#← the latter has happened far too many times to count

[tommysversion]

Oblivion { Joel Miller x Reader }

Summary: Joel bends you over and fucks you until you pass out. You’re into it. There’s no plot, it’s just smut.

CWs: established consent / choking / praise / dirty talk / use of “good girl” / no daddy kink this time / unsafe sex / rough sex / dom!Joel / aftercare

MDNI / 18+ ONLY

Tagging @dreamingofdaddydin & @joelsgirl 💜

Joel has you on all fours. It’s one of his favourite positions, because it really gives him a good sense of how much bigger than you he is.

You’re not sure what the fuck he was eating in the QZ, but he’s far more broad and strong than most men in Jackson. Hell of a lot better looking, too. And not that you know really, but you get the sense that he knows his way around a woman far better than most men, too.

Not that you can really think of anything right now beyond what he’s doing to you.

He’s so much bigger than you, easily caging your body with his whenever he pleases, which is often. He goes between draping himself over you and sitting up straight, depending on how he wants to look at you.

Presently it’s the latter; he has both hands on your waist, pulling your much smaller body back against his hips, slamming his cock into you without much care as to how rough he’s being.

He knows you can take it. Knows that if you couldn’t, you’d tell him. He’d stop if you asked, wouldn’t be remotely pissy about it or guilt trip you for it, no questions asked. But you’ve never once asked him to stop.

Begged for more? Absolutely. Demanded he be rougher? Also a yes. You’re open to pretty much everything and anything, as long as it’s with him.

Your hands - so fucking tiny, they look so small and delicate whenever they’re wrapped around him - are fisted into the rumpled bed sheets, like holding on will keep you from losing your mind entirely. It won’t. Not with the sounds he’s already dragging out of you, high pitched moans and mewls that sound sweeter than anything he ever heard in a porno or real life.

You’ve got your ass in the air, back arched down in just the right position for him to hit that sensitive spot inside you with each thrust, heavy balls slapping against your clit as he fucks you.

And still, somehow, it registers that he’s holding back on you. That’s not what you want. You want him to fuck you senseless, literally. Fuck you so dumb that you can’t speak, can’t think, left a drooling mess in his bed with his cum dripping out of you down your thighs.

“God dammit, Joel…” you wriggle yourself back onto him, earning yourself a slap on the ass for your trouble.

“What, sweetheart? Not hard enough for you?” He grunts as he slams into you, hard, forcing your body forward into the mattress with the momentum.

You squeal loudly at the force of it, letting him know that’s exactly what you wanted.

You don’t know where the fuck he got his stamina, but you love it. Know he’ll complain about his back hurting later, but that’s fine. You probably won’t be able to walk later, so it seems even enough.

He doesn’t slow down, one hand leaving your waist to snake up to curl around your throat, hard enough to cut your airflow. Not too tight, not dangerous, but tight enough that with the force of how hard he’s fucking you, the room starts to spin.

Joel knows you, though. Knows the telltale signs of your body about to hit its peak, grinding his enormous length into you hard enough to tip you over the edge. He releases your throat just as you start to cum, holding you up with one hand as you shake beneath him.

“Fuck, baby, you get so tight when you cum for me…”

You know; it feels so fucking good it hurts, feeling your comparatively tiny cunt fluttering around him as he fucks you through … fuck. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum for him tonight. Four? Five?

You’re getting to your breaking point, but you still won’t ask him to stop, won’t tap out. You don’t care what happens to you, how overstimulated you get. All that matters is him, the heat of his body against yours, the feeling of being so full of him, the rough praise of his deep voice as he fucks you.

“Such a good girl for me. Getting tired, darlin’? Want me to stop?” Joel knows the answer, taunts you anyway. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

You almost hiss it over your shoulder at him, feel his cock throb inside you at the words.

It’s like you’ve awakened a whole new side to him; his hands are vicelike on your waist as he pounds into you, no longer trying to be remotely gentle after you’ve just climaxed.

Harder and faster, one hand twisting into your hair and pulling hard as he fucks into you. The room fills with the sounds of your bodies moving together, your mewls and whimpers, his increasingly louder groans and curses.

“Fuck, baby, could just stay buried in this tiny perfect pussy forever, just made for me, weren’t you?”

You can’t answer him, just scream for him instead, the only intelligible word that comes out is his name. You’re exhausted, your climax building again, closer and more uncontrollable this time.

He knows it, holds you as steady as he can as he feels you start to shake, your tiny body finally reaching breaking point as you come undone around him.

Your eyes roll back in your head, vision fading with the intensity of your climax, every nerve in your body on fire as you shake in his arms.

It’s not the first time he’s literally fucked you unconscious. The first time, he stopped, and when you woke up? You demanded to know why.

It’s a spoken rule now that he doesn’t stop. There’s something unbelievably fucking hot about waking up to him inside you.

Still, he slows, caresses your back, strokes your hair, being almost gentle with you now as you slowly start to come back to yourself.

“There you are… there’s my good girl… you doing okay, sweetheart?”

You blink a few times, open your eyes. He’s still inside you, thick and full and practically splitting you open. Perfect.

“Mm… Joel?”

“Yeah, baby?” He rocks his hips lazily.

“Don’t fucking stop.”

You can’t see the grin on his face as he keeps moving, chasing his own release now. He won’t admit it, because it feels a bit fucked up, but he likes that you trust him so much, likes how helpless you are when he fucks you into oblivion.

“Not gonna stop, darlin’. Gonna make myself cum now, pretty little pussy gonna make me cum…”

He’s been holding his own release back for god knows how long, edging himself just to get you to this point, but fuck if it isn’t worth it.

He’s comparatively gentle now as he chases his own release, still rough but less controlled, deep sloppy strokes that have him groaning as he bottoms out each time.

“Fuck, baby, so good for me…”

He punctuates the sentence with a long moan, the sort of sound you want to commit to memory because it’s so fucking sexy, but then he’s throbbing and pulsing inside you, filling your aching overstimulated cunt with hot, thick ropes of his seed, grinding deep before he pulls out, watches it drip out of you onto the sheets.

Finally, finally, you collapse onto the bed, eyes half closed, panting and whimpering. The bed creaks as he gets up; vaguely you’re aware of him coming back, a warm cloth between your thighs, cleaning you up.

Once or twice, you’ve both been too exhausted to move, but Joel likes to take care of you after. The mattress dips again and then he’s there behind you, pulling your exhausted body against the solid wall of muscle that is his chest, the slight softness of his stomach.

“Did so well for me, sweet girl. So proud of you.” He presses a kiss to your temple, strokes your hair.

“Sleep now. My perfect girl…”

You’re more than happy to let him rock you into oblivion, a small part of you hoping you’ll wake up to him inside you again.

[welcomingdisaster]

Ok so I’m rotating ideas about elves and mythology and decided to drop some ramblings in your ask box because of all the wonderful theatre-related thoughts you’ve been sharing!! The thing is that the silm is a mythology right. Like it’s written in that style, and the heroes of LoTR and the later Ages in general are always explicitly looking back to the stories of the First Age (see: Aragorn wanting to cosplay Beren and Lúthien with Arwen). But what were the myths, the cultural stories, of the Elves of the First Age? In Tirion what were the stories that Maglor might write a play retelling or subverting, that Elemmírë might make a new song about, that Míriel might have woven into a tapestry? All cultures have ancient myths – but these characters are a) living at the very dawn of the world, and b) are all going to become mythological figures themselves! It makes me a bit insane. My thoughts are that they told a lot of stories about the war the Valar made on Melkor, and also about Cuivienen and the awakening of the elves, but honestly I don’t KNOW. What do you think? (No pressure to answer this is very random I realise) ❤️❤️

NO I love these thoughts!!! My thoughts generally go along the same vein as yours in terms of the general themes of elven myths. Here are some possibilities I imagine:

Whichever continent the elves in question are not seeing is often the center of the stories. The Sindar and Avari in middle-earth myth-make a lot about the lands in the west; the Eldar in Valinor myth-make about middle-earth. Since we're talking about Elemmírë, Míriel, and Maglor I'll stick to the latter.

I imagine there's aways the pervasive idea of secret Ainur no one has discovered yet. No matter how many times the Valar go "no we promise we're all here in Valinor, there's no other Valar left" there's 100% an elf somewhere going "have you heard about the Vala of bogs? yeah they live in middle earth and they're in charge of all the bogs there and if you aren't careful you'll be stuck serving in their bog court"

Not to mention elves who know Aulë and have heard that his people sleep under the earth, waiting for their time to awake. I'm sure for some elves tell it as simply that, but over time another pervasive myth develops -- stories of great dwarven kingdoms under the earth, kingdoms they're barred from seeing, stories of seven great dwarven kings, each much like Aule in face, each possessing a specific sort of magic.

Imin, Tata, Enel, etc! Not only do we canonically get them as a counting story, I imagine their fates are also something that ends up being talked about? They do not seem like they ever ended up in Valinor -- what happened to them? I feel like elven stories can tend to go along the lines of "and then he turned into a tree" or "he still dwells by the sea where he was born" or "he fell into the cracks of the mountains during the war and became one with the earth."

Myth as a way to explore cultural taboos! Elves coming to Valinor, a land with no pain or crime, with the shadows of war and suffering behind them -- I imagine they must explore taboo and pain through storytelling. What happens to an elf that leaves his wife for another? What happens to an elf who poisons her sister? I imagine there's some gruesome/creepy stories that come out there, but are told with a naïveté to the actual truth of what violence looks like. Something along the lines of "and then the servants of Melkor hacked the elven king into bits, so his wife had to go looking for each piece of him in every corner of the world and sew them back together"

The sea!! Must I say more. The elves emerged from the sea, and they long for it -- yet they cannot go too far into the waves without drowning, and they do not know what lurks under the waves. I imagine myths centering around sea-creatures, around the souls of the drowned, around elves (mer-elves?) who never left the sea and make their kingdoms underneath the waters, etc.

Just some ideas!! If anyone else wants to contribute headcanons for early elf myths to his post, please do!

[noisynaia]

Yesterday's Love - Part one

summary: Twenty years after the world fell apart, alone and tired, you stumble upon a man in the middle of the night, a man for whom you have grieved and who you have loved. He is not the same man he was twenty years ago, and you are not the same woman. The world has turned into a sad and dark place, but maybe the two of you, with the help of a sassy fourteen-year-old, can find the light again, because sometimes life offers you a second chance.

word count: 4.8k 

series rating: E

pairing: Joel Miller x afab!reader 

note: Canon-typical violence. Mention of food/eating. Angst. Survivor’s guilt. Feeling hopeless. The outbreak happened in 2003 like in the tv show, but I've decided to go with Joel's game age, meaning that he turned 32 on outbreak day instead of 36. (This is, in general, inspired by a mix of the game and the tv show.) No use of (y/n). Reader uses she/her pronouns and is four years younger than Joel with no physical description. This has not been beta-read and English is not my native language. Crossposted on my ao3

18+ minors, please don't interact

Prologue￨Series masterlist￨Part two

You’re dragging your tired feet over the forest floor, ‘just a little further, then you can rest’ you encourage yourself, it’s what you have been telling yourself for hours now. You keep stumbling over tree roots and small rocks, and even your own feet at this point. You are afraid of falling, fearing that if you fall now you’ll never get up again. But maybe falling and never getting up again wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would actually be good, you would finally be able to rest, after years of fighting for your survival. 

You hate what you have become, hate the things you have had to do to survive in this world. ‘You didn’t have a choice; it was you or them’ is a poor comfort when you look down at your hands that are covered in dirt and dried blood. The only thing that is making you keep going at this point is the promise you made to Luis so long ago. You still can’t believe that it has already been twelve years since you lost him.          

You had moved to Austin in January of 2003 after you had gotten a new job there. You had moved into a little house in the suburbs. It was nothing special, but it was yours, and after having lived in a tiny apartment for so many years, even the little house felt like a castle to you. You had been excited for your new life in Texas, but it was also hard to start over in a whole new city. You didn’t know anyone in Austin when you moved there and you were far away from your friends and family, even though the latter wasn’t as hard, since you never had been very close with any of your family members.    

It had been on your first day in your new home that you had met your new neighbor, Luis Sanchez. He was in his early sixties, and had lost his beloved wife a couple of years prior, he now lived alone with his old texas heeler, Dino. He had been very friendly, telling you how happy he was to get a new neighbor. You had gotten the idea that he was feeling pretty lonely. He helped you put up shelves and other small tasks around your house, and you in return invited him and Dino to dinner, which you soon had multiple times a week together. He told you about his late wife with such love and you knew that he missed her tremendously; he and his wife had never gotten any children, but you soon had gotten the supportive father figure you had missed your entire life. Luis Sanchez also happened to be an ex-marine.

He had knocked on your door in the middle of the night between the 26th and 27th of September, and told you you had two minutes to pack the most essential things before he had pulled you into his truck. You had managed to get you out of Austin before the blocades, Fluids had been quick to react and you had been some of the first to flee the city. It had saved your life, but you had been too shocked to understand what was happening. That whole night was like a haze, and it was first when you had gotten out of it that it dawned on you, what about Joel and Sarah, were they safe? 

Luis Sanchez had saved you by getting you out of Austin, but he is also the reason why you have survived the past twenty years. He had taught you a lot; how to fire a gun, how to handle a combat knife, to defend yourself. He had made sure you had the necessary skills to get by in the dystopian state of the world you had found yourself in. You had promised him that you would keep fighting, that you would take care of yourself, that you would live.   

So you keep on fighting, keep pushing yourself to take another step further. You keep on stumbling through the dark forest when you suddenly feel a shiver go through your body as a silhouette suddenly appears within your vision. Despite your exhausted state you react quickly, pulling out and aiming your gun. It’s all muscle memory at this point. 

The pale moonlight seeping down through the dense tree cover is the only thing that illuminates the man’s features, but a chill runs down your spine and a silent gasp escapes your lips as you take him in. Even with the limited lighting and after all these years you recognize him. 

He has gotten older. So have you, of course, but you have had twenty years to get used to that. His hair appears lighter as gray hairs have begun to mix with the brown ones, his beard is graying too, and the lines at the corner of his eyes a little more prominent, but besides that he looks pretty much the same as you remember him. This is, without a single doubt, Joel Miller, your Joel Miller. The same man that you twenty years prior had dreamed of a future with. 

His grip is tight on the rifle as he points it directly at you. A flash of recognition and disbelief flicker’s through both of your eyes as you stare each other down, but neither of you are lowering your weapon. It is like you’re in a trance, the both of you paralyzed by the other’s presence. Can this really be true? 

You are on the brink of collapsing from exhaustion, maybe you have finally lost it and this is just a fragment of your weary brain. Maybe you really did collapse, maybe you’re actually laying on the cold ground and this is some kind of near-death hallucination… 

No, this has to be real. You have decided that it’s real.   

You let out the breath you have been holding and slowly lower your gun, It’s Joel after all, and if being taken out by your ex lover is how you’re gonna die then so fucking be it, you’re tired of continuing to survive just to fight through another awful day. It takes him a little longer to lower his rifle, but you are not gonna hold that against him. The two of you are simply staring at each other, perplexed, but he is the first to break the silence. Your name falls from his lips, he is sounding unsure and maybe a little hopeful? 

The sound of his voice is pulling you out of your trance, offering him a small smile and a disbelieving nod of your head. 

“Hey Joel.” You let out.  

It’s first now that you’re not being held at gunpoint that you take in the view of the little camp behind him. A blue and white Chevy S10 is parked between the trees, how the fuck has he gotten that? An empty sleeping bag is lying on the ground, must be Joel’s, but another bag is lying next to it, whoever is sleeping in it is completely tucked away under the soft material, but someone is clearly occupying it. 

Could it be Sarah? She would be all grown up now, older than you were, back on that night before all hell broke loose. When Joel had held you in his arms and had told you that he wanted you to meet her, making you hope that the three of you maybe someday could be a happy little family. It was the night you had told him that you loved him and he had told you that he loved you too. Everything had been perfect, but it all had been torn away from you as the world fell apart the next day. 

“Are you okay?” He asks you, he is still clenching the rifle tightly in his hands even though he isn’t pointing it at you anymore. “You’re not…” He stops himself, but you don’t need to hear the question to know what he is asking you.   

“No, I’m not infected.” You reassure him, before continuing with a humorless laugh. “This is all human.” You lift your bloodstained hands. This whole situation is so absurd and you feel like you might fall over from exhaustion any second now. You have been walking for almost two days with barely any rest. 

“Are you hurt?”

“Not too badly.” You shake your head slightly, and even this slight movement is making you dizzy.   

You finally feel your legs failing you, but Joel is fast. He manages to get to you before you hit the ground taking you in his arms as he leads you over to the little makeshift campsite. He sits you down before going over to the supplies, coming back to hand you a water flask. You take a few sips, letting the water rest in your dry mouth for a moment before swallowing it down your dry throat.    

“Come and get some rest.” He says, not unkindly, but you’re too drowsy now to really register what’s happening. 

He helps you into the sleeping bag, and even though you’re not fully sentient at this point, you do feel the hot tears running down your cheeks as you slip into a dreamless sleep, as Joel pour water over your dirty hands, gently scrubbing the grime off from your hands. 

—

You’re slowly eased into consciousness by the sound of birdsong and the low rattle of boots walking over the dry forest floor, but you don’t open your eyes, not feeling ready to face the world yet. Your entire body is aching and your eyelids still feel too heavy. It’s first when you hear a voice that isn’t Joel’s that you force yourself to open your eyes.    

“Erghh! What the fuck is that?”

“You don’t like coffee?” 

You start to slowly stir in your little warm cocoon as you peek over the hem of the sleeping bag to see who your fellow coffee hater is, and you lock eyes with a young girl.       

“What the fuck!” She shrieks.  

“Not so loud.” Joel says in a deadpanned tone. 

“But…” She says confused. 

“It’s okay, I know her.” Joel tells the girl. 

She looks from you to Joel, her eyes large with confusion. You start to slowly sit up, you do feel better than you had last night, but you are still pretty weak and still very tired. You didn’t get that many hours of sleep and are still heavily sleep-deficient. Joel comes over to the two of you, placing a plate in front of the girl before handing one to you, some sort of canned beef stew you believe.

“Thank you.” You manage to croak as he slips a fork into your hand and places the water flask next to you. He just nods, not looking you in the eyes and goes back to the portable stove to pack it up and put it back in the truck.                  

“So…” The girl says, pushing her stew around on the plate with her fork. “Is anyone gonna tell me what’s going on here?” 

“Eat your food.” Joel huffs from the truck. The girl rolls her eyes and lets out a scoff.

“Well, guess I’ll have to introduce myself then. I’m Ellie.” She says, offering her hand for you to shake, which you accept, telling her your name. She still looks confused, but she seems to accept that she won’t get an explanation now and finishes her food. You struggle to get your own breakfast down, you have not eaten a lot the last few days and you should be hungry as a wolf right now, but you don’t have any appetite.

It takes some time, but you finally manage to finish your food by the time Joel has packed everything up. You don’t really know what to do now, you don’t know where he and Ellie are going or what his relation to the girl even is. You know that you are not gonna survive out here alone much longer, you simply don’t have it in you anymore, you are twenty years into this whole mess and you are tired of it all. 

But you don’t get to speculate further as Joel walks over to you again. “Come on.” He says, as he bends down to help you up on your feet. You are still feeling very weak, scared that your legs will give in and let you fall, but Joel doesn’t let go of you. He walks you over to the truck, his strong arms supporting you. He opens the door to the backseat and helps you into the truck, laying you down on the backseat, removing his jacket and placing it over your curled up body. “Now get some more sleep.” He says, before closing the door. He settles into the driver’s seat, Ellie is already sitting in the passenger seat. 

“Okay so are-” She begins, but Joel gives her a stern look to let her know that he won’t answer any questions at the moment. As much as you try to fight it you already feel yourself slipping back to sleep and you are already losing consciousness as Joel starts up the engine.

—

You blink a few times, confused for a second until you remember where you are and what had happened. It’s a long time since you have been in a car and the rumble of it is weirdly calming. You don’t know for how long you were out, but you feel a lot better and your head has become more clear. You stay down, not feeling ready to sit up and face the people in the car yet. You’re still in disbelief over your situation, stumbling upon Joel after all this time feels too unlikely to be real, but here you are… You close your eyes again, a loud slurp is heard as Joel takes a drink of the coffee he had made this morning.  

“Is that seriously what those Starbucks in the QZ used to sell?” Ellie scoffs. 

“Well, theirs was a lot fresher than what Bill saved up, but, yeah this is what they sold.”

“Smells like burnt shit.” 

Another slurp. “Eyes on the map.”

“76 west and then, 70 west for, like, ever.” Ellie states. 

“Hmm.” Joel grumbles. 

“So like, am I ever gonna get an explanation?” The girl asks. 

“What do you mean?” Joel huffs. 

“Seriously dude?! Are you gonna tell me why a stranger suddenly appeared in the middle of the night and why she is sleeping in the backseat of our truck?”

Joel doesn’t answer straight away, he just shuffles a little to adjust his position in the driver’s seat, before finally giving an answer. “She isn’t a stranger. Or at least she didn’t use to be.”

“Okay, that’s cryptic. Can’t you just tell me how you know her?” She asks, the curiosity and frustration clear in her voice. 

“That’s none of your business.” Joel shuts her down.  

She scoffs and puts her eyes back on the map. “Okay if we go down the next exit we will-” She continues, but she is cut off. 

“Not that way.” You chirp in, finally letting them know that you are awake. “It will bring us too close to the Kansas City QZ, and trust me we want to avoid that.” You sit up.   

“Okay.” Joel’s nod, finding your eyes in the rear mirror, letting your eyes lock for a second before he breaks it to look back on the road again. It’s only for a split second, but you feel a lump forming in your throat, a million feelings are running through you. You don’t even know what to say to him, where to start, but the fact that he trusts you enough to listen to your advice is affecting you more than it maybe should.  

Ellie turns in her seat to face you. Her face is lit up with a big smile. “You’re awake!” 

“I am.” You say offering her a small smile. 

“I’m so glad to have someone else to talk to, this asshole is really not good for conversation.” She says, gesturing to Joel, who just scoffs at her remark. 

You chuckle at the girl, enjoying her feistiness. You already know that you are gonna like her. The Joel you knew was not an asshole, but you know damn well you’re not the same as you were before the apocalypse either. Joel finds your eyes in the mirror again, his gaze soft, giving you a glimpse of the old Joel you once knew behind this new battle-hardened facade that so many now have nowadays. There is a promise in his eyes, the two of you will talk later. 

“Did you also use to drink that shit?” Ellie asks, nodding her head in the direction of Joel’s coffee. You can’t help but laugh, a real whole-body laugh that has your stomach hurt. You don’t know why that question has you reacting like this, maybe it’s the simplicity of it or maybe you just really have lost it, but this girl’s disgust at the discovery of coffee is amusing to you. 

You shake your head through your laughs. “No, I have always been more of a tea girl.” 

Your dislike of coffee used to be a never ending wonder to Joel, who couldn’t understand how anyone could get through their day without it. 

Ellie seems happy with your answer, settling back in her seat before tuning to Joel. “I like her.” She states in a happy tone.  

You are happy that you have won over your young travel companion, but your spontaneous  outburst of laughter has left you dizzy again. You reach for the water flask that Joel had put out for you when he helped you into the truck. You take a sip before leaning back in the seat, closing your eyes again with a sigh and you soon fall back to sleep once again.     

The sky has already begun to darken when you wake again. The rumble of the truck as Joel drives over the uneven terrain to find a safe place to park for the night is what had woken you. The dusk is falling around the truck like a heavy blanket. Joel turns the key, killing the engine when he has found a spot he is satisfied with, opening his door and grabbing his rifle. 

“You two stay here. I’ll take a round, making sure it’s safe.”

Ellie nods at him, turning around in her seat, looking out of the window, looking at Joel’s back as he walks away, turning to you again when he is out of side with a big grin on her face she has pulled something out of the pocket of her hoodie, a rolled up paperback book. The cover is worn and has been eaten up by silverfish.   

“Joel told me, and I quote, ‘to not torture you with this.’ But he isn’t here, sooo…” She says, proudly holding the book up in front of her to show you the title. ‘No pun intended, volume too’, before opening the book to read you a joke.     

“Why was King Arthur's army too tired to fight?” An amused look on her face. 

“I don’t know.” You say with a smile and a shake of your head.

“It had too many sleepless knights!” Ellie barks out all excited. 

“Oh god…” You sigh, but Ellie is already ready with another pun for you.  

“What sound does a sleeping T-Rex make?” 

You were ready for another silly pun, but you are happy to hear one you actually know the answer to. “A dino-snore.” You tell her with an arched brow and a sly smile.  

“Ey!” She exclaim. Her grin is spilling her face in two. “You are way funnier than that old grump.” She laughs, gesturing in the direction Joel had gone.  

“Hey, careful calling him old.” You chuckle. “I’m only four years younger than him.”          

“So how old were you at the outbreak?” She asks you, crossing her arms over the back of her seat. 

“I had just turned twenty eight.” You tell her, feeling how your heart clenches a little by the reminder of life before the outbreak. “So I had plenty of years to hear shitty puns.” You add, scrunching your face with a teasing smile, trying to ease your own mood and bond with the girl you suddenly have found yourself traveling with. 

“Hey, don’t disrespect Will Livingston like that!” She laughs and it is quite contagious.      You can’t remember the last time you have laughed as much as you have today, which is impressing considering how much of the day you have spent sleeping. 

The sleep has definitely done you good, you are feeling much better, almost at full strength again. You are gonna insist that Joel get to sleep through the entire night, you have a feeling that he will protest, but he must really need it. 

“Okay, okay, let me find a good one.” Ellie says as she flips through the withered pages, but Joel returns before she finds one. 

“I thought I told you not to take that thing out.”    

“Well, she liked it, okay.” The girl scoffs. 

Joel just shakes his head. “We should be good here. Get your pack.” He tells Ellie, turning to you as the young girl jumps out of the truck. “How are you feeling?” He asks. 

“Much better.” You reassure him, offering him a small smile. He doesn’t return it, but his eyes do soften. 

“Good.” He says, running his hand through his hair. “I uhm… I guess we should talk?”  

“Yeah, we probably should.” You agree.    

“I’ll get the food ready, we can talk after Ellie has gone to sleep.” He declares. 

“No, no, let me do that. You have been behind the wheel all day and you didn’t get any sleep last night, besides, I’m feeling much better.” You start, but he just shakes his head. 

“I’m fine.” He sighs, but the tired look on his face is telling a different story. 

“Okay, I’ll let you do it, if you promise you’ll sleep through the night.” You try to sound stern, but you suddenly feel insecure. The reality has slowly sunken in. Joel really is standing right here with you in the flesh. It’s overwhelming and quite unbelievable.

“I don’t think anyone is out here, but I can’t risk it.” He says, trying to shut you down, but you beat him to it.        

“I know, I’ll take this night shift.” You say clapping your gun holster before you, on now only slightly shaking legs, jump out of the truck to join Ellie.    

“We really do have a lot to talk about.” He mumbles behind you as he gets the stove from the bed of the truck. The idea of you with a gun twenty years ago would be unimaginable, but the state of the world right now would have been even more unimaginable.

Joel is quick to get the food ready and soon the three of you are eating your dinner. Joel is quick to tell Ellie to go to sleep after you all have finished eating. You will be leaving early in the morning and you and Joel need to talk, and he prefers to do that without the young girl eavesdropping. It is weird when the soft snores of Ellie finally can be heard, she is what has kept you grounded this whole day. Now that you are alone with Joel all your emotions are bubbling up to the surface and you feel very overwhelmed. 

You follow Joel over to the truck, he lowers the tailgate, gesturing for you to take a seat which you do, letting your legs swing from the edge as Joel sits down next to you. Being this close to him again is a lot, you can already feel the tears threaten to fall from your eyes. 

You don’t know if you should do it or not, but you can’t help yourself, so you lean against him, placing your head on his shoulder, but it seems to be okay as Joel’s arm sneaks around you, hugging you close to his side. The two of you are silent for a while, neither of you knowing how to start the conversation, but after a little while Joel breaks the silence.      

“I can’t believe you’re here, that you’re okay… Fuck, there’s so many things I need to tell you, and so many things I want to ask, I don’t even know where to start.” He says with a sigh, rubbing his free hand over his weary eyes.     

“Yeah, twenty years is a long time.” You agree. “So why don’t we start with what’s at hand. Who is she?” You ask tilting your head in the direction of the place Ellie is sleeping.  

“She’s cargo.” His words are harsh, but there is no cruelty in his voice as he says it. It is, however, not much of an answer, but you have learned not to be too nosy in this world. People tell what they want to tell. “Tommy, my brother, I don't know if you remember?” He continues. 

You nod your head, letting your cheek rub against his shoulder, to let him know that you do remember, of course, you do, you don’t think there is a thing about Joel Miller that you don’t remember. He was the man you had loved when the world fell apart after all.    

“He is out somewhere in Wyoming, I’m going out to make sure he’s okay, take him with me back to Boston if possible. I made a promise to take her with me out west.” He says, nodding towards Ellie.  

So not only did Joel make it, his brother did too, but there is still another Miller whose fate you’re unsure about. You want to know so badly if Sarah is also still alive and okay, but you know better than to ask directly, and you are fearing the answer.

Another silence falls over the two of you. You should probably say something, maybe give him an explanation as to why you were wandering around a forest in Missouri, but you have a hard time finding the right words. Sitting next to Joel after twenty years is a lot and it is clear that he is as affected by your presence as you are by his, so you let the silence linger for a little longer, enjoying the feeling of his arm around you, before he finally breaks it.  

“How did you make it out of Austin?” 

“You remember my old neighbor?” You ask. 

“Yeah. Mr. Sanchez, right?”

“Mhm.” You nod and begin to tell Joel about how you had made it out of Austin that night twenty years ago. 

Joel squeezes you a little tighter as you finish your tale. “I’m glad he got you out.” He says. It’s a simple statement, but the slight crack of his voice and the vulnerable tone is not lost on you, there is a lot of meaning in the simple words. 

“I’m glad you got out too.” You say, but you feel Joel stiffen against your side as soon as the words fall from your lips and he removes his arm from around you.      

“Yeah, I got out. Tommy and I…” He sighs, his tone is now a mix of defeat and anger. “But Sarah she… She didn’t make it.” A wet shine is covering his eyes as he speaks.

“Oh, Joel…” You whisper, feeling your heart break for him.

“And a part of me… A part of me is happy she didn’t have to go through all of this shit, and I hate myself for feeling that.” He is clenching his fist so hard that his knuckles are turning pale. 

“Joel…” You try, placing your hand on his arm, wishing you could take his pain away, but you know that nothing will ever be able to heal that kind of wound. He stands, making your hand slide away from his arm.    

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” He shakes his head, turning his back to you. “You can come with us to Wyoming.” He sighs. “You watch my back and I’ll watch yours, but the girl is first priority.”

“Okay.” You simply say, watching his back as he walks over to his sleeping bag in which he crawls into, facing his back to you and Ellie, shielding himself from the rest of the world as he buries himself into the soft taffeta. 

“Get some sleep Joel, I’ll wake you if there is anything.” You say, getting a low hum in response from the bag. That talk didn’t go as you had hoped, but you can now see how broken of a man Joel Miller has become. 

[ticklishfiend]

A Plan Fit for an Angel (Good Omens)

(Lee! Aziraphale/Ler!Crowley) (brief lee!crowley/ler!aziraphale)

Summary : Crowley’s dignity was positively shattered being tickled by Aziraphale two weeks ago. Well, only one way to fix that: getting revenge. [see part one here! this is a sequel]

a/n : i lobe them sm

Word Count : 3626

hope u enjoy! :)

. . .

There are two types of demons: Those that like to strike as soon as they see their target, and those that plan their evil-doings methodically, thinking out every angle so they can strike their prey when they least expect it.

It might shock some to find that Crowley tends to lean more towards the latter.

It had been two weeks since Aziraphale had pestered Crowley with those god-awful jokes, relishing in his demon’s irritation. Two weeks since Crowley had been tickled into the couch cushions so Aziraphale could win an argument.

So for two weeks, Crowley has been planning.

And planning for Crowley doesn’t mean he just thought real long and hard about how he’d make his move. No, planning requires research. Lots and lots of research.

Tickling isn’t something Crowley would call a regular occurance between the two of them. Yes, it happens, has happened, but if you were to ask for something defining that they do together, tickling would be quite low on his list, if it made it there at all.

So maybe, before he strikes, he’ll need something of a…refresher.

Aziraphale stood in the bookshop’s tiny kitchen, making himself a cup of tea. Crowley stood at the doorway, wondering if his angel knew he was there.

“I know you’re there, yknow?”

Ah. So he does.

Doesn’t matter. He knows Aziraphale will continue to read through his book on the counter, waiting for his water to heat in the kettle like Crowley wasn’t even there. He was too comfortable in Crowley’s presence…making him far easier to attack.

So Crowley sauntered behind Aziraphale, miracling up a feather from his wing. He heard a page being flipped.

“Whatcha readin’?” Crowley asked, before placing the feather under Aziraphale’s shirt without having to move a finger. Real magic truly was the best thing since sliced bread (trust him, he was there when it happened, sliced bread was quite the invention for the time).

“Oh it’s a lovely book, I’ve read it many times but somehow I keep coming back to it. Georgette Heyer’s ‘The Black Moth.’ Quite a page turner; it takes place in 1751, during the—AH-!” Aziraphale flinched, his right arm gluing itself to his side.

Crowley smirked behind Aziraphale, still looking over his shoulder at the book. His finger waggled near Aziraphale’s coat, a magic tether traveling from it to the feather. “What was that, angel?”

“Er, nothing I just—well I think there may be something in my shirt. I do hope it’s not a bug,” Aziraphale said, before snapping his fingers. A feather floated down onto the pages of his book. A black feather, to be precise.

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. “I see.”

“How peculiar,” Crowley grinned. “Wonder how that got in there?” He walked right out of the room to avoid further accusations, all of which would probably be correct.

Stage one: complete.

Now onto stage two. Snake time, baby.

Crowley very rarely switched to his snake form these days. Really no need, plus any time he did he was usually beaten within an inch of discorporation by a horrified human. So no, he doesn’t typically take his snake form anymore.

But occasionally, when he’s feeling rather…well, one might use the word clingy (Crowley detests such accusations), he’ll be a snake for a few hours just for the excuse to curl up on Aziraphale’s lap while he reads.

This usually embarrasses Crowley, not exactly one open to admitting his love of cuddles and pets and head scratches. Which is why he’s especially excited about snake time today, since he’s getting to embarrass Aziraphale this time and not the other way around.

He’d taken his form around 20 minutes ago, giving himself time to adjust to the change and alert Aziraphale of his body today. When he heard, Aziraphale went and made a cozy spot for himself on the couch, beginning to read his book. It was a silent code to Crowley that Aziraphale was ready for cuddles whenever he was.

It was no surprise when Crowley slithered his way onto the couch, his now curled body finding purchase on Aziraphale’s lap. The angel got to petting, resting his book along the serpent’s scaled back. He scritched softly at Crowley’s head, running his hand down the length of his now much longer body.

Crowley almost got lost in the comfy-ness of it all when he felt Aziraphale stray too close to his underside, a sensitive area on both of his bodies. Ohohoh, the plan, yes right, I’ll get on that now.

With the sneakiness only a serpent could possess, he slowly moved his tail around until he found the area buttons can’t close up on Aziraphale’s shirt, and slithered his way in. Bingo.

He only allowed himself about an inch’s worth of entry, can’t get too confident now. He waited a few moments, listening for Aziraphale to stir or speak up. He didn’t move, though, so that’s a good sign. Now he can strike.

Crowley fluttered his tail back and forth, like a rattlesnake in slow motion. Aziraphale huffed.

“Is that you down there?” He asked, voice a little wobbly like trying to hold something back. Got ‘em.

“Is what me?” Crowley said in his tired, I’m-far-too-comfortable-to-care voice.

“It is you!” Aziraphale let out a giggle through his words, moving Crowley around in his lap to stop the incessant tickling that was still taking place on his lower belly. “Aha-! Crowley, stop!”

“I really don’t know what you mean,” Crowley yawned. “And stop moving me, m’comfortable.”

“I will not!” Finally, Aziraphale found the end of Crowley’s tail, pulling it out of his shirt and readjusting Crowley in his lap. “Now you stop that or I will be putting you off to the side.”

Crowley huffed, his body adjusting under his head in a way that almost looked like his head was laying in his arms. “Whatever. Didn’t even do it anyways. Punishing me for something I didn’t do? Now that’s just cruel.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, going back to petting Crowley while fixing his gaze back on his book.

Well, he really didn’t wanna risk ending this. Might as well enjoy it and plan for the next stage in his great scheme.

Which, as it happened, took place the very next day, snake Crowley no more.

Aziraphale sat on his favorite chair, listening to a record he recently bought at Maggie’s shop. He was the picture of content.

Crowley was bouncing on his heels ready to ruffle the angel’s feathers.

“Mmyes, some good ole’ Stravinsky. Rather liked that guy, with the whole y’know, riot debacle,” Crowley made his way around Aziraphale’s chair, leaning against its back. “Great fun that was.”

“Yes, that was a rather difficult event. I was there, you know, but I truly was only there to see the show,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley hummed, having heard the story before. He looked at Aziraphale’s ear below him, giving a puzzled look.

“What’s that in your ear?”

Aziraphale furrowed. “My ear?”

“Yes yes, there’s something in your ear.”

Aziraphale’s hand shot up to feel around his ear, “Where?”

“No you—you’re missing it, it’s nothing but a piece of fuzz, I think. Here, let me-“ He shooed Aziraphale’s hand away, before using his pointer to gently prod and scrape along the shell of his ear.

Aziraphale’s shoulder shot up. “Aha, wait, wait—there’s really no neheheed-“ He batted at Crowley’s hand, but couldn’t dissuade him.

“No seriously, I can get it if you just give me a moment-“ he wiggled the finger, and this time Aziraphale shot out of his chair with a quick giggle before turning and giving Crowley a pointed look.

“You’re messing with me,” Aziraphale straightened his coat before giving his ear a quick scratch. There was a smile small on the corner of his lips.

“Now why would I do that?”

Aziraphale shot him a look, “I’m not sure, but I know that’s what you were doing.”

Crowley walked toward Aziraphale until they were eye to eye. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, before walking out.

Stage three: complete, but Aziraphale was definitely onto him now. Time to set the real plan in motion.

Like it started, Crowley’s plan took place in the back room, wine in each of their hands as they talked and bickered and laughed with each other.

After having made Aziraphale laugh at one of his favorite stories to tell, Crowley smiled and remembered. Admittedly he had gotten a bit tipsy and nearly forgot about the whole thing until he saw his angel folding over in laughter just moments ago. Made him remember what this was all for.

He glanced over at the desk, noting Aziraphale’s current book having a very familiar bookmark peeking out of its pages. He had actually noticed this days ago, but was waiting until now to bring it up. Clever demon, he thought.

“What’s that there in your book?” He gestured lazily at it, sitting up like it was of great intrigue to him.

“Oh that’s…” Aziraphale looked at the book, like it was the first time he’d noticed it there. “Well, it’s my bookmark, of course.”

“Mmyes obviously it’s your bookmark. I meant what is it, exactly? Cause I don't know if I recognize this one.”

Aziraphale looked a bit flustered. “Erm, well it’s…it’s a feather, actually. But it works just as nicely as a bookmark.”

Crowley hummed. “Aren’t your feathers white, angel?”

Aziraphale looked without words for a moment (oh how Crowley just loved flustering his angel), before straightening his back with newfound confidence. “Well I didn’t say it was my feather, did I?”

“No, you’re right, you didn’t,” Crowley said, resting his chin in his palm as he relaxed over the arm of the sofa. Sometimes he likes letting Aziraphale think he’s won before pulling the rug out from underneath him. “Is it mine?”

Aziraphale was definitely blushing now, but he stayed on guard. “Yes, it is. You…put that blasted thing in my shirt the other day when I wasn’t looking. When it fell into my book I…well, I didn’t have a bookmark before and then I did. It’s really as simple as that.” He smiled at Crowley all clever, taking a sip from his wine.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a puzzled look. “You think I put that in there?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Well obviously. You’ve been messing with me for days.”

Crowley smirked. “Have I now?”

Aziraphale glared at him. His eyes were a bit squinted, very suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything. You’re accusing me of something I have no recollection of. I’m just asking how you think I was messing with you,” said Crowley, thinking ‘that’s right, lure him in.’

Aziraphale hesitated, like treading over thin ice. “…you’ve been teasing me, and you know it. You—you’re doing it now!”

Crowley couldn’t hold back his grin anymore. “I mean, can you blame me?” said Crowley before standing abruptly. He took a swig from the bottle, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and sat it hard against the table. “You messed with a demon angel. You never mess with a demon.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He set himself back further into his chair, hands holding onto the arms.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ohh, don't act all innocent now. You were quite the tease a couple weeks ago, as I remember,” Crowley pointed a finger at Aziraphale, who actually started…grinning.

“You’re still worked up over that, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked, a clever smile taking him.

“No—no, that’s not what I mean-“

“Oh I’m sure. But you can’t really deny that apparently, you’ve been thinking about this quite a lot,” Aziraphale looked as smug as ever.

Crowley was admittedly a little stuck for words at the moment. His mouth formed around rebuttals but they never made it past his throat.

He growled before rushing over and grabbing Aziraphale by the lapels.



“Maybe so—but only because I needed to plan out exactly how I was going to get you back,” Crowley growled, grip tight on Aziraphale’s coat. He liked how nervous the angel suddenly looked. “Like I said, angel. You don’t tease a demon.”

Crowley let go of him, walking back and almost pacing in thought. He waggled a finger in the air, “But I can’t do it now. No, no you’re expecting it now. I’ve gotta get you when you’re totally off your guard,” He plopped himself back down on the couch, pointedly not looking at Aziraphale.

“So…you’re not tickling me now?” Aziraphale raised a brow his way, taking a slow sip.

“No, I’m not.”

Aziraphale shrugged, placing his glass on the table. “I’d let you.”

Crowley paused. He looked at Aziraphale like the angel had grown an extra arm. “You’d let me?”

“Well, yes. I don’t actually hate being tickled. You just keep doing it when I’m in the middle of something, or I’m trying to relax,” he said, which was the last thing Crowley was expecting. “If you just asked I’d be happy to oblige.”

Crowley was near seething. He wasn’t actually mad, just utterly irritated by how nonchalant Aziraphale could be about the whole thing. Crowley was beyond embarrassed when Aziraphale tickled him the other week. How could someone not be embarrassed by it?

Crowley shook his head, “It’s the principle of the thing. You tickled me when I wasn’t ready, I’ve got to do the same back,” Crowley took a much needed swig. “S’how revenge works, angel.”

“Be my guest then. I’m happy to wait,” Aziraphale grinned, so pleased with how quickly things had turned in his favor. Sure, he was still going to get tickled eventually. But now he knows the real context.

Crowley was still so flustered over his little tickle attack the other week, that he had been meticulously planning on how to get Aziraphale back just to regain his dignity. He couldn’t deny how adorable that much effort and thought was.

Crowley grumbled, throwing his head against the back of the couch. “Grrrrbut it’s not as fun now,” he slumped. “Now you know it’s gonna happen. Shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yes, maybe you shouldn’t have,” Aziraphale said. “Because now, once you do tickle me, I’ll have no choice but to tickle you back immediately after.”

Crowley gaped at him, actually letting out a low chuckle. “Oh really? Well that’s not fair, is it? Supposed to be tit-for-tat, don’t you think?”

“No, no I don’t think so. See, it doesn’t affect me nearly as much as it does you. That’s the fun in it.”

“It does not affect me. S’just not right for a demon to have such a weakness. Makes sense when you’re an angel, s’why you don’t give a shit.”

“I’ll have you know it’s perfectly normal for a demon to be ticklish. I tease you for it because it’s fun, but it’s not like you can help it. It’s your vessel, dear. And it’s a vessel I think you should take much more pride in than you’re giving it right now.”

Crowley just grumbled again, not really having a good response. He knows he can’t help it, but it’s still so…weird. It’s not just because he’s a ticklish demon. It’s that he’s a ticklish demon who actually finds it a little bit fun when his angel is the one tickling him. That’s the part that’s got him all screwy.

But it’s not like he could just say that.

So he stewed for a bit, thankful for Aziraphale allowing him his stew time in peace. The angel sat contentedly, sipping on his wine and basking in the lovely tension their bookshop always seemed to hold.

Crowley stewed and stewed. Pinching his lips together, sipping on the wine, reaching over and filling Aziraphale’s glass when he realized it had gone empty. But he had to say something eventually, because obviously Aziraphale wasn’t going to speak first.

And also because he kind of still wanted this to happen. Just a little.

“Fine.”

Aziraphale looked up. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine, whatever, just get over here and let me get my fffffucking revenge already.”

Aziraphale grinned, already beginning to stand. “I thought you said I couldn’t expect it when you get your revenge?”

“Oh that’s still gonna happen,” He smiled as Aziraphale sat next to him, the demon already crawling into his space.

“You do remember I’m getting you back as soon as you’re done, right?” Aziraphale said with a nervous titter in his voice, backing up towards the arm of the couch.

“Yeah I know. Guess that just means I’ve gotta make this count,” Crowley said as he fully closed in on Aziraphale, cornering him into the couch. He just hovered, for a moment, his hands floating over Aziraphale without touching him.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Well…?”

Crowley grinned. “Well, what?” He wiggled his fingers, and Aziraphale tittered anxiously.

“Are you going to…?”

“Can’t say it now?” Crowley’s eyes were devilish as he smirked. “Is someone getting nervous now that I’ve got him cornered?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, a meek attempt at confidence over the situation. His slight squirming and tight lipped smile gave him away. “No.”

“No?” Crowley asked, before jerking his hand down near Aziraphale’s side, laughing at Aziraphale’s flinch. “I haven’t even touched you!”

“But you’re going to!” Aziraphale practically whined, a ghost of a giggle lacing his voice. “Just get on with it, I’m not sure I can take this.”

Crowley smiled genuinely. “Oh alright. But just because it’s you.”

Finally, after waiting oh so patiently for this moment the past two weeks, Crowley struck. He went straight for Aziraphale’s sides, thankfully unguarded since the angel had taken his vest off hours ago. Aziraphale yipped, trying to hold in his laughs for a brief moment before falling into those angelic cackles Crowley could eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“AH! Ahaha—Crohowley!” he laughed, sliding down unconsciously and only stretching his body out more for Crowley. “Wahahait!”

“Oh no, I’ve done plenty of waiting recently,” Crowley said, delivering sporadic pokes up and down Aziraphale’s torso, the angel’s cackles shooting up as he did so. “See, s’not so fun when it’s you getting tickled, huh?”

“It’s fuhuhun! Just—“ he was cut off by his own loud laughter as Crowley shot his hands into his armpits. Arms slammed against his sides, twisting and turning every which way because it was just too much. “—tihihickles!”

Crowley chuckled, ecstatic. “Bet it does,” he said, pulling one hand out from its trapped state in Aziraphale’s underarm to reach up and give his ear gentle scratches. Aziraphale squeaked, a hand shooting up to protect the ear. Seeing the opportunity, Crowley shot his hand right back under his arm, and Aziraphale shook his head through his laughter and shock.

“Nohot fahahair!” Aziraphale blushed, unsure of what to do with his hands. He opted to batting them around uselessly.

“You’re playing with a demon, angel, what did you expect?” Crowley said, before taking both hands out to squeeze, pinch, poke, prod and scribble all over Aziraphale’s tummy.

Aziraphale’s laughter was all over the place now. It was like he couldn’t decide whether to give deep, belly laughs or squeals and giggles fit for his angelic persona. The tips of Crowley’s ears grew warm at the sound.

“This is hysterical, by the way,” Crowley laughed, pinching Aziraphale’s hips and watching as he barked a laugh, twisting and gripping onto Crowley’s wrists. “I mean I knew you were ticklish, but this is priceless.”

“You’ve made your point!” Aziraphale giggled out helplessly. “I gehehet it! It’s bahahad! It’s sohoho baahahad—!” He fell into a giggle fit that made it impossible to hold a conversation, wheezing pitifully.

“I could keep going, yknow. Show you actual demonic torture,” Crowley grinned when Aziraphale shook his head, cheeks plump and pink from mirth. “Say you’re sorry and I’ll consider it.”

Aziraphale slapped Crowley’s arm playfully. Crowley poked softly but quickly over Aziraphale’s torso, easing up on the tickling just enough for him to get some words out. Aziraphale panted a bit, giggles lacing every breath.

“Okay okhahay! I’m sohohorry!” Aziraphale giggle, pushing Crowley’s hands away from him. Crowley let his hands be moved for just a moment, before giving one last quick squeeze to Aziraphale’s hips just to make him yip.

Crowley smiled down at his angel, watching him catch his breath and try to will away that blush from his cheeks. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a pointed expression, “Wily serpent.”

Crowley laughed, “You asked me to!”

“I did not ask you to. You obviously wanted to do it so I…obliged,” Aziraphale shrugged, the lie plain as day on his face. Crowley couldn’t help but snicker.

“Yes, of course. Obliging the temptation of a demon really is your forte, after all,” Crowley teased, laying his front down on Aziraphale’s, making himself comfy. “Had your fun?”

Aziraphale sighed through a smile, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Crowley’s back. “Well…not quite.”

Crowley’s face puzzled before feeling Aziraphale’s grip tighten around his torso. His snake eyes grew twice their size, “C’mon angel, play fair.”

“This is fair. I told you what I’d do if you tickled me,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead, not giving him a moment to think about that shit before digging his fingers into the backs of Crowley’s ribs.

“FuhuAHK-!” Crowley jolted, falling into helpless laughter on top of his angel. He squirmed and giggled and held onto Aziraphale’s body even tighter just so he could resist throwing himself off.

“‘Demonic cackle’ my behind,” Aziraphale teased. “You’re far too sweet for that, my dear.”

Crowley blushed, hiding that and his smile in Aziraphale’s neck, not missing the way the angel giggled whenever his nose brushed the skin.

The plan ended up being much more than successful. It was everything Crowley could’ve ever hoped for.

. . .

a/n : hope u enjoyed! consider reblogging if u liked it <3

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi! Can I please request Finrod x reader (loved your mark of the werewolf headcanons) for the breeding kink, where even though he does not transform, he's in a sort of rut/heat because of the mark and the reader (AFAB) helps him through it/mates with him?

Aha. You have great taste, I see.

"Strange needs"

Pairing: Re-embodied Finrod x Fem. Reader (Human / Second person POV) | Location: Grey Havens

Themes: Smut

Warnings: Heat/Rutting | Kissing | Explicit Language | Breeding kink | Marking/Hickies | Penetrative sex | Rough sex | Cream pie

Summary: Experiencing the effects of the mark left on him for the first time, Finrod has to turn to someone else for relief.

Word count: 1.3k+ words

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥 | Minirs DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

A/n: I wrote from the point of Finrod experiencing this for the first time.

The world had changed since he walked it last.

Finrod, too, had changed, and in ways he did not consider possible. A mark was upon him. It was the burden he had to bear upon his return to Middle-Earth. He could feel it in the strange beat of his heart. It was there whenever he examined himself in a silvered looking glass, and his eyes blazed like twin flames. They blazed when he was wroth, and they blazed when passions were inflamed. The former he fought to control, and succeeded. The latter on the hand…

The latter could not be suppressed. And there were certain times—not always, but certain times—when the call to lose himself in the flesh of another was unbearable. Finrod did not know what it meant. All he knew was that it frightened and shamed him. He could not approach the healers; none had dealt with an elf that had borne the mark of a werewolf. He could not approach Círdan either. His host departed on an urgent matter, bidding him to stay behind. That was nigh on a year ago, just after Finrod arrived and became better acquainted with Círdan and all those who dwelled with him. Until he returned, Finrod could do nothing but bear it all in silence, sometimes disappearing into the woods surrounding the Grey Havens. To see the world anew, he would say, making his excuses. The others would accept it and go about their day. He would walk and walk and walk until he was far away from prying eyes. Desperate for some relief, he would lean against a tree, his hand moving to rest between his thighs. The peace that followed was welcomed but brief. The call always returned and was always fiercer than before. This was how it was, and how it continued, until one of the Edain, a maiden that served in the kitchens, came upon him while looking for herbs. Finrod, thoroughly ashamed after being found out, ashamed of his weakness, confessed and laid his secrets bare. You were willing enough to hear him out. You even agreed to help him.

He was reluctant and unsure. Both of you were not wed, had made no promises to each other. Still, you insisted. It would be better to have this hunger satisfied now, you counseled, and with a bedmate who was willing and agreeable. Why wait until the strange needs that plagued him overwhelm him completely?

Finrod retreated to his chambers. He kept away from you and the others while he thought and thought. He pondered what you said, and for many days on end. He considered refusing. It was dishonorable, was what it was. He felt like he was taking advantage. Then he remembered the vicious tug, the need that would lash at him like a whip without warning. Would it truly be wise to ignore it, allow it to consume him to the point of madness? Where it may result in him doing something that could cause irreparable harm because he could no longer control himself? Finrod knew he could not let that happen. He found some wisdom in what you said. Finally, he sought you out and came to your chambers while the others were in the feasting hall, singing. The sounds that carried all over Círdan’s great home were wondrous to the ear, and hopefully, Finrod thought, loud enough to drown out all else.

Permission was sought. Permission was willingly given. His entire body was on fire, and filled with the unmistakable desire to just take and take and take, until there was nothing left for him to devour. He bent down to kiss you, his mouth tasting of wild berries and rich red wine, his touch impatient and greedy. He yearned to be gentle, to take things as slowly as he could possibly manage, but when his lips pressed against yours, when a strangled whimper greeted him, the need to sate the hunger that burned within rose to claim him, making him forget himself. Your dress lay in a ruined heap. His own raiment was right beside it. He threw his arms around you, lifted you, and carried you to bed.

All thoughts of proper behavior abandoned him. Finrod kissed you, hot, hungry, and demanding. The words that parted his lips were shocking.

“From this night forth, you are mine.”

“Take it all inside you. I insist.”

“See how well you take my cock. It is as if you had been made for me.”

He would brush his nose against your throat, your arms, as if he were drinking in your scent. He sucked down on tingling flesh, his teeth leaving a mark all of their own. Your skin was soon covered in bruises. It did not matter. You would simply cover them with longer sleeves, a high-necked collar, and with the seasons having changed and the days growing exceedingly colder, no one would have reason to question you.

Finrod rolled his hips, moaning softly whenever he sheathed himself in the wet heat of your cunt. The warmth of your body, its softness, the lushness that engulfed him, and the limbs that entwined around him were all that he had craved for and more. His lips plundered without end. His hand streaked down and your breast filled his palm, its hardened peak filling his mouth. Your moan was low and animal-like, as intoxicating to him as fine wine. You drew him closer, arching your back, crying out his name, crying out in ecstasy. The first orgasm struck you quickly, like a bolt of lightning. It was wholly unexpected, a shock to you both.

"Eager for my seed already," he growled against your throat. "That is what you want, yes?"

"Not just your seed." You whined softly when teeth nipped at your flesh, and confessed. “I will not lie when I say I have always desired you, my lord.”

Finrod shivered, half-whispering words in a tongue you did not know. The language was ancient, from another time and place, but they were tender, and as sweet as honey. They brought about fresh needs, feeding them until they had you ensnared in their grip, and left you helpless. Finrod took you up, taking you higher and higher; his rhythm was ceaseless. A new wildness came over him, one that was both swift and brutal. Losing himself in the flesh of another was no longer enough. He wanted to fill you with his seed. He plunged deep and plunged hard, your name coming out like a sob. He rose to his knees and took you with him. 

The room felt like it was spinning, and turning faster and faster. Your rhythm matched his, desperate, frantic, your vision blurring and dimming. Finrod latched onto the crook of your throat. The sting of his teeth grazing tender flesh was barely felt. He took you higher still, over the peak and over the edge, until you were falling into a darkened chasm of euphoric bliss. Finrod could no longer constrain himself. He allowed himself to shatter against the rocks and surrendered without shame. With one last glorious thrust, he emptied himself inside of you. 

Outside, the others were still singing. No one had come to knock on your doors. Finrod slowly dragged himself out of the fog that had surrounded him. He opened his eyes, found yours fixed on his. His hand slowly moved to rest over your belly. A smaller one moved his. It was yours. 

Finrod reflected on his actions, on what just happened, and on the consequences of the choice you both made. Desire and need receded. Shame slowly took its place.

What have I done?

His hunger had been sated, but at what cost? And would this be the end of it at last? Finrod suspected it would not, not as long as he bore the mark of the beast he slew. He now knew he would need you near him, and that was not all. He needed to speak to your kin, and soon. He had to protect you, your honor. He also had questions. 

"About what you said earlier," he began, and touched your cheek. His palm was so warm, it reminded you of the fine bolts of silk merchants brought with them to the Grey Havens. "About you always desiring me. Is that true?"

"Yes," you reply, hoping this encounter will not be the last and that something deeper and more meaningful may come out of it. Being with him had been your greatest wish for almost a year, ever since he first arrived. Such wishes had treated as a fool's dreams, and dismissed as such. Finrod was a high elf. You were a daughter of the Edain. Never did you truly believe he would even consider you until tonight. "From the moment I first laid eyes on you, my lord."

Finrod nodded, and made a decision. "Tomorrow you will take me to your kin. I will speak to them, and make the necessary arrangements. Everything will have to be hurried along. There will be a great many questions, I am sure, and I insist on answering them myself. I hope you understand why. For now, tell me more about yourself, y/n."

[revoevokukil]

Sapkowski the Pagan: The Grail & The Goddess

Andrzej Sapkowski and Stanisław Bereś. 2005. Historia i fantastyka

One of the more fascinating features of Sapkowski's writing is the intertextuality of his works; their relation not only to preceding legends and fantasy, but also to his own works. There are several topics and ideas that repeat, in various shapes, throughout. As I am going through the Hussite Trilogy right now, I am taking notes.

Among his works I herein count The Witcher, The Hussite Trilogy & The World of King Arthur. Maladie. The latter must constitute the closest we have gotten so far to authorial research notes on ideas of interest.

The ley lines (so far):

Humanim, i.e. decency

(Erotic) Love's salving & dooming qualities Amantes amentes. Those who love are out of their minds. Take heart. Have pity.

Woman, the Grail of being

Fairy tales brought to life (but there's a snag)

Prophecies/Grand narratives

Folk stories & beliefs

Witchcraft

The Cult of the Goddess, the Great Mother, The One who is Three

The perishing of the old (but not quite disappearing) & the brutal onset of the new. Change and upheaval.

Common sense vs idealism vs pragmatism

Anti-taxes, anti-clergy

Anti-fanaticism

The Grail & The Goddess

"For the Goddess has many names. And still more faces."

First, Andrzej Sapkowski construing Ciri as The Holy Grail is documented. It's not merely conjecture based on the text(s), although the text overwhelmingly declares it.

Cutali, Daniele. 2015. Interview with Andrzej Sapkowski

But so what?

The Witcher is an extremely allusive and meta-literary work. It deconstructs mythical matter and fantasy canon in the same breath as establishing itself in the eternal mythical present of legends. It completes itself as a self-aware analogue, because everything has already happened, and everything has already been written about. And Ciri - Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon - sits at the centre of its method and madness; not only the axis of plot events, but also the spindle of its meta text. It's apparent already in her name. O Elaine, O Rhiannon. All Christian legends have a pagan origin. This Polish newborn has Arthurian origins. And Arthurian itself…?

In The World of King Arthur, Andrzej Sapkowski gives his account of the Arthuriana's transformation through centuries of re-writes. It is self-evident for him that for anyone to understand anything at all about Arthur, they need to orient in the history of the British Isles and in Celtic mythology.[1] Arthur was, in all probability, a Celt. And so was the Grail, if not even more ancient. 'The Grail - like almost every element of the Arthurian legend - has its origins in Celtic mythology. This is absolutely certain and has been confirmed many times,' he writes in Świat króla Artura. So what did Arthur believe? What views and values lay at the heart of the world in which he originated? Why is this relevant for a more meaningful reading of The Witcher?

Because the world of the Celts, as so many pre-Christian cosmologies, was a living world - an animistic, self-eating and self-renewing entity, cyclical, circular, without beginning or end, embracing life out of death - and Ciri is a living Grail. Ideas repeat in Andrzej Sapkowski's writing.

Ciri, a living Grail. A girl. A young woman. A Goddess. She who is Triple. A source of rebirth and hope, of death too. Strange magic is enclosed in her veins, as in Ceriddwen's Cauldron, that is of the essence of life. Cauldrons abound in Celtic mythos (be you Dagda, hero Cuchulainn, Brân or Pwyll, you got your hands on a cauldron eventually). But Ciri does not need to be rendered an artefact in order to hold power, because… she is a woman. That alone is enough.

Sapkowski's appreciation for compelling female characters should be well-known.

Sapkowski, A. 1995. The World of King Arthur. Maladie

'Celtic mythology,' Sapkowski notes in Świat, 'is mainly about the love life of the gods.' Gods fighting, scheming, and transcending themselves for goddesses. It's called the oldest story in the world; girl meets boy. But that's not quite the beginning of it: in the beginning, we're all born to a mother.

The Grail's functions and characteristics are notably maternal and feminine, and the mystery and nature of the Grail's power is love.

Sapkowski, A. 1995. The World of King Arthur. Maladie

Great, White, Triple

Who? And what features?

The ability to provide food is the property of the Grail most often referred to. Nourishment. Revitalization. Mother is the only parent who may truly feed her child with her body. Or give birth. The Chalice symbolically representing the "Womb of the Mother" is a very old idea. Old and basic. The most basic. Bernard of Clairvaux even calls upon Mary, saying: "Offer your son, sacred Virgin, and present the blessed fruit of your womb to God. Offer the blessed host, pleasing to God, for the reconciliation of us all" (qtd. in Bynum, 268). But we'll talk about the role of Christianity and symbolism another time. For first, we are pagans.

"Drawing from various sources, I assumed that – although I am not a blind follower of this theory – the feminine element dominates in nature. If there is any cult not related to politics, it is the cult of the Great Mother, the Goddess. The belief in the male God, Yahweh, worshiped by Jews, had a political character – Yahweh was invented because he had to be invented to maintain certain social structures. For primitive people, the mysterious, divine element was exclusively femininity, the ability to give life. However, I emphasize that I am not defending these theories from a religious studies standpoint; they simply resonate with me." - Andrzej Sapkowski and Stanisław Bereś. 2005. Historia i fantastyka

This idea that resonates with Andrzej Sapkowski so strongly as to appear in virtually everything he has written was re-kindled as an ideology by the neo-Celtic, neo-pagan Wicca movement (Gardner, Murray, Starhawk, et al). Foundational text: The White Goddess by Robert Graves. The idea precedes the Celts though, and, at heart, revolves around nature and man being inseparable.

Ceridwen is one of the forms of the Celtic Goddess, and her cauldron is the womb-cauldron of rebirth and inspiration. In early Celtic myth, the cauldron of the Goddess restored slain warriors to life. It was stolen away to the Underworld, and the heroes who warred for its return were the originals of King Arthur and his Knights, who quested for its later incarnation, the Holy Grail. The Celtic afterworld is called the Land of Youth, and the secret that opens its door is found in the cauldron: The secret of immortality lies in seeing death as an integral part of the cycle of life. Nothing is ever lost from the universe: Rebirth can be seen in life itself, where every ending brings a new beginning. Most Witches do believe in some form of reincarnation. This is not so much a doctrine as a gut feeling growing out of a world view that sees all events as continuing processes. Death is seen as a point on an ever-turning wheel, not as a final end. We are continually renewed and reborn whenever we drink fully and fearlessly from “the cup of wine of life.” - Starhawk. 1979. The Spiral Dance

Nature's heartbeat resounds in reincarnation through reproduction. The gentle fury of love.

“Listen to the words of the Goddess, whose arms and thighs are wrapped around the Universe!” called the shaman. “Who, at the Beginning, divided the Waters from the Heavens and danced on them! From whose dance the wind was born, and from the wind the breath of life!” “I am the beauty of the green earth,” said the Domina, and her voice was like the wind from the mountains. “I am the white moon among a thousand stars, I am the secret of the waters. Come to me, for I am the spirit of nature. All things arise from me and all must return to me, before my visage, beloved by the gods and mortals.” “Eiaaa!” “I am Lilith, I am the first of the first, I am Astarte, Cybele, Hecate, I am Rigatona, Epona, Rhiannon, the Night Mare, the lover of the gale. Black are my wings, my feet are swifter than the wind, my hands sweeter than the morning dew. The lion knows not when I tread, the beast of the field and forest cannot comprehend my ways. For verily do I tell you: I am the Secret, I am Understanding and Knowledge.” "Worship me deep in your hearts and in the joy of the rite, make sacrifices of the act of love and bliss, because such sacrifices are dear to me. For I am the unsullied virgin and I am the lover of gods and demons, burning with desire. And verily do I say: as I was with you from the beginning, so you shall find me at the end." Sapkowski, A. 2002. The Tower of Fools

It is for this reason the Irish recorded so many songs of aitheds - motifs of female abduction. It is for this reason one of the earliest legends of the search of the Grail is the tale of the hero Culhwch's quest for the hand of Olwen, who, wherever she stepped, made four white clovers bloom under her feet.[2] It is why Ciri, the living Grail in whom the function of the Goddess has been doubled, finds herself in a double-bind; as the keeper of power and immortality she is more frequently seen as means to an end rather than an end in herself. Not unusual for any failed relationship where the parties confuse love for something else. And while we are confusing notions of erotic and spiritual love, the Question of the Grail which must be asked of the Fisher King, undoubtedly, still comes down to a question about love.

Sapkowski, A. 1995. The World of King Arthur. Maladie

Celtic mythology is about the love life of the gods. The longing for a union; that completes. That turns the wheel and closes the cycle. That revitalizes, heals, nourishes, allows for flourishing. That immortalizes; if not oneself, then at least a moment. And what is life but fleeting moments, grains of sand passing through an hourglass?

Sapkowski, A. Something Ends, Something Begins

It can get confusing. The Goddess has many names and many faces, and three aspects.

Sapkowski, A. 1995. The World of King Arthur. Maladie

As to the inherent eroticism of the Grail, well…

Sapkowski, A. 1995. The World of King Arthur. Maladie

He wanted to tell her everything, but the words stuck in his tight throat. She saw it. She knew. How could she not? For only in Reynevan’s eyes, stupefied by happiness, was she a maiden, a trembling virgin who was embracing him, eyes closed and biting her lower lip in painful ecstasy. For any wise man—had there been one nearby—the matter was clear: she was no shy and inexperienced young lass, but rather a goddess proudly receiving the homage due to her. And goddesses know and see everything. And do not expect homage in the form of words. She pulled him onto her and the eternal rite began. - Sapkowski, A. 2002. The Tower of Fools

Sapkowski's interest for the fates of men in the power of the Goddess is only surpassed by his hope for the triumph of common sense and humanism. And the mystery of the Grail - what unleashes its power? - is of both sexual and platonic variety. Humanity is important. Heart. As in Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzival. As per Campbell: 'The big moment in the medieval myth is the awakening of the heart to compassion, the transformation of passion into compassion. That is the whole problem of the Grail stories, compassion for the wounded king.' [4]

Thanks to Ciri, the story of Geralt of Rivia - a grail knight who set out with his hanza in search of a dream - is ennobled and raised on par with King Arthur. It is Yennefer and Geralt's love and compassion and sacrifice for Ciri, which ultimately heals them. An echo of love for his daughter melts the ice shard in the heart of an Emperor. The mystery and nature of the Grail's power resides in love.

"Love has many names,” said Hans Mein Igel suddenly, “and it will determine your fate, young herbalist. Love. It will save your life when you won’t even know that it is love. For the Goddess has many names. And still more faces.” - Sapkowski, A. 2002. The Tower of Fools

By the end of The Witcher, Ciri's journey as the Goddess has barely begun. And what has begun has begun traumatically. Her journey to know herself, to find, forgive, understand, and accept (or reject) the Grail within, has not yet dawned. She remains in a liminal space between the Maiden and the Woman after having, already and much too early, worn the guise of Death, the Crone. The author doesn't tell; he lets the reader wonder. For before Ciri is everything. But Grail, the Goddess, requires something, and also empowers with what she requires.

Sapkowski, A. 2002. The Tower of Fools

Love leads spring into the Waste Land of the human heart.

Love, compassion, willingness to suffer with and for another, readiness to transcend one's own pain, selfishness, and rage. For three things last forever: faith, hope, and love - and the greatest of these is love.[3]

-----

[1]: Sapkowski mainly used Mythology by Thomas Bulfinch, Celtic Myth and Legend, Poetry and Romance by Charles Squire and Mabinogion. [2]: In order to marry Olwen, Culhwch must take her from her father, but Ysbaddaden will first set him on an endless quest; a list of long and laborious tasks. In the name of a woman. [3]: Or, as The Tower of the Swallow renders it: 'Are, then, Chaos, art and learning according to you, the Powers capable of changing the world? A curse, a blessing and progress? And aren't they by any chance Faith? Love? Sacrifice?' [4]: Campbell, J. 1991. The Power of Myth

[anashins]

hey!! i don’t know if you still accept requests or not but i had a story idea.

so i have a lot of birth marks some in more visible places then others. so i had this idea where jaehyun and y/n are in a secret relationship and all nct members play this trivia question game and one of the questions was how many birthmarks does y/n have and jaehyun gets them all right (the visible and non visible ones) and is even specific on where they are. I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE I TRIED EXPLAINING IT THE BEST I CAN!!

Pairing: Jaehyun x You

Genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

Word Count: 1.1k

19:18

Jaehyun’s eyes were focused on the point table, his competitiveness showing along with his team mate Yuta’s who was nervously rubbing his palms together while Haechan, the host, was typing something into his phone, shuffling the next question.

“We get this,” Ten whispered to you and next to you, you felt Doyoung rolling his eyes and regretting once again that he had agreed on playing this trivia game with you all. “If it’s a question about Yuta, you can answer for sure and then we hit the 20 points.”

It was just a silly idea that had popped up since so many members were at home and too lazy to do something productive, so Taeyong had them all gathered - but unfortunately along with you. You had only stopped by to drop off a souvenir for your friend Yuta and snacks for Taeyong that you had brought from your vacation in Japan, but the latter had insisted on you joining since otherwise the groups wouldn’t work out evenly.

What started off as a fun social nighttime activity had quickly turned into a fierce competition between Yuta and Jaehyun in one team and Ten and Taeyong with you in the other. The rest of the members weren’t as deep into it as them, but Taeyong wouldn’t let them leave yet, so you all had to sit it out until one team hit 20 points, marking the winner. Mark was still very into it though, and so was Johnny, but the rest had started to play with their phones or talking to each other.

“Okay, the next question is…” Haechan looked up from his phone, his eyes searching for someone and then resting on Jaehyun. “How many women has Jaehyun already had sex with?”

You raised your brows and everyone else seemed to turn their attention to Jaehyun now too, the question certainly peaking their interests. Usually the questions were very tame, this one being the only spicy it had spit out so far.

“Oh, I know for sure!” Yuta called out, baring his teeth for a wicked smile, because this question went to your team, not his. 

“I’m sorry, we can skip to another question if it’s uncomfortable for you Jaehyun, I don’t know what happened here,” Haechan apologized.

“Oh, leave it,” Jaehyun waved it off. “I’d like to hear the right answer.”

His eyes then darted to you and you quickly shifted your head aside to meddle in the conversation that had blossomed between Taeyong, Ten and Mark. 

“I know for sure too,” Taeyong then declared solemnly. “The last one was last year, so it’s eleven as no one else has popped up ever since.”

Oh, he had no idea.

“Yeah, that’s also what I heard from him,” Ten agreed. “He’s been very tame ever since.”

They all had no idea. 

But you did. You knew the right answer to that question, it was twelve, and not eleven. Not anymore. Yet, you couldn’t come forward with the truth as it would blow up your cover.

“Eleven!” Taeyong then set the answer and looked at Jaehyun thriumphically while Yuta went pale, his life already flashing before his eyes as he needed to watch you succeed by a hairbreadth.

“Incorrect.” Jaehyun cockily raised his chin. “All of you. That makes us equal. The correct answer is twelve - as I typed into the app. Just look for yourselves.”

“Liar!” Ten called out. “You don’t want us to win, so you typed in the incorrect answer!”

“He’s not.” Jungwoo, who was also in Jaehyun’s team and had been relatively quiet this entire time, chimed in. “He has a freshly opened pack of condoms on top of his nightstand, so he’s seeing someone for sure.”

“No way!” Yuta yelled and smacked Jaehyun’s arm. “Why haven’t you told me?!”

“Because she doesn’t want to face you all yet,” he started explaining, “and because we don’t know in which directions it will go. Though I hope I can call her my girlfriend soon and then formally introduce her to you.”

Your head was burning and you could swear that fumes came out of your ears, but the others didn’t notice and only bombarded Jaehyun with more detailed questions which he refused to answer according to your agreement. When they all settled back, you could relax as well, avoiding Jaehyun’s smirk at all costs.

But the next question was one about you. And it wasn’t less intimate. The app generated a question about birthmarks and added your name to it.

“How many birthmarks does y/n have?” Haechan then asked. “It’s the question that defines the winner, so answer cautiously while she types the answer into the app. When she’s done, you can suggest.”

You weren’t done for, your hopes were still high as the question didn’t define whether the birthmarks had to be visible or invisible, and to get your little revenge on Jaehyun, you also counted in the invisible ones on your body. If anything, Yuta as your long term friend would come close to answering it correctly, and only if he was very lucky.

“We’re so gonna win, they’ll never get it right” Ten snickered, joined by Taeyong shortly after.

“The answer to this question is thirteen.”

Every pair of eyes shot, once again, back to Jaehyun who had just spoken up, yawning lazily. 

“Yuta!” you chided him.

“That was not my answer! I said nine, but Jaehyun just logged this in!”

Haechan looked up from his phone. “Jaehyun is right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Jaehyun propped his arms against the floor and leaned back, staring at you intensely. “Aside from the tiny ones on her left cheek and under her left eye, she has other small ones on her right wrist and right above her left forearm which you can see when she wears t-shirts. Behind the left earlobe, she has a larger, lighter one, and the same applies to her right earlobe as if they’re a pair of twins. When she wears a tank top, you can see one in the middle of her cleavage and one on her right shoulder blade. When she wears shorts, there is one on top of her left knee and one on the back of her right thigh. When she wears only underwear, you can spot one on the lower half of her spine and one on her hip, but the right side. And then there is the one only I can see that is in the shape of the earth, it’s the one on her left as-”

“That’s enough!” you shrieked. “You won, you won!”

It was so silent in the entire room, even the ones who hadn’t really participated until now were looking at you and grinning.

“Well, I guess we all know now who the twelfth woman is that he is banging,” Yuta commented.

[qqueenofhades]

This is going to seem really random, but did you ever watch Phineas and Ferb? Seeing your thoughts on Dracula regarding Lucy, particularly about being vulnerable due to societal expectations, my mind keeps going to Dr Doofenschmirtz trapping Perry in the dining car of a train by using societal conventions.

I have not, so I can't speak to any comparison here (though the mental image of Dracula as Dr Doofenschmirtz is making me cackle). However, I did have this post a couple days ago, which was talking about the same exact thing: how gender politics are actually presented in Dracula, vs. how they are assumed to be presented in both popular adaptations and academic analyses. I have definitely encountered the "Dracula is misogynistic because the Victorians were misogynistic and thus Stoker punishes Lucy and rewards Mina for fulfilling their supposed social roles" take a lot before, but as myself and others are pointing out, that angle.... doesn't really exist in the text? Or at least, while elements of the patriarchical Victorian attitude absolutely do exist, they also don't work, or at least don't work more often than they do. As I noted in the other post, every time the men make decisions for Mina in order to "protect" her, it immediately backfires and they need to include her again, and this happens several times. Likewise, even Van Helsing's well-meant attempt to protect Lucy by not telling her OR Mrs. Westenra (RIP) anything is backfiring, because for all his 800 PhDs, he doesn't talk to anyone! He doesn't trust them to understand what he's doing, his most usual partner (Seward) literally runs an insane asylum, and the tension between "rationality" and "insanity" (or rather, the social fear of being perceived as such) is putting them all in a lot more danger than they have to be!

So yeah. It's not that Victorian social conventions and gender/sexual expectations don't exist in the book; obviously they do. And it's not as if there aren't attitudes and interpretations that reflect Stoker's own social class and position, because there are. But it's been nice to see people realizing that Dracula is both a gothic horror novel and a study of traditional Victorian social behaviors and attitudes in a way that often shows them not working! Jonathan is far too painfully middle-class English to kick up a fuss about escaping Drac's castle, even when he realizes that something's up; Van Helsing won't tell anyone the smallest thing that might help them because he's afraid of being thought Insane; the men try to keep Mina out of things to Protect Her and that backfires; Lucy's ordeal of being constantly attacked and victimized by an obsessive, abusive man is clearly characterized as horrible and not at all a case of Tee Hee Blurred Lines; the three men in love with her are not made into some sort of implication that she's a Slut, and all are applauded by the narrative to do everything they can to help. People not listening to the working-class Romanians get straightaway into trouble, because they're English and therefore automatically assume that they know everything.

Anyway, without getting into too many spoilers for the latter half of the novel, I will say that the reason our heroes are ultimately able to pull together and do something about the Count is because they DISCARD all these not-working social ideas and restrictions. They have to talk to each other, they have to share information freely, they have to include Mina and indeed rely predominantly on her, Van Helsing has to come down off his Only I Can Fix This high horse, etc etc. While they're still trying to follow the rules about how to be a Good Victorian, they're pretty much powerless. It's only when they stop doing that (and act in ways that are held up as more admirable and effective by the narrative) that they finally make progress. And because the novel is so carefully written and plotted, with thematic echoes and parallel narratives often within the same day, I don't want to just say "oh it was an accident, Stoker didn't know what he was doing." I like it because it reflects the point I try often to make, as a historian, that just because you know what the overall rules or collective social conventions were in a certain period, you can't assume that they applied to everyone individually without exception, or that they were never challenged or questioned or internally criticized. So just saying that "Dracula as a novel is obviously misogynistic, the end, because the Victorians were misogynistic, the end" misses the point on a lot of levels, and I'm glad that Tumblr is actually getting this. Seeing as it is, uh. Not really known for doing nuance most of the time.

[laurellerual]

why do you think/say gendrya has all the tropes of the romance genre???? also, do you think jonrya will or could happen?

Romance tropes in Gendry and Arya relationship

The Family: Baratheon and Stark have a tragic love story (which we later find out isn't quite like that, but that's how it's told to begin with).

The love interest meet the father first and the mother second: Gendry meet Lord Eddard and Lady Stonheart.

The first meeting: the boy intervenes to protect the protagonist from bullies.

The hidden identity: the protagonist is disguised as a boy, only the love interest realizes the deception.

Forced coexistence: these two would never have met if it hadn't been for fate (the author) that forced them to embark on a journey together and have only each other to count on. And don't tell me Hot pie etc, … because Arya doesn't confide everything she does to her other supporting cast. She only have this relationship of trust with Gendry.

The protagonist goes to save her love interest: when Gendry is captured by the Mountain.

The children: Weasel is adopted and rescued by them. In the hierarchical dynamic that is established in this improvised pack the two take on the role of mom and dad.

Flirty banters: too many to write here.

Boy sees girl in a dress for the first time: Acorn Hall.

The two are too young to write them in a context of more explicit romantic tension so: rolling on the floor for no reason, tickling and ripped dress.

Insurmountable conflict: class difference

The love interest protects the protagonist from unwanted sexual attention.

Feelings begin to change: 'you are not my brother'

Everyone notices their dynamic except them: See the Brotherhood who gave Arya Lem as a chaperon.

Song that is sung to them and is clearly inspired by their situation: 'My featherbed'.

Innocent jealousy: Edric and Bella.

Misunderstanding at the end of Act II; the obstacles that have accumulated explode: conversation in the forge 'can you be a blacksmith for my brother', 'too lowborn to be kin to mylady high', 'I don't even care about you'.

Premature separation without a good bye: Arya is kidnapped by the Hound on her way to Riverrun (not too far from where Lyanna was abducted, probably on her way to Riverrun for Brandon and Cat's wedding).

The love interest waits parked in the last place where the protagonist has left a clear sign of her presence: (the bloodstain on the floor of the Crossroad inn). He's protecting the children like Arya would have want.

I'm sure that if I thought about it more I would find others too, but for now the list seems exhaustive enough. ASOIAF is not a romance story and Arya and Gendry are too young to play too much into that. Yet the writer decided to dedicate a lot of otherwise useless scenes to this relationship. Something have to happen in Act III to give them closure.

Jonrya

Despite all this I think Jon x Arya is not an unreasonable prediction. I admit that on first reading I had interpreted their relationship as entirely platonic.

When I found out about the 1993 outline I was surprised. The fact that Martin didn't take well to that being leaked is suspicious. Rereading the books after reading the outline it seems clear that he has reused and recycled several points and concepts that make it difficult for me not to consider Jonrya as a possible future.

Then the fandom worked its magic: there's a lot of well-argued meta in the Jonrya side of tumblr. So even if I prefer Gendrya to Jonrya I don't think the latter can be totally excluded until we read ADOS, that is never.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Did desmoulins had any kind of connection with robespierre after he was arrested and during his imprisonment? And danton also did robespierre had any contact with any of them during that time?

Bonus question:

Was desmoulins aware of what robespierre decided on his faith with his partner danton?

For Desmoulins and Robespierre meeting after the arrest of the former there exists one anecdote, and it first appeared in the memoirs of Charlotte Robespierre (1834). I would however declare myself sceptical regarding the authenticity of the story, mainly because it contradicts the confirmed actions of both Desmoulins and especially Robespierre around the same period. I’ve already talked about this at length here, so you can check that out if you want more details.

We have no evidence for Robespierre meeting Danton after the latter’s imprisonment. There does however exist a bunch of anecdotes regarding the two meeting in the weeks right before the arrest, I’ve already compiled all I could lay my hands on here. How many of them actually happened I will leave unsaid…

As for the question if Desmoulins was aware of the role Robespierre played in deciding his fate, that is pretty much confirmed by what he wrote to his wife on April 1, one day after the arrest:

If it was Pitt or Couburg who treated me so harchly, but my colleagues! But Robespierre, who has signed the order for my imprisonment!

I assume it’s most likely Camille was shown the arrest warrant by the guards who came to escort him to the Luxembourg prison and spotted Robespierre’s signature on it.

It would however appear like Camille was unaware of the extent Robespierre was actually involved in the affair. It’s unlikely he knew that Robespierre was the one who had prepared notes for Saint-Just to use for his indictment of the dantonists (I’m not actually sure if anyone outside the Committee of Public Safety knew of the existence of these notes until their publication in 1841). In fact, two pieces actually seem to suggest Camille undermined Robespierre’s involvement. The first is in a post scriptum note added to the first letter he wrote to his wife after his arrest, where he reported the following:

I’m writing to Robespierre, he will respond to you without a doubt.

The second clue is in Camille’s defence, written around the same time in his prison cell, where he attacks several members of the Committee of Public Safety and Committee of General Security but spares Robespierre from any, at one point even accusing David of being a false friend of the latter. Both these texts suggest Camille was still counting on Robespierre and perhaps hoping he could get him out the situation.

Lucile Desmoulins (who we might assume held the same view as her husband on the issue) too seems to have pictured Robespierre as having been forced into condemning Camille by his coworkers (Saint-Just in particular), rather than as the mastermind behind the operation. This is proven through an unfinished letter she wrote Robespierre somewhere between Camille’s arrest on March 31 and her own on April 4:

…As far from the insensibility of your Saint-Just as from his base jealousies, [Camille] recoiled in front if the idea of accusing a college comrade, a companion in arms. […] Robespierre, can you really complete the fatal projects which the vile souls that surround you no doubt have inspired you to? […] Had I been Saint-Just’s wife I would tell him this: the sake of Camille is yours, it’s the sake of all the friends of Robespierre! […] [Camille] was without a doubt slandered near you, Robespierre, for you cannot believe him guilty.

[schraubd]

The 2022 Almost-Post Mortem

I was a bit hesitant to write my post-mortem recap today, since some very important races remain uncalled. Incredibly, both the House and Senate remain uncalled, though the GOP is favored in the former and Democrats have the slight advantage in the latter. It would be truly delightful if Catherine Cortez Masto can squeak out a win in Nevada and so make the upcoming Georgia run-off, if not moot, then slightly less high stakes. But again, things are up in the air that ought make a big difference in the overall "narrative" of the day.

Nonetheless, I think some conclusions can be fairly drawn at this point. In no particular order:

There was no red wave. It was, at best, a red trickle. And given both the underlying fundamentals  on things like inflation and the historic overperformance of the outparty in midterm elections, this is just a truly underwhelming performance for the GOP. No sugarcoating that for them.

If Trafalgar polling had any shame, they'd be shame-faced right now, but they have no shame, so they'll be fine.

In my 2018 liveblog, I wrote that "Some tough early results (and the true disappointment in Florida) has masked a pretty solid night for Democrats." This year, too, a dreadful showing in Florida set an early downer tone that wasn't reflected in the overall course of the evening. Maybe it's time we just give up the notion that Florida is a swing state?

That said, Republicans need to get out of their gulf-coastal-elite bubble and realize that what plays in Tallahassee doesn't play in the rest of the country. 

That's snark, but also serious -- for all the talk about how "Democrats are out-of-touch", it seems that the GOP also has a problem in not understanding that outside of their fever-swamp base most normal people maybe don't like the obsession with pronouns and "kitty litter" and "anti-CRT". Their ideological bubble is at this point far more impermeable, and far more greatly removed from the mainstream, than anything comparable among Democrats.

Abortion is maybe the biggest example of this, as anti-choice measures keep failing in even deep red states like Kentucky, while pro-choice enactments sail to victory in purple states like Michigan (to say nothing of blue bastions like California). Democratic organizers should make a habit of just putting abortion on the ballot in every state, and ride those coattails.

It's going to fade away almost immediately, but I cannot get over the cynical bad faith of what happened regarding baseless GOP insinuations that any votes counted after election day were inherently suspicious. On November 7, this was all one heard from GOP officials across the country, even though delays in counting are largely the product of GOP-written laws. But on November 8, when they found themselves behind on election night returns, all of the sudden folks like Kari Lake are relying on late-counted votes to save them while raising new conspiracies about stolen elections. Sickening.

Given the still powerful force of such conspiracy mongering, Democrats holding the executive branch in key swing states like Wisconsin and Michigan is a huge deal. Great job, guys.

For the most part, however, most losing MAGA candidates are conceding. Congratulations on clearing literally the lowest possible bar to set.

The GOP still should be favored to take over the House, albeit with a razor-thin majority. And that majority, in turn, seems almost wholly attributable to gerrymandering -- both Democrats unilateral disarmament in places like New York, but also truly brutal GOP gerrymanders in places like Florida. This goes beyond Rucho, though that case deserves its place in the hall of shame. The degree to which the courts bent over backwards to enable even the most nakedly unlawful districting decisions -- the absurd lawlessness of Ohio stands out, but the Supreme Court's own decision to effectively pause enforcement of the Voting Rights Act because too many Black people entering Congress qualifies as an "emergency" on the shadow docket can't be overlooked either -- is one of the great legal disgraces of my lifetime in a year full of them.

Of course, I have literally no idea how the Kevin McCarthy will corral his caucus with a tiny majority. Yes, it gives crazies like Greene and Boebert (well, maybe not Boebert ...) more power, but that's because it gives everyone in the caucus more power, which is just a recipe for chaos. Somewhere John Boehner is curling up in a comfy chair with a glass of brandy and getting ready to have a wonderful day.

My new proposal for gerrymandering in Democratic states: "trigger" laws which tie anti-gerrymandering rules to the existence of a national ban. If they're banned nationwide, the law immediately goes into effect. Until they are, legislatures have free reign. That way one creates momentum for a national gerrymandering ban while not unilaterally disarming like we saw in New York. Could it work? Hard to know -- but worth a shot.

Let's celebrate some great candidates who will be entering higher office! Among the many -- and this is obviously non-exhaustive -- include incoming Maryland Governor Wes Moore, incoming Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro, incoming Pennsylvania Senator John Fetterman. Also kudos to some wonderful veterans who held their seats in tough environs, including Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer, Virginia congresswoman Abigail Spanberger, New Jersey congressman Andy Kim, Maine Governor Janet Mills, and New Hampshire Senator Maggie Hassan.

Special shoutout to Tina Kotek, who overcame considerable headwinds (and the worst Carleton alum) to apparently hold the Governor's mansion in my home state of Oregon. Hopeful that Jaime McLeod-Skinner can eke out a victory in my congressional district too, though it looks like that might come down to the wire.

I also think it's important to give credit even to losing candidates who fought hard races. Tim Ryan stands out here -- not only did he force the GOP to spend badly needed resources in a state they should've had no trouble keeping, but his coattails might have pushed Democrats across the finish line in at least two House seats Republicans were favored to hold. (I hate to say it, but Lee Zeldin may have played a similar role for the GOP in New York).

I'm inclined to agree that, if Biden doesn't run in 2024, some of the emergent stars from this cycle (like Whitmer or Shapiro) are stronger picks for a presidential run than the also-rans from 2020. But I also think that Biden likely will get an approval bump off this performance -- people like being associated with winners!

On the GOP side, the best outcome (from my vantage) is Trump romping to a primary victory and humiliating DeSantis -- I think voters are sick of him. The second best outcome might be DeSantis winning narrowly over Trump and provoking a tantrum for the ages that might rip the GOP apart. DeSantis himself, as a presidential candidate, is an uncertainty -- I'm not convinced he plays well outside of Florida, but I am convinced that if he prevails over Trump the media will fall over itself to congratulate the GOP on "repudiating" Trumpism even though DeSantis is materially indistinguishable from Trump along every axis save that he's not abjectly incompetent (which, in this context, is not a plus).

The hardest thing to do is to recognize when even candidates you really like are, for whatever reason, just not going to get over the hump. This fits Charlie Crist, Beto O'Rourke, and (I'm sorry) Stacey Abrams. It's no knock on them -- seriously, it isn't -- but they're tainted goods at this point. Fortunately, Democrats have a deep bench of excellent young candidates who we can turn to next time around.

And regarding the youth -- I'm not someone who's a big fan of the perennial Democratic sport of Pelosi/Schumer sniping. I think they've both done a very good job under difficult circumstances, and deserve real credit for the successes we saw tonight and across the Biden admin more broadly. However, we do need to find room for some representatives from the younger generation to assume leadership roles. Younger voters turned out hard for the Democratic Party and deserve their seat at the table. It says something that Hakeem Jeffries, age 52, is the immediate current leadership figure springing to mind as a "young" voice -- that (and again, there's no disrespect to Jeffries here) is not good enough.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/1YJTzbo

[minuy600]

The Ported Arcade Games of 1981 #0: 1980 Games I Missed

Back to the grind it is. Firstly, let's go over some stuff that has happened in these 4 months of complacency.

First things first; I've changed the format for these reviews again. There'll still be a 40 point scale of rating things, because I enjoy being consistent, however everything around it will be changed to something more... manageable for me. You'll see, I don't think there's a point in a lengthy explanation.

Secondly, I feel baaaad for the games I have to skip because it's multiplayer-only, or didn't get an accurate port in a game I have the means of owning. So i'll give 'em a mention, even if I won't go into detail about them, let alone grade them. Cool? Cool. Let's get this started then. Here's a game that actually got added to Arcade Archives during my LEGO-riddled hiatus...

Tank Battalion

Other name(s): タンクバタリアン (JP name) Developer: Namco Publisher: Namco (JP), GamePlan (US) Release date: October 1980 (JP) What did I play it on?: Arcade Archives on Switch What's the game about?: You're a tank fighting off other tanks by shooting bullets at each other. There's 20 of those per stage, and they alternate between hunting you down or your base (oddly shaped like an eagle). If you get hit too many times or your base gets destroyed, that's game over. What's the game look like?:

What's the sound like?: Rumblings of your tank, booming noises when you shoot and explode tanks. The occasional beep happens when you put in credit or gain an extra life. What's new about this one?: Most notably, any shot that hits a brick wall will break it bit by bit. Allows for a bit more strategy as you could carve out a shortcut. These walls are absent in every 3rd stage, though, so strategy flies out the window there for the most part. How much singleplayer content is there?: There's no real limit to how long you could keep playing, but aside from, oddly, the 22nd stage, there are no new layouts after the 8th. How far did I get?: I got to the 6th stage and felt verrrry satisfied to leave it there. I kinda feel that with enough luck, I could improve to the 8th eventually. That's my definitive goal, reaching stage 22 is nigh on impossible. Any multiplayer?: Errr, does alternating turns count? Quick thoughts: This feels almost laughably out of place when put alongside Namco's other 1980 contributions from the latter half of 1980. Still uses the Warp & Warp engine and it shows. Minor stage altering aside, which IS neat, this is another game where you feel like it left zero footprint. Graphics: Yyyyyeah. Even with the flat colors and basic as hell title screen, the game still appears to struggle to run with the admittedly fair amount of tanks on screen. I would've forgiven it a year ago, but now? Not when Pac-Man and Rally-X are around, sorry. (4/10) Sound: Another sign that this is a polished up geriatric, these noises are very close to the ones i've heard in Navarone and Cutie Q. I will admit though! I actually think the explosions are nice and impactful. Then again, most games of this era had that down pat. Could do without the beeps, but overall it's still decent. (6/10) Fun Factor: Unfortunately, the whole 'game struggling to run' thing makes this a hard game to salvage. It makes the controls way too... chunky, with the tanks moving in blocks rather than being smooth. The whole luck factor is also quite stupid, the tanks seem to do whatever they want in this one, even if WHERE they show up is consistent. It's a shame cuz I do feel there was potential to make it more manageable and consistently enjoyable... At least Battle City exists. (4/10) Longevity: It says a lot I managed 12th plays on the Hi Score ranking by only reaching stage 6. If your idea of fun is playing through 12 identical levels to get a single new layout, do I have the game for you. Still, getting to stage number 8 in itself is a big feat and despite how unfair it can be, it's still reasonably addicting. (6/10)

Conclusion: It's a cute attempt to innovate with outdated hardware. I don't think they succeeded due to how it plays like a creaky war veteran. Namco's talent made it not awful, but they've done a lot better before.

Onto a game that pretty much made me debate if it was even worth playing stuff outside of Arcade Archives...

Defender

Other name(s): ディフェンダー (JP name) Developer: Williams Electronics Publisher: Williams Electronics (EU/US), Taito (JP) Release date: December 1980 (EU, presumably) What did I play it on?: Midway Arcade Origins on Xbox 360 (played on Series S)

What's the game about?: You're a spaceship trying to avoid aliens from taking over the planet. They come in all shapes and sizes, first there's just some green alien dudes (called 'Landers') trying to snatch the 10 humans away by turning them into far more agressive mutants. Following that, you also get electric... squares that leave behind hurtful static and electric... pulses that turn into multiple small red particles. Gotta shoot those as well. Failing to protect the humans causes the planet to be destroyed and you're left fighting mutants in space. Yikes. At least you got an Asteroids-esque hyperspace button and screen-clearing smart bombs to delay the inevitable. What's the game look like?:

What's the sound like?: All kinds of weird alien bleep bloops dominate as you shoot your Atari 2600 laser. The humans that cry for help sound like squealing rubber. What's new about this one?: This game more or less created the horizontally scrolling shooter genre. The whole mutant thing is also brand new, and I don't think i've seen screen-clearing weapons used to this degree before. Same with the degree of variety in enemy patterns and how cleverly they've been interwoven as they've been given different 'tasks' of sorts. The lander chases the humans, the rest chase YOU. Also, uhhh... this is the first video game by Williams Electronics? Damn, that's one way to start. How much singleplayer content is there?: This took me ages to figure out cuz Midway Arcade Origins put me on the wrong foot, but it APPEARS that the difficulty peaks at stage 5. You don't get increased score multipliers after that, so... How far did I get?: I did get to that point when I gave myself 9 lives and 9 smart bombs, though that's hardly an achievement in my eyes. On the default setting (3 lives & smart bombs), I got to the third stage, which is a decent feat in itself as it propelled me up the online rankings. This game is brutal. Any multiplayer?: Alternating turns, again. Gonna be a bit before co-op becomes much more mainstream. Quick thoughts: Say hello to the game that brutalised my motivation to keep going. A very vague release date (i'm still not sure if I did it right), it's extreme difficulty and my own doubts on whether to cover games rereleased on Xbox made it the ideal cocktail for my ADHD brain to pretty much give up for a while. Upon revisiting though... Eh, although I don't think it'll ever be my favorite, I can appreciate it's huge influence on the shooter genre. Plus, if reaching the 3rd flipping stage is a serious achievement from what I can tell, I don't feel nearly as bad about my supposedly low skill level. This is another game i'll give a hat tilt. Graphics: Probably, PROBABLY the best looking space shooter thus far. I don't know for sure. But I mean, horizontal scrolling as smooth as this along with all the massive explosions that happen when things die, that's extremely impressive. Definitely makes it feel fairly modern, futuristic even. I'm surprised it is as much as a leap upwards as it is. Only Rally-X really comes close with being as advanced as this sucker. (9/10) Sound: Can get a bit overwhelming at times, all the shooting combined with the weird otherworldly noises, it's a bit much. Though nobody can deny that they sound COOL as hell on first impression. Very sci-fi. I'll let the incorporation of some 2600 noises pass. (7/10) Fun Factor: Depends on what you wanna get out of it. If you like games that will absolutely kick your ass with the smallest error and makes you feel extra guilty with every astronaut lost, this is a gaming HEAVEN for late 1980. I can't say i'm part of that crowd, but the more time I put into it, the less gruelling it becomes. There's only 2 things reeeally bothering me. You frequently have to be too precise with your movement to stick a shot or just straight up not die for one. The amount of buttons and therefore tactics on display, that's also a bit too much. Found myself frequently overwhelmed by this one, i'm sorry. If you're a gaming nut who doesn't mind an overload of spectacle and can deal with extra precise movements, then you can add two points to the score next to this sentence. (6/10) Longevity: Someone played one round of this game for 21 and a half hours straight. Huh. Reaching stage 6 will take you a WHILE, but at least it's a bit more based around skill rather than luck this time. There's people that only leave one astronaut alive or straight up lets them all die and focus on the shooting action, and manage to survive for a long while despite that. Seems like I may have to try that too... Also glitches. Lotsa glitches to extend playtime. Those are always a hoot. (8/10)

Conclusion in 3 sentences: My love-hate senses are tingling with this one. It's not a game for the faint of heart, but if you put your mind to it and grind it out, it can be a magical experience. Especially for the time.

The games that couldn't:

All of these are included on one of the Taito Legends games on PS2. The first game is outta reach entirely, while the second one is doable, just a bit too expensive to be worthwhile right now. I MIGHT come back to the balloon duology later. Don't count on it though.

Phoenix (Taito): Shame I couldn't give this one a go. This was THE game to bring boss battles into the mainstream. Was curious to see how well it'd fare compared to the seemingly very intricate way Sasuke vs. Commander did it. From first impression, it seems a bit less deep, though on it's own, it's still a fun spin on the ol' Space Invader formula.

Balloon Bomber (Taito): A hilariously out-of-tune jingle plays as you shoot single-colored balloons with bombs attached to them. ...Wait, did Pyoro on WarioWare copy the concept of destructible land from this game? Whaaaa?

Crazy Balloon (Taito): The balloon of Balloon Bomber fame must now traverse dangerous obstacle courses by floating around. Crrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaazy.

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

If there's any feedback you wanna give on this new format, be sure to let me know! We'll be heading into 1981 next time. For realsies.

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

ＣＯＮＪＥＣＴＵＲＥ

A companion fic that was born from my Primal list.

"But that’s the thing about fantasies, right? The real deal will never measure up..."

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN!Reader Word Count: 768

He wasn’t emotionless. Far from it, actually. And he wasn’t as stoic as everyone thought he was, either. That's what he told himself.

But when you wear a mask—literally—and hide the deeper parts of yourself, it was easy for people to make assumptions and for the most part, Simon allowed it. Made for some good comedy.

The drawback to that, however, was that even he could get lost in conjecture. “You think too much,” he heard his brother’s words echo, the playful ribbing of siblings (after a fist fight no less), “Too fucking much and that’s all you’ll ever be fucking good for. Thinking.” And his father, with alcohol on his breath and misery coating his entire being, set everything ablaze again. His mother, with tired eyes, tired, thin, and worn hands, and the weight of the world on her shoulders, would do her best to comfort him with words and hugs hollow and meaningless when set against the backdrop of a decaying home.

And maybe that’s what kept him from going too far when he finally snapped and released every single thread of resentment and anger onto his father: thinking.

And perhaps it’s that same thinking that’s always kept him from living in the moment.

But you were too busy with your heads in the clouds to notice it. Good. It gave him more than one opportunity to look you over when you weren’t looking, when you were preoccupied with fantasizing over the Simon in your head and doing fuck all to reconcile him with reality. With Ghost.

But that’s the thing about fantasies, right? The real deal will never measure up.

Simon knows this from experience. He felt that way about relationships (like he’s had some fucking meaningful ones). And sex. Once. But he’s had too many partners, not enough orgasms, and the comfort of his own hand to know that the fantasy of it all dies a terrible, fiery death. And so it was quick encounters and one night stands, enough to sate the itch and chase the high, and then it was back to business as usual. He couldn’t tell you their names or remember their faces if he tried—not like he didn’t.

But you were different. And you weren’t. Somehow. You had a way of seizing without having to do much at all. It intrigued him, honestly. He’d been the recipient of enough secretive glances to pick up the signs but here you were, with your head in the clouds, giving him the most blatant ‘come fuck me’ stare this side of the fucking Channel. Fucking hell. And it’s not like he couldn’t ignore it. Well, he could, but then he’d never hear the fucking end of it from Soap and Simon didn’t really have the energy to punch him. Not this time.

But yeah, back to you.

Simon should be snorting right now. Snorting and ignoring the way you’re staring at him. But instead he’s staring at you. Analyzing your body language. Thinking too fucking much—that old pathetic git can burn in hell—and not living in the moment. And he wonders what his brother would think, toothy grin and all, and maybe that’s why he’s happily settled and enjoying his life beyond belief, the shadow of their father long dispelled.

Fuck.

But maybe it’s not so bad, not thinking as much. Living in the moment. Maybe it’s not so bad, having your eyes on him with your head in the clouds. But maybes could be dangerous; maybes were risks, ones where life and death made all the difference and there were some risks that Simon truly wondered if he could take.

And really, what the fuck happened to him that he’s over here contemplating fucking rather than just doing it. What the fuck? Is it… you? Or maybe he’s become too entrenched in his mask and the shadow of his father’s words has loomed so fucking long that they’ve become integral to his very person.

If it’s the latter then fuck you, Dad.

So sure, he’ll continue to stare in the meantime. And size you up. And maybe reciprocate your interest. And if you cross that bridge and make a move, a nice shag could do you both some good. And then you’ll finally see that the Simon of your fantasies doesn’t quite match Simon—Ghost—in reality. And they will die a terrible, fiery death. And the cycle of meaningless fucks and relationships will continue.

Perhaps that’s a risk he was willing to take. This time. Fuck if he knew.

He’ll deal with the consequences later.

[crazyk-imagine]

Thick Gloves and Bloody Mouth Pieces

Pairing: Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe (Henry “Wolfman” Ruth) x Fem!reader

Characters: Fem!reader, Dick Rick (bad trainer), Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe (Henry “Wolfman” Ruth), Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, Ron “Slider” Kerner, Rick “Hollywood” Neven

Warnings: Dramatic (I don’t know where any of the theatrics came from but I’m rolling with the punches), Rick the trainer is a dick (maybe not so much here but in my mind, he is), Tom and others tease reader, reader and Leonard are adorable idiots

Word Count: 2,894

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You know you shouldn’t be here right now, not when you should be at home getting for- you don’t even want to think about the date right now. 

Especially not when Leonard looks so cute in his non-official uniform, a jacket that has a zipper and gym shorts or as you like to call them basketball shorts (followed by innocent teasing from Leonard and Ron mostly, although the latter takes it further by making jokes about you two getting together which somehow manage to go over the former’s head). 

Your eyes wander around the room, checking on the others, making sure no one needs anything like water or a first aide care. There have been too many times when that’s happened plus, you’re the only one who can even do a proper stitch. 

You inwardly groan at the sight of Dick Rick. 

Sometimes you wonder why he couldn’t have been named something else because you guys already have a Rick and he has a much cooler nickname, Hollywood (not given to him by you, thank God he’ll always say during his interviews). 

You pretend like you don’t see him and let him sit near you. 

Even knowing he’s sitting there beside you pisses you off, good thing no one likes him. Honestly, the only reason he got the job was because he has the qualifications… and his uncle is the one in charge of this whole thing, but everyone can admit that he genuinely does have what it takes to be here and that’s ALL you give him credit for. 

The new fighters always wonder what he did to make you hate him so much and then they hear him open his mouth and some understand while others join in. 

Now, usually you’d have one of the guys sitting with you (more like babysitting you) but today, no one could because they have a fight they need to train for. 

You’re on the edge of your seat watching as Leonard practices, always giving everything, he’s got no matter what. “Kill ‘em!” 

“Ease up on the coaching there.” (Fake) Rick advises. “He’s got enough to worry about right now. We don’t need you trying to get into his head.” 

Your head snaps over in his direction. “You know what I think? I think that you’re actually worried that your uncle is gonna lose out on big win and making me seem like I’m the bad guy is your way of coping with it, which isn’t gonna get you very far. All I’m doing is supporting him. Now, either you shut up or lose it.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. 

“Listen here, Dick. I’m going to cheer him on. I will be screaming as loud as the other people in the crowd. I get this is practice, but I am proud of him, and I will show it any time I can. Either you shut up or I do it for you.” 

He stares at you with his every day sour expression. “The names Richard-” 

“Dick can be short for Richard. Think about Dick’s sporting goods, a place you don’t own, so sad.” Was it necessary to bring that up, no. Did it feel good, hell yeah. 

“I prefer Rick and they’re practicing. Tonight’s the big night so you’re “supportive” screaming isn’t helping anyone.” 

You raise your brows, “I say otherwise because he’s doing a real good job right now.” 

He doesn’t need to look over at Leonard and Tom, he knows they’re doing good. “It’s practice. You don’t need to scream.” 

“I'm going to scream as loud as I want because he’s a good fighter and I am going to show it.” 

“I understand what you’re saying but-” 

“But nothing. I’m gonna go check on him and our friends because this conversation is going nowhere and you’re pissing me off.” 

Dick Rick doesn’t try to argue with you knowing this is the smartest thing to do. 

-

You get out of the chair and head over towards Leonard (who exited the ring right before you started to walk over) and Tom who sits in the chairs closest to the ring, sweat dripping down their heaving chests. “You two did good today.” 

“You mean, he looked good, and you assume I did good because you were too focused on screaming for him,” says Tom before he drinks some water. 

You scoff, glancing over at a non-focused Leonard, “someone is totally, not completely off?” 

The man with frosted tips raises a brow. “Everyone but dogboy knows you’re horny for him.” 

Your eyes widen, “what the hell?” You smack his shoulder. “Don’t say that.” 

He chuckles, “am I wrong?” 

“Shut up,” you walk away and head over towards their boxing partners, Ron and Rick. 

-

“You two feeling alright?” 

Ron lifts his head, staring at you. 

“Has anyone come over to check that out?” You point to the blood trail on the edge of his eyebrow closest to his temple. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“He’s lying and you know it.” 

You take the first aid kit from Rick. “Yeah, yeah.” You grab the items you need and start by cleaning the wound. 

“He’s staring.” Ron hisses, you mumble an apology. 

“He’s preparing for the fight.” 

“He’s staring at you,” the two say. 

“Why do I even bother trying to fight you two anymore?” You finish with the wound and start cleaning up. 

“You ever gonna tell him?” asks Ron. 

“If I haven’t told him and I’ve known him for- God- as long as I can remember-” 

“Hasn’t it been more than five years?” asks Ron. 

“Thank you, Mister know it all.” Your brows furrow together, “how do you know that?” 

“He won’t shut up about you. Plus, you showed up around the time he did.” 

“That seems like it could be true.” 

“Could be?” He scoffs, “it is true, and you know it.” He pushes himself off the bench and walks over to where Tom is. 

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Rick informs you. Always the one to tell you the truth when it comes to this kind of thing (plus it’d be nice [for all the guys] if the two of you got together). 

“If what you’re all saying is true, then why hasn’t he said anything?” 

He doesn't think he heard you correctly. You’ve never agreed with them or even thought about the possibility of Leonard liking you to be true. “What was that?” 

You shake your head, grabbing the first aid kit, “nothing. I’ve- Dick Rick pissed me off today and I’m not making sense so I’m gonna go.” 

“Come on, don’t be like that.” 

“How else am I supposed to be, Hollywood? I mean… seriously, if he hasn’t said anything by now, even when all you guys say is how much he likes me. Why hasn’t he tried to ask me out?” 

He shrugs, “maybe-uh- maybe he thinks you’re not interested.” 

“Do you honestly think that’s why?” 

He struggles to give you a response. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Look, I’ve got to go.” 

“Wait- where are you going?” 

You huff, the strand of hair blocking your view moves off to the side of your face. “I’ve got to go. I- I didn’t tell anyone but I have a date tonight and I wasn’t going to go on it but now I think I will. Maybe see where things take us, you know.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“I’m all out of good ideas when it comes to my love life but I’m ready to put myself out there and see what happens.” 

He clearly doesn’t approve of this idea, but you could care less right now. 

“I’ll be here for your guys’ fights, alright?” 

He says nothing. 

“Rick?” 

He blinks, processing what you’ve said. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun.” He keeps an eye on you as you walk out. 

-

He rushes over towards Leonard and smacks his arm. 

The latter breaks out of his daze, rubbing his arm with a confused expression. “What the hell was that for?” 

“Because you’re an idiot and everyone here can agree with that.” 

“That’s not true.” Various “yes's” and “he’s not wrong” can be heard through out the area. 

Leonard scoffs, “whatever.” 

“You need to get off your horny butt and go after the woman you’ve been fawning over for the last thousand years.” 

“You’re exaggerating.” 

“What if I told you that she’s out on a date right now?” 

“Is she?” 

Rick shrugs, “you tell me.” 

“Do you know with who?” 

“She didn’t tell me that much.” 

“What if she winds up really liking this guy?” 

“That means you would miss your chance.” 

He pushes himself out of the chair, “I have to go find her.” 

“And then what?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You mean to tell me, you’re gonna crash her date with absolutely no reason?” 

“Well, I mean, technically, I have a reason… she’s gonna know right?” 

“No because you haven’t given her any signs you moron.” 

Leonard stops, taking a deep breath, “I’ve got to go, man. I can’t stand here and wait anymore.” 

Rick chuckles, slapping his shoulder, “go man.” 

-

You sip your drink, not at all enthralled by what your date is saying and no matter how many times you try to give your two cents, the man just… won’t… shut… up. 

“And then he was like-” 

A handful of flowers are shoved into your face. “I love you.” 

You set the glass down and take the flowers, finding them to be one of the prettiest combos you’ve seen, sunflowers and roses. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

You turn to see your the cowboy. “Leonard? What are- what are you doing here?” 

He opens his mouth to respond when your date interrupts him. 

“I’m sorry, whoever you are, but we’re,” he gestures to the two of you. “On date here so if you could just go back to wherever your redneck ass came from, that’d be great.” 

The man in the cowboy hat bends down to whisper in his ear. 

Your dates eyes widen before he rushes to get out of his seat, practically tripping over the legs of the chair. 

Leonard sits down in the, now, unoccupied chair with a cocky grin dancing across his lips. “What did you tell him?” 

“Nothing much. A little “harmless” threatening.” 

“What kind of threatening?” 

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze, “harsh enough to ensure that he doesn’t come back… here… on a date with you… ever.” 

Your jaw drops. “Wait- wait.” You remember he said something. “What did you say earlier?” 

“I don’t want him to date you.” 

“After that.” 

“I threatened him.” 

“No!” you set the flowers down on the table. “What did you say?” 

He gulps, unsure if he should tell you again or not. “I- do I really have to repeat myself?” 

“Please?” your tone wavers, thinking you may not have heard what you think he heard. 

He smiles, reaching for your hand. “I- I think I made the dumbest mistake waiting to tell you this but, oh boy. Here it goes, I-" he looks around, seeing how many people are here. “Actually, could we do this outside?” 

“If we do, will you ever tell me? Because when we need to have a serious conversation, it never happens, and it feels like you’ve shut down on me.” 

He leans forward, rubbing his hands across his faces. 

“Okay. Okay. Uh- there’s this- I- I’m having a real hard time trying to tell you this.” 

“Let’s start with what you first said when you shoved these beautiful flowers in my face,” you say with a light chuckle. 

He cracks a smile. “You caught that huh?” 

“I think I did but I don’t know for sure if what I heard was the right thing.” 

“Well, that- uh- that depends on your reaction to what I’m about to say.” 

“I think we both know what we’ve been denying for so long.” 

He leans closer, “and what’s that?” 

“That you, cowboy, are completely as smitten with me like I am with you.” You pray he doesn’t turn you as doubt swirls around in your mind. 

That crooked boyish grin takes over and that damned hat of his tips forward, covering his eyes. “That’s good to hear.” 

“Why? Cause it means you didn’t crash my date for nothing.” 

“Hey now. If I knew all I needed to do was this, I would have had Hollywood set you up a long time ago.” 

“Like I would have accepted whoever he wanted to set me up with.” 

“You... I think you would have.” 

“He probably would’ve told me his plan and then tricked the both of us into meeting at the same place.” 

He chuckles, “yeah, maybe.” He glances around, “how about we- uh- get out of here and go somewhere you’d actually enjoy.” 

A teasing smiles stretches across your lips. “What if I like it here?” 

“You don’t, I know it.” 

A heavy sigh slips past your lips, “if we must.” 

“I’ll make it worth your while.” 

-

“I told you not to order so much,” you chuckle, munching on a couple of fries. You kick your legs, the cool air hitting the exposed skin of your lower legs. 

He smiles, setting his burger down, wiping his face after you gestured to the mess on his chin. “You look really pretty by the way.” 

“You sound like a middle schooler with a crush.” 

“I’m just being honest, sweets.” 

“We both know you have more to say.” You’re hopeful that he’ll just come out and say it again. 

“Okay, maybe I do but I don’t want to scare you off.” 

You scoff, “please.” 

“Hey! I’d like to keep the woman I love close to me since I was on the verge of being too late and barely gained enough courage to ask her out tonight.” 

You cover your mouth, preventing any more food from flying out as you cough. 

He pats your back. “Are you okay?” 

“You just,” you croak with a hoarse voice. “You just- just said the woman you love.” 

“Oh,” he extends the word, finally realizing what he said to you (again). 

You grab your drink and gulp as much as you can, wanting to get rid of your hoarse voice. “That’s what you said right?” 

“Said what when?” 

“Don’t mess with me like that, Leo. You know what you said.” 

He gulps, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re right. I know what I said and I’m- I’m scared that you don’t feel the same.” 

“If I didn’t feel the same, would I have accepted this date?” 

“You’ve gone out with me before,” he points out with attitude. 

You scoff, “because I thought that you were asking me out on a genuine date! But then there you were talking to some girl just a few feet away from me.” 

“I’m sorry for thinking I never had a chance with you!” 

“If you had asked, you would have known!” You set your food off the side, pushing yourself out of the truck bed. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this with you right now.” 

“You can’t- you can’t do this with me right now? Seriously?” 

You reach for your purse. “I’m not going to sit here and fight with you over how scared I was that you didn’t like me even though I’m in love with you and how much it hurt to see you talking to all those girls when you were the one who invited me to go out with you!” You’re too upset to even realize that he’s pushed himself off the truck bed. 

He spins you around to kiss you only for it to end in laughter. The corner of his lips tugs upwards. “Are you really laughing at my romantic gesture right now?” 

You chuckle, staring into his pretty eyes. “You know exactly what I’m laughing at.” 

He nods, the hat bumping against your forehead once more, in a more affectionate manner. “That I do.” 

You snatch the item off his head, tossing it beside the food. You take a deep breath, watching the way his eyes dip down towards your lips. 

“This isn’t going to be as dramatic; you know?” 

“Just kiss me you-” Your hands slid up his arms, fingers interlocking against the back of his neck. The warmth of his hand on your cheek and your hip causes the butterflies in your stomach to flutter harder than they ever have when you’re with him. You’re the first to pull away, eyes still closed enjoying this moment. 

“Wow,” he breathes out. “I think I’m getting a hard on.” 

Your eyes snap open, finding that he’s staring at you. The corner of your lips twitch (of course he would say that now), you finally understand what everyone else has been saying, eyes truly are the window to one’s soul because all you can see is the love, he holds for you. “Guess everyone was right.” 

“What’s that?” 

“We both fell for each other but didn’t want to admit and now,” you stare at the collar of his hoodie for a few seconds realizing what the boys are gonna do. “And now they’re gonna make fun of us.” 

“Maybe, but then we can just do this,” he pulls you in for another kiss. 

You chuckle against his lips. 

[bookworm-2692]

Here's the life tracker with session 5 included! Far less chaos and carnage, and in fact the first death didn't occur until more than an hour into the session. Here is the session 4 post with more explanation and detail! And here are session 6 and session 7 and session 8!

The gap between the top few and the bottom many grows even larger now, and Bdubs has fallen from the first group to the latter group.

Close ups and data and further analysis below the cut!

First of all, here is the close up of session 5. I'm going to leave the session 1-4 close ups in the session 4 post.

Since Tango has only had two regular deaths, and two boogey kills, this means his offset is zero... so if we had someone who didn't die or kill at all, they'd actually have the same amount of life that Tango currently has!

And speaking of: this session had Tango and Skizz's times corrected to what they should have been, which I was already showing in the graph. However, in the process of this I realised Martyn's time was half an hour off - turns out he gained 30 minutes between session 3 and 4 which I did not notice before hand. I'm not actually sure why he would have gained that time - and in fact I sent Martyn an ask on tumblr on the off chance he'd answer and explain (he hasn't yet). Since this occurred two sessions ago, I went back and added the time then, which is why if you zoom in to the 7 hour mark you can see a diagonal up on Martyn's line. That's what that is.

If Martyn hadn't randomly gained the extra 30 minutes, he'd be on the same time as Skizz, and currently red. As it is, he is 20 minutes away from turning red. Assuming no deaths at all, Martyn, Bdubs, Jimmy, and Pearl will all fall red within the first hour of session 6, and Cleo, Grian, Joel, and BigB will join them by the second hour.

However, we all saw what happened when everyone was yellow with only a handful of greens. Everyone is only gonna become more feral when red, so given that half the server is guaranteed to be red by the first hour, and there's no way they don't try to kill others... I predict the entire server will be red by the end of the next session. Ten players are guaranteed to go red anyway, since sessions are 2-2.5 hours long, and these ten are either already red, or only 1 hour and 50 minutes at most away from turning red... there is no way they don't attack Tango, Etho, Impulse, and Scott, and drag the four of them down to red too.

There is going to be so much chaos and carnage and killing and death next session and I, for one, cannot wait to see it and track it.

Anyway, here's the number data for session 5:

A much shorter screenshot, because far less death to track... but those two reds are ominously there.

And yes, I kept on counting down Scar's time even though he logged out. We'll see next session if they retroactively make him lose that time or not, but for now I kept the downward line as it was.

[rubyredstarbolt]

Unpopular Opinion: Leon S. Kennedy is an extrovert

So, this is just my opinion about Leon and it’s perfectly fine to have a different opinion, since there are many things that Capcom just leaves open for interpretation.

I know many fans say, Leon is an introvert. But… what exactly is that? Many say, introvert people are quiet or shy and like to be alone. But it is so much more than that! The main difference between introversion and extraversion is, how you recharge. After a long day at work, an introvert prefers to do something solitary or only with one or two people really (!) close to them and at home. When there’s no extra hassle involved. An extrovert person is the one that spends time with people outside, like at a bar or at a restaurant. That’s how extrovert people relax and unwind.

So, when we see Leon in the games or in the movies, it is always in high-pressure situations. He’s far from home, somewhere on a bioterrorism battlefield. Is he talkative? Hell, no. But you don’t need to be constantly blabbering to qualify as an extrovert. And only few people have solely introvert or extrovert traits.

So, what makes me say that I think he’s an extrovert? It’s the way he approaches people. It’s the way he’s seeking company after a mission.

In the OG RE4, he tells Mike (the chopper pilot) “When we get out of here, drinks are on me”. In RE: Infinite Darkness, he asks Shen May if she wants to grab dinner, when this is over and at the end of the mini-series is disappointed that Claire only came for the chip. “Thought you called, ‘cause you wanted to grab dinner.” (okay, Claire is a close friend, so that doesn’t really count). In RE: Damnation Leon says he had been looking forward to showing JD America (right before he has to shoot him :( ) and joked with Buddy about “[grabbing] a few beers”.

Those scenes happened all during missions (not counting the scene with Claire). Those are stressful. And the very last thing an introvert thinks about in stressful situations is to spend time with people afterward. But Leon is the one who is actively asking! And it’s mainly the latter that makes me think, that he’s an extrovert.

I can only draw from my own experiences and I am an introvert. When things get stressful at work or generally in life, you won’t see me asking to spend quality time. Mainly it’s my friends who ask about doing something together, anyway. And if they would ask me if I could grab dinner with them on that same day and I have no time to mentally prepare to go out? Most of the time I would say no. Sometimes I even withdraw and cancel plans with friends, even with very close ones, when I’m too  stressed out.

This is behavior I really don’t see in Leon. It’s quite the opposite, see my examples above.

Some could say “yeah, well, that’s because he’s really lonely.” But I have seen what happens to introverts who are lonely, I’ve seen it with a really introvert friend during the Corona pandemic. They withdraw even more.

So, no, I think Leon doesn’t really qualify to be an introvert.