wave of resentful energy, striking a Lan holding a talisman paper. “No!”

“Lan Sizhui!” another one of his sect members shouts as the monster grows more agitated. “Control it!”

There is no controlling monsters like that, don’t they know better? They can only be destroyed and Gusu Lan obviously failed to do that. Why was Lan Sizhui even allowed to leave Cloud Recesses if his presence contained such a spirit?

“Xian-gege,” Lan Sizhui says as he holds onto the beast as if he had any ability to stop it, “Xian-gege, you have to stop. They’re not harming me.”

“They will!” the monster screeches. “They always lie! Nobody will hurt you, I will make sure, I promise, I promise, my A-Yuan, nothing will ever hurt you again.”

“I know,” Lan Sizhui insists. “Xian-gege, I know, but you have to stop, remember? You promised to stop.”

At that, the monster cocks its head, bright red eyes narrowing as if in thought. “I promised?”

“Yes,” Lan Sizhui says. “To me, to Rich-gege.”

And then, suddenly, all at once, the resentful energy subsides. “I promised,” the monster says quietly. “I promised Lan Zhan?”

“Yes,” Lan Sizhui says. “You promised.”

The monster lingers a moment longer, then it wraps around Lan Sizhui so tightly that Jin Ling thinks it might just kill him before it vanishes and Lan Sizhui drops to his knees, breathing heavily.

“Sizhui!” the loud Lan boy from before shouts and runs to his friend’s side, stopping only a few meters short of him, hesitating.

“It’s alright, Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui replies. “Xian-gege won’t attack you.”

And that’s apparently all Lan Jingyi needs to know before he embraces his friend just as tightly as the dark beast before. The stark difference between the two images is enough that Jin almost wonders if the last minutes weren’t just a nightmare he’d got caught in. But his uncle’s hand is still on his shoulder and pulls him to his feet before Zidian comes to life.

The latter does not go unnoticed by the Lans either.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Sizhui says quickly. “Please don’t attack. Xian-gege won’t take lightly to it.”

“Xian-gege,” Jiang Cheng echoes. Jin Ling has never heard his uncle speak with such disbelief and horror in his voice. “Tell me, how long have the Lan been sheltering you and Wei Wuxian, Wen Yuan!?”

#mdzs #lan sizhui #wei wuxian #jin ling #jiang cheng #lan jingyi #mdzs fanfic #fanfic

[roseyposie-agere]

Flip! Poltergeist Headcannons- (potential spookyness warning! There's a read more because these got quite long, this is also my submission for @theregressionlibrary's Halloween event. I hope every one joining is having fun creating! :> )

: you recently got ahold of small house that was abandoned for some time, and though it needs some work you're sure it'll be an amazing home!

: the house is old you tell yourself as the stairs creek at odd hours, when the lights flicker off it's just faulty wiring, and when items fall off shelves all by themselves you must have just put them to close to the edge

: sure doors that where closed creek open but it's just a draft! Honestly, people act like anything is a haunting nowadays

: thing is your home is haunted, and they're getting quite irrated they're being ignored. Getting stuck in one lonely house for eternity isn't fun, and you're not even acknowledging them! at least you're adding some color to the drab place with your toys and brightly colored blankets (but they want to play too-)

: one glance away from your brilliantly designed block tower and it's been knocked over! You know for certain you didn't bump it so,, maybe there really is a ghost or something, a mean one who doesn't like block masterpieces (they didn't mean to make you upset by knocking it over, it's just no one pays attention to them unless they're causing trouble and knocking the blocks down is the fun part anyways!)

: you start keeping track of all the odd occurrences and notice that it seems more activity happens when you're regressed. First your blocks get knocked over, a cold chill seeps the warmth out of pillow forts, story books are off the shelf open to random pages, your ghost(?) Seems to like being small like you. Most peculiarly a fox stuffie keeps moving on its own,,

: so, the obvious solution is to make friends with them! The most they've been is a little rude (you worked hard on that tower!) but maybe they just need a friend

: operation befriend the ghost is a go, next time you have a movie night you set the fox plush wrapped in its own blanket next to you and call out to your potential friend that they're free to join (you,, you want them to watch with you? Really?)

: you wait for something happen and about halfway through the movie a soft cold appears, unlike the sudden freezing chill that happened before. You get the feeling it's shy, wrapping itself around the fox and blanket. You smile and continue to watch the movie, soon softly drifting off to sleep

: when you wake up a blanket has been tucked around and your favroite stuffie has been placed gently in your arms, however the fox is no where in sight! Seems operation befriending the ghost is going to be a success (in a hidden away corner a fox plush sits and a lonely spirit thinks about how they might have a friend for the first time in forever)

I'll cut these off here because I fear I'll make them too long! I have lots of other ideas about them though, so I'd be more then happy to talk more about them if someone would like to send an ask ^^ Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed and have a wonderful spooky season!

#age regression #agere caregiver #sfw age regression #sfw agere #agere #halloween agere #agere hcs #agere headcanons #agere writing #TRL Halloween 2023

[trailerparkmusings]

Drabble about Eddie trying on a jockstrap for the first time. Steve put an outfit out for him that he really wants to see his husband wear, and those leatherpants will not work with his usual boxers.

Inspo:

CW: Daddy used as a pet name for Eddie, suggestive, mentions of dicks, mentions of fucking but nothing explicit. Future fic. 40 year old Steddie.

With every passing second it becomes more and more obvious to Eddie that it's been a while since he's worn anything but comfortably worn out bandshirts and his trusty tanks and overalls.

Putting on a jockstrap of all things feels so profoundly wrong that Eddie can't help but giggle as the pulls them up over his hips and nestles his dick safe and sound into the pouch of it.

Steve's gotten him a black one, because he's a sweetheart like that, so at least Eddie doesn't have to watch the pale skin around his groin be swallowed up by the starchy white of Steve's straps - A small mercy, that doesn't make that the black, skimpy fabric great, though.

It feels weird seeing the bulge of his dick so contained, and when he turns around to look over his shoulder it feels even weirder to see his ass framed by two cotton straps.

On Steve a jockstrap looks like lingerie - Pretty bulging dick, dark curly pubes and white, broad cotton lifting his ass higher, framing it as if in invitation for Eddie to look and touch.

On Eddie, however, they remind him of the leather harness he bought when he was younger. Ill fitting and too dark against his skin, accentuating the flatness of his body and wearing him rather than having him wear it.

Well, he snorts at the mental image of his past self compared to him now, at flat might not be the right word for him anymore nowadays.

His stomach has rounded out, his shoulders are heavier than when he was a kid. His ass - He frowns again, giving it a light smack and pulling at the bottom of his cheeks. - It's rounder than it was 20 years ago, he supposes. Some of his weight managed to finally settle around his hips and ass, but he never quite managed to get rid of the permanent clenched look that's been his staple for decades.

It's nothing that ever bothered him, he has always been comfortable in his own body. And the only person who had to be into it definitely was, so he feels a bit pissed about how weird it is to have it framed like this.

It's just fabric. He's worn skirts, and dresses before. Panties, a few times, because Steve's still sometimes hung up about gender and Eddie likes helping him, showing him how little rules matter in the end.

So it's bullshit, really, how weird he feels right now. He groans, rubs his face.

Seems like he needs some words of affirmation, or at least a check in to see whether he's uncomfortable or just unsure.

He shuffles to the bedroom door and knocks, loudly. The chatter in the living room stops, and after a few seconds of silence the doorknob lowers and Steve presses himself through the doorframe.

"You okay, Teddy? You don't need to hurry, I know I've sprung the outfit on you last second -"

He sounds worried, but not enough to keep talking once his eyes actually find Eddie.

It's ridiculous, the way he raises his brows and bites his lip. How he gives him a double once over and an appreciative whistle that has Eddie roll his eyes, but jut his chest out just a tiny bit.

Sue him, he's a sucker for the way Steve looks at him.

"Hello, handsome," his husband purrs, "Why don't you give me a little twirl, daddy?"

"For what? I'm basically naked, Steve. You know what I look like."

Steve shrugs, takes his glasses off to clean them with the hem of his shirt as if he's about to try and read one of Robin's letters that she's lately been obsessed with sending.

When he puts them back on he squints down at Eddie's jockstrap, then up at him.

"Hmh, no. No, to me it looks like you are wearing something. Something I picked out for you, which means," his hands find Eddie's hips, and he presses closer until their lips are meeting in a chaste little kiss, "that I've got every right to see if I picked the right size. So, scram. Twirl. Gimme a show, daddy."

He slaps Eddie's ass, a gentle tap that has Eddie's eyes close in a moment of possessive bliss, and then he steps back.

Eddie is helpless to do as he asked, turns around and immediately gets stopped before he can finish showing off.

A hot body presses against his back, fingers snap the straps on his ass and soft lips trail kisses up his neck.

It startles a laugh out of him, too loud given that they've got guests sitting a few feet away behind their bedroom door, but Steve just grins.

"You didn't even look properly," Eddie mumbles into the palm of his hand. It was the wrong - right - thing to say, because Steve hums and presses between his shoulder blades until Eddie stumbles forward against the wall.

"Am I being arrested, officer?"

He's joking, staying still and spreading his legs just a bit because he knows that Steve will appreciate it.

"Maybe for public indecency, yeah. Eddie, God, you look so good. I wish I could stay. You could put me on my knees, maybe..." HD trails off, fingers ghosting over Eddie's ass, "Yeah, this was a great idea."

Eddie snorts at the awe in his husband's voice, tries not to react to the image of his pup on his knees.

A hand finds its way back to Eddie's hip, gentler fingers stroking along the crack of his butt, joining the dark straps in framing it.

Eddie let's him play for a minute longer, and then he slowly turns around.

"Hands off, cowboy," Steve's hands immediately leave a cold emptiness behind, and Eddie pulls at them until they're resting back on his hips as soon as he's leaning back against the wall. This time he gets to look at Steve.

At his wireframe glasses, and his short sleeved polo that's biting into his biceps like a prelude to what Eddie will do to them later. The first buttons are popped open, exposing tantalizing slivers of thick chest hair that Eddie has to forcefully cover with his own hand to be able to make eye contact.

"I was going to ask you if you'd be very disappointed of I went commando after all ," he admits. His free hand trails up Steve's neck, thumb pressing into the short beard he's started to grow lately, and then traveling back, back, until he's cradling his head. With a smile he notes that Steve's put his earring in, silver, simple, tantalizing like everything else about him.

Steve frowns at his words, but stays still. Leans into Eddie's palm with clear distaste at the idea of Eddie taking off the jockstrap.

Pervert.

He grins, leans forward for a quick peck against pouty, pink lips.

"But," another kiss, because he's an addict for the sweet sigh it gets him, "with how much this is driving you wild I suppose I can suffer a few hours in mock jockness."

"Thank God."

The utter honesty with which Steve says it has Eddie cackle, and soon he's joined by Steve's little snorts.

it's nice, he thinks, laughing chest to chest. Maybe we don't have to go out, maybe we can stay in and -

"Steve, you two better aren't fucking in there after I spend money on coming back home to see you."

Robin's distraught voice is loud, the banging of her flat palm against the door louder. In the background he can hear laughter - Jeff's booming laugh, and Freak's weird creepy giggles being enough to set Steve and Eddie off again.

"Not fucking!" Steve yells back with a smile, "Just had to help the hubby feel  confident in his new clothes."

"That sounds a lot like fucking to me."

Robin's frown is loud enough to have Steve burry his face in Eddie's neck in laughter.

Eddie pats him, calmingly, despite his own grin, and then - because he's a great husband and an amazing friend - he slowly pushes Steve toward the door.

"Go take care of our guests, ma'am," Steve rolls his eyes, sticks his tongue out as if he were 20 and not 41, "and I'll finish playing dress up. 15 minutes, okay? And then I'll be all yours."

"15 minutes and like, 5 hours." Steve corrects him, but he smiles and opens the bedroom door.

"You better be wearing all of what I got you later. I'm not ashamed to check in the bathroom stall of whatever club Rob is driving us to."

The door closes in it's hinges, but Eddie can still hear the disgusted groans coming from their living room.

He grins, takes another look into the mirror. Maybe the jockstrap isn't so bad, he muses, it will certainly make wearing the fucking leather pants, that he's been trying to ignore for the past 20 minutes now, much easier.

#tp writing #steddie #CW daddy kink #older Steddie means they're both bears but in different fonts :)

[texasthoughtsaboutnothing]

Weird Question.

What does a good Limbus Company Tier List look like?

[Warning: Long]

Gacha games are, at least in part, games about optimizing limited resources. There is a daily stamina limit, and weeklies and dailies that you need to feed that stamina into. In turn, you receive an amount of rewards that need to be spent to acquire and upgrade units. Limited rewards. And you need so many just to upgrade one unit. Decisions need to made, resources allocated. You only have so much, you want to get and use the right stuff without wasting anything on someone you find out is trash 90 levels in. Right?

This is an aspect of Gacha that is often missed in discourse about pngs of anime waifus: the emotional and intellectual labor of investing into a unit, the constant worrying about if you are making the most optimal choices, and the satisfaction of planning well. How a lot of attachment to a character can stem not from their design or personality but just because they're all you had that countered this boss node and lord almighty they clutched out the win with 0.1% HP after you dumped all you had into raising them. I could talk about it all day, it' super interesting to me. But to refocus, the major consequence of this kind of game design are tier lists.

Tier lists will tell you, at a glance, what units are worth investing in and what's worth avoiding. Good tier lists will provide comprehensive explanations and guides for each unit to contextualize their placement. Bad tier lists won't. They can be the combined knowledge of an entire community for a game, they can also be an edict laid down without compassion or transparency. Again, absolutely interesting. And again, to refocus, Limbus doesn't really have one.

Ok, there are Limbus tier lists. Esgoo has great tier lists on which IDs and EGO you should prioritize when considering Uptie 4. Obviously those are his opinion, all Tier Lists are at the end of the day, but he has a whole hour of discussion covering the why's and hows of each category. There is a Prydwen tier list for units, but its rarely shown to new players in any of the PM communities I'm in and is instead largely chastised to my knowledge. I've seen Sinner tier lists, meme tier lists, so on and so forth. None of these are the Tier List.

Maybe its just a sign of the times, but I remember when Gachas had the Tier List. Community vetted, moderator approved, above any all all others. Offered freely to newcomers and watched feverishly by veterans after a new unit is released. Nowadays I feel like I rarely see them.

Limbus doesn't have the tier list. You may wonder if it even needs one and I think you'd have a point. Boiling an entire ID's value to a letter grade might seem unnecessary, especially as Limbus is a bit different as a Gacha. IDs are easy to get, and though the level cap continues to raise (in a way many others find alarming and I'm inclined to agree) it's still less than a week's effort to max one out. I've played games where it took a month of currency to get a single Unit useable. THere just isn't as much drive to worry about leveling the wrong things, investing incorrectly because basically anything works.

However.

There still are obvious differences in the strengths of each character ID. True, most if not all are "useable", but you're probably better off leveling Pequod Yi Sang than Seven Yi Sang. You are definitely better off leveling Pequod Ishmael than Sloshing Ishmael. Its fair to want a quick cheat sheet to communicate those ideas at a glance, with explanations for those who want to delve a little deeper.

But I ask again, what would it even look like?

By what categories and traits do we subdivide these IDs? How can you convey that W Ryoshu is a self sufficient DPS monster tahat requires no synergy to be good while Maid Ryoshu has AoE built into her kit as well as strong poise gen that also does good damage at a glance? Put one in an AoE group and the other in DPS? Is that truly accurate when part of attack weight is that it's great against Abnormalities, the most common type of one-on-one encounter?

I ask the question "what would it look like" because I truly don't know. Limbus is a complicated, evolving game. I don't think that makes it special or standout in any particular way, but for an example it could be that Seven IDs are top tier next event because of temporary buffs and that throws a whole tier list on its head. I don't know of many Gacha that do stuff like that.

That's kinda the end of the thought. The best I can come up with is a list consisting of three tiers: "great, good with the right team comp, and don't. Further explanation available upon request." That's not very helpful, is it?

#limbus company #project moon #clear all cathy #wow i wrote too much about a random thought i had

[sexysilverstrider]

Handsome | SSS

   Silver was—despite his rude demeanour—a handsome man.

   From the sharp glare of such dazzling purple eyes to the heart-throbbing scowl of his pale pink lips, it wasn’t a wonder that some people do find him charming. Even though Silver wasn’t a sociable person to begin with, it didn’t stop others from looking in his direction. Most of the time, it was because of the ruthless aura he emitted during battles. Most of the time, it was because of the cold smirk he bestowed when victory beamed in his presence.

   Sometimes—and quite often nowadays—it was because of a certain Champion clinging by his side.

   “Honestly, that stupid man…” A sigh escaped him. “The audacity to tell me to button up my shirt. It’s stuffy and stupid. I didn’t dress up just to look like a nerd.” One index finger hooked the front collar of his black shirt. Another sigh slipping through pink lips, Silver lightly tugged the collar downwards.

   Hazel eyes only followed the direction of that finger.

   “Kotone?”

   Oh, how silly she felt to take a sharp breath at the sound of her name being called by such a husky voice.

   “Yes?” Quickly, she looked up, smile bright and beaming. A shade of red kissed her cheek, fearful that she might have been caught ogling her boyfriend’s chest.

   And why wouldn’t she? The man had a great body anyways. It would be a waste for her not to admire what Arceus had shaped of him.

   A single eyebrow was raised. “Mind telling me what’s on your mind?” Arms were now crossed. Head tilted slightly to the right. Ever since he decided to surprise her with his new attire, Kotone was less talkative than usual. In the past, he would’ve cherished the moment, but considering that he now couldn’t live a moment without listening to the sound of her voice, Silver grew concern at the silence.

   Maybe she had a long day? She didn’t look tired. Maybe she had a lot in her mind? She didn’t look distressed. Maybe she also thought that he should button up?

   …That’s definitely not it.

   Maybe she didn’t like his new outfit? That seemed wrong too since Kotone couldn’t stop looking…at…his…che—

   Realization widened a pair of purple eyes.

   First came surprise. Then came amusement.

   “Kotone.” Again, he spoke her name, voice firm and calm.

    Again, he saw her freeze—just for a mere second—before blinking those frustratingly adorable eyes.

   “Nothing,” she merely said, innocence bleeding through her smile. “You—ah…look great!” Pap! Palms pressed together before Kotone gently rested her chin on her middle fingers. “I’m happy that you got the Champion title and you have a new fit to celebrate in.” Her nose scrunched. Her cheeks flushed in pink.

   Silver wasn’t buying it. “Anything else?”

   Kotone wasn’t budging. “Your Tyranitar is awesome.”

   “And?” A lazy smile curled those delicious lips.

   “You are awesome.” A twitch happened at the corner of such a dazzling eye.

   “That’s all?” Taking advantage of their height difference, Silver leaned towards her. His arms were still crossed. His mouth held back a chuckle to see a rare fluster.

   “Yes.” was what she said next. Simple. Short. Straight to the point. Cupped palms were raised to her trembling smile. Knowing full well that he was closing the distance, Kotone only leaned just a few inches away without making it obvious.

   “Kotone.”

   Damn him for using that sexy voice of his.  

   She knew full well that he was basking in the moment. And while Kotone enjoyed this side of him, she was also someone who would not back down from a fight.

   And as hazel eyes darted to the purple tie dangling around his neck, her resolution grew stronger than ever.

   The first minute, Silver was enjoying teasing his cheeky girlfriend.

   “Mmph—!” The second minute, he now remembered the consequences of his actions.

   Distracted by her adorable reaction, Silver failed to realize the hand that had held his tie. Before he could register the action, he then felt his tie being tugged forward and his lips being pressed.

   Chup!

   The kiss felt short yet dizzying. Pulling away, Kotone licked her lips and, with newfound confidence, looked at her stunned rival. “You’re also very, very hot.” The statement was released as a panted breath. Hazel eyes focusing on deep purples, she playfully fiddled with the loose tie.

   Bafflement held him perfectly still. Arms that were spread apart slowly dropped to the sides. Five rapid heartbeats later, Silver focused his attention back at his now giggling rival. “Fucking hell, woman…!” Voice strained from the shock, he merely closed his eyes and sighed in defeat as he felt her nose brushing gingerly against his own.

   He could never win with her.

   Oh well, he thought, as the sound of her laughter only cooled down whatever fire that had burned from within. Opening one eye to take a peek, Silver brought his hands up to cup her warm cheeks. A smile—rare and true—curled his mouth. Though his cheeks were just as hot as hers, Silver couldn’t care less as his thoughts were now flooded by her.

   Silver was—despite his rude demeanour—a handsome man.

   And of course, Kotone became the luckiest woman alive to snag such an attractive rival.

END

#Soulsilvershipping #Rival Silver #Silver #Kotone #Pokemon #Pokemon Masters EX #i mean....canon divergent but ya #Fafar Writes #this is just me being thirsty over silvers champion outfit #hhhhhhhhhh God......

[menalez]

Im thinking you might get anons or comments saying “why did you do something????” Meaning cause a scene or protest or go graffiti their shit or something like that. Boo him. Walk out in a big group flipping the bird, shout “women don’t have dicks” or smthn. And the thing is I thought all of that but caught myself. I’m just having a fight or flight response reading about being in a “lesbian event” with 25+ males present including one on stage. Thing is if I were in that situation I would probably think twice too. Men kill women for less pushback and you were not expecting or prepared for this. If anyone is feeling that they would have done more — look up events in your area. You will likely find one you can go disrupt however you want that claims to be lesbian but is male including. That will get it done 1000% more than fantasizing or armchair criticizing online. Go in prepared though and I think graffiti is the best bet for something that gets the dissent in the open but doesn’t open you to direct attack.

At the same time we can and should organize and control our own events.

yeah i mean i thought there’d be males present bc the event organisers basically made them explicitly welcome anyways :/ just not in the way i saw them there. but like at the end of the day, lesbians get attacked & ostracised & harassed for less in our own spaces nowadays. one lesbian bar was literally vandalised because they didn’t let an obvious man in (& that obvious man identified as ~nonbinary~). i’ve been to that lesbian (“FLINTA”) bar before and there were actually a lot of guys (maybe like 10-15 men, most gender-conforming and seem very much straight) so i had to wonder how extremely male that guy had to be to not be let in. and still TRAs vandalised it, are calling for a boycott, & are trying to get it closed down.

i’d love to be a super brave woman with no fear of consequences who boos a man while surrounded by several men and many women who are cheering for it and risks getting kicked out of the event i had to spend money to even be a part of, potentially get physically assaulted, and perhaps never be allowed to lesbian bars & events in the area again bc of it but like. easier said than done. i was visibly disgusted & hating on it with my gf but i cant pretend i would’ve been able to do more in that situation

[zzombiecleo]

you've got my heart (won't you come on in close to me?)

yet another yuri week post! check this story out on ao3 and make sure to follow @mcyt-yuri-week for more!

fandom: hermitcraft smp, empires smp characters: ldshadowlady, pearlescentmoon ship: ldshadowlady/pearlescentmoon additional tags: romance, fluff, dancing, alternate universe - royalty, its not technically empires its just. a different royalty thing ig, knight pearlescentmoon, princess ldshadowlady, flirting, drabble, mcyt yuri week summary: she's a knight in shining armour, she's an elegant princess, can i make it anymore obvious? --- mcyt valentines yuri week day 2: royalty/knight

Pearl has trained to be a knight her whole life. Years of training, of blood, sweat, and tears, years of neglecting everything else to accomplish her goal. And now, it has finally led her to be given the honour of guarding Her Royal Highness, Princess LIzzie of the Great Sanguinepeak Kingdom. From a young unnamed girl living in a territory that barely counts as a colony of Sanguine to Dame Pearlescent of the Everlasting Summit, the capital city of Sanguine. It might be silly but this was all she had ever dreamed of and now that she has it, days seem to pass in a golden-hued blur.

Her days start early with morning prayers to the Lady, a service set at 5 in the morning just for the knights and squires of the Royal Palace. The tired murmurs of devotion and the light shining through the rainbow stained glass windows lets Pearl prepare herself for the day ahead. Then comes breakfast, which starts peaceful and ramps up into a loud affair the more awake everyone becomes. Afterwards she heads for training, though she only stays for half of it before it hits 9 and she heads to Her Royal Highness’ chambers to relieve the early morning guards of their duties.

When the Princess Lizzie steps outside of her chambers, she the most delicate and graceful woman Pearl had ever witnessed, as befits her station. Clothes of light silk, perfect for the summer days, hair beautifully braided back, and jewels glimmering in the early morning sunlight. Every morning, the sight inspires such sheer, utter devotion that not even her devotion to the Lady can come close to it. Somehow, the Princess seems to look more lovely each day.

Though the majority of Pearl’s day is then spent following Her Royal Highness at a distance, ensuring her safety through tutoring and garden walks and all else, once the evening comes, that is when the distance closes. When the light fades and the stars shine, the Princess’ chamber doors are left ajar and Pearl knows that it is an invitation.

She slips inside. Among all the other things her reputation is good for, this is certainly one of the best. Barely anyone checks the corridor with the Princess’ room nowadays, they trust that Pearl has it handled. She supposes she does, in a fashion. Doing this is a risk to the Princess’ safety but those moments they spend together are worth it. By the Lady, they’re worth it. She closes the door behind her as she enters and smiles softly at the sight. The sight of not the Princess, the composed angel of the Sanguine Kingdom, but the sight of Lizzie. Just Lizzie.

The soft moonlight shines upon her, illuminating her soft pink locks and the lovely dress she wore that day. Lizzie giggles when she sees her and the way she looks at Pearl makes every agonising moment spent unable to touch her worth it. But she’s not unable to touch her now. So she steps forward and bends down to press a delicate kiss to outstretched Lizzie’s hand.

Lizzie sighs softly, eyes twinkling, “You look beautiful tonight, Pearl.”

“Oh? Don’t I always look beautiful? What an insult, Your Highness.”

Pearl grins as Lizzie’s face turns red and she splutters out several incomplete answers before simply giving up and walking to her dresser instead. Pearl leans against the opulent bed posts of the bed and watches as she fiddles with a deep brown gramophone. A soft waltz starts to echo throughout the room and Pearl unhooks her scabbard and places it gently on the large wooden chest at the bottom of the bed before walking towards Lizzie.

Lizzie turns around in time for Pearl to offer her a hand and ask “May I have this dance?”

“Of course. You may. You absolutely may.” Lizzie smiles at her, cheeks as pink as her hair.

They step into a slow dance around the room, caught up in the stillness of the night and the feeling of being so close to one another. Slow, steady, starstruck. Pearl lives for moments like these in the wake of achieving her goal. This saccharine sweetness feels like a reward for all that she had to leave behind. Dancing the night away with Lizzie, her love, feels like coming home. It just feels right to look into those glimmering sky blue eyes and see nothing but overwhelming love. It feels like the only possible way this could have gone for them. Like a fairytale happy ending.

Lizzie notices her stare, as she always does, and reaches up to press a light kiss to her cheek. The song changes and Pearl twirls Lizzie in response before pulling her back in and holding her close, smiling herself silly all the while.

“You are adorable. Do you know that?” Lizzie giggles, “I think you should know that. You’re the most beautiful woman alive.”

Pearl laughs and kisses her forehead, “You’ve said that so much that at this point, I think I might even believe you.”

“You should.” Another twirl, “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Oh, I know. I just think you forget how lovely you really are.”

“That’s your opinion, Pearl. You’re biased!”

“And you aren’t?” She replies and dips her, just holding her like that, lips hovering centimetres from each other.

“Maybe a little, Pearl. But only a little.” She murmurs against her mouth.

In response, Pearl leans down slightly and kisses her. Truly, she believes that all those years of training would have been worth just for a single one of these kisses. A single one of these nights. Irrational? Maybe. But everything about Lizzie inspires not just irrationality but a sincere devotion that Pearl knows, deep down, she will feel for the rest of her days. No matter what.

#mcytyuriweekvalentines #pearlizzie #shadowmoon #hermitshipping #ldshadowlady #pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft smp #empires smp #empiresshipping #andy rambles

[irlwakko]

OKAY my thoughts on the punishments that Mal gave all of the alters in Total Drama All Stars! Because @fraudulent-cheese asked and I've been waiting YEARS for someone to ask me about my theories!

(Disclaimer: I know the writers probably didn't put this much thought into this. I know that I'm being one of Those Total Drama fans and I categorically Don't Care because I have so much fun thinking about this.)

The reason I use the word "punishments" first of all is that 1. I need an easy name to call them to group them all together and 2. I do genuinely believe these are punishments Mal gives the alters as revenge for forcing him into dormancy. Because I ALSO think that Mal scaled them to how much he hated/blamed that particular alter.

(As an aside, there's a LOT to be said about Mal spending a formative period of time in juvie and then modeling his punishment for the alters after a jail, as Manitoba says. I wish we knew more about Mal's time in juvie so I could talk about this more.)

The first person we see is Mike, who's just all alone surrounded by (it seems like) miles and miles of nothingness. And I think his punishment is the worst, but we'll circle back to him.

Chester's punishment is really obvious: he's stuck selling skateboards because it's a symbol of the youth nowadays, which he absolutely hates. There's also something to be said for the fact that Chester's working a retail job, wherein you have to be constantly standing, and we know Mal took away Chester's mobility aid (which he had in the innerworld in Season 4 and did not have in Season 5). He probably didn't think Chester was capable of escape, but also put him in a position where he'd eventually become so physically incapacitated that he COULDN'T escape.

And ALSO, to skip ahead a little (sorry I have a lot of thoughts on this), Mal knew that even if everyone began to escape, Chester's legs would give out long before they reached the tower (which requires five people to enter). Mal was counting on the assumption that the others would leave Chester behind once he became unable to walk (more on this later!)

Second up is Svetlana, and though I don't know why Mal picked fish, I know why he picked butter: simple, because Svetlana's a gymnast. You can't do gymnastics if your hands are covered in butter. Being unable to do gymnastics would not only physically incapacitate her but also completely demoralize her. More than the physical impediment, the hopelessness of the situation would keep her from escape. I also think the reason he kept Svetlana under such close surveillance (the ears everywhere) was because he knew he might need physical control of her in the future (which we see when he forces her to co-front in order to fight off Alejandro).

Third is Vito, and Vito is my FAVORITE of these because his "punishment" isn't a punishment at all. It plays to all of his strengths! We already know that Vito loves attention; he would love to perform. Secondly, it's obvious by his reaction to his own joke that he REALLY enjoys cheesy jokes. Third-- and this is where I go from reaching to REALLY reaching, but bear with me-- in a very literal sense, Mal chose Vito as the mouthpiece through which he can speak to the rest of the system (the puppet is the only way we see Mal communicate with the alters, outside of the mirror he uses to talk to Mike, and only once).

Also, on rewatching the full scene to write this post, I wanna say two things I noticed: first, Vito seems... not all that surprised that the puppet can talk. He does clarify that he "didn't say nothin'" after puppet-Mal starts to talk, but he's mostly startled that it flew into the air and caught on fire. Everyone screams in terror when the puppet starts talking except Vito. Maybe Mal communicated more with Vito than we saw on camera. Mal must sleep, but we never see him sleeping, so it could totally happen then (<- completely delusional). And second, especially compared to everyone else, Vito doesn't seem all that enthusiastic. His exact words are "Woah, uh, sure" (in comparison to Chester's "I'm with ya", Svetlana's "hoorah!", and Manitoba's "took ya long enough"). It seems like he mostly just follows along because that's where his "audience" is going and also because he wants to find the club district.

So finally Manitoba! It seems like, besides Mal, Manitoba's the alter who feels the most animosity towards Mike, so it's understandable that he'd give Manitoba the job of destroying Mike's dreams (besides the fact Manitoba has lasso skills, I also think any other alter would probably refuse.) (Also, I think Manitoba's the gatekeeper/dreamkeeper/etc. of the system, so he'd be the one with easiest access to the dreams, but all the reasons I think THAT is a different essay for a different day.)

Also, like Vito, Manitoba's "punishment" actually plays to his strengths instead of to his dislikes and weaknesses, so like Vito, I think Mal doesn't feel too much hatred towards Manitoba either. Also understandable! Because it seems like Manitoba has a lot of the same criticisms of the system's inner workings as Mal does.

So what ARE the criticisms Mal has? They show through at the very start and very end of the journey-- how Mal punishes Mike, and how Mal sets up the guard tower.

(By the way, just for the record, I HATE the reset button. But for this post, let's accept the reset button as canon fact.)

The system has been Mike's coping mechanism and support system for as long as Mike can remember. And as much as Mike hates to admit it pre-season-5, he DOES need them. In Season 4, he got through situations that would've been impossible for him to navigate without Vito and beat challenges that would've been impossible to surmount without Svetlana and Manitoba (and he loves Chester too, even if he isn't always the most outwardly useful). That's not even to mention the emotional support (as shown by Svetlana's "Mike is the best" pep talk in Season 5) that he probably received from them over the years as well. As much as he hated them, they're so important to him.

The worst possible punishment Mal can inflict is cutting off all of his access to that support system.

To be fair, he did this to all the other alters too. But for Mike, it was the only thing he did. He felt that taking Mike away from the alters on its own would be enough to incapacitate and demoralize him. And he probably knew that it would prove a point-- you need them. You need us. And now it's too late.

But keep this in mind-- when Mal went into dormancy, he left behind a system that was constantly fighting amongst itself for control, that couldn't agree on anything (except for getting rid of him), and was bickering every time they interacted. So this is the lens that Mal constructs his prison with.

He doesn't count on the system working together! What he hopes for is that, even if one of them managed to escape, they 1. wouldn't bother looking for the others and would try to do everything themselves, which would leave them shut out of the tower, and 2. even once they did realize they needed to gather up everyone else, they would be too distracted by infighting to actually do anything to take him down.

And that's probably what season 4 Mike-- the Mike that Mal knew-- would've tried to do. He wasn't counting on the fact that the system would now be working towards functional multiplicity by the time he came out of dormancy! And it caused them to defeat him much sooner than he would've anticipated.

(Quick note: I know integration =/= death in DID, but I used the term "kill" here in some places because I feel like that's how Mal would view it. Literally none of this has anything to do with accurate DID because Total Drama is so so inaccurate and the absolute worst.)

Also, here's a theory I like: I don't think Mal would've just built a self-destruct button on his own life. He wouldn't build a button capable of killing him and then put it in a place where someone else could access it, even if the chances (in his mind) of them accessing it would be really remote. So I think the button was set up in such a way that whoever pressed it would become the core. It wasn't truly intended to be used by anyone except Mal. It was a final failsafe measure. Even if the system managed to work together long enough to free each other, reach the tower, and ascend the stairs, Mal was hoping that-- upon realizing that this button could give any of them the life they so desperately wanted as of pre-Season-4, and that if anyone but them pressed it, it would kill them-- the alters would return to squabbling, fighting for their lives, for long enough for Mal to intercede and ultimately take control. Just like Mal never counted on them working towards functional multiplicity, he also never counted on them being able to agree upon integration.

Why didn't Mal just press the button at the first opportunity? I don't know. Dramatic villainous timing? Lingering feelings of affection for the other alters? Perchance.

Anyway. I know TDAS is a horribly written season in literally every other aspect, and also that the writers probably didn't put THIS level of thought into things, but I read too deep into Total Drama as a hobby so I will be putting this much thought into it forever and ever and ever. :)

#i am NOT putting this in the main tags they do NOT need to know i live like this #but feel free to reblog

[finelinens]

Hey, about your media literacy post—which was very well done—I totally agree that we sort of unable to trust other users or institutional opinions right now. So the way I see it, the option left to us that is to learn to trust ourselves. Learn to pay attention to the way truth feels when we ourselves say it (on any topic, especially the tiny ones), what it sounds like, and what untruth feels like when we also say it (the instances where we say things we don’t mean). A focused study of truth in ourselves makes it easy to recognise in others and other situations.

For example, I’ll now know when my answer to a maths/logical question is wrong, because it feels/sounds like not the truth, even if it’s what I have logically deduced and therefore ‘should’ be right. So then I’ll know to stop and rethink until I do find the right answer, I’ll realise my logical thinking was off, which I recognise because it feels like the truth when I see it. (This is all easy to prove because they’re all maths / logic questions, for example. It works. And then extrapolate this concept.)

It’s interesting that in the past many would have dismissed this approach due to its seeming lack of objectivity—but it is glaringly obvious now that trying to form an opinion based off ‘objective’ evidence is just not going to be possible (and I’d argue, it never was). So, this is my approach of some tools to which to turn. Honestly, it’s the only way out that I see. Increasingly I am realising truth is not a set of facts, which can be easily manipulated, or which are scientific fact one day and not the next, but rather this total calm knowing which goes beyond all need for argument. I feel like if you can just calmly smile in an argument rather than argue back, you’re probably closer to the truth.

i debated a lot about whether or not i should post this message at all but it might be a good thing to talk about, so i'll post it for now

the thought process you described here has the potential to be really unbelievably dangerous, so i hope you can try to hear me out here. the truth "feeling" like the truth is such an incredibly subjective thing and is 100% vulnerable to your own biases. at one point in my life, the "truth" according to my feeling was... just not true at all. the "truth" according to my feelings was that transgender people were mentally ill and just needed some sympathy and help in order to get better. i genuinely felt this, and, like you described, it felt true and right. it was not true or right, though; my perceived "truth" was not truth at all, it was just ignorance entirely influenced by my own biases and fears. the way of thinking you described in your message is exactly what leads people to believe that their thoughts borne of ignorance are true and right, no matter what, because they feel right. of course they feel right! ignorance is comfortable! you could absolutely debate the validity of objective truth as a concept, but purely functioning on a vibes-based moral and ethical system is just accidentally giving yourself permission to remain ignorant or bigoted.

i apologize if my original post wasn't clear enough, as i said, i was just writing out my thoughts unedited! i wasn't trying to say that since there is no way to verify information anymore, we should just give up and go with our guts. i was saying that information is becoming increasingly more difficult to verify, so i'm nervous about the future of education and information gathering. i don't have a proposed solution, i'm just expressing fears that are widespread nowadays. a possible solution to this frankly existential issue is something i think about a lot, and i'm glad to see many others thinking about it too.

hopefully this makes sense, and hopefully it prompts you to reflect on your philosophy about your relationship with truth!

#ask #yet another very long post from me #this message was honestly very shocking to receive so i wanted to take the time to reply #but! i have christmas gifts to work on now. bye!

[orchidbark]

Tumblr has been such a formative site throughout my adulthood. Yes I'm a tumblr old, I'm sorry. But when I was a kid there wasn't anything like this. We all made geocities or angelfire websites and shared our cringy writing and art that way and we loved it.

But tumblr took me out of my tiny comfort zone many times. I learned a lot of stuff about myself and about other people that I might have learned about eventually anyway, but idk... my mind was open then, and maybe it would have been more closed off later. Who can say. But I can safely say that without it, I would not have come to understand my identity as it is, when I did.

Tumblr feels as close to the old internet as any site could nowadays. It was never perfect, not ever, but it always sort of felt like the lesser of many evils. We're all aware it's been circling the drain for a while. What's happening now, sadly, isn't anything new, but it seems to be the straw that broke the camel's back for many people.

I made a Bluski a little while back, I just made a cohost today, I've had a furaffinity page for a bit now, and I don't know, maybe there'll be more too. I encourage you to follow me on these places, and mutual please let me know if you have an account on these sites too!

But that sucks doesn't it? We're already all here now, and if tumblr dies tomorrow, everyone's going to choose the places they go to, and they're not all going to be the same. Twitter was never a big deal to me, but when twitter started falling apart that was a huge loss for so many people who had staked their following there. The parallels are obvious. Tumblr was already pretty small to begin with and that means the people that make up "the queerest site on the internet" will subdivide again, creating smaller and smaller communities.

There's no possible way we can coordinate a complete move to another site, and even if we could, there's no way to tell if that site will be around longer than a year, or if a userbase ever manifests. Discord servers are a great idea to keep in touch with folks, but I'm not a fan of those as a replacement (though obviously it's perfect for folks who just want to keep in touch but do not want to attract attention).

I like tumblr, insofar as you can like a social media website. But tumblr as a site is nothing without the gay little weirdos. And if my fellow gay little weirdos aren't here then what's the point of being here? It feels like Cohost might be the way forward, but we can never know for sure.

I plan to stay here as long as there is a here to stay, but I guess, idk I'm gearing up to leave at a moment's notice. That's just how it looks like it might be from now on, unless something changes to correct course. If a move never comes then great, but I'd rather be prepared.

#text #sheeposting #i don't want this to come off as dramatic #as i would hate for this to read as oh man im totally leaving this time but still be here for like 10 more years or something #but this is the vibe right now #and i've lost a lot of folllowings and accounts over the years for dumb reasons and my own attempts to subdivide my life #im really happy with the folks I've met through this account and it would just be a shame to lose that

[narrativelysignificantturtleduck]

not the same anon but i also hc sokka as autistic (specifically audhd), bc there was always certain ways he behaved that i found i related to a lot. a lot of them are just reasons you mentioned: he can be very blunt, and one thing about sokka is that he is a tendency to put his foot in his mouth sometimes, just saying things as they are without realising it might be insensitive or that it might not be the best thing to say. and i know that him overlooking certain important details, such as toph being blind at times, can be attributed to adhd but i think that forgetfulness in regards to other people is something that can be attributed to autism, in that he doesn't really think about the fact she's blind despite obviously knowing. on the contrast though, whilst at times he seems unaware, i think sokka can be very hyperaware of very small things that hes insecure of that other people don't really notice, or that other people have pointed out that he might not have thought much about before which is also smt ik some ppl with autism struggle with. and even though he is a social person, like i mentioned before that at times he seems slightly unaware of certain things, but a lot of his social behaviours can be read as masking, like his insistence he is the "meat, sarcasm and planning" guy, trying to pin his personality on these key things, and whilst his attempts to be like hakoda are Daddy Issues it can also be read as the fact he knows his dad is a well respected, well liked man, and that by mimicking his behaviour he will be perceived as more socially acceptable.

the most obvious thing is the scheduling, we know he loves his plans and he's the self proclaimed "plan guy" but he gets quite grumpy when people don't abide by them and happy when people do. sokka is a very routine person, when we first see the swt he gets frustrated when the kids don't want to train, another thing that could be read as them throwing off his schedule. there's also the thing with the fortune teller- sokka is very insistent on his science, something he's very passionate about, and gets really easily frustrated when people won't listen to him when he's trying to explain something, and can't understand why people would believe that instead of what he believes, which also kind of leans into the whole social unawareness thing. nowadays i write him more as having audhd just because i think it fits more- a lot of autism traits and adhd do overlap, and it's very common for ppl with autism to have a lot of adhd traits, vice versa. that's all i can personally think of tho, but yeah all nd hcs are neat. need more in the world

you're so right actually. i've been fully convinced. i think because i'm audhd it's hard to separate out whether it's the adhd or autism that makes me relate to a character. it could be both! also i think that the way sokka is widely perceived as dumb and silly when he's actually very intelligent is very similar to adhd stereotypes and less similar to autism stereotypes, so it was easy for me to just kinda pick that one.

his insistence he is the "meat, sarcasm and planning" guy, trying to pin his personality on these key things

i have a whole post in my drafts about how his various different "[x] guy" titles throughout the show are evidence of adhd because you feel like you can't focus on one thing and you feel like a fuck-up (bc you may forget things/be disorganized) and you're desperately trying to find the one thing that will make up for you being an unfocused fuck-up. but it actually makes so much sense as autism too, as a social script that makes it easier to define himself to other people. also defining yourself by your interests and only wanting to interact with people through them is very autistic. i think it's a question on the raads-r. also it's why i'm on tumblr.

anyways, the fun thing is that both can be true simultaneously. it's a product of insecurities about adhd and also an autistic social script.

and whilst his attempts to be like hakoda are Daddy Issues it can also be read as the fact he knows his dad is a well respected, well liked man, and that by mimicking his behaviour he will be perceived as more socially acceptable.

i think this might've also been why i initially read him as only adhd. i fell for his mask! what we know of hakoda reads as only adhd, so i made the mistake of assuming that was it. and i'm a huge proponent of "hakoda and sokka are actually different people"! shame on me.

like, generally the way he's trying to play this warrior role that doesn't fit him because he thinks that's what he's supposed to be can be read as autistic masking. he imitates how he thinks strong men are and it comes off as comical and fake bc attempting to mask sometimes means the fact that it's a mask is really obvious.

yeah i'm into this. audhd sokka!!!!!

#ask #sockfus #nina's personal log #sokka #nd atla tag