#and i go back and forth on whether or not that happened behind the scenes

[communistfries]

Why did the writer in me reawaken after years just to write smut in my notes app and be unwell about a woman i named after a diagnostic manual

[ruewrote]

𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡.

PAIRING: stiles stilinski x fem!reader WARNINGS: none GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: teenage dream by katy perry WORD COUNT: 1294

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it wasn't out of the blue for you and stiles to have a sleepover on fridays, actually it was a sort of unspoken rule between the two of you.

it first started when you said that you had never watched star wars before, which led to the both of you sitting on your couch with a big bowl of popcorn in between.

him explaining the little parts you'd get confused about or him just ranting about his favourite scenes. after that it was a back and forth of showing each other your favourite unseen movies.

when finishing said movie the following days you'd receive multiple memes from him about the specific films, it had become a recurring pattern that you'd come to love. it almost felt weird if he didn't.

tonight it was your turn to introduce him to the to all the boys i loved before trilogy since you'd been obsessed with the movies since they first came out.

he was on the fence about watching them since he wasn't a huge fan of romcoms, you somehow convinced him by saying "it's practice for watching them with your future girlfriend!" internally wincing at that.

every friday you felt more anxious before stiles showed, trying to fluff up your pillows and straighten out your blankets. wanting to make everything perfect.

you had a huge crush on stiles, how could you not after spending so much time together, learning all of his little quirks, his likes and his dislikes, the only thing you weren't sure about was the way he felt about you.

it was the one thing you wanted to know the most about him. did he think about you the same ways you thought about him? did he like the way cuddled when you'd watch these movies and shows with him?

you couldn't tell him though, what if he didn't feel the same way you did and it completely ruins the good friendship you have right now?

what would it take for you to finally tell him?

ding dong!

the doorbell ringing a couple times had you jogging down the stairs, opening the door with a warm smile to see hyper stiles.

"i'm so ready to get my movie night on! i had a math test today and let me tell you it sucked," he whines as he dramatically wraps his arms around your waist as he fake cries into your shoulder.

"well if it helps i have enough microwaveable popcorn to keep us going through the apocalypse soo you coming upstairs or what?"

with that said he zips past you up your stairs, falling up them in the process, making you giggle at his eagerness as you follow close behind him.

watching stiles practically swan dive onto your bed and aggressively sniff your pillow has you side eyeing him, "why is your bed so much comfier and smells so much nicer than mine? it's so not fair."

"it's a little thing called fabric softener and if you continuously jump into your bed the way you do mine, then i guess you've got your answer you dufus," you laugh at him burrowing himself deep under your duvet.

"plus i've slept in your bed it's plenty comfy, the key is lots of pillows and fluffy blankets." he hums as you settle yourself beside him before pressing play on the movie.

it was like ten minutes into the film when you could feel him slightly shuffle closer to you, keeping your eyes on the screen pretending it didn't happen. just patiently waiting until he felt comfortable enough to say something.

"can...can we cuddle?" you wordlessly lifted your arm, letting him slip himself under, his head on your chest, the rest of his body lightly pressed to your side.

it was like second nature to you two, whether either one of you had a bad week you'd take turns holding each other. you helped install healthy mannerisms that proved that it was okay for a man to be held because they deserve it too and that it was okay for guys to cry no matter who they're with.

so yes , when he had a rough day he'd often walk up to you and bury his face into your neck, his arms firmly wrapped around you as you cupped the back of his head and rubbed soft circles on his back just letting him know that you were there for him.

with everything he had gone through he deserved all the comfort he could get and if the source was you then so be it.

you would be lying if you said that your heart didn't speed up at the closeness and how his touch on your skin left goosebumps.

trying to be as casual as possible, you raise the hand that was currently wrapped around his shoulders to gently stroke his hair, feeling him physically melt into you calmed your nerves.

feeling your eyelids slowly droop, your hand movements become slower so your palm now laid on the back of his neck, fighting sleep felt so difficult when he was beside you. his presence was so peaceful, comforting even without him saying anything.

the early start of your day hitting even harder now. He won't mind if you rested your eyes for a little bit, right?

stiles noticed the similarities between the two characters to the both of you, but there's no way that you deliberately put this on as a sign? was he reading too deep into it?

when he went to question you about it, lifting his head he was met with you sleeping peacefully. his gaze softened at the sight, gently tucking the piece of hair that fell in front of your face.

"you are so goddamn beautiful and don't even know it, even when you sleep? like can you save some beauty for the rest of us?" he chuckles at his own joke.

"i don't know how long i can keep pretending that i'm not totally in love with you...there really isn't anything that i wouldn't do for you." he whispers and he studies your features.

"it's honestly crazy how i feel your absence in everything that i do when i'm alone, in every place i go without you." he sighs, going to go back to watching the tv.

"you really mean all of that?" you whisper, making him jump back.

"uh- i-i do, but i thought you were asleep?"

"no i was just resting my eyes, but i'm sorta glad that you thought i was for you to finally confess your feelings for me." you smirk at him.

his mouth opens and closes, utterly bewildered at what you just said, "what do you mean finally?"

"You realise that i like you too, right? that i have for the longest time?" stiles eyes now wide, looking even more lost than before.

"you like me? like like me like me?"

sitting up, grasping the back of his neck, "what are you..." pulling him closer, your lips brushing against his. it takes him a second to register the kiss before melting into it. leaning closer to deepen the kiss. his hands brushing over your hips as he laid you down, now hovering over you. your hand running through his hair, tugging at the roots.

you're both now smiling as you share a few more pecks before pulling away. "so you do like me!" he grins, "oh my god. dude yes!"

"ya know if you're gonna be my girlfriend, you're gonna have to calling me dude."

"would you prefer shnookums?"

"that's it!" he pulled away just enough to tickle you.

from that night forth you and stiles had become inseparable, practically connected at the hip. but you wouldn't want it any other way.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2024.

[meanbossart]

Okay, one more question on the Bhaalist Drow au, if you'll indulge. What happens in Astarion's mindthe immediate aftermath of the ascension failing (as in, right then but also up until the game's end). Do they bother showing up to Withers' party? How does Astarion go slip sliding down into a cowed version of himself over time? And, what I am most fascinated by in something like this, how do the other cultists, especially direct reporters to DU Drow, or like deputies, treat him? Does Astarion find he's confined certain places?

Sorry, thank you!

No apologies needed! This is a very fun scenario to play around in.

So, I'm not sure if Astarion would immediately realize that DU drow purposefully ruined the ritual, but regardless he would have realized that this is the outcome he truly wanted.

I imagine that after Du drow embraced Bhaal, Astarion would have gotten it into his head that he now must ascend so they will be on leveled ground, and fully capable of pursuing their plans of taking control over the sword coast together as equally powerful individuals. DU drow would have sold himself as completely behind this plan and supportive of the idea, eager for them to exert total control as the most dashingly evil couple in all of Faerun. And perhaps this was genuine for a day, before the fear of losing his grasp over Astarion began to settle in. He didn't voice this as all, of course, but as an avid manipulator himself Astarion would be able to tell post-failure that his support wasn't earnest.

And I think Astarion just panicked; going back and forth between convincing himself that he should be thankful to have someone powerful by his side, and just feeling like has no other option but to go along with it. Whether or not he thinks he can abandon DU drow successfully, the world has just become a much scarier place than before, and at least here he knows he has someone to take care of him - someone he should be fond of, even if time eventually proves him wrong.

For a while (weeks, if not months) Astarion would have appeared nothing if not pleased with his predicament. He has a man who is head-over-heels for him who also happens to be the head-honcho of a powerful cult, he has access to as much blood and violence as he pleases and the ability to entertain his fantasies of power and cruelty to their fullest. If there is anyone left who cares for him, he paints elaborate pictures of their routine together - of their outings, of their riches, of his exquisite quarters and their intense sex. He tells them that DU drow might be Bhaal's chosen, but he has him wrapped tight around his finger day and night and pretty much runs the show behind the scenes.

These are fantasies that he wants to others to believe in as much as he wants to convince himself of them, and a narrative that DU drow might even humor - he likes the illusion of Astarion being in control, but it can't ever be like that in practice - but reality is a lot more hollow. They have gold, and they have the expensive garments, and the sex is intense, but life has become a performance from morning until night and Astarion has completely lost the element of tenderness that he had grown to enjoy. DU drow loves him like a prized possession, like a novelty - a fragile ornament that only he knows how to handle, and no one else is allowed near.

Whenever there is push back, whenever Astarion wants to branch out, he is reminded of how vulnerable and small he is. How every day occurrences and objects can harm him, and that while DU drow may appreciate him for the man he is, others will take him for a simple monster. That It is much easier to stick by his side, sacrifice some of his freedom but be cared for than to risk exposing himself to harm. DU drow also constantly reminds him of the pain he would be in if anything were to ever draw them apart, and guilts him about what may happen if he was to die.

And as rebellious towards Cazador as he might have been, total servitude is a default he learned to fall back into in search of safety. It is easier to turn to old habits and simply accept his circumstances, surrender to them. At least here, he is never tortured, he is never physically hurt, and he is only sometimes verbally berated. He can deal with it as long as it is an improvement upon his previous situation. Slowly, he'd just become DU drow's yes-man, he'd concern himself constantly with pleasing him, looking desirable, acting desirable, fulfilling his fantasies and acting the part that's expected of him. From the outside it may even seen like he enjoys the life.

He is basically seen but not heard by DU drow's consorts. It's less about the respect that they may or may not have for him and more about the respect (or should I say fear) that they have for their leader. DU Drow would make it clear again and again that no one is allowed to touch him, he would be weary of anybody trying get too close, of being too friendly, even of staring a little too hard - he would kill and torture men over the most mundane of comments whether they be positive or negative until everyone is just too fearful of interacting with Astarion at all. As for people outside of the temple, he basically never has a chance to mingle without DU drow's watchful gaze over him (all for the sake of protecting him, of course).

I think Sceleritas would be the only person who can consistently interact with alone, since DU drow trusts him completely. The little goblin himself no longer sees Astarion as so much of a person, more so a possession; one that keeps his master happy and productive. So he extends the same amount of respect to him as he does to DU drow himself, and functions as a butler to both.

He also reports back to DU drow about Astarion's every request, every diversion from habit, every misplaced sigh and fluctuation in mood, every eye-roll. He knows the questions to ask to get the answers he wants, to interrogate him with poise on behalf of his master so he can make sure that his beau is always happy and content. Astarion realizes this learns to watch himself around Sceleritas over time too.

[kittenintheden]

hit the bricks

surprise PWP drop lol. this is sort of a deleted scene from Not Your Sweetheart. this is not a scenario that will end up in the NYS so you get to have it here in bite-size instead. enjoy!

Rating: E Paring: Astarion/Ori (f!Tav) Word Count: 1.6k Content: 18+, established relationship, semi-public sex, quickie, wall sex, Ori being a bit of a power bottom

Link to AO3

This stakeout is horrifically boring and likely entirely pointless.

Astarion leans with his back against one side of a narrow alley, arms folded. Ori faces the opposite wall, peeking her head around the corner every now and again to try and spot their quarry.

He sighs.

She continues to look.

“This stakeout is horrifically boring,” he voices aloud. “And likely entirely pointless.”

From further down the alleyway, Elias chimes in. “We’d feel real stupid if they managed to sneak by us, though, wouldn’t we?”

Astarion rolls his eyes as hard as he possibly can and glares at them. They smirk at him, knowing full well where his annoyance comes from. He’s certain of it. When he’d volunteered to pair with Ori for this reconnaissance mission, he hadn’t expected a third wheel. But Gale had insisted that they keep an open method of communication just in case, and, well. Elias is as convenient as it gets, considering they can move from group to group through the Ethereal Plane in seconds.

Whether or not they prefer to be used as de facto communication is yet to be determined.

It’s a bother. He maintains his irritated expression as he goes back to staring at Ori’s arse as she wriggles it back and forth between glances out of the alley. She might be doing it on purpose. The breeches she’s chosen to wear this evening are quite form-fitting.

His brow smooths and his eyes go lidded as he lets himself fall into fantasy, picturing her just like this, but all soft skin, warm and gray beneath his touch as he runs his fingers down the length of her spine. He hasn’t taken her from behind yet. All in good time.

Astarion slow blinks and flicks his tongue over his bottom lip.

Now could be a good time.

He’s brought abruptly back to reality as arousal rises in him, sending a rush of heat between his legs. He huffs and shifts position, straightening one leg with a grimace. Fantastic. Now he’s grouchy again.

Their corner of the square remains unpopulated. At this time of evening in this part of town, passerby are few and far between. He scans the space sullenly for a moment before his eyes are drawn back to Ori. She stands straight, still facing the wall, and puts her arms over her head in a long, arching stretch.

Astarion tucks his chin. That’s definitely on purpose.

“Elias,” Astarion says. “I think perhaps you should go check in on the other team.”

“What for?” they say distractedly, their eyes currently tracking a stray cat at the far end. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Something’s about to,” he says lowly. Then he pushes off the wall and closes the space between his body and Ori’s, pinning her up against the bricks on the opposite wall. She squeaks in surprise.

“Oh, for fuck’s-” is all they hear before Elias’ voice cuts itself off as they vanish.

Ori’s laughing, now. She turns her head to one side and puts her palms against the wall in front of her, pushing gently back against Astarion. He puts his mouth to the side of her neck, running his tongue over her pulse point and punctuating it with a kiss.

“What was that about?” she teases, even as she shivers and shuts her eyes.

“I needed to ask you something.” He places another kiss to her neck, this time closer to her ear.

“Mm. And what’s that?” She stretches her head to one side to give him more access.

Astarion puts his lips to her ear and whispers, “How wet are you?”

She gives a quiet giggle, her mouth stretching in a playful smile as she cracks her eyes to look at him.

“Wet enough,” she whispers back.

That’s all the go-ahead he needs before his hands are at the front of her trousers, undoing her fastenings quicker than she’d be able to herself. As soon as he’s able, he dips a hand down her front and into her smallclothes.

His fingers find her slick and he huffs out a breath, dropping his open mouth to the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. He slides his fingers against her and she gives a controlled moan when he finds the swell of her.

“You’re always so ready for me,” Astarion groans into her skin. “It drives me mad.”

Ori hiccups and responds, “If you knew how good it is to take your cock, you’d be walking around wet all the time, too. But we’re supposed to be, ah, keeping a lookout. Someone could… mmm… catch us with our literal pants down.”

They’re not exactly in public, but they’re not exactly not in public, either. Being quiet may not be an option. Does he care?

Not at the moment.

Astarion stops teasing her clit long enough to push her clothing down past her hips. As he goes to deal with his own ties, he breathes, “Then they’ll get a show, because you know anyone about to stumble on this would have no choice but to watch.”

She answers with a quiet growl and play-bites at him.

“Ah, ah,” he says as he pulls himself free of his trousers. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Disappointing,” she teases.

He presses his hard cock between her legs, causing her to gasp and arch as he draws himself along her slick cunt and grazes her clit. Her thighs are trapped tight together from her breeches, coating him in her wet as he grinds.

“I said quick,” he says, hiding the shake in his voice with a laugh. “I didn’t say disappointing.”

The head of his cock finds her willing entrance and he pushes inside, the slide smooth, but oh, he didn’t think that through, that’s very-

Ori clocks the way he tries to quiet the moan that spills from him as he enters her. She clocks it even as she leans her head onto his shoulder, arching her back as hard as she can with him pressing her to the wall. The glide and stretch are perfect. She can feel him everywhere.

But he’s not moving.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” she says, voice shivering.

Astarion has been clenching his jaw. She can feel him loosen it as he says, “You are so t-tight like this.”

She grins, holding back her laugh. “Did you…?”

“No,” he huffs, wrapping his hand around hers where it’s pressed against the brick. “Give a professional a little credit, dear. I just, ah, needed a moment.”

“Glad to hear-” she starts.

“Moment’s over,” he interrupts.

His hips begin working with short, shallow thrusts, grinding Ori up against the wall, her front pressed to the masonry, and she pants prettily for him as he ignites the fire between them. He keeps one hand over hers on the wall and the other wrapped around her hip, guiding her in time with his rhythm.

She feels exquisite. He presses his lips to her exposed shoulder and sucks, vaguely aware he’ll leave a mark there, but he doesn’t care, because it feels good this feels good she feels good all around him. Fangs graze skin, tempting. Her arse is so plush pressed close.

He moves the hand on her hip around to her front and between her legs, using his fingers to spread her just a little wider, exposing her to better feel the root of him on her clit every time he thrusts into her. It has the intended effect as she whimpers out his name surrounded on all sides by soft ah ah ahs. Gods, it’s hot.

Taking her here, hidden but not invisible, makes the rush of being discovered hit his blood and urgency pulses through his core. He pulls his mouth from her and pants through his teeth, molten heat coiling around the base of his spine.

“I need you to come for me, darling,” he whispers. “Can you do that? Can you come for me? Don’t let me…” He gasps on the next breath and continues, “... embarrass myself, love.”

“Say please,” she breathes with a surprising amount of control given her current position.

“What?” he blurts, brow furrowed as he continues to rut into her. His body wants to come so badly that it’s making thought beyond gods gods fuck yes gods difficult.

Ori groans this time before she repeats, “Say. Please.”

Astarion presses his mouth to the side of her face and says, “Please, please, come, please come, please, love, love, please, come, come-”

She clenches down hard around him and he whines, barely managing to ride out her climax before he hits his own, the flutters of her peak continuing all around him. Ori bites her own forearm, her cry lost against her skin. Astarion does his best to stifle his inelegant grunts as he spends himself inside her, the relief palpable.

They take a moment before Ori mumbles, “Neither of us really considered how to extricate ourselves from this situation, did we?”

“We did not,” Astarion mumbles back with his mouth against her temple.

There’s another beat of quiet.

From around the corner out of view, they hear Elias say, “The mark is here, you’d better be done, I swear, I’m not coming around there. Let’s go.”

The mad scramble to separate and quickly rearrange clothing goes smoother than expected, all things considered. It isn’t until they pick up their things and make to run for the square that Ori pulls a face.

“All right, love?” Astarion asks, dagger already drawn.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll, erm. Deal with it later.”

She speeds by him and it takes him a full second to catch on before he snorts out a laugh and follows her.

[erythriina]

Crozier: Stage manager. Runs an extremely tight ship; rehearsals start and end on time, and woe betide you if you show up late. Suffers no fools, especially when it comes to safety. Fell in love with theatre as a young kid, but became jaded after years of running into educational, financial, ‘who do you know’ barriers and dealing with the kind of bigots and assholes you only get in this industry.

Fitzjames: Originally Franklin’s AD, but is officially promoted to director when Franklin has to step down for health reasons. Used to be an actor—and a pretty good one!—but moved to directing because it seemed more prestigious and respectable. In the end, he wouldn’t choose to go back, but he will twist your ear with stories of his time trodding the boards. Studied on scholarship, does everything possible to keep this a secret.

( I went back on forth on switching these two roles, with Crozier as director and Fitzjames as SM, because in canon Crozier technically outranks JFJ. In the end though I think this is more fitting, since JFJ and Franklin may have big ideas, but Crozier is the one with his head firmly in the reality of the situation; as the SM and as Franklin’s canon second, his job (whether he gets to do it or not) is to reign him in, to make sure what he wants to happen is both feasible and safe. )

Blanky: Production manager. His job is to get the things necessary for JFJ and Crozier to do their jobs. He and Crozier have worked together for years and are a tight unit.

Little: Originally the technical director, (essentially the head of the scenic department: lights, sound, set, costumes, props). Becomes official AD when JFJ becomes official director. Briefly enjoys a stint as acting stage manager in Crozier’s stead, and by ‘enjoys’ I mean he hated every moment of it.

Jopson: Wardrobe head. Woe unto anyone who eats in costume. He and Crozier have worked together before—they come as a pair—so he becomes the unofficial liaison bw Crozier and the rest of the prod team (it’s a “dad likes you best” sort of situation). Crozier eventually asks him to become acting ASM (they didn’t have one before; Franklin didn’t think it was necessary). Did some acting as a kid/teen, but prefers production; if you hound him enough when he’s in a good mood, he will, after a long sigh, perform the most perfect triple time step you’ve ever seen.

Hodgson: Dramaturg and I won’t elaborate. Is also the fight captain when it’s called for, and is extremely good at it; he’s great at teaching one-on-one and encouraging the actors while still prioritizing safety, and his flair for the dramatic lends itself incredibly well to choreographing fights. He does, however, tend to lose it and make poor decisions when given any more solo responsibility than that.

Irving: Scenographer, in charge of the overall design of the production. Stressed out 24/7. Keeps absolutely pristine and lovingly detailed piece lists, is very good with the maths for measurements. Seems too uptight for such a creative job, but in actuality is very creative, just also very shy.

Tozer: Master carpenter. He didn’t start as master carp, but his superiors kept leaving and now he has more responsibility than he expected. Outwardly seems like he doesn’t give much of a fuck, but takes pride in his work. Main operator of the power tools; will box your ears if he catches you using them without proper PPE.

Hickey: Just kind of hangs around the scene shop most of the time. Presumably he’s in charge of gluing various bits of wood together, or something. Irving once caught him hooking up with his boyfriend behind the wall of old plywood backgrounds. Later, when Irving has an ‘accident’ one night whilst working late alone in the shop, Hickey is somehow the first on the scene…

Peglar: Master electrician, head of lights and sound. Doesn’t get to do it often, but adores operating the theater’s single spotlight (getting to it involves some climbing that OSHA would not approve of). Can untangle a mass of wires faster than anyone else and knows what each and every one of them goes to. Closest he ever got to performance was dipping his toe into standup comedy (iykyk. sorry honey you fit the type)

Silna: Perennial unwilling house manager, because her family owns the place and her dad always makes her. Basically in charge of the space as a whole. Not a huge fan of her job, but finds some amusement/comfort in getting to sit in the shadows and watch the prod team bicker and make fools of themselves, bc it makes her feel competent in comparison.

[halfmoth-halfman]

daisies and daffodils - 1k celebration

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader Synopsis: You picture your own home, lying in bed as you watch Simon cradle a child that looks just like him to his chest, a soft lullaby drifting from his unmasked lips to your son’s ears- a secret just between the two of them. Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: alcohol, panic attack mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters.

The party for little Rodolfo Vargas’s first birthday is a thing to remember.

With the entirety of the 141, the Vaqueros, and their plus ones in attendance, the house is packed full of people. Most everyone gathers in the great room, adding gifts to the ever-growing pile of presents in the center of the room or fawning over the chubby toddler sitting in Alejandro’s arms.

You bounce back and forth between the great room and the kitchen, offering your help to Mrs. Vargas as she frets over the food; you don’t have the heart to tell her that in a few hours everyone will probably be too drunk to care- they’re already well on the way there. She welcomes the help, not that she needs it; the woman is on top of everything and you don’t know how she does it.

The constant movement gives you the chance to say hello to everyone and makes the time pass quickly. Every so often you catch eyes with Simon as he looms in the background, far enough away to not be surrounded by people but close enough to not appear rude. When you see him, you give him a soft smile and raise your brows- an assurance that you’re okay and the silent question if he is. He nods back, gesturing his head slightly toward the group.

I’m fine. Go have fun.

The time comes for little Rudy- a nickname that chokes up big Rudy every time he hears it- to go to bed; his head lolling onto his father’s shoulder as he can barely keep his eyes open. Alejandro passes the toddler to his wife with a laugh, sending them upstairs with a kiss on the cheek each.

She stops you on her way to the staircase, asking if you mind helping her bring some of the presents upstairs as one of the Vaqueros comes out of the kitchen with a loud cheer and a bottle of Alejandro’s expensive tequila. You agree easily, both of you knowing the presents will be safer upstairs than down here.

Arms loaded with boxes and bags, you play a cautious balancing act as you follow Mrs. Vargas through the halls of the second floor to the nursery. She pushes the door open wide for you to follow through, heading across the room toward the crib. You have to turn to the side before you’re able to fit all of the gifts through the door.

You’re halfway into the room when your right side lightens considerably and the top few boxes are lifted from your sight. You turn in surprise to see Simon’s disapproving gaze staring down at you, the presents tucked carefully against his side.

“I could’ve handled it,” you pout, continuing inside. With a roll of his eyes, Simon follows you silently, keeping directly behind you- your shadow whether you like it or not. Mrs. Vargas stands in front of the wooden crib, bouncing a fussy Rodolfo in her arms and gently shushing him.

“You can put those over there,” Mrs. Vargas instructs, gesturing towards the already giant pile of stuffed animals and toys on the other side of the room. You nod, carefully setting the gifts down and taking the rest from Simon as Mrs. Vargas grabs a bottle for Rudy.

There’s a small exclamation behind you and you drop the box in your hands, knocking over a few of the stuffed animals. Fixing the toys, you hear movement behind you followed by the hushed voices of Mrs. Vargas and Simon.

“No, I’m not-“

“It’ll only be for a few minutes. Thank you!” You turn back in time to see Mrs. Vargas hurry from the nursery.

“What happened?” you ask, looking at Simon. You freeze, taking in the scene before you. Simon stands in the center of the room, an imposing figure of threat and darkness surrounded by the beiges and bright yellows of the nursery, glowering at you with his shadowed eyes as the toddler in his arms pokes and pinches at the painted cloth of his mask.

If he wouldn’t kill you, you’d take a picture.

“She spilled milk on her dress,” Simon explains, leaning back as Rodolfo lightly slaps his nose. He narrows his eyes slightly at the child, obviously angry but you can see the way he holds himself back to not be too menacing.

There've been talks of children between the two of you before, all ending the same: with a distant promise of someday that you both know you’ll more than likely never see. You’re sure that’s the most you’ll ever get out of Simon- you know all too well the ghosts that haunt him- and you’re certain in any future you have with him, kids or no kids.

But seeing the display before you, the imposing figure that is your husband holding a hand in front of the baby’s face to let Rudy play with his fingers, the two of them stood against the beautiful portrait of the Mexican countryside- a large field sprinkled with daisies and daffodils against the rocky mountains-, it stirs something in you.

You picture your own home, lying in bed as you watch Simon cradle a child that looks just like him to his chest, a soft lullaby drifting from his unmasked lips to your son’s ears- a secret just between the two of them.

Rudy giggles, looking up and staring into the depths of your husband’s eyes and Simon lets out a rare chuckle- a low rasp you yourself have only heard a handful of times- and then…

Simon freezes.

You can hear his breath hitch as he stills, hand falling to his side and you spring into action.

“Let me take him,” you say, voice soft and calming, approaching Simon slowly, making sure he can easily see you. Simon says nothing, passing you the baby with vacant, glassy eyes. You give him a reassuring smile, unsure if he actually registers it. He steps past you, rushing out of the nursery and brushing past Mrs. Vargas as she reenters the room, dress completely clean with a few more presents in her hands.

“Everything alright in here?” You nod, smiling as she sets the presents down and you gently pass Rudy back to her. She cuddles him close, pressing a kiss to his head and you try to ignore the way your heart suddenly clenches.

“You want me to grab some more presents from downstairs?”

“No, no. Go enjoy the party,” she assures you. “I already hid everything that seemed fragile.” She sends you away with that and a wink and you make your way downstairs into the sea of drunken soldiers.

You’re able to wade through the crowd without incident; Soap almost ropes you into a drinking contest, but you deflect his attention to Gaz and make your escape to the kitchen. You lean against the counter, allowing yourself a moment to breathe, and stare out the arched windows.

There’s a small flicker of movement to your right. You lean over the sink to get a better angle and spot Simon leaning back against the wall, eyes shut tight.

It takes you a minute to find water amidst the vast spread of alcohol, but you fill a glass and head outside.

“It’s me,” you call out as you approach him. Simon doesn’t acknowledge you as you join him, leaning with your shoulder against the wall so you can face him. His breathing is measured- in for four, hold for four, exhale, repeat- his hands clenching in and out of fists at his sides.

You stay quiet, staring out over the countryside for as long as it takes Simon to calm himself.

When his breath finally evens out, he pries his eyes open, grimacing at the sudden flood of light. You hold out the glass of water, which he takes and pulls down his mask to quickly drink without thanks, setting the glass on the ground beside him when he’s done.

“Can I…?” You hold out your hands as he pulls his mask up, his eyes unfocused as they glance at you then down to your hands then back to your face. He nods, turning his attention back to the scenery. You reach out and take his hand in yours, firmly but loose enough to let him pull away if he needs to.

You hold his hand over your chest, pressing it close to you so he can feel the calm rhythm of your heartbeat. You’re not sure if he can actually feel it through your shirt and his gloves, but you try anyway.

“I remember when Joseph was that little.” He speaks softly and then quieter adds, “I can’t do that again.”

He doesn’t look at you, staring off into the far distance and even farther past. You squeeze his hand, doing your best to smile despite the way your heart clenches- you’d never force that on him.

“We can always get a cat.”

Simon grunts, brows knitting together.

“A dog, then?” 

He sighs, finally turning to look at you, focused and more himself.

“You can have a fish,” he says sternly, but you can hear the teasing edge to his voice. 

“What about a guinea pig?”

“You get one fish.”

“Or something exotic, like a snake?”

“One fish.”

“Two fish? Small ones.”

“…fine.”

You seal it with a kiss on his hand and a wide grin. Simon stares at you as he slides his hand out of your grip and winds it around the back of your neck. He pulls you close, pressing his forehead to yours with a soft bonk.

“Thank you,” he whispers, thumb gently grazing the side of your neck. Two simple words, but a million meanings behind them: thank you for being here, thank you for caring, thank you for understanding, thank you for not pushing. 

“Always,” you return, and you mean it from the deepest depths of your soul. You let him hold you there for another few minutes, waiting until he pulls away first before stepping back.

“You want to go back inside?” you ask and Simon nods, though a bit reluctantly. “Good, 'cause Soap said something about a drinking contest and we should probably interfere before Price’s scouse makes an appearance.”

You reenter the party with Simon right behind you where you’re instantly absorbed into the chaos and drunken merriment of your friends. 

Maybe there’s a distant future where you’ll be celebrating your own child’s first birthday. Or maybe you’ll spend your years in a small house, accompanied by your two fish. Either way, it’ll be spent with Simon, and you’re okay with that.

[valyrfia]

Carlos has to know something right? He still doesnt have a contract, but is saying how he is not rushing. At this point it would be sooo weird if he didnt have any info about a free seat. Not to be a conspiracy girly but at this point lestappengate is getting more and more likely (or something else along those lines) . If they had the ferrari meeting yet fred made the comments that came out today, then nothing is gonna change. No accountability, not admiting that they fucked the car just blaming the drivers. Still experimenting this week, probably screwing over Charles in the process. Im not a tifosa, im a Charles fan I will admit that but at this point he NEEDS to leave that team. Year after year nothing changes.

I've gone back and forth on whether to respond to this ask because I don't want to sound TOO tinfoil, but him 'waiting'....it makes me think that something has happened behind the scenes that makes Carlos think that a Ferrari seat might still be up for grabs. I think it's much more likely that Lewis could only do one year and then retire (esp if Ferrari concentrate everything on getting him an 8th) and that's the high risk gamble that Carlos might be planning for.....but I don't think it's completely crazy to suggest that Lestappen Gate could also be a possible explanation for Carlos moving weirdly.

Looking at this logically, Red Bull have categorically said they don't want him, Mercedes are undecided but especially after Kimi's Silverstone win it's looking more and more likely that Kimi will be in that seat, Aston seats are locked down, McLaren seats are locked down. Unless there's about to be a really crazy silly season shake up we don't know about like: Lewis retiring early, Oscar to Red Bull, Lestappen Gate. It makes NO sense for Carlos not to sign the apparently pretty excellent contract he had with Williams. I think there's something going on BTS we have no clue about and personally...I'm sitting and waiting patiently.

[jenna-ortega]

history of man

pairing - joelmiller x femalereader ratings - 18+ word count - 4k warnings - arranged marriage AU, dubious con(the whole arranged marriage against readers will thing), angst, brat!reader, softdom!joel, kidnapping, jumpscare!david, salt lake but a very different salt lake than the games (aka no cannibalism) , panic attack authors note - thank you for waiting for this! i really hope you enjoy it, no smut in the first chapter :( (ik boooo) but there will be smut to come. cause you know joel miller is nothing if not a seducer of woman. comment, and let me know what you think! lets have a discourse.

SUMMARY - You thought coming to silver lake would be better than your previous QZ living situation. Come to find out, you had more than freedom waiting for you on the other side of the wall. You had Joel Miller, whether you wanted him or not.

series masterlist

Fuck this. Fuck him. They hold you hostage then offer you food and water? This shit doesn’t feel right. Your whole body turns away from him. Pushing the glass further from you as you pout.  “Drink.”  “No.”   “Now. The growl in his voice startles you. For someone who swears they aren’t going to hurt you, it feels a hell of a lot like he is. Your eyes find his, now dark with a scowl on his face.  “I’m not gonna tell ya again, girl.”  You scoff. “What…you’re gonna force me?” 

Nothing you’ve been through thus far could have prepared you for this. 

It’s dark. So, so dark. 

“Get off me!” you screamed while trashing your body in the man's arms. Earning you an elbow to the side that made you groan at the harsh hit. Your body trembling, wishing you could see through the pitch black area ahead. 

You arrived at Silver lake only a short time ago, not realizing how much of a mistake this stop in your long journey would be. You only made it a few hours into nightfall trying to observe the town from the far woods when a bunch of men caught you from behind. Now dragging you across the snowy town and making a scene of it. 

“I will KILL you!” Your empty threats made the man dragging your left arm along laugh, causing you to turn your head and give him a nasty look. 

“Hear that, ted?” the mystery man nodded his head to the man on your right, “we caught a feisty one. Know just who’d like this one…” the men disregarded your attempts at kicking, laughing as they went back and forth as if this was just another day. 

You made it to what looked like some sort of run down restaurant, your brain working over time to think of every possible scenario that could happen here. Worst is you’re dead. Best is they feed you, cloth you, and tell you this was all a prank. But you doubt it’s the latter. 

You huff out a small ouch as you’re being thrown into a makeshift jail cell at the back of the place you surveyed earlier, hitting the grown so hard dust particles float in the bright white light casting above you. 

“Don’t move.” the taller man shouts down at you, 

Your eyes roll at the request, “Nowhere to go in here, jackass.” you cross your arms and death glare at him from below. 

“Fucking bitch,” his hand grabs your hair from in between the bars and drags you to it. Your whole body moved to follow his hand, trying to shield yourself from the pinching pain, 

“HEY!, get off her, man. You know they’ve gotta be in one piece.” the other man warns, thankfully giving your scalp a break from the pull. 

“Whatever.” he scoffs, turning to walk out with his buddy. Both of their backs towards you. You slap the cell bars and scream in frustration. Quickly realizing you needed to figure out your next move. You need to stay alive, you need to get the fuck out of here. Your body pushes itself against the wall, head falling back as you begin to silently cry. Nobody here but you and your thoughts for the foreseeable future. Your head falls against the wall, and your eyes close. Forcing yourself into slumber. 

—

Drool begins to dry on your face before you are suddenly awakened by the loud slam of a door. You gasp, waking up and forgetting this is now where you have been staying. A cold, dirty cell floor. You look up quickly and your eyes find a taller man, one you haven't seen before; walking slowly towards you. You instinctively crawl to the further edge of the cell.

“Stay back.” you warned, as if you had any upper hand in this situation. 

“m’sorry to scare you” the strangers hands raise in defense as he stopped walking towards you. “Just wanted to check on you.” He stands with his arms to his side now. Waiting on your next move. 

“Check on me?” you begin, voice dripping with malice. “I was just kidnapped and thrown into this fucking cell.” his eyes follow your body as you kneel to stand up. Wiping down your pants to get the dust off. Fully standing, now closer to his height. 

His face is flat and stern as he begins to observe how you are acting. Deeply in his own thoughts as he looks down at the ground, only to be brought back by your incessant nagging, 

“HELLO! Can you even hear me?” 

“I want to help you” 

You’re confused by his bold statement, but accept his help by nodding slowly as you walk towards him in your cell.

“You’re not leaving this cell until they think you’re calm enough…and you’re not leaving this town. At least not alive, I’m sorry.” 

“What does that even mean? What do you guys even want from me?” 

“It’s not the right time.” the man turns on his heels and begins walking out, leaving you more pissed than you originally were.

“Please, please don’t leave yet!” you whined,

He turns his head over his shoulder slightly to acknowledge your plea, his back still to you.There is a comfortable silence until he breaks it, “What’s your name?” 

You go back and forth with yourself for a little while, wondering if you should be honest. You have to get out of here, and maybe he is your best bet. If you play nice with him, maybe you can bring his guard down enough to get released and escape. You’ll play this role for now, and you tell him your name in a silent whisper. 

He nods in acknowledgement, and you throw his question back to him. Another silence looming before he breaks it, 

“Joel.” 

—

It’s been hours.

The metallic clang echoed through the dimly lit room as a new man fumbled with rusty keys. You squinted at the sudden sound as he swung the creaking cell door open. His average figure standing at the opening of your cell, beckoning you to come with him.  

“About time," you muttered, rubbing your eyes and standing up.

The man flashed a wry smile, his reddish beard framing weathered features. "Apologies for the delay. We don't get many visitors here in Silver Lake, and security is tight." 

You stay silent as you give him a shy smile. Following him out of the room, and close on his trail as you walk an appropriate distance away from him as he brings you outside. It’s an oddly calm vibe, and you begin to overthink. Is this your chance to run, he’s giving you so much freedom…would he be able to even catch you? He does look kind of older, skinner than the other men you’ve had the pleasure of interacting with. As if he reads your mind, he breaks your thought pattern, 

“Sorry about my guards. They can be protective of this place.” he eyes your bruises, 

“What is this place?”

The man gestured for you to follow again as he led you through town. "Silver Lake is more than just a town. It's a haven for those who survived the apocalypse, a place where people from different walks of life came together to rebuild what was lost."

As you walked, you noticed families huddled in makeshift homes, the sounds of children playing echoing through the air. The aroma of cooking wafted from a communal kitchen, and people greeted you with nods as you both passed.

"It's been a tough journey, but we've managed to create something special here," the man continued. "We have families, we have friends, we’re a community"

“A community that throws people into dark dungeons and leaves them there for days?” you bite back, causing him to stop in his tracks, turning to you. 

“I am very sorry about that. Let’s start over.” he holds his hand out for you to shake, “I’m David. And who might you be?” 

You give him a funny look, face scrunching in disgust, not wanting to do whatever this is. But you remember what Joel had told you. Remember your plan to play along. 

You shook his hand and told him your name, earning a smile from him, “It’s very nice to meet you.” 

The air was thick with a sense of uncertainty the rest of the walk. You both ended up at a rather small house, the look of it just like every single other one. As you approached the house, the wooden boards creaked beneath your feet. The windows, covered with tattered curtains, revealed only glimpses of the dim interior. A sturdy figure with a graying beard stood on the porch, his eyes scrutinizing the surroundings.

"David," Joel called out, a tight smile breaking through the gruff exterior. "Wasn’t expectin’ you so soon." 

“Thought I’d bring her here, have her rest up by you. Get acclimated to the community.” 

You’re confused by David’s words. Was Joel one of his guards? Like the other two men who had caught you? You have so many questions you wanted to ask, but you were insecure. Didn’t know if these were people you could really trust or not, and you just wanted to make it out of here. You had to push through, had to endure whatever the hell this was. Just until you were able to make it out. 

David begins to introduce you both, but Joel raises his hand stopping David’s words– “We’ve met.” 

David looks at Joel in a peculiar way, a way you couldn’t quite decipher yet. Then back at you, grinning widely, “Glad you’re taking this so well, Joel.” he walks back off down the stairs, turning back just once to shout, “You’re in good hands!” 

You sway back and forth slowly, hands crossing over the other as your gaze is glued to the ground. You don’t know what to think, what to do, what to say…

“You can come in.” 

—

You’ve been sitting in silence for the past 30 minutes while Joel is simmering something on the stove. His kitchen table is small, and placed in the corner of his modest sized kitchen. It all looks so..normal. So much like how it was before. You watch Joel as he stirs the big pot, banging the spoon handle on the side to watch the sauce drip back down into the pot. He brings the spoon back down onto the counter, turning towards you to sit. You rip your gaze away from him, pretending you haven’t been observing his every move.

“You’re nervous?” His voice is soft. He is still standing at this point, noticing you flinch as he goes to sit. You get the feeling he isn’t bad…but at this point, you don’t know what to think. You look up at him, biting your lip as you stay silent. 

“m’not gonna hurt you.” he reminds you. Joel grabs a cup from his counter, turning on the faucet and pouring you water. Water. You haven’t seen a stable source of water in…oh god it’s been long. 

Joel takes note of the glint in your eyes as he pours you a cup, taking a deep breath in relief. Seeing you nervous only makes the seed of guilt in his stomach grow. The soft look of fear you’ve had plastered on your face since he’s seen you makes him angry. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have to do this. 

“Here.” He sets the water down in front of you, sitting in the seat next to you. 

Fuck this. Fuck him. They hold you hostage then offer you food and water? This shit doesn’t feel right. Your whole body turns away from him. Pushing the glass further from you as you pout. 

“Drink.” 

“No.”  

“Now.

The growl in his voice startles you. For someone who swears they aren’t going to hurt you, it feels a hell of a lot like he is. Your eyes find his, now dark with a scowl on his face. 

“I’m not gonna tell ya again, girl.” 

You scoff.

“What…you’re gonna force me?” 

“f’i have to.” 

“Then go ahead.” 

You hear him grumble to himself, words that resemble “fucking stubborn.” as he pushes out his chair, pushing it back in roughly. He slams a bowl down on the counter, causing you to gasp. You watch as he scoops a few spoonfuls of food into the bowl, turning abruptly to slam it down in front of you. Rushing off after he does. Leaving you to ponder your own thoughts. You’re looking down at the steamy bowl of what looks like a stew as you hear the front door slam open and closed. He’s left you. Has he gone to tell David about your interaction? Shit. You should have listened to him, you wanted to play this smart. Now for all you know this will be the last bowl of food you’ll have in a while. Will they bring you back down to the cell? Your thoughts frighten you into eating scoops of the food, taking huge gulps of water. Your belly burns from the nutrients you’ve been neglecting yourself for weeks. You sip the last remnants of liquid from the bowl and get up to set it down into the sink. With Joel gone, you were free to roam the house. But you just felt like a scared little mouse, too afraid to disturb anything not familiar. 

You’ve decided against your better judgment to take a look at the place. Just until someone eventually comes back to take you away. 

You look around the living room first, a small brown couch, enough to fit three bodies comfortably sits directly across from a fireplace. A mantle with nothing but dust lays atop of the fireplace, not homey at all. You inspect the room, finding nothing that tells you about the man who left you here. You decide to move on. 

There are 4 stairs that lead up into what looks like a small wing of the house, the last square footage you have left to survey. To your left, a small bathroom. A large tub, one that reminds you of yours from home. Bubble baths and candle lit nights fog your memory. You surprise yourself as you feel water run down your eyes. Tears. Shit. This is all too much. 

Just a few feet down, there’s an empty room with nothing but the sunlight of the open window shining through. Directly across, there’s another room. You break through that doorway and find a bed, a nightstand, and what looks to be a 6 drawer dresser filling the room. So empty, yet you wonder how he lives. You walk towards the drawers, opening up the top left one to find a few pairs of flannels. Of course. You open the top right and find it empty. He must travel light. 

You get bored and begin walking to the bed, sitting atop of it to feel how soft the sheets are. You haven’t sat down on a bed in forever. So comfortable. The sheets stretched over the bed softer than you remember sheets being. The pillows are fluffier than you ever felt. The blanket is so warm…so…inviting. Your body does it before your brain thinks of it. Crawls under the covers. Your head hits the soft pillow, and you feel your eyes closing and your brain settling down. Your shoulders relax into the mattress, and your breathing evens out. You’re gone before you know it. 

…You feel a thump on the bed that startles you awake, darkness engrosses the room and you thrash in bed to find your bearings. 

“Joel?” you rub your eyes and see him standing in front of the bed, you look down to see fresh clothes lying next to you. 

“Take a shower. We got somewhere to be.”

—

You are trying to catch up to Joel as he’s walking ahead of you, “Slow down!” you shouted to him, stumbling over your feet as you grabbed his arm to stay up.

“We’re already late,” 

“For what?” 

He huffs, but begins walking slower for you. Both of you now silently walk into the same restaurant you were kept at just a day ago. Your body goes rigid as you think of all the things that will happen. You fucked up. You did this to yourself, you didn’t follow the—your thoughts pause as you see the place crawling with people. Like a huge get together, chatter and laughs bounce off the walls. It’s so…alive. 

The crowd of people part, and all eyes are now on you and Joel. David at the forefront of the room. “Welcome, Welcome! We’ve been waiting for you two.” he laughs as he walks past the sea of people to you both, grabbing onto Joel’s shoulder and smiling widely,  “Hopefully you were late for a fun reason,” he winks at you two and you shudder, what the fuck was this guy assuming? You rip your hand off Joel’s arm, patting down your dress and making note of all the faces in the room. Your eyes catch the two men from your capture, hand and hand with ladies. How the hell did they land those girls? They were absolute dicks to you. But as you rip those men apart in your head, you notice everyone is coupled up. Kids in the mix as well. Maybe the community wasn’t terrible…seems family oriented at least. 

You follow Joel to the front of the room, wanting to stick by him and not venture off too far. He seemed to be a rigid asshole sometimes, but he was an asshole that didn’t hurt you yet. You stand close to him, arms bumping as you look up at him. He looks down at you, smiling with his eyes turned down, a worried look etched on his face. Maybe he was as anxious at public events as you were. 

“Please, everyone welcome our newcomer into silver lake!” David introduced you by name to the room, the whole room saying hello directly towards you in a cult like manner. 

“Uh–Hi everyone?” you stuttered, heart beating so fast the pounding began to overtake your hearing. 

David’s speech began again, mentioning new updates and new hunts their men had succeeded at. You zoned out again, only brought back to the present by Joel nudging you gently, your head batting to look towards David who had beckoned you to stand on the other side of Joel, sandwiched between the two men. You smiled and nodded, doing as you were told for this one instance. Put on the spot as you got comfortable in your new position, David called upon you, 

“She has been a wonder, ladies and gentlemen. An absolute prize. That’s why I think we should all welcome her with open arms.”

You stood by David's side, feeling the curious eyes of the community upon you. Joel, a stern figure with a rugged exterior, stood nearby. The unease in the room was palpable as David continued his introduction.

"And this, my friends, is a crucial time for us. Unity is our strength, and it's my pleasure to announce that we have a new bond to forge. In the days to come, our friend here will be joining hands with Joel."

Your heart skipped a beat, panic creeping into every fiber of your being. You exchanged a wary glance with Joel, whose expression remained stoic. David's words echoed in your ears like an impending storm.

"Joel," David continued, "our only hermetic guard, will stand as a pillar of strength for our newcomer. Together, they will contribute to the resilience of Silver Lake and ensure the prosperity of our community."

A lump in your throat formed, the weight of the announcement settling in. Arranged marriage—a relic of a bygone era—now thrust upon you in the midst of survival. Your eyes darted between David and Joel, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

"Survival often demands sacrifices," David said, his tone filled with conviction. "And in this new chapter, we come together to build a stronger, more resilient future."

The room buzzed with whispers, but you could only hear the thudding of your own heart. Joel's gaze met yours, and you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes, as if he, too, had been thrust into this against his will.

As the community welcomed you both with a mix of cheers and polite applause, you felt the walls closing in. The air grew heavier, and your breaths quickened. This was worse than the cell. This was worse than your impending death. This was something you could have never seen coming. 

As David's words lingered in the air, a suffocating tension settled over the room. The weight of the announcement hung over you like a dark cloud, and you couldn't bear the collective gaze of the community any longer. Without a word, you turned on your heels and bolted from the room, breaths coming in erratic gasps.

The cold night air hit you as you stumbled into the open, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows over the uneven ground. Panic gripped you like a vise, and you ran blindly through the narrow pathways, seeking solace in the darkness.

"Wait!" Joel's voice echoed behind, his footsteps closing in. You refused to stop, the desperation to escape overwhelming reason. But he caught up, his hand gently gripping your shoulder. "Stop."

You whirled around, chest heaving, eyes wide with fear. "I can't do this, Joel."

He stepped closer, his gaze softening. "None of us asked for this. But we're survivors, and sometimes survival means making tough choices."

You shook your head, the panic escalating. "I won't be someone's pawn. I won't let them control my life."

Joel's expression softened, and he pulled you into a hesitant embrace. "Shh, babygirl, calm down. Running won't change anything."

The unexpected term of endearment caught you off guard, but the gentleness in his voice began to chip away at the walls of panic. You trembled against him, the tension in your body slowly dissipating.

"We can figure this out," he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "You're not alone here. We'll find a way out. Told ya I wouldn’t hurt ya."

You took a shaky breath, the warmth of his embrace offering a strange comfort in the midst of chaos. The reality of your shared predicament began to sink in, and you reluctantly nodded. "I don't want this, Joel.."

He pulled back slightly, locking eyes with you. "I know. You gotta smarten up if you want to survive. No more being stubborn."

You wipe your tears from your cheeks, sniffling as you nod at him. “Okay.” 

“If we want to get out of this together. There are some rules ya gotta follow.” Joel began, surprising you with how fast the gentleness in his tone shifted into something more stern…

“This is not a fairy tale. It's about survival. Our survival."

You nodded, a bitter taste settling in your mouth. The harsh truth of your situation echoed in Joel's words.

"First rule," he continued, his eyes piercing through the darkness. "We stick together. There's safety in numbers, and in this world, trust is a luxury we can't afford. You stay close, and you follow my lead."

You swallowed hard, the gravity of the arrangement sinking in. "Fine," you mumbled, my defiance momentarily subdued.

"Second rule," Joel continued, unfazed. "We present a united front. Whether you like it or not, we're bound by this arrangement. Any sign of discord, and it puts both of us at risk. We can't afford internal conflicts."

You bristled at the demand,  frustration bubbling to the surface. "I didn't sign up for this, Joel. I won't be some indentured servant."

He narrowed his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "You're not the only one dealing with shit. I won’t touch you, I won’t make you any kind of servant. You follow my rules, and you don’t fuck with our chance at getting out. Understand me?"

Reluctantly, you nodded, conceding to the harsh reality that enveloped you.

“I said, do you understand me?” he repeats, expecting an answer from you. 

“I understand,” you whispered to him, lips curving down as you felt tears swell in your eyes.

You met his gaze, defiance flickering. "I won't play house just to appease the crowd."

He sighed, the weariness in his eyes suggesting a history of battles fought and lost. "You don't have to like it, but you have to do it. It's the only way we make it out of this mess alive."

As Joel's rules echoed in the silence that followed, you couldn't shake the feeling that your autonomy had been sacrificed on the altar of survival.

taglist - @joeldjarin @love-affair-with-fandoms @punkshort @movievillainess721 @fragilefable

[musamora]

— 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 + 𝖈𝖍𝖚𝖚𝖞𝖆 ₊˚⊹

pairing: chuuya nakahara (bungou stray dogs) x gender-neutral!reader

content warning(s): usage of strong language, discussions of money, nicknames (doll, love, honey), capitalism

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

One would believe that Chuuya Nakahara, the fearsome gravity-manipulator of the Port Mafia and one of the richest men in Yokohoma, wouldn't care about scrutinizing over labels or sales. It wouldn't matter to him — practically nothing could make a dent in his bank account, and anything that could would be replaced with more money a week later. He had more than most would see in a lifetime.

But you reconsidered this notion as you stood at the entrance of a large shopping center. observing your fiery red-headed boyfriend badger the regional manager over the abnormally increased price of a glassware set.

"You know damn well these only go for a third of the price in the next town over. So what's the fucking deal, eh?"

Anyone watching the scene would have assumed that it was another stuck-up snob harassing a poor sales associate, but you knew better. Chuuya was heavily involved in almost every trade in Yokohama, whether those at the surface knew or not. And while he had no problem draining every last cent out of bastards who spent all their time terrorizing innocent people for money, he would never target an innocent employee like that. It was always the higher-ups skimming off the top of their sales, and it always managed to piss him off. After all, they pay less in production for the products, cut their employees' salaries as low as they can, and take the rest for themselves.

It happened almost each time you went out for a seasonal shopping try. That was a trait of his, calling out bullshit whenever he deems it necessary. And there was no way in hell he would allow people to get in the way of spoiling those he loves — at the reasonable value for the items he's purchasing.

"Come on, doll. We're leavin'."

You promptly left the store in toe, the ginger standing out front in a huff. It wouldn't surprise you if the store appeared on the news in a couple of days, or even hours. You merely cracked a smile, the corners of your lips quivering as they tried to hold back laughter, only for it to spill forth as you attempted to contain it behind a gloved hand.

His brows furrowed, inching closer to catch a look at you as you tried to shield your face. "What'd ya' think is so funny, huh?"

You couldn't restrain yourself any longer, practically making a fool of yourself as you laughed in his face. He looked like a pouting kitten as you both stood in the frigid winter air, his pale cheeks reddened with the wind along with a flush of sheer embarassment. Your laughter ended, or at least attempted to in a handful of unbecoming snorts, swallowing your giggles while catching your breath as his twisting expression on preserved your humor.

"S-Sorry, love. You're just-" you huffed between stammers, grin reaching your eyes as he continued to glare. "Your enthusiasm is unmatched."

He pouted, his persistant scowl looking even cuter with each passing second as he hid his face. "It pisses me off, okay."

You finally calmed your breathing, shuffling around in a vain attempt to catch his gaze through the corner of his eyes, but nothing. So, you pressed a kiss against his cheek, making the peony color bloom into a full rose as he shrunk further into his scarf.

"I looove you, Chuuya," you teased with a smirk. He mumbled something underneath his breath, incoherent with only the wind as his witness. You raised a brow, leaning forward as you tilted your head to look him in the eye.

"What was that, honey? I couldn't hear—"

You melted as he melded his lips into your own, as brief as the life of a snowflake as he pulled away, not looking you in the eyes. Instead, he intertwined his hand with yours, squeezing tight as he obstructed your view of his face.

"I said I love you, too, idiot."

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @hauntedsol @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @aquigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @kotysluny

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[yangsharperavery]

i do find the contrast between body language/nonverbal communication and verbal communication with these two so fascinating.

especially as carmy and sydney navigate each other in a space where there's clearly something that exists between them that one, or both of them, aren't conscious of yet.

as they struggle so significantly with verbal communication, we see the way they use nonverbal communication via their bodies and mannerisms and facial expressions to convey how they feel and what they want.

what sticks out to me is the way that carmy shakes and nods his head when he and sydney are having a serious, intimate or important conversation.

as if he knows himself well enough to know that his verbal agreement or response would fall short so he simply moves his head in affirmation. letting his energy convey the rest.

this is also part of why he uses his gaze and eye contact the way that he does. he's speaking to her without words.

they often stand so close to one another. like... all the time.

in many of their scenes, one could say this is a stylistic or director's choice for the shot but that makes zero sense because the shots with everyone else don't have that level of physical closeness except for some of the obvious kitchen (behind!) scenes. carmy and sydney's closeness is almost tactile even though they only touch a handful of times.

which is why the wall tear down scene is so amusing because they literally had no reason to be in each others face like that.

carmy got in her space, looked at the demo/the guys before he turned back to sydney, but she only moved away from him after they made eye contact and she said "yeah, exactly".

as if it was super normal for him to be that close to her, whether he was looking at her or not.

the under the table moment is incredibly intimate for a number of reasons. they're already incredibly close because there's not a lot of space under there, but not only do they situate and move their bodies within the confines of that space notating physical proximity, carmy reaches out and fiddles with her side of the table, which posits her energetically directly underneath him. not just beside him.

conceptually, that is almost the closest he could be to her without actively touching her.

nevermind that moments later his fidgeting hand starts to quicken when she looks up at him and they have that moment of prolonged eye contact.

again, a form of nonverbal communication practically shouting. she can't see his hand, but we do.

the wordlessness of that particular moment, especially after they had managed to say some of the most vulnerable, affirming and comforting phrases they'd ever uttered to one another up to that point (their best verbal communication yet), is pretty extraordinary.

when they're talking about the veal fat in s1, and she's reaching over her head and says the right answer and he turns to look at her, they're SO physically close.

when they're cooking at his apt and he's cutting tape, he's so physically close to her, his shoulder is practically leaning into hers when she teases him about the chef's whites.

even in the meeting with cicero, if you look at the three of them sitting behind the table, sydney is closer to carmy than nat and carmy has his arm out, mere centimeters from sydney's elbow.

before they start their back and forth about stars, when sydney says "we're going to be better", their arms are practically touching.

even when she's walking out after saying goodnight and carmy gitches, she walks so close to him to leave. his body fully turns to accommodate and follow her energy, she almost literally physically brushes past him.

claire kind of moves out of the way but sydney walks into carmy's space and he moves his focus/attention with her as she exits.

if you watch it happen, he acquiesces to her energy and presence like a human revolving door. again, nonverbal communication.

the doorframe isn't that narrow. she could have easily said whatever polite thing to claire and not gotten THAT close to carmy to say "i'm saying goodnight."

there are a bunch of examples of their physical closeness that doesn't make sense outside of gravitational pull, a desire to be that close to one another and nonverbal communication.

sydney's body language after the under the table moment and before receiving her gift is also a huge tell, even though it's not directed at, or meant to be communicative towards, him. she's clearly impacted by what occurred.

of the two, i think sydney is the closest to realizing that what exists between them is far beyond professional likeness, purpose or partnership.

the way she's obviously trying not to get mad at him when she says "well tell claire thanks then", you physically can see her stuffing something down.

even carmy can see it, he says something about it. sydney actually does this alot with carmy specifically, ayo is so damn skilled at it.

we've seen her get mean or be reactionary with richie, tina and marcus.

but never carmy. even when she walked out on him s1, in the midst of a highly emotionally volatile scene, she didn't raise her voice.

that's why she doesn't argue with or lash out at carmy, even though it's often warranted, she doesn't want to hurt him. doesn't want to make him feel bad. doesn't want to be angry or annoyed with him.

but why? she has no problem being upfront and direct and again, even argumentative if she needs to be. but never with carmy.

to me, it seems like she doesn't want to display too much emotion with or in front of him.

but why? does the range and depth of those emotions scare her? are they messy? are they warranted? are they illuminating?

sydney is very protective of carmy (and of herself emotionally). see how she reacts when richie talks shit or when her father questions her trust in him. or even when nat makes that snide remark after he gets locked in the walk in.

she cares a lot about carmy's emotional and mental fragility and feelings.

when she came back to "get her check" they don't hash it out or fight. he just stares at her, with this unbridled relief that he can't articulate but we all see it! it's so obvious he can't even start speaking right away.

and then he launches into talking about the dining space for a new restaurant and she forgot why she was mad.

it's like when the person you have a crush on does something cute or sweet and the dumb or mean thing they did right before it completely leaves your mind.

none of this is written in the dialogue of this show. it's all nonverbal communication, toward each other or to us, the audience.

[etherfall]

What does N call Alder? I think a cute fanfic idea would be the first time he calls Alder his dad, whether it's to his face or like, "my dad told me..."

I've got a little story just for this moment, hope you enjoy!

“Alder!”

Alder, who was sitting at the front entrance to their home, turned his head at the sound to see N excitedly bounding across the grass with his poncho trailing behind him. 

It had been a few months since he first found N in the woods. To Alder’s delight he was adjusting very well, and was now incredibly comfortable being in his home. For the first few weeks N didn’t speak. Alder was initially worried that his critical period for language learning had passed, but N was very smart and quickly picked up English.

N’s old shirt and pants had been replaced with a cream-colored poncho embroidered with gold lace that Alder had spent all night painstakingly sewing. Although he had lost many nights of sleep, it was worth it to see N’s smile of happiness as he slipped the new poncho across his shoulders. It felt good to be taking care of somebody again.

N stumbled to a stop, panting as he caught his breath. Alder let out a chuckle, amused.

“Slow down there N, what happened?”

N tugged on his hand excitedly. “Alder you have to see this!”

Alder stood up from the front steps of the house and let N lead him into the forest. “Where are we going? You still haven’t told me what’s happening.”

“Shhhh!” N said, hushing him. Alder smiled and closed his lips, letting the boy lead him deeper into the woods.

When they had gotten a good distance from the house N suddenly crouched down, pulling Alder into the bushes with him. He pointed into the brambles, wide-eyed and awed. 

“Look!”

Alder squinted, trying to see what N was pointing at. His eyesight had definitely waned over the years, but he eventually made out the figure of a Sawsbuck who was followed by a group of Deerling. 

It was truly a sight to behold. The great Sawsbuck held itself majestically, blinking slowly as it turned its head. The dapple of soft forest light scattered across its brown fur in a beautiful display of pattern. It would have blended in perfectly with the surrounding trees if not for the crowd of bright pink spring Deerling that were bouncing back and forth at its feet. Alder let out a breath of deep admiration. It was always a breathtaking scene to see such a beautiful creature in the wild.

The Sawsbuck dipped its head to calm the excited group of Deerling, nuzzling one softly with its nose. The Deerling wiggled its tail, letting out a happy bleat of excitement. The Sawsbuck lifted itself up regally and began to trot away into the woods, with the Deerling following behind. Soon they disappeared into the thick tangle of the forest.

Alder was beaming. The Sawsbuck was a great surprise to see. When they were both sure the pokemon were gone, Alder stood up and brushed the dirt off of his pants.

“That was a really beautiful thing you found, N. Did you see all those Deerling? That Sawsbuck is one busy dad.” He said with a chuckle.

N stood up as well, his expression of awe shifting to one of confusion.

“Wait, what’s a dad?” He asked, puzzled.

Alder silently face-palmed himself. He had completely forgotten that N had a very different upbringing than other people. He racked his brain for a quick explanation.

“Err…well I suppose you could say that a dad is a parent who raises you and cares for you.”

Alder gestured towards the forest where the Sawsbuck had disappeared. 

“That Sawsbuck we just saw is the dad to all those young Deerling. He cares for them and makes sure that they are all safe.”

Alder could see the gears in N’s head turning. He tried to clarify it a little more.

“Pretty much everyone has a dad, and their job is to look out for you as you grow up. Whether that be, let's say, making you food or teaching you how the world works. A dad doesn’t have to be related to you by blood, but he should be there to support you.”

N brightened in understanding, then turned his head to look at Alder. 

“Wait, that means that I should call you dad!”

Alder paused, stunned by the sudden response. “I…what?”

“Well you made me dinner every day, you gave me a home when it was raining, and you made me new clothes!” He said, excitedly lifting up an arm to show off the poncho. “You taught me about things I didn’t know and took care of me.”

N nodded to himself, beaming, oblivious to the fact that he was making Alder melt with happiness. He turned his head back towards the forest, looking out at where the pokemon had disappeared. A small smile hung on his lips.

“If you say that everyone has a dad, then you must be mine.” He murmured, tilting his head to look at Alder. “Right?”

Alder felt his heart twist. A complicated feeling of delight and sadness tore cruelly at his heartstrings.

“Oh N… A dad can be anyone, as long as you believe they care for you enough.”

N wrapped his arms around Alder’s waist, repeating the word a few more times, before burying his head into the folds of Alder’s poncho with a soft smile on his face.

“I like that. I think that I will call you dad.”

Alder felt as if he might start bawling. He tucked one hand around N’s shoulders, pulling him close. He pressed his other hand against his heart, turning his head to look down at N, trying to capture the moment forever in his mind.

“You can call me whatever you want N, but I feel very honored that you would choose to call me your dad.”

They stood together in the embrace, basking in the warm evening light. Alder turned his head away, feeling his heart flip with so many complicated emotions that had been dormant for years. He didn’t know if N knew the weight of the words that he had just said, but all he hoped for in the moment was that N was feeling comforted and loved. After a while Alder gently let go of N, giving him a bright smile.

“It’s starting to get late. Let’s head home now, son.”

N looked confused again. “Son? What’s a son?”

Alder laughed, ruffling N’s hair before gently taking his hand and leading him out of the bushes towards their house. The fading tendrils of the afternoon sun danced across their ponchos as they made their way through the woods together.

“That’s a name that I would call you N, the person whom the dad loves and cares for the most.”

[juppl]

TWST Silver x reader Hcs

Okay okay it’s been stuck in my head and I really need to just write it out or else my head will fucking implode because I love this beautiful boy wayyyyy too much. Like I imagine a cute little romance where the reader is absolutely heart-struck for Silver.

He could be training outside whether it be by himself or with someone like Sebek, and you would just be there cooing and squealing on the sides.

“I should start charging you with how much you just come here to ogle.” Lilia teased as he looked back and forth between you and his son. You could only respond with quiet yet long set of giggles as you tried to fan the heat away from your face. Your heart quickening it’s pace just at the sight of Silver glancing your way only to return back to his spar.

The times you would quite literally chase after him in the hallways just to give him gifts or to just profess your love again.

“Wait!! Please Silver just one chance I’m begging you!” You shouted with an exhausted tone, the difference between yours and Silver’s stamina was quite apparent as you grew tired after running past only three classrooms. Pure stubbornness and love were the only things keeping your feet moving to try and catch up. This became a common occurrence in the hallways, making it a bit of a jest to some students witnessing the scene. “When do you think she’ll get tired of running?” Deuce asked, “five minutes ago.” Ace sighed.

You’d mope around whenever you lost sight of him or get politely rejected once again.

Grim would wack you repeatedly to get you to focus and not get your tears stained on you work again. “Henchman stop crying while you write, the papers are getting all wet because of you!” “He’ll never love me at this rate…” you sobbed as you began to finish up your class work.

Diasomnia would poke fun at Silver whenever another confession letter (more so a desperate plea) would wind up in his hands again.

“Please please please please please, I’m a wonderful person to be in a relationship with dare I say the best!-”with you listing off the multiple reasons as to why you were, the best. The letters he would sometimes share with his father or even Malleus, sighing as he was always met with their hearty laughs. He continued to read all your letters that came in even if he knew what would most likely be written in them, and dare I say growing to like them. A warm grin appearing on Lilia’s lips as he watched a small flustered smile form on Silver’s, hidden behind an unopened envelope he held.

Your excitement whenever you do get the chance to be near or work with him.

You tried your best to control yourself from physically vibrating with excitement as you got to sit next to Silver at lunch (after pushing Sebek out the way). Though, you did forget to eat your lunch from how much you were gazing at him, earning a few gags from Sebek. “Would there happen to be something on my face?” Silver asked genuinely as her grazed his fingers along his cheek and lips to try and find some sort of food. You could only laugh softly before responding warmly, “You’re just so pretty it’s hard to not just stare.” Your gaze softened as you watched a pink hue grow on his cheeks. This time Grim gagged.

You being bamboozled when Silver is the one to make the first move instead, leaving passerby even more shell shocked.

“You’re… You’re free after this class right? Would you want to go out somewhere then—if it isn’t much to ask of course…” Silver mumbled the last part, his familiar pink tint gracing his cheeks again. In comparison to your face though, you were left completely pale. You weren’t happen to be dreaming again were you??? After a minute to process his offer you shoot to grabbing his hands as you jumped to him with excitement. “Of course!” Stars practically replacing your eyes as steam rose from your overheated red cheeks.

[armageddidnt]

Okay I’ve also been reading a lot of discourse on the spiked coffee theory and some of it makes sense and some of it is just confusing, but at the end, Aziraphale just looks so suspiciously conflicted, I feel like there has to be something happening beyond his feelings toward Crowley and leaving him behind. Initially, Aziraphale seems concerned and reluctant about leaving his bookshop

But then, after a few seconds of thinking, he seems to have a change of heart and is prepared to leave again 

He just seems to go back and forth more than once about whether or not he actually wants to leave. As soon as he’s about to say something against going to Heaven, it’s almost like there’s an internal voice that realigns his priorities 

Then when the Metatron reveals the name of the next stage in Heaven’s Great Plan, Aziraphale clearly seems disturbed by this information. But after a few seconds of thinking, he seems to push all that aside and accept his new place in Heaven again 

Everyone’s been pointing out the connection between the almond syrup in the coffee and cyanide, so there’s a possibility that the Metatron gave something to Aziraphale that did something to his behavior. Because I think he looks so conflicted in this scene, beyond just trying to convince himself that going to Heaven is the right choice. It almost seems like he’s trying to resist something and whatever that something is keeps reasserting itself.

Even after deciding to get in the elevator, he still looks so anxious and divided about his choice. This season has been so phenomenal, it’s like impossible to know if this is just Michael doing some really good acting or dropping hints that there’s something less obvious going on. I just really would not be surprised if it turns out Aziraphale was not completely in control of his actions here. 

[tsukana]

this is a vent post, from the pov of someone who does not main BBH and views his actions as an outsider who mains others on the island. this is tagged for neg and crit. i am NOT inviting bbh mains for their opinions on my post. thanks.

in my personal opinion. i am so incredibly done with whatever bbh's current lore 'arc' is rn that has him somehow canonizing in his opinion being on both purgatory and the island. to my knowledge, he's somehow split himself into two separate entities that have knowledge of the going ons?? and this isnt just limited to him as bagi, tubbo, and etoiles are all also doing it as well, but in my view he is the most culpable for actually causing 'canon' impacts on those still on the island NOT in purg2 despite that they were kidnapped.

i /extremely/ disagree with whatever justification he had on telling richarlyson and pomme yesterday they were at purgatory, while seemingly lighthearted going back and forth between quesadilla island and purgatory like its no issue. the implications of it?? does he realise that by doing this he's making it seem like its not a big deal to get back to the island and that those left behind like cellbit and baghera are voluntarily doing so and abandoning their kid and making an active choice?? when just today he came back during an intermission for 1v1s during the purgatory event and IMMEDIATELY started talking about purgatory and said to sunny "i saw your dad today!" as if sunny and tubbo didnt have an entire sad goodbye scene (which they did justify as canon, no matter my own opinion on that matter which i wont get into). but like. i understand that the admins have said that the players can choose whether or not purgatory 2 is canon to their lore or not. and more eloquent people than i have explained reasonings that i agree with on why i don't think that's a good idea for keeping a cohesive main plot between everyone- but. i think if theyre going to be in purgatory and make purgatory /canon to their lore/ that should have consequences and effects and like if they were able to that easily go back and forth from purgatory which has been CONFIRMED THE SAME ISLAND AS THE FIRST ONE, why was the first purgatory even a big deal at all. it completely retcons the importance of it to everyones lore as a side effect.

i think if the purg2 players decide that purg2 isnt canon for them and come back to the island to hang out and chill, good for them and i hope their lore conforms with that! but if youve decided that purg2 is CANON to their lore that should have an appropriate impact, and by implying its so such a simple thing to go to and from purgatory, it's completely minimizing the actual effect it would have on his own lore and the lore of others that have chosen to canonize. i dont begrudge them for logging back onto the main server to hang with friends, but does that make sense that your character would have full knowledge of whats happened in whats supposed to be an emotionally draining isolated island???

that last paragraph was supposed to be a tldr but i kept going. real tldr; if players decide purg2 isnt canon to them power to them. if it IS canon, then anything from the island should NOT be brought up in an rp conversation on the main island later on until purg2 is over??

[ofthehands]

I think another, often overlooked aspect of Drayton’s parenting that would have been detrimental to his brothers and formative for them is his inconsistency. It’s probably less discussed because it’s more subtle and inconsistent parenting isn’t necessarily abusive, but I think it is worth considering/ exploring with these characters. 

Heads up for discussion of abuse/ unhealthy family dynamics. 

Drayton is shown to be a very inconsistent man, primarily in the first film but in the second as well. He’s sadistic in the scene where he has Sally in the truck with him, stabbing her with the broom handle for fun, and in the dinner scene at points, where he seems to be enjoying his brother’s antics- then he abruptly turns and snaps at them, telling them not to “torture the poor girl”. He’s fine with the family living in filth- he doesn’t complain about things like the room with the chicken in it being covered in feathers or the rotting flesh and taxidermy around them or the corpses they keep in the house- until he turns and snaps at Bubba for not having pride in his home and beats him for breaking the door. He talks on and on about how family comes first, and insists his brothers live by this- with their near worship of Grandpa and lack of outside connections and his anger at Bubba for his perceived relationship with Stretch, but at the same time he isn’t supportive of his brothers and only very rarely indulges them in their interests or listens to them. And while it’s a goofy scene, because of the nature of TCM2, Drayton does ultimately commit murder-suicide, taking out nearly his entire family with him- without any visible concern as to whether or not Chop Top will be present when it happens, leaving him behind. 

All of this makes sense with what we know about Drayton’s character- he’s inconsistent because he’s in conflict with himself. Drayton goes back and forth about being sadistic towards Sally because he likes it, but feels ashamed about that. In Chainsaw Confidential, Gunnar Hansen said that Hooper wanted to get across that, “[Drayton] seems to enjoy torturing her and, at the same time, to be afraid that the torture will produce some terrible reaction with which he will be unable to cope” in the dinner scene, and Hansen describes him as afraid of his own sadistic desires. He also probably cares and doesn’t care about the house because of his own waxing and waning lucidity. He’s also shown to be the most lucid of the Sawyers- running multiple businesses and interacting mostly normally with strangers, but at the same time his priorities and perceptions of the world are shown to be skewed in odd ways. He runs back in to turn the lights off with a hostage in his truck, he misunderstands Bubba’s infatuation with Stretch as her coming on to his little brother, and he thinks Lefty was sent by another catering business and could be payed off despite witnessing evidence of dozens of murders and witnessing their attempted murder of Stretch right at that moment. 

But, no matter what’s going on in his head, his inconsistency is going to create a very confusing and disorienting environment for his little brothers to grow up in. Consistency is very important in parenting- especially in children’s formative years. The younger Sawyers would have, in this time, dealt with both whatever changes took their parents out of the picture, and Drayton’s erratic behavior. Children with inconsistent parents are often more easily agitated, more anxious, and struggle more with regulating their emotions and behaviors than their peers. They have also been shown to have difficulty with self-doubt, self-esteem issues, and inconsistency in extreme cases can even impact a young person’s development of their identity.  Which, when coupled with the physical and verbal abuse they clearly endured, really didn’t give the younger Sawyers much of a chance. Much of this is very evident in the twins- they’re both easily agitated and seem to struggle with emotional and behavioral regulation. Bubba shows it too, but in different ways. He’s often anxious and seems to doubt himself when he’s left alone- as shown in the scene after he kills Jerry when he’s panicking and unsure of what to do. Bubba also, very famously, has identity issues that are explained in depth in Chainsaw Confidential and brought up in interviews. 

Of course there are aspects of these characters that explain these traits and behaviors- the brothers’ different disabilities coming to mind quickly- but I think even in situations where the primary reasoning for the behavior is something else, the impacts of Drayton’s inconsistent parenting style could come into play by exacerbating their existing issues. It also undoubtedly causes and worsens tension between Drayton and his brothers. With how inconsistent Drayton is, his brothers likely don’t know what behaviors will get them punished and what won’t- because it varies. Of course, there are some sure-fire ways to get punished, like disobeying something Drayton tells them directly- for instance Nubbins leaving behind Bubba and going to the graveyard. But other things, like Bubba cutting through the door in pursuit of Sally are more variable. Clearly Drayton wanted Bubba to catch all the kids no matter what- Bubba only manages to escape a beating after convincing Drayton he did. But, then in spite of the importance of letting no one get away, and Drayton’s general lack of care for their home- Drayton gets angry with Bubba for not taking pride in his home and starts berating him for that instead. This seems to be frustrating for Nubbins, who snaps at Drayton when he tries to stop them from tormenting Sally- saying he never lets them have any fun- and it seems to be frightening for Bubba- who cowers and tries to explain himself almost the moment Drayton walks through the door.Ultimately, Drayton’s inconsistent parenting style compounds on the problems the Sawyers have, entrenching them further and further in unhealthy behaviors and worsening the effects of his abuse. 

It’s sad, really, and more likely than not a manifestation of the cycle of abuse continuing its way down the Sawyer line. I don’t think its much of a reach to conclude that Drayton parents the way he does because that’s what he knows/ what he experienced to some degree. I’m not sure where to end this exactly. I wanna do some properly sourced and in depth analysis of them in the future, but tonight is not that night. I just had this idea in my head and needed to write it all down before it escaped me. I just think it’s sorrowful and fascinating the way that they never even had a chance.  

Source below is a study/ analysis of the effects of consistency in parenting I found useful when writing this. There’s a lot more literature on this, but this one condenses it pretty well. 

[eridanidreams]

Sunday Snippet

tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour, @artemis-crimson, and @constellation2330

Tags are friendly, as usual--post if you want, read if you want!

from *stars through my fingers like grains of sand*

Sam swung back and forth in his chair, staring at the two slates lying haphazardly on the console—both needing to be dealt with, and neither one calculated to make him feel good about the world. He picked up one of the slates with the same care he'd give an alien beast with far too many teeth, even though he already knew what it said.

From: Daniel Blake To: Sam Coe You have a good eye. Your friend's shaping up to be a fine Ranger—she's got smarts and guts and her heart's in the right place. Problem is, she's stepped in something that's way too big for her. You know what happened out on Andromas III. Hell, you were there—God knows Pryce was bitching up a storm about you asking for classified information—but the way I figure it, you had cause. Point being, you know someone's gunning for Rangers. Emma tells me you helped take down the First on Montara Luna, so you also know about the bank robbery being just a distraction for something bigger. And Lynch is right in the middle of it. She'll follow that case wherever it leads her—I know the type. Hell, I was the type. And right now, fifty years of experience is telling me that whoever she finds at the end of that trail ain't going to go down easily, and they ain't going to go down quietly. Don't know if she told you, but she made a damned good point about Rangers going off solo after the Mosquera thing. Problem is, that applies to her, too, and right now there's no other Ranger I can peel off to partner with her. And I sure as hell can't rein in the rest of my hotheads if I'm not doing the same to the damn rookie. Which brings me to you. I know why you left. You weren't real happy even before Cora was born, what with Lillian pushing you into all those ugly undercover jobs. Emma told her it was going to backfire on her, but she just wouldn't listen. And you were even less happy sitting behind a desk, even if it gave you all the time with little Cora that you could want. Things have changed, Sam. And it may stick in both our craws to have to admit it, but you're needed. Lynch needs someone who can be the eyes in the back of her head when she's got the bit in her teeth, and someone willing to do what it takes to protect her. You were always good at bringing a partner back home. And hell, you're practically glued to her back already. I won't lie, we lost a good man when you stepped down. And I won't pretend that it wouldn't make me a happy man to see you put the badge back on. But it ain't about me. There's a bigger picture here. Think about it. P.S. Tell Lynch the answer to her question is Diego.

Sam swore under his breath. Anyone else, he'd just wipe the slate and be done with it, but Blake—he respected that old man. The only reason he'd gotten out of the Rangers as easily as he had was because Blake hadn't opposed it. Had quietly unruffled some feathers behind the scenes, most like. He owed the man, whether the Marshal knew it or not. But did he owe him that much?

He tossed the slate back on the console. That one only threatened to upend his life; the other would definitely upend Cait's. Again. He let out a heavy sigh. She tried so hard, but she was struggling under the weight of power and the shadow of her past—Jesus, even his love was a burden on her sometimes, and that broke his goddamned heart every time he saw it happen. He wanted to sit on the news for awhile, until she was a little less overwhelmed—but she'd made it crystal clear how she felt about him trying to protect her from herself. And she wasn't wrong to feel that way, even if it made that primitive little part of his brain gibber in frustration.

He snatched the second slate up, re-reading it to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

From: Ari Miller To: Sam Coe I looked into that matter we discussed last week. Discreetly. While officially we don't have access to UC records, there's always the unofficial channels. Sooner or later everyone asks the Clinic for help, and we keep good records. Thing is, New Atlantis doesn't tend to get hit by xenodiseases. The native microbial life is different enough that it hasn't gotten a foothold in Earth-descended plants and animals—knock wood—and their spaceport's had top-of-the-line biosensors since before the Colony War—well, with all their xenowarfare experiments, that's no surprise. Anyway, according to my source, the Well does have fairly frequent breakouts of disease, but they're mutated Earth bugs. There's nothing that would suggest a cover-up—no unexplained gaps, no data that's too clean, nothing. The records are legit—there was no xenodisease in New Atlantis, in or out of the Well, between 2310 and 2315. Sorry to come up dry, and best of luck in your investigation!

Sam tapped the edge of the slate against his palm, thinking hard, then tucked it into his jacket. The problem was that they had so little to go on—Cait's memories had been tortured into unreliability, and the best guess anyone had was sometime around the end of the war. It looked as if the answers they needed were in Neon, and Sam didn't want to put Cait through that. Not now. Bad enough he was going to have to tell her that one of her foundational memories was a lie—he had no idea how she would take it.