#please it’s going to be shit without him anyway

[noxturnalpascal]

Devotion 🖤

II. Predator or Prey? (Ch 8)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

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II. Predator or Prey?

CH 8 (6.6k) | The Night You Left |

Joel barely sleeps, tossing and turning in his bed with his clothes on, knuckles bloody and burning, throat raw from screaming. He wakes up to hushed whispers outside his door and he throws it open, inexplicably hoping to see you out there. Instead he sees a sea of terrified faces, Sasha tucking Beth behind her, Tess peering out from the bathroom with Rosie holding a cold cloth over her swollen face. Kerri is further down the hall, sweeping up chunks of drywall and dust on the floor from the holes he’d punched into the wall hours earlier. 

He looks back towards Tess. Fuck. She looks awful, already two swollen black eyes and a split lip. What kind of a monster does that to someone? 

“Tess, I–”

“I’ll be alright Joel,” she reassures. “Why don’t you head over to the baths and get cleaned up?”

She knows he can’t be seen in the state he’s in. What would people think? They’d think he’d fuckin’ lost it is what they’d think. And they’d be right.

Joel heads to the old plaza, a ten minute walk down the street and around the corner, to the old salon now serving as the town bath house. This early in the morning he knows no one is going to be here so he lets himself in through the back door. He checks the tank of the town’s only working hot water heater and begins to fill one of the stock tank tubs, shucking his clothes off and climbing in. The water stings his raw knuckles as he scrubs at his body, washing away bits of dusty drywall and blood – his or Tess’, he can’t tell.

Fuck, he fucked up. He shouldn’t have reacted like that. He shouldn’t have done that to Tess. This is what you fucking do to him, this is the effect you have on him. You bring out the worst in him. All you ever did was distract him, tempt him, tease him, and reject him. He saved your life, fed you, clothed you, protected you, and put a roof over your head. And how did you repay him?

Resentment. Neglect. Defiance. Abandonment.

What did he even see in you? He thought you were brave, but you were so soft on the inside. He thought you were smart, but he watched you act like such a fucking fool. He thought you were beautiful, but you wouldn’t even let him say it. He thought you were wild, but he tamed you so easily. He was wrong about you. He tells himself that he’s glad you’re gone and that he’s better off without you around anyway.

—

The first Thursday without you, Joel takes Beth to the meeting, despite complaining that he’d rather go alone. Beth had already gotten to work making clothes and this would be a good opportunity for her to give some out to the families that lived further out of town, at least that’s what Tess had said. He’d never admit it, but he held his breath when a group of people led by the tall and imposing Hank walked in the room, someone else trailing just behind. Several people shifted and Joel saw it was just Hank’s little girl, blushing bright red when she caught him looking at her. 

Shit. He’s not sure why he let himself think it might be you. Hank hadn’t brought you to the church meeting on Sunday so why did he let that tightness grow in his stomach thinking he’d bring you to the Thursday meetings the way he used to bring Beth? Whatever. He doesn’t even want to see you. He continues to be in a foul mood all week and despite pleading with Tess for forgiveness – which she gives him – all the women in the house seem to avoid him.

The second Thursday he notices Hank’s young daughter, who’d introduced herself several times as Amber, following his every move, watching him, sitting next to him, hanging on his every word with rapt attention. The little girl must have a crush. How inconvenient. But wait, he might be able to use this to his advantage. He’d noticed you ducking behind Hank’s oversized frame at church the past Sunday, avoiding him like the plague, and decided he was going to give you a taste of your own medicine. 

Fuck you, you little ingrate, he’s gonna ignore the shit out of you right back.

He purposely avoided looking in your direction during his speech and sat with his back to you during dinner. He made sure to act like the perfect leader, loving and gentle, graciously accepting people’s well wishes for Tess’ illness – the cover-up for why she’d been in the house for over a week while her face healed up. Within earshot of you he gives attention to every other female Valley member, even going so far as to bring people into his embrace, hugging them tight. 

He’s like an oily politician – kissing babies and shaking hands – but he hopes you see it all. He hopes you feel sick over it, feel jealous, feel regret. He hopes you feel the loneliness rotting in your gut like he does. But how will he know? How will he know if he can’t see you, can’t talk to you? He needs access to you, someone for you to confide in, someone on the inside. Little Amber will do nicely. 

He strikes up a conversation with her, bumping up the charm to an eleven. He opens with some mildly flirtatious banter, asks some questions about her – women love that shit – before getting to the point.

“Hear you got a new roommate over there,” he postures casually.

“Yeah, she’s great,” Amber beams.

“She is?”

“Oh– ummm,” her brow furrows. “Isn’t she?”

“I don’t know,” he chuckles, “You tell me.”

“She’s alright, yeah… I mean, she– she’s fine.”

“Well you should let me know if she does anything to bother you.” His voice is smooth and buttery.

“I should?”

“Well yeah,” Joel touches his hand briefly to her chin, “I gotta make sure you’re happy, don’t I?” 

“Oh,” she giggles, face flushing immediately.

“So make sure you tell me what’s goin’ on, okay?”

“Yeah I will,” she tries to suppress her smile. “I– I definitely will.”

“Anything at all, even if you think it might not be important.” He makes sure she’s looking at him and drops his voice an octave. “Anything at all, okay, sweetheart?” He winks to seal the deal.

It was almost too easy, turning little Amber into his own private mole. Every Thursday he gave her a couple minutes of attention and she folded, playing right into his hand and spilling everything you two had talked about over the past week. She told him where you went, what you did, who you talked to, and even what anyone else in the house said about you. Apparently Hank’s wife was missing Beth and Joel briefly thinks of telling Tess to make a switch back, but then gets angry at you again and changes his mind.

You don’t deserve his forgiveness, you’re not missing him enough, not even close to being as miserable as you could be. Amber had told him that you’d cried yourself to sleep almost every night the first week but then the other day after the church meeting he’d watched you hunch down behind little Amber – barely five feet tall – trying to hide from him. Your stubborn pride is gonna make it even more satisfying when you come crawling back to him, begging him to let you come back home.

Amber tells him when you’ve stopped crying at night but says you still spend a lot of time on your own, wandering the edges of the property. She catches you up in the hayloft all the time, or napping with the baby goats. She says you don’t spend any time with Danny or Diego, the ranch hands, so he resists his urges to take them by the collar and threaten to bury them alive if they so much as look at you.

—

Joel woke up in the mornings feeling empty, like his chest had been broken open and hollowed out, all of his internal organs scooped onto the ground. The only thing that remained inside him was a deep-seated ache. He tried to soothe it with conversation but Tess didn’t want to hear it, kept telling him it’s better this way and to move on. He tried to temper his loneliness with touch, but when he reached for Sasha’s hand after dinner one night she ripped it out of his grip. One evening, in a particularly weak moment, he nuzzled into Kerri’s neck while she was washing dishes, her hands occupied and covered in suds. 

“Oh,” she squeaked, startled by his touch.

“Hey,” he said, muffled against her skin, twitching under the brush of his beard.

“I’m not really–” she started.

He didn’t let her finish. He was out of the room before she could even finish her sentence. How fucking pathetic was he? He didn’t even want her – not really – and she couldn’t even stand to be touched by him. This is what you’ve done to him, this is what you’ve made him. He’s been ruined by you.

When it's been just over a month since you left, things at the house finally get back to a sense of normalcy again. For a while, Tess was the only one speaking to him, and besides the Thursday meetings Beth was assigned to accompany him to, she avoided him like the plague. Kerri wouldn’t meet his eyes, Rosie shuffled away from him whenever he entered a room, and Sasha gave him dirty looks every time she passed him in the halls. But with time, things were improving. There was a low hum of conversations around the dinner table now – none of them involving him – but at least everyone else was happy.

The following Sunday Amber traps him in a corner and starts saying shit about coming to live with him. He has no idea where she got this idea in her head but she keeps trying to touch the buttons on his shirt and he’s doing everything in his power not to swat her little fucking hands away. He sees Tess giving him a look and he knows. He knows he needs to get away from her, that people can see him, that people will talk. What if you see him? You’re never gonna come back home if you think he’s messing around with this annoying child. He has to stop using her for information, he has to cut her off.

The following Thursday marks the end of February and Amber’s reports have gotten brief and repetitive. Walks alone along the pastures, always has her nose in a book at bedtime, late to every meal (much to her mother’s chagrin). She tells him that you only leave the farm on Sundays for church and on Wednesdays for your bath, having to settle for a weekly wash at the Covered Bridge Inn another mile down the road with some of the other farming families. He bets you’re missing your three soaks a week since you left town.

Joel decides to cut Amber off then and there, she’s not giving him anything he doesn’t already know and he needs more, he wants more. He needs to fill that emptiness inside him and you’re the only thing that can make him feel whole again. He’s barely looked at you in weeks, always avoiding watching you directly, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of thinking he gives a fuck. He doesn’t, not really. He just wants to soothe the hole you left. He convinces himself he just needs a taste, just needs a peek. He just needs to see if you’re missing him, to make sure you’re suffering the way he is, the way you should be. He wants to see it for himself. Then he can get over you – move on – like Tess says he should.

He waits until the following Wednesday and makes a trip out to the Mansfield’s farm when he knows you’ll be gone for your bath. Only Hank remains on the farm to greet him but is honored and excited by Joel’s presence. Joel makes up something about wanting to visit Hank because of how much he respects all of his hard work, but asks Hank to not spread the word lest the other farmers be jealous. Hank nods in agreement as he shows Joel around the property and then welcomes him into his humble home.

When Joel excuses himself to use the bathroom he takes a walk around the upstairs, checking each bedroom to find yours, recognizing it when he sees one of your old shirts on the bed. He lifts your pillow to his face, huffing in your familiar scent. Under your pillow is a book, paperback cover worn and tattered, Of Mice and Men by John Steinback. Joel stuffs it in his waistband and pulls his shirt back down, heading back downstairs to tell Hank he should get going.

There’s no mention of his visit by his little spy the next night so, he assumes Hank kept it a secret and you were none the wiser. He wants to go to the farm again, he wants to have another piece of you. Just one more taste, just one more. He waits until late in the day on the following Wednesday and, avoiding traps he and his patrols helped set, he rides out and sneaks onto the property from the neighboring fields. Hank is working out in the far pasture and doesn’t even notice Joel’s surreptitious arrival.

The house is unlocked and he goes straight to your room, this time laying down in your bed, letting himself soak in the scent of you wafting off the sheets. He thinks of you crawling in the bed every night at the end of a long day working your ass off on this farm, a big change from the cushy life you had back home. He knows you only get a bath once a week here, and he can smell your scent on the sheets strongly. He smells sweat, dirt, farm animals, and a trace of tangy milk. You must change the sheets when you get back from your bath. This must be the most pungent they smell all week.

He grabs his dick overtop his pants, he can feel it already hard and aching at the thought of you. He wishes he had more time to lie here, to really be able to enjoy himself, but he made up an excuse to Tess and she’ll be suspicious if he’s gone too long. He takes his hand away from the front of his pants and instead grabs your pillow, throwing it over his face to breathe it in a final time. He gets up, adjusting himself, and takes a step towards the door before he doubles back and snatches your pillowcase off the pillow, stuffing it down the front of his shirt.

—

He’s panting slightly as he makes his way in the back door of his house, having had to jog from the stables, cutting through the town park so he’d be back before Tess started wondering where he was. Kerri gives him a sideways glance and an empty smile, quickly turning her head back to her meal preparation. Tess and Sasha come up from the basement holding jars of preserved vegetables. 

“Where you been?” Tess asks.

“I told you,” he tries to stifle his heavy breathing. “I had to help Peter out with his solar panel issue.”

“But Peter’s wife Georgia just came by here not even ten minutes ago and asked how you were doin’,” she says, looking confused.

“Yeah well it wasn’t at his house,” Joel thinks quickly. “He’s been tryin’ to get it fixed up for little old Miss Betty, out– umm… over there by the woods.” He picked the most remote, home-bound person he could think of, hoping it would cover his ass.

“Oh, she needs power? For what?” she asks, setting down the jars on the counter with Sasha, not giving Joel her full attention anymore. He uses the opportunity to move out of the kitchen towards his office.

“I dunno, just helpin’ out Peter,” he says and then ducks out of the room before she can question him further. 

Once he closes his office door he pulls out your pillowcase from under his shirt and balls it up to his face, sniffing it more. He sticks it in the bottom desk drawer under the maps, where he keeps your lost pair of underwear, your rejected christmas gift, and the book he took from under your pillow on his previous visit. Something scratches at him from deep inside, something that might resemble guilt. He shakes it off. He has nothing to feel guilty for. If you want underwear, books, or your pillowcase so bad you can come back home and have them. 

—

He can’t even wait until next Wednesday to go over to the farm. Sunday morning rolls around – he’s spent all weekend planning this moment – and he gives a well-rehearsed speech to Tess about being sick. He doubles over in his bed and clutches his middle, groaning until her face softens and she puts the back of her hand to his forehead the way his mom used to. She brings him some water and rice and tells him to get some rest before heading to the services with everyone else in the house.

Once he’s left alone he jumps out of bed, throwing the covers off like a child on Christmas morning. He knew that if he went to church he’d be able to see you, maybe fill a little bit of his craving. But since he doesn’t really look at you, how much of you can he actually see? Knowing that Hank would bring your entire household to the service meant the farmhouse would be empty. He can sneak over there while everyone is preoccupied and have his fill of your scent, of the ghost of your presence. He needs this, he tells himself, he needs a little bit more before he stops, before he gets over you.

He doesn’t want to take a horse this time, wants to leave no trace of where he’s going or risk anyone seeing him riding out. Most of the town is at the church service but he wants to be extra cautious. He heads out the back door and ducks into the trees beyond the yard, making the long way around the populated square to hit the fence-line. He finds a well-worn path through two fence sections and, avoiding the traps he knows are there, darts south towards the farm. 

Joel’s knees are aching by the time he hits Hank’s property, heart pounding and feet throbbing, having set a brutal pace to make the trip in just about thirty minutes. His chest is heaving to catch his breath as he crosses over the creek and walks up the small hill to the old farmhouse standing like a silent monument above the pastures.

He takes his time on this visit, going through your side of the dresser, recognizing the clothes you had before, touching the fabric with his fingers that he would feel beneath his touch whenever he held you in the mornings. He looks in the closet – mostly Amber’s clothes – but sees a nice dress in there he assumes Hank intended for you to wear to church. Joel’s never seen you in a dress, maybe no one here has either, since you’ve certainly never worn this one. 

He takes off his clothes and climbs in your bed, lying face flat on your pillow, and smells you. Not your soap or shampoo, but you, the real you. The you he used to smell when you were at home, when you were in his arms, when you were his. Before you left him, before you broke him, before he was empty. He slowly humps against the bed – his cock rubbing the worn, softened sheets – and thinks of you. 

He imagines you coming back and catching him, throwing your arms and legs around him, crying how much you miss him and kissing him until he agrees to take you home. His come spills on your sheets and he throws the blanket back over top, leaving the mess for you to find. Part of him hopes you know it was him. He puts half his clothes on and then begins to get sleepy, having stayed up half the night going over and over in his head his plans for today. He lies down on top of the bed just to rest his eyes for a moment.

He doesn’t hear the horses pull up with the wagon outside, or the door opening and people entering the house downstairs. He doesn’t hear anything until there’s footsteps on the stairs coming towards where he’s still half naked and just awake. Shit. He jumps up and grabs the rest of his clothes off the floor, kicking his boots under your bed and jumping in the closet just as Amber bursts in the room, humming a hymn and babbling about how she wants to make soup to send to him. You hum in assent but otherwise say nothing.

He wishes he could see you, but he’s pushed himself into the closet and to the side as much as possible. He is half-covered by a mothball-smelling crocheted cardigan and a mildew-smelling old raincoat. He hears the soft sounds of fabric and the wooden creak of dresser drawers, then you both silently shuffle out of the room and down the stairs. He waits a long time until he's sure the coast is clear and manages to get himself dressed, pull on his shoes, and make it downstairs. 

He hides in a closet for several hours, hearing Amber and her mother all around the first floor, cleaning and cooking and gossipping to each other. Where are you? Are you in the hayloft like Amber said you like to be? Are you feeding goats or milking cows? He wants to see you but he knows he has to go, knows he’s stayed too long. Everyone has been back at his house for hours and Tess will most definitely be wondering where the fuck he went to. 

It’s mid-afternoon by now and he knows he can’t waste anymore time. He ducks out of the closet and runs for the closest patch of trees as quickly as he can. As soon as he’s in the cover of the woods he starts thinking of the shit show he’s gonna walk into. Tess is gonna give him the third degree. He left no note, no indication of where he would be. What excuse is he even gonna give? He played sick so convincingly and now what is he gonna do? What can he tell her that will be believable? 

His mind is racing with a hundred different thoughts and he’s trying to ignore the sting of the cold air in his lungs and the burning of his thighs as he presses forward up another hill. He’s sure that’s why he misses the trap. Because he knows where they all are, he helped set almost every single one. He has a map in his office with all of them marked off, directs the patrols to check and maintain them. He knows better. But he’s distracted. You’ve distracted him. This is all your fault. That’s all he can think as he feels the trap clamping over his ankle and the biting pain shooting up his leg. This is all your fuckin’ fault.

Joel loses his balance quickly as the counterweight trips and yanks his leg out from under him. He sees the whole world flip and feels the fire of tearing flesh licking up his leg. He comes to rest with his shoulders on the ground, his head brushing against the fallen leaves, but the lower half of his body lifted up in the air, strung up in the tree by his ankle. Shit, this is a good trap, he was so proud when he thought of it and now he can confirm that it’s quite debilitating and extremely painful. 

—

The sun has started setting when Joel hears a single step behind him and he whips his head around, facing a lone figure, light hair braided over her shoulder, pack on her back stuffed full. Sasha.

“Hey honey… I didn’t hear ya coming,” he groans, shifting uncomfortably.

“Yeah, Joel,” she looks him over quickly, “That’s kinda the point.”

She opens her mouth to ask a question – probably something akin to what the fuck are you doing out here – but then she looks southward, towards the still-visible fields of the dairy farm, and back at him. She closes her mouth, deciding not to ask something she already knows the answer to. Instead she looks him up and down, taking in the scene in the fading light.

“You uhh… you want me to get you down from there?”

“Well what’s the alternative, honey?” He motions around. “You gonna leave me here?”

“I could…” her face remains impassive, considering her options, “But Tess would probably miss you.”

Joel lets out a huff and gives her a partial smile, it’s as much as he can manage having been stuck like this for far too long. Sasha throws her pack down and fishes some bolt cutters out of the back, reaching them above Joel’s ankle and cutting a chain link rather easily. Joel's body unceremoniously slams down to the forest floor, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she mutters, kneeling down to check him over. “What’d you think was gonna happen when I cut it?”

“I dunno honey but I’m not a fuckin’ gymnast. I’ve been hangin’ upside-down for hours, so I’m kinda at the whim of gravity right now.

“Well twinkle toes, good thing you’re not training for the olympics, because your leg looks absolutely fucked. We need to get you to the clinic ASAP.”

Yeah yeah yeah Joel grumbles, grunting and groaning as Sasha helps him to his feet, leaning into his side so she can support his weight on his bad side.

“Is your horse nearby?”

“Didn’t bring a horse,” he sighs.

“Joel, we’re still over a mile away from home and your leg–”

“Well we better get going then, huh?”

“But, Joel–”

“Time’s a wastin’ honey, let’s go.”

—

By the time the doctor finishes wrapping Joel’s ankle, he can already see the blood seeping through the bottom layers of the bandages. She’s given him some expired meds for the pain that are managing to take the edge off, but he’s still extremely uncomfortable. He’s not gonna tell her that though.

“I’m gonna need to see you tomorrow to clean and redress this wound.”

“I can come by after–”

“No,” she interrupts. “No, Joel, I’ll make a house call, you shouldn’t be walking on this at all. This needs to be elevated so the swelling can go down.” She wraps the second layer tighter and Joel bites back a noise. She notices. “That’s why it’s leaking like this, you didn’t elevate it,” she scolds, and then murmurs under her breath, “And you walked a mile on it.”

“Well I knew you made house calls but I didn’t think you’d make middle-of-the-forest calls.”

She makes a noise that sounds like hmmm, and grabs another roll of gauze to keep wrapping around. He’s not sure if she bought his story, that he and Sasha were scavenging together and he wasn’t looking where he was going, but she removed the trap from his ankle and gave him a tetanus shot and some antibiotics. He didn’t even realize she had all of that here but she opened a locked cabinet and there was a secret stash of medicines, just waiting for him.

Since he was hanging upside-down he didn’t lose much blood and the doctor told him she doubts there’s a broken bone, given that the trap clamped down above the ankle bones and more into the meat of his leg. She is worried about infection, of course, and said that the way it pulled on his leg could take a while for the muscles to heal. How long did Sasha leave you hanging there she kept asking and he kept explaining that they’d split up to cover more ground, and she’d found him when he missed their meet-up time.

“I think that’s enough, Doc, quit fussin’ over me,” he tells her as he shifts on the bed to get up. “Get Sasha for me and I’ll head home, and don’t worry, I’ll keep it elevated.”

“Sasha left after she dropped you off Joel,” she leans back and points to the doorway, where one of the clinic staff has rolled in a rusted wheelchair. “We’re gonna take you.”

“I’m not getting in that thing.”

“Oh cut it out, you already got your tetanus shot.”

—

He gets out of the chair and stumbles up the front steps, forbidding them from helping him through the door and promising to elevate his leg and keep it that way, trying to keep his voice in a whisper and not disturb the house. He hops inside and his fears are immediately realized when he sees Tess waiting for him at the dining room table. Their eyes meet and they stare at each other in silence for a long while before she rises out of her chair and points to an empty one.

“I’ll get you some ice,” she says, walking into the kitchen.

Joel sits in the chair and Tess comes back in, motioning for him to put his leg up on the bench next to him, setting a cloth ice pack gently on his injured leg. She slowly sits down and resumes looking at him. A long silence passes between them.

“You gonna make me ask?”

“Ask what?” he says casually, then she pins him with a look and he drops all pretense, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m sure Sasha already told you.”

“She didn’t tell me why.”

“Why? You already know that too.”

“I know you were out there at the farm, Joel, sneakin’ around, messin’ with her stuff, fuckin’ with her head, I don’t know what all you get up to. But why, Joel? Why?”

“What do you care, anyway?”

“Why can’t you leave her alone?” she hisses

“Why is that any of your fuckin’ business?”

Tess slams her hand down on the table and hisses, “You made it my business when you brought her into my house.”

“Your house, is it?”

“You’re goddamn right it’s my house, and I take care of everyone in it. I sent her to the farm to get some relief from you and your behavior, and you can’t show one ounce of self control? Who the fuck are you?”

“I don’t think–”

“No, you’re not thinkin’, that’s the problem,” she interrupts. He’s stunned into silence. “I’ve taken a lotta shit in my life, Joel, and I’ll keep taking it if it’s for the greater good. I’ve followed you around for years and I’m loyal, but I ain’t stupid. I see you slipping. Everyone does. Everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve sacrificed for you… you gotta play your role.”

“I’m tired of it,” he whispers.

“You’re not tired of everything it gets you.”

He grumbles at that and mutters something like it doesn’t get me what I really want, and she knows he means you. She knows he still wants you, even when he pretends like he doesn’t. She sees the way he purposely avoids you and looks the other way when you come near. It’s all bullshit bravado, and she fuckin’ knows it. She knows he’s sad, lonely, heartbroken without you. But she needs him to either put up or shut up. Admit it or move on. She can’t have him stuck in this loop of destruction.

“Leave her be, Joel. It’s done with her, it’s over.”

—

Two weeks go by in a blur, Joel doesn’t sneak away to the farm, he avoids Amber at the Thursday meetings, he steers clear of you at the Sunday service. He goes where Tess tells him to go, meets with who she tells him to meet with. His leg heals well and he’s back on his feet much sooner than the doctor expected him to be. He spends his days working with the gardeners in town to get ready for spring planting, and the evenings working in his office to schedule patrols and plan maintenance for sections of the perimeter fencing. 

He keeps his head down and keeps his mind occupied. He starts to feel better, and then he’ll lie in bed at night and he’ll hear the door to the tiny room across the hall close and remember you’re not there. It cuts like a knife in his hollow chest, the slow thumping of his heart echoing in its empty chamber. He feels bad for going the whole day without missing you and his stomach gets tied up in knots over everything that happened. 

He tries so hard not to think of you, to keep his mind busy with anything else… until he can’t. Until everyone stands up as he introduces Bianca’s baby to the community and then everyone sits back down and there you are. You’re standing in the middle of a pew halfway back, staring daggers through him. Looking at him like he just slapped you in the face. He can’t help but look at you – for the first time in over two months – and watch you come undone.

He sees you run out of the sanctuary and only Tess’ iron grip clawing at his elbow keeps him from running after you. After the service he tells her he’ll meet them in the hall for lunch and she reluctantly leaves him, mouthing behave yourself as she goes.

And then you’re in front of him again, the both of you looking into each other’s eyes. There’s so much fire in yours, he hasn’t seen you look like this since the first day he saw them, backed into a corner of the clinic like a trapped animal, teeth bared and ready to pounce. You start snapping at him, biting him with your words, and he can’t fucking help himself. He bites at you right back. Every sharp barb of your tongue, every click of your fangs, he’s spurred on to hiss and claw in response. You call him a liar and then tell him you don’t care when it couldn't be more obvious that you do. 

Why won’t you just admit that you care? Why won’t you just admit that you miss him? Why are you so afraid of the truth?

You brush by him, purposely knocking his arm with your shoulder as you exit and when he turns to follow you he sees Tess in the doorway. She walks up to him and he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until her arms close around him and he’s sobbing into her shoulder.

“She hates me,” he heaves.

“She doesn’t hate you, Joel,” she hushes.

“She does. She thinks that was my baby.”

“Did you tell her it wasn’t?”

“No,” he sniffles.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Cause I’m incapable of doing the right thing. I just keep fucking up,” he sobs. “I keep doing the wrong thing every fucking time. I grab her, I hurt her, I say the wrong thing, I fuck it all up.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he wails.

“I do, I know why.”

“Why then?” Joel sniffles.

“It’s easier for you to push her away than it is to let her in.” 

—

Joel is sitting in silence at the dinner table later that night, mindlessly picking at his plate, lost in his thoughts. The meal has long-since finished and the women are clearing the table, moving in and out of the kitchen and talking with each other. Beth is excitedly telling them about a barn cat who had kittens last year and everyone is gushing over the talk of adorable kittens. 

Joel remembers Sarah finding two abandoned kittens after a soccer game one cloudy May afternoon, two flea-infested little rats hiding behind the practice field’s bathrooms. She’d carried them in her shirt back to him, all three of them crying, begging him to let her keep them. He said no a hundred times but still wound up driving all of them all the way across town to the only vet’s office open on a Saturday. Hundreds of dollars later they were stuffed full of medicine and food and were sleeping curled up in the crook of Sarah’s neck. 

She told him she understood when he said they couldn’t keep them forever – allergies, he’d explained – but that didn’t stop big, fat tears from rolling down her face when she placed them into the arms of their new owners.

“You did such a good job taking care of them,” he’d told her, wiping away her tears. “You should be so proud. Look how big they got! You did that! You gave them a shot at a great life.”

“You did it too, dad,” she’d said, hugging him, telling him he also did a good job.

He didn’t do shit, he just couldn’t say no to her. And she thought he hung the moon. She thought he was some kind of a saint. Joel Miller, patron saint of disgusting, sickly little kittens. The man she thought he was… he could never be that man. Not then. Not now. Not after everything he’s done.

And then he realizes he’s sobbing again, at the dinner table, and everyone is staring at him. 

“Y– You okay, Joel?” Beth asks.

“Yeah,” he sniffles. “I was just… thinkin’ about Sarah.”

“Who’s Sarah?” Kerri says.

“Can everyone give us a minute?” Tess says.

The room quickly clears and Joel is still sputtering and sniffling at the head of the table. Tess sits down next to him and he slides off his chair, kneeling on the floor and burying his head in her lap, tears rolling down his face and soaking her jeans. He’s muttering I can’t lose her too and sobbing and Tess thinks this might be it, he might finally be ready to face it.

“What’s wrong, Joel?” Tess asks gently.

“She left me, I fucked up and she left, I don’t deserve her, she hates me, I’m a monster and she hates me and I don’t do anything right and I just fail over and over and she can’t stand me and all I do is–” his cries, devolve into a blubbering mess.

—

It’s just before midnight and the house is dark and quiet. Only a lamp in the living room casts a glow on them – Tess and Joel on the couch – where they’ve been sitting and talking for hours. He’s finally calmed down, having talked through months-worth, if not years-worth, of feelings with her. Things they’ve already talked about, things she’s suspected but never had confirmed, and secrets they’ve kept even from each other. It felt cathartic, like a weight lifted from the both of them, and they sit in companionable silence before they head up to bed.

A loud, frantic knocking at the front door makes both of them jump. Tess goes to answer it and all Joel hears is a tandem of words, spilling out like a waterfall so quickly he can only catch some of them. Not in bed… looked everywhere… can’t find... He gets up from his seat and heads to the door, freezing when he sees Danny and Diego’s harrowed faces standing on his darkened porch.

“W– what’s goin’ on?” Joel asks, looking between the two men and Tess.

Tess grabs his arm, bracing him.

“She left.”

🖤

NEXT

As always, muchas gracias to my amazing editor, @papipascalispunk for sticking with me through my highs and my lows, my slumps, and my manic incessant babbling about CJ.

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx @lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin @heimtathurss @untamedheart81 @pixielou5 @feel1n-h1gh @elegantduckturtle @koshkaj-blog @vickie5446 @lilipads

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[salternateunreality2]

Kunsel says:

We should maybe have a stricter definition of what counts as "hacking", okay?

It was a slow day at work, and he decided to guess people's email passwords in 10 attempts.

How does it go?

YESSSSSSSSS

Pro tips: make your password long, that is the most important factor. Use a password manager, most of them have a free option. Adding complexity does help, but focus on length first. Size does matter here. Multi-factor authentication (MFA) also helps a lot.

---------

Kunsel: Zack, gimme your password!

Zack: ...

Kunsel: Come on man, I need it for something!

Zack: 😭😭😭 buddy I would, but I forgot it again 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Kunsel: Ok man, it's ok, let's look around your desk...here, under this pile of chip bags, I think i saw...yeah, here's the penguin toy...and yep, Password Penguin has "Zack'ss00p3rp4ssw0rd!" written on the bottom. Let's try it!

(it works)

Zack: THANK YOU KUNSEL I THOUGHT I'D LOST HIM AND I COULDN'T REMEMBER AND-

Kunsel: *wheeze* Zack let go, I need to breathe *wheeze*

-----------

Kunsel tries to guess Roche's by typing it in.

M0t0rcycle!

ShinyDancer

Sh1n33D4nc3r!

He's in.

------------

Kunsel tries to guess Sephiroth's. On the 9th try, he gets it: Seph+Jenova4ever

Horrible things are uncovered along the way and now he needs to send Sephiroth some information very discreetly.

------------

Lazard. Kunsel knows better. He gives a few guesses, but decides to actually hack this.

He sets up a hash capturing tool over the internal network and waits for Lazard to log on. He does. Kunsel captures the hash and starts cracking it.

Three days later, the hash cracker has not worked and he has to give up on that.

Kunsel: Sir, I need to get into your email, will you please send me your password?

Lazard: Of course not, that is unsafe and against company policy. However, you're welcome to come to my office to perform any actions we both deem necessary.

Kunsel goes over and Lazard is using multifactor authentication, so just having the hash cracked wouldn't have worked anyway. He sets up a keylogger surreptitiously on Lazard's workstation while "performing updates" and showing Lazard new features in his email.

The things he captures with that keylogger:

* Numerous emails covering for boneheaded shit the SOLDIERs did.

* The letter "A" typed about a thousand times into a text file labeled "definitely not screams.txt".

* Moogle searches for "how to convince your employees to get therapy", "pasta recipes", "therapists near me", "child psychology for adults", "play therapy for adults", "cat psychology", and "shrimp pasta recipes".

* The password: &oh'ihiy_-8_gi"it"gi_ipkb0(-ur#3-@--LXS4ever--9(9;0(!08(098+pihjboigig(@ukopih

Then it is a simple matter of finding a zero-day race condition hack in the MFA software, timing things just right, and entering the password and hacked MFA key at the perfect moment.

Kunsel of course has pity on the man after seeing even more emails such as...

* Explaining to Roche that doing squats over his motorcycle makes it look like he's humping it, and it is making people uncomfortable.

* Asking Genesis to please not actually firaga the recruits this week, they don't need a lawsuit. No, it's not character building. No, even though it was part of his home training and Shinra sanctioned training a few years ago.

* Inviting Sephiroth over for shrimp pasta to discuss strategy.

* Asking Angeal to seek therapy so the others will follow his lead.

* Telling Zack that he could not have a therapy flamingo in the office. Even if it was a lawn ornament.

* Warning Hojo not to take Sephiroth this week.

* Warning Hollander not to take Genesis and Angeal this week.

* Reaming Heidegger out very politely for all his BS.

Kunsel logs out without doing anything. Lazard needs a break.

--------

Kunsel calls Angeal pretending to be the help desk. Angeal, a bit embarrassed over his upbringing and unsure because he feels unused to technology, eventually gives Kunsel the password: BanoraBoys123!

----------

Genesis' is guessed on the 7th try because Kunsel didn't want to bother typing in an entire stanza of Loveless with numbers instead of vowels.

1nf1n1t3_1n_myst3ry_1s_th3_g1ft_0f_th3_g0dd3ss__w3_s33k_1t_th7s_4nd_t4k3_t0_th3_sky_r1ppl3s...

He sends an email from Genesis inviting everyone to a Loveless recital on Tuesday. It backfires because several people, including Genesis, show up and have a great time.

-----------

Kunsel tries Zack's little trooper friend next. He's a tough nut to crack. He won't pick up his PHS to get vished, won't click on Kunsel's phishing emails, and won't tell Zack or Kunsel his password.

Kunsel captures his hash and cracks it. It takes a full 24 hours, but he gets it in the end:

!1986fuck_this_shit

#ff7 #sephiroth #zack fair #cloud strife #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #lazard deusericus #die hojo die #kunsel #hackerman kunsel

[lexawxlf]

After Henry Cavil leaves everything is the same except it’s joey Batey in a cheap white wig and no one mentions it

Images curtesy of @tuupang

#jaskier #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #the witcher netflix #witcher #witcher netflix #please it’s going to be shit without him anyway #henry cavill #bye henry cavill #bye geralt #Henry cavill the Witcher #joey batey

[kangaracha]

daffodil + chan

a song

the prompt: daffodil (a god bows before a mortal)

read it on ao3

---

"You have no power over me."

running through his hands like water, and suddenly the earth is not his to control. The skies do not turn with the twist of his head, lightning does not fork in the air when his eyes, dark as night and yet still lit by some unearthly light, fall upon you, his mouth wide as if to gasp for a breath he cannot take-

And yet, still, it shivers down your spine; the magic that draws you here even as you rip it apart, the prize of your conquest to rip the world into two.

"Take it back," he hisses through his teeth, the ground trembling with every syllable that slides down his tongue. You watch his mouth as it forms the words, the flash of teeth behind thin lips reminding you of the way that the swordsman you'd fought through to get here had smiled at you - the last of his seven challenges, the last of his demons, or angels, or citizens of the sprawling, damned city he claimed as his kingdom.

And here you stood, at the pinnacle of the eighth, and stared him in the eye without cringing away because now you knew the truth. Now you knew that what he whispered in the dark was a lie and what you saw with your eyes wasn't always true, and though he may be a god and a king amongst beings that you could never hope to rival, a god can only hold as much power as you give him. A god can only claim dominion over a beast that bowed to his dogma. 

You see now that you are no beast. You are no believer in any lie he utters to the darkness.

"Take it back," he says again, the note of his voice changing. He pleads, his brow furrowing and his shoulders curling in as if waiting for the final blow. "Take it back now, before it's too late."

"I can't," you tell him, and you watch him fall to his knees, and you know that it's wrong and your heart pounds in your chest and it

like the ground does at the impact of his knees, crumbling into the pieces it was in when you first took his hand, alone on the side of the road with only one thing to call your own. And what was that thing, the little warmth you'd held to your chest in the dark and the cold? What had you traded away for the comfort of the house that crumbled around you now? Why had you destroyed him to get it back, where was it now, why did it not appear within his hands at this, the hour of his reckoning?

"Please," he spits into the cold ground, the dirt and the leaves and the curl of ivy that grows up the walls around you, old and ancient and not yet sprouted from its roots all at the same time. His hands curl in the dirt like he can reach down and pull the earth to him, like he can stop the wane of his power if he just tries to hold on a little bit tighter. "I know what you want, and I don't have it. I can't lose-"

Broken, fragile thing. Small god of limited earth, crouched at your feet like he might worship you instead. You'd thought him all-powerful once, and then you'd thought him severe and his servants and beasts and playthings petty, and then you'd thought him

because he'd smiled at you in the garden that bloomed from his own hands when you expressed your desire for a flower to tuck in the braid of your dark hair, and his hand had been soft in yours, and when he looked out across his kingdom and the clamouring faces of the people he'd brought to live there, he'd looked at them the same way that he'd looked at you.

Beneath your foot, the ground cracks, fracturing outwards like a spiderweb. It's your heart, you realise morosely, sinking from your chest and into the depths of the earth, disappearing with whatever he'd taken from you; and it was a wretched thing and it had betrayed you a hundred times over, but you still mourn at the loss of it and all the dreams it had carried with it. It blooms in your flowers in the corners of the room, embeds itself into the land and sings along with the song of his power, a thing you can hear but cannot touch, a beast once born that now does not belong to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath like mist in the cold air, and even without your heart, you can't bear to see him so cold.

Your hands reach for him without permission, your body kneeling in the dirt before you can stand your feet firm upon the earth and refuse to move. He flinches away, but your fingers are soft upon his chin and the curve of his jaw, gentle when they brush the soft dip of his neck. "I only wanted to know what it was," you tell him with a voice that cannot hold itself steady. "I thought if you loved me, you would give it back." It's the only voice you have - you are not like him, or like Felix, speaking with many tongues. You don't have any power of your own.

"It's because I love you that I can't give it back." His voice is hoarse, every word a knife that he swallows without ever once flinching. "It's because I love you that I couldn't tell you what it was."

"But didn't I deserve to know?" you question. "Doesn't my life belong to me?"

Finally, his eyes rise, looking up at you with a fire that belies the cold of his skin. "Of course it does," he gasps, and his hand reaches up, dirt-stained fingers dragging at your cheek. "That's why I gave it to you, and I never asked for anything else."

"But you wouldn't give back what you took in the first place."

The sudden violence of his voice crumbles the walls and fractures the sky, the clouds blooming te dark colours of a bruise. The absence of his hand on your cheek stings in the cold; his face turns away, screwed up in regret and a pain he won't allow you to feel. You lurch forward before he can disappear, drawing him into your arms; stiff shoulders, spine of beaten steel, slow beat of a heart you once held in your hands. 

He'd stood so tall and unmoving in the morning light, when you'd first walked down this path, and now in the dark of the setting sun and the ending of the earth, his weight slumps into your grasp, his resolve melting into the warmth of your body. "I didn't want you to suffer again," he says to the soft cotton of your shirt and the curve of your collarbone, his breath a whisper against your skin. "I couldn't watch that, when you asked me to make sure it would never happen again."

Surprise comes in the pause of your breath and the still of your arms, the jump of a heart you're not sure you still possess. "I asked you to make me forget?" you question the world behind his back, and into your neck, he sighs.

"You couldn't forget," he murmurs. "She was dead before I found you, and when I took her from your arms - you couldn't forget. There was nothing I could do to fix what had been broken. And then you begged me to let you forget, so I remembered her for you." He pauses, his throat hitching like he's swallowing something down. A sob maybe, or the tears he will never let fall. "I can't give her back though. She's not here anymore."

You push him upright, your hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face. Brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes, wiping at the blood that drips from the cut on his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, because the answer is incomprehensible. "Why did you let me go this far?"

"Because I was scared," he admits, and his teeth clench and his spine stiffens against the urge to hide away from you again. "Because I'm a wretched, evil, stupid thing who thinks they can-"

His words die in your throat; vile, wretched things that you store away to spit out later, into the ground where they belong. He is none of that; he is soft, and hesitant, until your fingers find the sharp curve of his hip and the lines of his back, dragging him closer and his lips open like there is nothing in the world to devour but you and

#sorry about the images everyone but tumblr wouldn't let me keep my aesthetic #and i refuse to bow to any shitty website #how tf do you align text on here #anyway #stray kids #bang chan #stray kids chan #bang chan x reader #stray kids x you #y/n without the y/n #lee felix #is mentioned #lee know is also in here if you can spot him #roo writes #the fight i had to a) finish this and b) post it #anyway 7k written for the last three days #a lil treat for #well for me because keeps refused to write me a fic and i got desperate #but for the love of god please someone read this please someone talk to me #i feel like i really cooked with this #one hour of my life spent going down a rabbithole #oh what else was i going to say #vaguely inspired by labyrinth #we went way off the labyrinth rails but #it's there #alright shit alright i'm gonna post it lets go i'm nervous

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

thinking so so hard about LaughingStock and how that'd go down. disastrously, probably

#and ill talk about it at Length in the tags until tumblr cuts me off like a rowdy drunk after last call #please keep in mind this is all in my Brain and relationship dynamics etc are all technically speculation. anyway #so while franklydear is your more classic 'oh no im in love with him! / aw shucks im in love with him<3' #laughingstock is 'feelings what feelings / oh shit oh fuck this is bad' #to Me. #in my mind howdy is completely oblivious to his emotions #he's out here like 'gotta get the store impressively neat & shiny for barnaby! and everyone else' without blinking an eye #he starts assembling barnaby and wally's dogs slower an slower so that barnaby has to hang around a smidge longer than usual #he's out here giggling at barnaby's jokes while sweeping Hours or Days after the joke was told like a lovesick idiot #all while being like Ah Yes Barnaby My Dear Friend. My Platonic Buddy Whose Jokes I Laugh At A Little Too Hard. Platonically. #meanwhile barnaby Realizes his own feels. has a minor crisis. goes through the 12 stages of grief and absolutely panics #he's like 'ok just gotta play it cool. normal. dont be weird. he'll fall for your natural charm in no time' #'ill hold all of my feelings right here until i die or howdy reciprocates. i just cant tell anyone about this.' #'....hey wally you can keep a secret right' #and rizzes it up yk. rolls a nat 20 on charisma every time without howdy even realizing it. ig barns rolled for stealth too #and from barnabys pov its going great! #howdy is flirting back! hes showing all the signs! when eddie views their interactions he comes to barnaby later and is like A+ gay as fuck #so barnaby is a soft pining mess and howdy is Absurdly Oblivious despite being a clever & observant guy #so im imagining (will freely admit that this Train of Thought is slightly inspired by the latest chapter of Stamps by Indigopoptart) #that eventually barnaby is Confident in their budding relationship ok. hes ready to ask howdy out. #everyone who Knows (wally & eddie) are like Go For It He Clearly Loves You #and when barnaby tells howdy. howdys like 'ohhhh geez um im really flattered 🥺 but i dont feel the same 😔😭' #cue barnaby turning into the 'never again' meme while trying to laugh it off and pretend like he didnt just have his heart mr starked #so he goes home to smoke his pipe and cry and howdy goes about his day feeling Strange #why cant he stop thinking about that confession. what are these emotions. i mean its not as if hes in love with Ohhhhhh No. Oh No. #so howdy has his 'holy shit! im in love with barnaby! (lovestruck. swooning) ....Holy Shit I Rejected Barnaby (horrified. nauseous)' moment #cue howdy expecting barnaby to come by in the morning as per Routine so they can talk. he Doesnt. cue howdy stressing the fuck out over it #meanwhile wally sally (eddie sent her in his place. hes too busy) and barnaby are having a girls day (eating ice cream and watchin romcoms) #eventually barnaby hears that howdy has been Dropping The Ball and cant not check on him. cue emotional heart-2-heart outside the bodega #this is all very specific but its in my brain. these scenarious lull me to sleep every night lately

[wabblebees]

just finished the new fantasy high episode and havent seen anyone talk abt this so i wanted to say i am 100. one HUNDRED PERCENT sure. that fuckin fourdogs was at that party invisibly (the One And Only buttfucker to NOT make an obvious appearance?? rules-follower or no, i dont believe that for a SECOND) and that she stole the piece of the cloud runner that went missing, and that the moment of her swipe was the "something" riz missed on his check -- i also really *hope* it wasn't oisin that made those damn ice mephits (or "muffets" as my beloved drunk adaine christened them lmao) act up like that, but immmmm pretty sure thats exactly what was goin on since it wouldve given his party member advantage/an easier access point :/

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fhjy spoilers #listen i was oisin to be good & real & nice SO BAD. HOT RIPPED TATTED DRAGONBORN WIZARD ??? PLEASE #but. im also a suspicious-ass bitch lmao #also wait ik they spelled his name without the accent on his character art #but doesnt the name oisin have an accent over one of the i's?? idk jack abt shit so i could be wrong ofc #in any case. i like the concepts behhind the ratfuckers as a party (*except buddy. seeing him made me feel fucking ILL lmao.) but #i neeeeeeed them to get fucking TROUNCED by the bad kids. i NEED it. theyd be so much more tolerable if they got briefly asswhooped #like i think after that they could TOTALLY be friends and work together. before that?? FUCK no lmfao #anyway. i love-hate fishykitty whatserbucket and i need to see her lose #i cant wait for the ratgrinders to meet the unstoppable force that is the bad kids bigass hearts #deciding to team up with local shitheads & therefore turning them into op allies by sheer force of will and love #its happened to ragh its happened to aelwyn it kiiinda happened with kalina (jury's still out but my fingers are crossed!!) #spring break i believe in them!!! #bee speaks #its happening yall. i try to keep my incomprehensible blorboposting to a dull roar but now that im fully caught up on d20 i fear i may start #going full pepe silvia trying to figure this out #i cant binge it all in one go and have it rot thru my brain like slow-eating acid to leak thru in a contained matter #waiting for a new episode every week means i have time to THINK

[thek1ngtalks]

Okay so that TNE fic I promised IS still being written and as proof here's a few snippets from the 4.6K words I have written so far

For anyone interested, here's the original two sentences I wrote that inspired all of this:

There's a number on his watch that leads to nowhere. Suho's gotten in the habit of texting it throughout his day.

Today, it texted back.

For like, actual specifics, check tags

#okay im doing this in tags so i dont clutter my post with my rambling #So Kim Suho is dealing with Some Shit like his Guilt Complex his shitry memory and his crippling Oldest Child Syndrome #like girlie please share some of that burden before it kills you #and it sort of comes to head around a year after Baal's death #in this no one has remembered Hajin yet cause screw them Suho deserves to be the first to remember #anyways its taking inspiration from Yeonha remembering due to her texts to Hajin not being erased #except the only thing Suho has is this abandoned number he thinks isnt used anymore #as he starts getting worse and worse the people around him including hajin who hasnt responded to his texts start doing stuff about it #thats probably as deep as i can go without revealing TOO too much #its a decent chunk of it so far though #characters in the fic are so far: #Kim Suho #Kim Hajin #Yun Seung-Ah #Yi Yeonghan #Yoo Yeonha #Chae Nayun #Shin Jonghak #Kim Hosup #Rachel Louise #Evandel #and a few side characters #to be fair a good few of those last ones are also not plot relevant yet #i WILL be making them plot relevant though i have such a fierce desire for multi-character fics #not sure about the Chameleon Troupe yet but ill likely mention Boss sooner or later #k1ng updates #k1ng rambles #k1ng writes #the novel's extra #k1ng spoils

[taylorhawkins]

dave dedicating cold day in the sun to taylor last night (video credit)

#💔 #there was an alt angle and he was crying and it broke my fucking heart #he is being so brave #they all are #I’m honestly pissed at the hate they’re getting #I might make a post about it later #let them honor their fallen friend/brother without being a dick about it thanks #but the sweet people in the audience cheering him on here made me happy #anyway. #foo fighters #taylor hawkins #dave grohl #t tributes #video #grohlkins #😭 #cold day in the sun #but here we are era #please forgive my absence the last few days I know so much has been going on but my life decided to take a shit

[codecicle]

Yo I wanna say this now because somebody was brave enough to follow me with this take (they're blocked now) but bi-lesbians and mspec lesbians are valid as fuck and I love them. Please fuck off and never talk to me again if you think otherwise man because mspec lesbians and everything that comes with them have been around since the dawn of the queer community and they aren't leaving anytime soon. They deserve their place here as much as the rest of us and useless infighting within the queer community will only divide us further and let the nazis win. I'm not here to argue over who's "valid enough" and "queer enough" to be oppressed based of a caard you saw on twitter end of fucking story <3

#i wanted to say kill yourself <3 but i didnt #this goes the same and doubles actually for neopronouns and zenogenders #this counts for ace/aros too. seeing a lot of hate towards them recently like please fuck off?? #i dont care if theyre straight and cis and only 'a little bit' asexual. #if theyre asexual theyre queer. full stop. #anyway i love mspec lesbians and i love women who use he/him #and men who use she/her #and i love men without dicks and women with dicks #i love every queer person because they go through enough shit already they shouldnt have to justify or prove their identity to you AMEN #i make yet anothet post just for me 👍 #queer discourse #anyway sorry for the rant i just needed it to be said because jrwitwt is pretty weird and theyre starting to migrate here

[kittlyns]

Samsung guy also had the audacity to tell me to "just make a new account" and I got so mad cuz like. my only hope of seeing any of my memories from the past 5 years of my life are connected to that one account, and it's not even a guarantee. But it's still a small hope and I'm not giving it up.

#so I told him my daughter died and my only chance of seeing her again if I was able to log in to the cloud from my samsung account #shitty thing to do? yes ofc. #but also I'm frustrated with people continuously telling me to just make new accounts when my entire life from the age of 10+ is trapped #inside of accounts that I'll never be able to get into again without the help of like. 3 key accounts. #and 2 of those 3 have done fuck all to help #I'm just tired and this entire week has been a nightmare. #and it has been 8 days now. 8 days of damn near endless agony. #I'm gonna get a goddamn ulcer at this rate #anyways. I'm gonna try again tomorrow. My mom will let me use her phone to call a few places and hopefully I can get everything sorted out #please. god. universe. whatever or whoever. the bitch that cursed my ass. #it was funny and I've learned a very valuable lesson of hubris and patience and whatever else I was supposed to learn #can I just be okay now. can it be over. can I get on with my life and go back to being depressed over stupid shit #I'm just soooooo tired now. #flip-flopping between apathy and rage is an exhausting exercise

[attllhak]

You know what? If you want to info dump about Kole, go for it! I’m all ears, especially after reading those snippets of him

I am absolutely taking this chance to infodump about him, I love him so much.

So, when inventing Kole it was directly tied to Phoenix's family being invented. Short summary of what I built for their family for clarity:

There are only two things I knew about Phoenix's family canonically when I started. 1. He is ethnically Japanese, a canon fact since the ancestor he got Karuma from was Naruhodo Ryuunosuke, who was very Japanese. 2. A bit of word of god from somewhere that said he was an only child. So I built from there.

Phoenix and Kole's shared grandparents were both born in Japan and moved to California at some point either before their kids were born or shortly after. These kids are Phoenix's mom and Kole's dad. The name 'Wright' is a western name (English specifically, I looked it up), so while Phoenix's mother is very Japanese his father is generalized grab-bag American white. Both of Kole's parents are ethnically Japanese.

Got a good picture of the family? Okay, great. Now onto Kole specifically. I'm putting it all under a cut though, since there's... a lot. I rambled a bit. I just love this man so much.

Kole originally was moreso supposed to be a bit sore about Phoenix inheriting Karuma from their grandfather, since his father is real big on family legacy (honestly this is part of why it was Phoenix who got the sword), but that changed pretty early on.

Kole ended up in a car wreck about six months after Phoenix inherited Karuma. No relation between the events, nothing plot relevant, just unfortunate. He ended up in a coma for a while as a result of the whole thing. He woke up a few weeks after everything with Dahlia, around when Phoenix changed his major.

Phoenix was one of the few people who regularly showed up when Kole was in the hospital recovering, alongside his own mother and their grandmother. Phoenix's parents dropped by on occasion, and Kole's father rarely dropped by, being a bit of a workaholic. This is the reason they're so close for the rest of the fic. Phoenix helped Kole out with physio and getting back on his feet (metaphorically), and in exchange Kole helped Phoenix study for his law classes (he wasn't much help but he tried).

Kole ended up paralyzed waist down from the accident, and is now wheelchair bound. He also suffered some brain damage focussed on his occipital region, meaning he's got a pair of bigass cork-bottle glasses to compensate his now suffering eyesight. (Can glasses be used to correct brain damage based near-blindness? Idk, and I did no research on this topic, which I think fits the spirit of the games.) He's mostly recovered now, but the glasses and wheelchair are aides he'll need for the rest of his life.

This is why the floors of Phoenix's apartment are always clean. Yes, Kole could manoeuvre over the clothing and other things that otherwise would end up there, but Phoenix doesn't want to make his cousin's life more difficult that it has to be. Kole also complains about most elevators he encounters being not up to code. (And yes, I am aware of the ironic humour of Phoenix having close relationships with a man who can't use the elevator and one who has to. This wasn't intentional.)

All that being said, I do not linger on any of Kole's disabilities. He's nearly blind and wheelchair bound, yes, but primarily he's here to make bad jokes. And to act as Phoenix's support system. And I don't show it in the fic, since the focus is on Phoenix, but Phoenix acts as Kole's support system too. They're very close to each other and care a lot, so they both are happy to offer the other whatever support they need. So it's a mutual thing.

Kole very quickly became my favorite character both in this fic and in general. I adore him. He exclusively calls Phoenix 'Feen', makes bad jokes at every opportunity, and is willing to force some common sense into Phoenix when he's being particularly dense. He's optimistic and happy as a general rule, and is always willing to lend an ear or shoulder, even if you don't really want it (but very much need it anyways). He also is the person who drags Phoenix outside and makes sure he eats when he forgets. But mostly he's there to make bad jokes.

He went into engineering (and a bit of mechanics), and then proceeded to mod and trick out his own wheelchair. He has three, one for everyday use, one for all sorts of outdoorsy stuff (camping, beach trips, etc), and one that's literally just an ongoing project as he adds all sorts of stuff to it. (This one stresses Phoenix out a bit, but it's both Trucy and Kole's favorite. It has a turbo boost!) Outside of his own wheelchair, he also designs and helps build physical aides for people who need them, mostly all custom stuff. Wheelchairs that can be used on sand, for example. He also sometimes makes things just to see if it's possible. Actually he could probably run a pretty successful engineering YouTube channel on top of all his more sane projects.

Screw it, I'm deciding right now he has a YouTube channel too. Every video on it gives Phoenix stress headaches, especially when Trucy happens to be in said videos. Kole insists it's fine, and it mostly is. Kole is nearly as unkillable as Phoenix is. It does not make Phoenix feel better.

Kole's relationship with his father suffered after the accident, but it's gotten better by the end of the fic. Still tense, but they get along. Part of this was the amount of pressure and the trying to pit him against Phoenix, which Kole was not having. His parents are still married though, because while his dad isn't a great father he is a decent husband. Kole's fine with this, but he is closer with his mother.

Kole's name actually came from an old classmate of mine. I was wondering what a Japanese couple would name an American born kid, and I actually live in an area of Canada with a high Japanese population, so I ended up just picking the name of someone I knew. My best friend clocked it immediately. I didn't remember it should be a pun until later, but in hindsight I guess you could make a claim it's a pun on his bad eyesight. It wasn't intentionally a pun, but by now I'm attached to the name so it's not changing.

#atta answers #anon #ace attorney #kole naruhodo #gods i love this man so much #he's fun #he's just here to provide common sense and make bad jokes #he's like. forcibly sunny #sure he's seen shit but he's going to be happy anyways #maybe out of spite #that seems in character for him #and it's all genuine. he's genuinely a happy guy #he likes making bad jokes and teasing his cousin #and building things that are probably dangerous to be around #also please imagine trucy's first science fair after she gets adopted #because kole would be helping #something is on fire i can see it #he's the favorite uncle without question #i love him so much #as far as i'm concerned he's just canon now #phoenix's cousin who makes bad jokes and tricks out his own wheelchair #i'm sounding like a broken record saying i love him #but i love him #he's my favorite oc ever #i just want to reach out and hug and squeeze him #he makes me happy #gods i need to cut myself off now #i just love kole so much

[barredandromeda]

i hate change id rather die

#people arent sticking to their usual selves stop messing w my mind #havent talked to some friends in a while and theyre wildly dif and its making me so irritated can we go back to how we were before #my obsession of waiting by the phone until someone messages me first is coming back in the worst way possible #the coincidences with k stopped and i barely even see him anymore and his clothing style is changing??? #hes becoming more normal popular whatever and its so boring please i need a loser boy go back to being that #mb i cant sleep and feelings are coming back but in a weirder way and i have like 2 projects due tmr im not done w and test #i need more friends but in the way of being irl that i can wave at during school and send them videos without talking fr #serenity wake up and come home bro literally ditch school just for me 🙏 believe in u bbg #omg sid is coming back tmr thank god i need my daily walks w him i literally tried w another guy today and it was not the same #bro was yapping ab love whatever idek 😭 told me ab his crushes which good for him ig but i barely know him idc 🙏 #insta wants me to stop liking k too cause it deleted all my past stories ab him when i tried to make a highlight #is it so hard to have everyone obsessed with me all the time. cant people just pay attention to me forever #i forgot what i said in this post whatever im deleting it later anyway #post #erics tag #delete later #cringingg that people know stuff ab me and why i am the way i am. maybe they should all die so it becomes a secret again #literally why did i ever talk anything out with anyone other than serenity thats so fucking stupid no shit shes the only good one #thats a lie i love attention i just hate asking for it i cant even be bothered to say more bro im so exhausted but not in a sleeping way yk #kindividual posting

[collecting--stardust]

Just watched moto2 and CELESTINO THE SEXY MAN YOU ARE

#havent watch sprint and motogp race but watched moto3 and moto2 dy #my family rarely watch live and since qatar makes the time of the race so late we just record it and watch later :(( #BUT MY MY CELEEEEEE THE SEXIEST MAN #literally he has a 3.3 second gap to canet in 3 laps to go AND HE BEAT CANET WOOP WOOP #BUT THEY DIDNT SHOW HIM DOING HIS SEXY OVERTAKE A CRIME A CRIMEEEEEEE #was defending him so bad from my parents because my mom was like so cele is in what team this year and i said Ajo :/ #and mom was like oh then he better do well because look at deniz he already got points and not to far away from cele #that was when oncu was p15 and cele was p13 or something #and i was like >:( ITS CELE HE USUALLY WAIT UNTIL THE LAST MINUTE TO OVERTAKE #and yeah cele is a flop but hes MY flop so no one can shit on him except me #and he proved everyone wrong!!!! and got p9!!!! YAYYYYYYY #and ogura p4!!!! overall a very satisfying podium because im neutral to alonso but i do like him #and then barry!!! and garcia!!! #they didn't show cele and ogu at the end tho im so fucking pissed #SHOW MY BOYS PLEASE I NEED AIRTIME #anyway a very good race im so happy and cant wait to watch motogp so that i can finally open soc med without fear of spoilers #already the podium and a bit of results from the sprint thanks to my shitty twin who cried about tony flopping #literally woke up to her telling me she saw moto2 spoilers and said tony flopped so bad but her underrated boy got top 3 #so i was already expecting barry ngl but turns out its a sexy podium!!! #cant wait for portimao 😋 #personal.txt

[runa-falls]

FREE USE WITH MIGUEL? LIKE ANYWHERE ANYTIME?

a/n: YES NONNIE, ANY--FUCKING--TIME. AND HERES ONE OF THOSE TIMES :^) idk if this is free-use or feral!reader or both. anyway, just enjoy it lol. like every time, this got away from me

special thanks to mona (@whatthefishh) for letting me scream this shit to her over discord + for helping me figure out exactly what 'free use' is lol

cw: smut (18+), free use kink, small very small bit of somnophilia (CAN'T ESCAPE IT), non-explicit oral (m-receiving), afab!reader, mentions of ovulation (+ period) horniness, fingering, cockwarming, fucking w/ multiple orgasms, the same Spanish pet name used over and over, reader is basically a bothersome cat, writer is so all over the place it's confusing.

wc: 2.4k (this was supposed to be a quick thot but wtvr)

---

miguel is a gracious boyfriend, he practically lives to please you. so when you approach him in the middle of the day with nothing but his shirt draped over your figure, he has a hard time rejecting your advances.

sure, he tries, but every time he gives you what he wants.

you're spoiled, really.

miguel works at home as much as possible. he hates having to leave you before the sun rises, walking away from a perfectly cozy bed and wet cunt (😳).

miguel convinces himself that Spider HQ can survive a day or two without him on site. he has several capable Spiders that do most of the heavy lifting for him and LYLA isn't afraid to take charge, sitting her holographic ass in the boss' chair.

he can set up mission plans and keep track of everything from his laptop, and he's always on call if he is needed for anything. the only issue is that working remotely doesn't work when he can't get anything done.

he's trying to go over notes from a meeting that was held earlier this morning.

he was supposed to be there, but you physically wouldn't let him out of bed. he swears you're a Spider yourself with the strength you have when you're especially needy and sleepy.

he smelled it when he woke up in the middle of the night to you mouthing over his boxers, that decadent sweetness that indicates you're ovulating.

you were desperate to get a taste of him, to fill that unbearable emptiness inside of you, whimpering with relief when you finally feel his fingers bury themselves in your hair to push your further against his bulge.

he learned early in your relationship that your insatiable appetite for him increases tenfold during your window of fertility (don't even mention your period). and so does your need for sleep. so he caters to your needs accordingly.

you passed out after convincing him to fuck the heat out of you, to snuff out the fire until your neediness recedes. apparently, the only time you aren't horny is when you're sleeping (though that isn't true... you wake up horny all the time??).

you've been sleeping soundly ever since, utterly exhausted by his thorough support, but he knows that once you wake up, you'll be crying for him again.

he crawled back into bed with you after telling LYLA to take over for the day, but after a few hours of almost suffocating because of the way you curl up on his chest like a cat, he got up to get some coffee and finish some computer work.

as soon as his warmth left you, you fussed. eyes still closed as you whined and moaned for his body. he shushed you, gently smoothing down your bedhead until you settled.

it didn't last for long.

you padded out of bed with bleary eyes, clearly looking for him when you walked into the living room. he offered you a quick "morning, cariño." before focusing back on his computer. he had to limit as much contact with you as possible if he wanted to finish his work.

just a few more pages and a couple of emails, and then he can give you all the attention you need.

his shirt brushes against your thigh like a summer dress as you make your way through the room.

he looked adorable with his loose white long sleeve on and black dad-glasses. his hair is still curly and fluffed, telling you he wasn't planning on leaving you anytime soon.

you shuffle over to the couch, sitting next to him with a sigh.

he doesn't react.

somehow, the minimal recognition that you're there, his adamant refusal to look at you, turns you on as much as it irritates you.

he's really trying his best to be a good boss, hm? trying to resist a temptation that's barely a foot away from him.

it makes you feel dirty and deprived. you blatantly rub your legs together, urging him to look. your gaze washes over his sharp jawline watching as it clenches at your soft coos.

"...baby."

"'m working, amor." his voice is still soft, despite the efforts he's taking to ignore you.

you huff.

"but--"

"not right now."

you scoot closer to him, strategically allowing the hem of his shirt to ride up on your thighs. so he's really going to make you do it...

you tug at his sleeve, taking his arm away from his work (though it doesn't look like he was working on much at all, he's been sitting on that exact page for 5 minutes now).

"not right now, mi vida..." he protests lightly, but he doesn't move away. he's not even trying, you think.

you smirk at his empty words. you can see the way he's looking at you: your messy hair, bare legs, the shadow of his shirt hiding away your most sensitive spot. his breathing grows heavier and so does his stare.

"i have work--" miguel is always so soft and sweet to you, melting in your hand though he has all the power to stop it.

"please, miguel? just one, for me?" his lips part as you place his hand against your bare thigh, slowly dragging it upwards until it meets your center.

he doesn't take his hand away, doesn't even pull back a single inch, instead, he instantly complies, cupping his warm hand over its entirety. he chokes out a low groan. you're not wearing anything underneath.

"ok, i guess if it's only once..." he whispers, already breathy. he's leaning over you, almost on top of you, forcing your legs to spread impossibly wide.

he watches as his finger rubs against your slick center, spreading your wetness until you're glistening for him under the late morning light. he pushes in slowly, so slowly, eyes flicking up to your face to witness the small o your mouth makes as he presses in deeper.

his mouth waters as he fingers you, he wishes he had enough time to go down on you, and taste your slick straight from the source. he knows how much you love it when he fucks you with his tongue and suckles on your clit. but no, he has work to do. he needs to get you off so he can finally focus.

"this what you needed, cariño?" it's all but growled into your space, his voice low and taunting. all you can do is nod with bleary eyes as your hands grip onto his thick bicep for support.

he adds another finger and thrusts them into you quicker, angling them just so his palm can gently nudge at your clit. he can feel you tightening around him already, fluttering with each pass that he makes against your g spot. he presses harder, drinking in your choked gasp and shaking thighs.

you're so wet, spilling over his fingers and dripping against his hand. the noises between you are deafening. a mixture of sopping thrusts, heavy breathing, and quiet mewls fill the still silence of the living room.

he's so good at this, too good at this.

how can he make you fall apart with just his hands, caress every sensitive nerve with a single stroke?

you're at the cusp of euphoria. your body, filled to the brim with pleasure, urges you to let go, to take what you want. but you don't want to. you want to stay at the edge forever with his hands on you, to be at the center of his affections, always just one breath away from transcendence.

you're not ready for him to stop touching you anytime soon, you realize. you still need it and after you'll need it again. you need him.

his glasses start sliding as he looks down at you, dropping until they're barely at the tip of his nose. he's focused, eyes locked on how he fills you again and again.

his fingers speed up, expertly aiming against that special spot inside of you. your hips rise from the couch, needing him as deep as possible. then it all falls apart.

you cry out, back arching and eyes rolling. your body is barely touching the couch under you and it feels like you're being lifted up by unknown forces as you reach your climax. white fills your vision and heat thrums through your limbs. you can't hide your one orgasm from him, it's too intense.

before you could recover, he slips his fingers out of you.

"alright, honey, we're done." he casually sucks your essence off of his fingers before propping his glasses back to the arch of his nose.

"ok, ok, i get it. you're busy." you pant, still pulsing from your high. and...he's already back to work. he wasn't kidding when he said he had stuff to do. "i'll just...be sitting here."

so you watch him get back to work, or you try to. the incessant scrolling, typing, reading, and muttering thoughts that accompany his work is usually enough to put you to sleep. it's an unusual lullaby that's attached to him. one that brings you the comfort of knowing he's near.

but he's hard.

he seems so relaxed, so content to work, but his erection presses so desperately against his sweats, outlined perfectly by the grey fabric.

so how could you not touch him? he clearly needs your help... and if he doesn't, then you need it.

you want to be good, you do, but when he types so effortlessly like that with the fingers that were just stuffed in your cunt, or when he looks over his dad-glasses to look at something like a hot fucking nerd, you can't help it.

it's been, what, 12 minutes? that's enough work for the day in your opinion.

you start slow, hesitantly, watching to make sure he's not looking at you (though he can clearly see you from his peripheral vision). you stand up on the couch right next to him. you're a bit unstable on the squishy cushions so you use his shoulder for support.

he looks over at you, confused as to why you decided to walk all over the furniture like a toddler.

you carefully maneuver over his arms to settle yourself on his lap. you're a koala around him, holding your torso to his, looping your arms around his neck and sharing your shimmering lustful body heat. he grunts when you scoot even closer to him, your bare pussy pressing entirely against his covered cock.

but he ignores it.

he doesn't say anything, barely even moves, and just continues to work. you pout a bit, but let him. you convince yourself that you're content with just sitting here and enjoying his company (despite the large distraction that pulses against your pussy, pressing so sweetly under your needy clit).

you listen to his steady heartbeat and slow breaths, the occasional sound of tapping keys. you nuzzle against the soft shirt that stretches over his chest. you're fine.

it's not like you're leaking all over his sweatpants, leaving a puddle at the apex of the fabric. you're not crying on the inside, so empty and fluttering around nothing. you're fine.

until you arent.

you lazily lift your hips above his, nearly head-butting his chin in the process. his arms lift to help you get settled, hands resting on your waist, as patient as ever.

you reach below you and he stiffens. he wasn't expecting you to--

your hand buries itself under his sweats, delicate fingers brushing over his erection. he breathes out your name when you squeeze him teasingly before pulling him out.

"what did i say?" he grunts, hand swiftly wrapping around your wrist. the words are lost on your ears as you caress the silky steel in your fist. it pulses at your touch. he needs this.

he says your name once more.

"you're working."

"then why are you trying to fuck me?!"

"i'm only going to sit on it." you give him an innocent look. you slowly lower yourself so your dripping center meets his before sliding your glistening lips over his hardness. "won't move or say a thing, promise!"

"cariño..."

"just wanna warm you, baby." you position him right against your entrance. "is that so wrong?" you lower yourself before he can say anything else.

you take him easily with how wet you are, and he fills you perfectly. he sucks in a breath at the feeling then growls out, "don't move."

well, you do move (is anyone surprised). you move a lot. but he moves too. harsher and more competitive. who the hell fucks competitively?

you moan over him, bouncing on his cock eagerly. his hands hold your waist, guiding your movements just how he likes it: fast and hard. his laptop, somewhere on the other side of the couch, is forgotten and probably long dead by now. so much for working at home.

you've cum at least four times already, but who's keeping count (you're not. you're so fucked out, you have to manually breathe now.)

he won't let up anymore. you asked for it and you're getting it.

"do i gotta fuck you to sleep, hm? is that the only way you'll leave me the fuck alone and let me work?"

you only admit now that you're eyes were definitely bigger than your stomach. you're practically drooling as he takes control once again, snapping his hips from under you, harsh and punishing. as if this is a punishment.

he has to carry you back to bed that afternoon. he couldn't just leave you on the couch, naked and shivering. plus you'd be a distraction with your bruised hips and fucked out cunt.

you murmur adorably in your sleep as your body unconsciously nuzzles further into his arms. he places you lovingly on the bed and you immediately curl up. he sighs, brushing your hair out of your face because he knows how much you hate it when it gets in your eyes or tickles at your nose during the night.

you look so cozy and comfortable. but so alone in this huge bed.

he debates laying down with you, only until you're in a deeper sleep.

maybe just a few minutes?

LYLA had a few choice words when he woke up in the morning....

#anon #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #atsv #2099

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale #gale of waterdeep #astarion #gale dekarios #laq talks #I talk #she stares at me real hard after she makes a choice too #like squinting to see if my expression gives anything away #if it was a good or bad call #I keep my face blank as shit it’s hilarious #I have not told her I’m writing fanfic for this game #nor will I ever #jesus christ

[bestial4ngel]

Yeah yeah… *laughter dies down* and I mean… families, what’s up with those? Amirite? Like seriously! (That’s it that’s the end of the joke I’m dead serious asking this question)

#lmaoooo shit is so shitty !!!! and for what ?!! #fr wish everyone would stop it. like fucking stop. please. my godddddd #elton john I think im going to kill myself has been on loop in my head for days because of these people my god man. #funny part is they’re just driving each other apart and being dicks to each other not me and yet it’s still entirely insufferable #and honestly when I say each other I mostly mean my mom has 0 boundaries about her feelings and overshares to me & my brother about the #family drama surrounding my brother so is fuels the fire between them and drives me insane all at once #I’m feeling the worm emotions as always #anyways how are we this thursday night #having to tell my mom my brothers location because he’s 13 and decided to leave without warning to go to a friends bc he was upset and now #she’s chasing (semi non literal) him in the car to bring him home 🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠 #/vent #me talking (but make it insufferable) #<- new vent tag just dropped ey