#its old and kind of neglected but i can fix it up :]
Text
summary: one shot AU. It's a hot day and Joel Miller has been contracted to fix up your garden.
warnings: dark!Joel, pervy Joel, voyeurism, masturbation, innocent reader.
It was hot outside and the air conditioner in the truck wasn't working again. It always shit itself in the summer. He had the driver's seat window rolled all the way down with his elbow bent and resting on the window ledge, hand clutching the wheel. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up his thick tanned forearms. His other hand was nursing half a can of beer by the crotch of his grass stained jeans. Landscaping in this weather was thirsty work.
The truck rumbled slowly down the quiet street until it came to a stop outside a small white picket fence. The front yard was overgrown with thick green grass and tangles of weeds, the result of several months of neglect from the previous owners of the house.
Joel parked the truck infront of the gate and switched off the ignition. He stayed seated in the truck and took a moment to survey the exterior of the property. It was a small house, nothing fancy. It looked old and rundown, in desperate need of a coat of paint.
He finished the last dregs of his beer and tossed the can over his shoulder into the backseat. With a grumbling sigh Joel peeled himself off of the vinyl seat of the truck and got out of the vehicle. He sauntered up to the gate to enter the yard, almost ripping it off of its rusty hinges when he pushed it open.
Who the fuck lives here, he wondered.
The real estate agent who sold the house had booked him to do this job, so he really had no idea if anyone was going to be home while he cleaned up the yard. It didn't bother him though. He preferred to work alone without someone looking over his shoulder. He especially hated working a job for rich folks, the kind of people that eyed him with barely disguised disdain while he broke his back taking care of the lawns and shrubs that they couldn't be bothered maintaining themselves.
Joel lumbered through the mass of grass and made his way to the porch. There was evidence that someone had been here trying to clean up the place; a broom leaning against the brick wall by the door, a new looking welcome mat sitting at its feet, the porch swept clean of any debris.
He rapped on the door with his fist and stood back to wait to see if anyone was home. He waited a few moments but impatience was already setting in, exacerbated by the heat of the sun. He wanted to get the job over and done with already, to just call it quits for the day and fuck off to his favourite bar. It was too hot to deal with this shit.
Joel was about to turn around and just get started on cutting the grass when the front door creaked open. He didn't know who he was expecting to greet him, but he definitely wasn't expecting you. You, dressed in a summery white dress that stopped just above your knees, the soft skin of your bare legs and feet on display. Your hair was loose and wisps clung to your sweaty forehead. Beads of sweat shimmered on the swell of your cleavage. You smiled at him as you greeted him with a courteous hello, your voice sweet and airy and going straight to his cock. He had to make a conscious effort to avert his eyes from wandering all over your curves. He looked down at his feet and shuffled a little on the spot.
Joel put his hands on his hips and cleared his throat. "Afternoon, ma'am. I'm here to do your yard. Treylore Real Estate contacted me a few days ago."
"Yes, ofcourse," you chirped. "I just bought the place and they hadn't organised a gardener beforehand. But that's okay, I'm still moving my stuff in."
Joel nodded once. "I'll get started now, let ya know when I finish up."
"Sure. What's your name?" You asked.
Joel glanced up at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Usually clients didn't give a shit about his name or introducing themselves. But ofcourse you weren't like the others. He could see that straight away.
"Joel." He murmured.
"Nice to meet you, Joel." You smiled brightly and introduced yourself.
You apologised for not shaking his hand, holding up your own hands to show your palms smudged with black grease, explaining that you were tinkering with the air conditioner inside.
Not only did you look like an angel, but you had the name of one, too. Fucking gorgeous.
"Alright then," Joel mumbled gruffly, nodding once more before turning around to go get the lawn mower from his truck.
He hoped that you wouldn't stay outside, that you'd retreat back into the house and not distract him. How the hell was he going to concentrate on mowing the lawn and doing his job with you around?
When Joel returned to the yard with the mower and his gardening gloves, he was relieved to see you had disappeared back inside and shut the front door. Thank fuck for that. Joel fired up the mower and got to work.
He got half way done cutting the grass and weeds when you came waltzing out again, your dress swishing around your thighs, carrying a tall glass of lemonade with ice cubes that clinked against the glass as you moved. Joel was crouched down tugging a nuisance weed from the ground when you approached him. His thick forearms flexed in the sun and sweat was beaded along his forehead. He didn't notice your presence until you came to stand a foot away from him. You were still barefooted.
"Hi again," you said. "It's so hot out here, I thought you might like something cool."
Joel craned his neck to peer up at you, eyebrow cocked. Not only were you polite, but now you were offering him a drink? This was a first.
"It's lemonade," you clarified shyly. "Home-made."
Joel's eyes slowly trailed down your body and stopped when he saw your thighs were level with his face. Oh, what he would give to have them wrapped around his head right now.
Joel slowly ascended from the ground, knees cracking, and stood straight and tall beside you. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his dirty hands on it, then wiped the sweat from his brow with it. He stuffed it back in his jeans and accepted the glass from your outstretched hand.
"Thank you kindly, ma'am." Joel said, staring down at you.
The condensation on the glass felt soothing on his calloused fingers. He finished the drink in two big gulps. It was sticky and sweet and instantly refreshing. He handed you back the glass.
"You're welcome."
Joel watched you scamper away back into the house, admiring the shape of your ass. He clenched his jaw and brushed his palm over the the bulge of his half hard cock.
Why were you being so friendly? Were you purposely teasing him or something? Why else would you be prancing around in a sweet little dress infront of him, offering him your name and a cold drink?
Joel had to shake his head to rid himself of these thoughts. He needed to concentrate on the job and not think about your thighs and pretty face. He needed the money too, so it was important that he do a damn good job with your garden.
He started up the mower again and continued on with the landscaping.
Joel busted his ass to get the lawn manicured and the garden weeded. After he was sure that he had sufficiently completed the tasks, Joel then loaded the mower and his equipment back into the truck.
His shirt clung to his skin uncomfortably, his body drenched with sweat. He just wanted to get in his truck and drive off but he knew he had to be courteous and say goodbye to you.
Joel trudged up to the door to knock but saw that it was already open. He rapt a knuckle on the wood and took a tentative step over the threshold.
"Ma'am?" He called out. "I'm finished out here now."
There came no response from inside the house. Joel waited for a little bit before calling out once again.
"Hello?"
He knew he shouldn't be entering your home but for some reason he couldn't stop himself. He was being pulled into your space by some invisible compulsion.
What if you had fallen asleep and he had just left? Anyone with bad intentions could just come walking through your door. What kind of gentleman would he be to let that happen?
Joel sauntered to the small living room and took a glance to see if you were there, but all he found were stacks of taped up cardboard boxes and a dusty couch. He wandered into your kitchen but there was no sign of you there, either - just more boxes and a cutting board surrounded by lemons and half a jug of lemonade.
Where the hell were you?
Joel didn't bother to call out to you as he drifted throughout the house. There was something thrilling about being in your home without knowing exactly where you were, as if he were hunting you down. His heart beat picked up in his chest when he heard faint sounds coming from down the hallway.
Joel crept closer to the noise and recognised where it was coming from almost immediately. You were in the bathroom, the sound of spraying water echoing from behind door that you had left ajar. You were humming, a soft and sweet muffled sound from your throat.
Fuck, you were showering.
The mere thought of you naked made Joel's cock began to thicken in his jeans. He swallowed thickly and came to a pause outside the bathroom door.
He shouldn't be here. He's invading your privacy and being a fucking creep. A better man would leave a note or some shit, or would atleast wait for you to finish and come outside. But Joel is not a good man. He cannot stop himself; and truthfully, he doesn't want to.
Joel peered through the crack in the door and had to stifle the moan crawling up his throat when he saw your naked body behind the shower glass. You had your eyes closed and your head tilted back as the water cascaded down your round breasts and over your soft stomach, down to the mound of your beautiful pussy.
Joel's tongue darted out to lick at his plush bottom lip as his eyes roamed hungrily over your curves. He cannot remember the last time he had a woman as stunning as you are - and here you are now, naked before him like it's his own personal strip show.
His hand subconsciously started to palm the bulge in pants. Maybe you did this on purpose. Maybe you left both doors open as an unspoken invitation for him to come and join you. For all he knows, you are a massive slut who is begging for his attention.
Fuck it.
Joel hurriedly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before pulling his hard cock out from his underwear, the head already leaking with his precum. You continued to hum and enjoy the feeling of the water streaming over your naked form while Joel closed his fist around his throbbing length.
Oh yeah, you're a nasty fucking slut, alright. You probably get off on teasing guys like him all the time. You probably act all innocent and sweet and then beg to get fucked like a cheap whore.
Joel began to stroke himself, staring intently at the plush slopes of your body and the way your hands trailed over your skin. You turned around, your back facing him, and he inhaled deeply at the sight of your perfect ass. He jerked his cock faster, the squelching and smacking of his actions drowned out by the roar of the shower water hitting the tiles.
Joel imagines himself sneaking up behind you right now. He would quickly wrap his arm around your chest and clamp his hand over your mouth. You would squeal in shock and instinctively writh in panic but he'd make sure you couldn't get away, no matter how much you wriggled.
"Sssh, darlin', ain't gonna hurt you now," he would coo into the shell of your ear.
He would waste no time sinking his fat dick into you and drilling you mercilessly against the shower wall. You would cry under his heavy palm but eventually surrender, unable to do anything but get railed while pinned by his strong frame.
Your pussy would feel so fucking tight and warm, there's no way he would pull out. No, he would shoot his load so deep inside you that you'd be dripping for fucking days afterward.
The thought is too much for Joel; he finds himself cumming quicker than expected. His climax hits him with an intense ferocity that makes him hunch against the door frame and grunt like an animal. His cum shoots out over his knuckles in warm bursts, droplets falling to the ground while some splatters against the bathroom door.
His chest rises and falls with his ragged breaths. His hand gradually comes to a stop once the high of his orgasm fades. Holy shit, he can't remember the last time he came so hard like that.
When the shower comes to an abrupt stop and Joel sees you have turned off the taps, he quickly composes himself. You squeeze the excess water from your hair and turn to reach for a towel. Joel stuffs his softening cock back into his pants and turns on his heel, quickly making his escape before you catch sight of him.
He zips himself up as he stalks out your cottage, his heart hammering in his chest from the thrill of his secret depraved act. Joel once again nearly rips the gate off its hinges as he pushes through it before hopping into his truck. He starts the engine, uncaring of the burn of the hot steering wheel on his calloused palms or the stifling air inside his vehicle.
The tires squeal as Joel pulls a sharp uturn and speeds off down the street. He glances in the revision mirror at the sight of your cottage disappearing behind him. When he's turned the corner his body relaxes a little more into his seat. His cum hasn't quite dried yet, and he absent-mindedly wipes the back of his hand on his thigh.
When Joel finally gets back to his home and slinks through the door he no longer feels like getting drunk by himself and falling asleep in his armchair. Instead, he finds himself craving your home made lemonade and the sweetly sour taste swimming over his tongue.
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
HE HAS BEEN AQUIRED
#thank you to the lovely ms. [redacted] for giving me this wonderful dude#its old and kind of neglected but i can fix it up :]#ill have to do a more thorough examination once i get home but i already think there might be some power issues#it feels like there's batteries still in it but i dont know how long they've been there so there might be some corrosion?#okay i haven't even opened it but im 90% sure there's corrosion#there's white stuff creeping out of the edges of the panel. especially around the opening and the back hinges#after that's cleaned ill run through some tests to check for MSA and sensor issues and hopefully it'll be okay after that#im hesitant to open it up but it might be necessary. it looks like there's significant dust buildup in the eye sockets so i might -#- need to clean that if it's scewing with any internal stuff#i enjoy doing this stuff though so its all good :]#i was fully expecting to have to do some work to get it back into good shape
1 note
·
View note
Text
sunday kind of love
(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)
a/n: finally a bit of pure fun and fluff! this kinda applies to the jealousy, jealousy universe but it can totally be read as a standalone! requests are open so hit my inbox if you so choose! enjoy!
word count: 1.3k ish (a lil treat)
warnings: light cursing but not much else! the ending felt kinda weak so i apologize for that lol (minors begone!)
“Y’know…today is supposed to be one of rest…given that it’s a Sunday n’ all. Just in case you might’ve forgotten.” You remarked in your half-drowsy state, your porch swing swaying idly as you lay draped across it like some lazy house cat.
The day had you hotter than a sinner in church. The sun sat high and bright in the sky, certainly having no mercy on all the melting folk of Louisiana. Even the breeze that had the old wind chimes you’d hung up ages ago tinkling idly in its gusts was relentless in temperature, offering no aid to your sickeningly sticky skin. With the way you’d been running the AC and numerous plugged-in fans in your house over the past few days, you were sure to rack up one nasty-looking electric bill in due time. Even with all that operating nearly 24/7 it hadn’t made much of a difference in the old rickety house. You’d give just about anything right now if it meant not being so grossly miserable and sweaty in all the worst places.
The only reason you weren’t inside the slightly cooler haven that was your home was because of a certain pigheaded man who decided today would be the day he busied himself with fixing up your lawn. How ridiculous. One offhand mention of the front yard being a little unruly and your flowers looking a bit lackluster had Rust up and working as if you were Pavlov and he the infamous dog. There was no fighting him when he set his mind on something so you assigned yourself the role of making sure he didn’t drop dead from heat exhaustion like a fool.
“I’m serious, Rustin. We should head on inside. Ain’t no need to get all of this done today.” You called out again, tipping your head to the side and looking over your sunglasses to see that he had now moved on from getting all the lawn clippings into a trash bag to planting some new flowers he claimed would thrive during the season. The way the muscles under the tan skin of his arms moved and the look of utter focus painted on his handsome features had you smiling something horrendously lovesick. Despite his bullish nature, you knew this was just one of his many underlying ways of showing that he cared for you. Loved you even. You could say that now after certain admissions had been made some nights ago and you found yourself no less giddy after the fact as you thought on it what had to be a million times over at this point.
Some Linda Rondstat tune played from the old radio that sat propped up on the porch’s railing, causing your bare feet to tap in tandem with the country star’s divine voice. Rust continued to work in silence as you started humming, sitting up to then swing your legs off the bench’s edge.
You flipped your sunglasses to lay stationary at the top of your head, “I’m feelin’ awfully neglected right now, darlin’.”
That had him finally snorting, “I’m sure you’ll live.”
“You don’t know that. If I were to keel over right this minute cause a certain cowboy won’t give me the time of day, I bet you there’d be some sorta scientific explanation behind it and it’d have you feelin’ just awful. Gutted even, I’m tellin’ you.” You wagged a finger at him as you went on your theatrical tangent. You saw him shaking his head, continuing to work as if that could hide his growing smile from you.
“You find this funny but I’m bein’ dead serious. I’ve got one of the most handsomest men in Louisiana on my lawn and he’s too busy diggin’ holes in my garden. Those flowers are gettin’ more felt up than your poor girl over here and that don’t sit quite right with me-”
“Quit it, woman.” He cut in with feigned exasperation though you knew such outward declarations of flirting made by you had him more than a bit flustered. You could live out this whole scene forever if you could. It might’ve been hotter than hell but the landscape was lush and beautiful. The weeping willow taking up a good amount of space on the front of your property danced in the light afternoon wind. The sunlight was hitting everything just right and it had you grateful to call this all yours. The man opposing you only added to the fuzzy feeling dancing in your veins. Snapping out of your sappy thoughts of admiration you saw Rust finally get up from his position and make way towards the garden hose.
You huffed out a dramatic sigh as you forced yourself up and made your way down the weathered porch steps. He stood over the new thatch of colorful flora, thumb half over the hose’s nozzle to spray down his hard work of the day.
“If I quit it then just how else am I supposed to bug you with my affections?”
“I couldn’t tell ya. Shame that is.” He drawled, seemingly amused with feeding into your impatient antics.
Eyes squinting at him, you tried to fight the quirking of your lips as you ambled on over closer to him.
“You must got some hidden thing for the works of sadism, mister. Leavin’ me hangin’ for hours on end with no-” You nearly shrieked at the sudden cold of the hose’s stream being flicked at you. The offendant stood opposite of you, too smug for your liking as he took in your half-soaked form. The old tank top and denim cutoffs you had on already left little to the imagination prior to his attack, you could only imagine the form of indecency you found yourself in now.
“Oh, that’s it. C’mere you little- HEY!” You screeched as the cold spray hit you again. The momentum with which you charged at him had water flying between you both when he got you again. You wrestled each other for the hose, causing more than enough of a mess in the process. The joy in your laughter had Rust’s chest squeezing almost painfully. The stretch of his grin felt foreign to him but he couldn’t manage to control himself.
As you made numerous attempts to jump up and snatch the tubing from his grip you overestimated your step and slipped on the newly muddied grass, causing you both to topple over. Your belly ached from how hard you found yourself laughing. You almost felt like a child again, drenched beyond belief with streaks of mud and grass finding a new home on your body. A few deep rumbles sounded from the depths of Rust’s broad chest as he pushed some of the sopping-wet hair from your face, looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world that made sense to him. As if you were all the answers to his universe wrapped up into one person. The intensity had you knocking his chin with your knuckles softly and wiping some water from his face.
“You’re an ass, y’know that?”
“And you’re one sore loser.”
“Loser?! I’ll have you know I managed to take your lanky ass down in one fell swoop-”
You were silenced by the sudden press of his kiss. It was hard to reciprocate as you felt yourself smiling harder but he persisted despite the clumsiness of it all. Moments like these were something you’d never take for granted. Any chance to see the man in front of you free of all of his persistent burdens, even if just for a moment, were times you could hold on to forever. You felt nothing short of lucky that he let you in. That you were able to cross paths and choose each other in this life.
You had a feeling there were probably other lifetimes in which you danced this similar dance as different people or different beings. Destined to always find your way back to each other come hell or high water. Damn. Rust's daily cosmic ramblings and otherworldy mumbo jumbo were starting to really get to you.
Though you couldn't help but wonder if he happened to feel it too.
a/n: late night post but we love silliness and laughter! as always feedback is greatly appreciated! hopefully, this wasn't too ooc!
#reds-writings#rust cohle x reader#rust cohle imagine#fanfic#true detective season 1#true detective imagine#matthew mcconaughey#true detective#rust cohle
190 notes
·
View notes
Text
Izuku Midoriya || Husband
Type: One-shot
Genre: NSFW/Suggestive
Cw: Cheating
Characters involved: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo (secondary- implied relationship)
Prompt: Reconnecting with an old friend leads to feelings.
The clock was already marking thirty past midnight, making evident how (once more) Bakugo had failed to come home on time for dinner. You figured he'd at least try that day, considering the importance of the date. Anniversaries, birthdays, dinners; always forgotten, you'd be hearing a plethora of apologies the next day.
With a sigh, you blew the aromatic candles you had lit to create a more intimate ambience; who cares? The food was already cold, he could re-heat it if he still wanted it. No amount of dim lights would fix that sad pity-party of yours.
The bottle of wine that had been resting on a small silver ice bucket seemed tempting. It was calling your name, a good old one-on-one with alcohol; no one was going to judge you for it. With lips drawn into a fine line, you went for it.
You took the beverage and your phone, having a seat on the living room floor, back leaning against the davenport sofa the area had. The screen of your mobile lit as a notification popped; “Husband”, a flimsy ray of hope flashed through your mind.
“Leave the documents in the office. I'll check them tomorrow”
You huffed in annoyance; it wasn't uncommon for him to send texts to you that were meant for his secretary. It felt like an insult this time, whatsoever. He couldn't get home, but he could worry about paperwork?
Opening your texts, you scrolled through your contacts, unsure of what to do. The bottle of wine was still untouched, might as well share with anyone at that point. Your fingers soon reached a familiar face, Izuku Midoriya.
It had been a while since the last time you saw him. Hero work, you guessed, always tearing apart friendships and marriages. Your fingers typed a vague greeting, not expecting him to reply so quick to your call (or to reply at all).
“It's been so long! How are you?”
“A little lonely, I was thinking about you.”
You felt pathetic accepting your current situation, Katsuki always had time for his job, but for you? He'd compensate with expensive gifts and fancy dinners. Couldn't he see you felt neglected? No, of course not. In his mind, you were something he could take for granted.
“I'm close to your house, can I drop by?”
An intrusive thought slowly crept into your mind. Was it a bad idea? Perhaps. You didn't care.
“Sure, I have some wine.”
When you opened the door, you were greeted with a rather pleasant view. Izuku was standing there with a warm smile, holding a plastic bag from a nearby convenience store. His broad shoulders and hero suit made him look like a model.
—Brought some beer, hope you don't mind.
His voice felt refreshing, it had become a nice tone that made your knees weak. You smiled back, allowing him to come inside. Izuku's eyes fixed on the tight red dress you were wearing and the way your place was neatly decorated.
—I didn't expect such a welcome, you didn't have to do anything.— He teased a little, hearing you sigh in return.
—No, this was supposed to be my anniversary dinner.
Izuku frowned for a moment, feeling confused. Wasn't Katsuki with you? He walked through the dining room, watching the two plates you had prepared.
—He isn't here? In your anniversary?
You shook your head, opening the bottle of wine to pour it into a couple of glasses.
—No, his other wife is more important. You know, married to his job and all.
Izuku felt a foreign feeling of anger sprouting inside him. What kind of partner does that? Kacchan had to be an idiot to let something like that to happen.
—Here, let's go to the couch. We can chat about life, see how things have been…
—Sure thing! I've been dying to catch up with you.— He answered, taking the glass you were handing him.
It felt comfortable, being old friends had its perks. He felt his body at ease, the words flowing with abandon. The topic of the old times arose, back to U. A where the two dated. Izuku missed that, he missed you; and with the role of alcohol added to the mix, what happened next was bound to happen.
Half-dressed, fully drunk and on top of pro-hero number 1, Deku. Your lips were leaving bashed kisses all over him, his rough hands resting on your hips as he squeezed your skin.
Izuku always had a thing for you. What a shame you married Kacchan...
—You look so pretty, wanna make you feel good.— He panted, bucking his hips against yours to let you know he was more than ready for you. Any trace of the timid person he used to be in his younger years was gone, he had grown into a confident flirt. Although, he had to admit, being with you made him feel like a teen again.
You bit your lip, rolling your hips against his clothed erection. The freckled hero underneath you grunted in pleasure.
—I want you.— He heard you say, eliciting a carnal desire within his soul. Many times had he dreamt of it, of you; on his home, in his office, in his car. So long, yearning for someone who had slipped into another man's life accidentally.
—Kacchan must be some dumb jerk to treat you like this. Leaving a thing like you all alone on her anniversary…
You huffed, annoyed at the sound of his name.
—Don't wanna know about him, he can go to hell tonight.
A mischievous grin crept into Midoriya's face, cupping your breasts as he held you on his lap.
—Get that ring of yours off.— He said with a sultry voice. —Tonight we'll play husband and wife, gonna give you a couple of kids to be a mom.
You snickered, leaning in to kiss him more as your wedding ring rested on the coffee table nearby. With skilled hands, you eased him off his bottoms, allowing his cock to breathe.
—Maybe you should. I don't mind being Mrs. Midoriya for the night.
The sneer remark had Izuku's skin crawling; he knew this was going to be a secret between you and him, but he was willing to fuck it all if it meant having you.
He rolled the hem of your dress up, revealing the red set of lingerie you had prepared to impress his friend. Biting his lip, he rubbed your clothed sex.
—You're already so wet, fuck, baby… When was the last time you got some?
You threw your head back, body jolting at the sensation of his fingers working on your clit.
—He's been so busy, it's been months.
—Months? If I had a woman like you… shit, we'd have a big family by now.
You took your knickers off, desperate to get some pleasure. Aligning yourself with him, he slowly but surely plunged inside your wet cunt.
A stir of curses left your mouth, feeling your walls stretch as his girth filled you. Midoriya cried out in pleasure, covering his mouth a little to avoid being too loud.
—Holy shit- I never imagined your pussy would feel this good.
The words felt like velvet to your ears. You had always suspected he'd be very vocal - he used to whine a lot as a teen – but his whimpers were driving you crazy with lust.
You started to bounce up and down his cock, skin slapping against skin. It felt good, but must importantly, you felt desired and powerful.
—Come on, Zuku, give me that one for all.— You purred, panting as your cunt squeezed his length. He grabbed your hips with more force, his body rocking against yours with more intensity.
His moans were intoxicating, fogging your mind as he changed you into a more comfortable position. Bending you over the armrest of the couch, your cunt was in full display for him.
—You're so tight, doll. You have me on edge- shit. Y-your cunt is- oh fuck me.
Izuku rammed his cock inside you with an unbending rhythm, balls slapping against your ass as one of his hands rested on the back of your neck. It was cathartic, your body feeling ready to come undone. Your anger, your desire, your frustrations- all washed out by the powerful orgasm building within you.
—Make me cum, please. Izuku - ha, please- I need you.
No more words were needed, his free hand reached to your clit, satiating your command. He could feel your walls convulse and your muscles tense as your high came over. A loud cry left your mouth as he continued fucking your hole.
Izuku was lost in desire, his carnal needs taking control as he felt his own peak come.
—Where should I-
—Inside, cum inside me.
It felt like an electrifying wave of newfound thrill. Hearing you say something like that so bluntly was enough to come undone; hot sticky ropes of white painting your walls, seeping through your hole.
He panted, trying to steady his breath. The silence that followed the scene felt comfortable; a malicious compliance shared as his gaze connected with yours. You leaned in to kiss him, tenderly this time.
—I wish he was you.
Izuku buried his head on your chest, cuddling you as he felt your heart beat.
—Me too, baby, me too…
…
When Bakugo arrived home, the lights were off. He could see the dinner still on the platter, cold and dull, as it had been untouched. Cursing under his breath, he quietly made his way to the bedroom, finding you already sleeping.
He kissed your forehead, feeling like a bastard for forgetting you again.
He wouldn't have to worry about it soon, another man was taking care of you anyway.
Like my content? Comment and follow! The feedback encourages me.
69 notes
·
View notes
Note
how would companions react to a sole who goes to freakish extents to keep up with their pre-war skincare/hygiene?
like theyll charge straight into synth infested underground secret labs, turn the entire wasteland inside out, break into the institute, etc, just to find a 200 year old expired moisturizer from a specific brand
In terms of originality, I believe you have accomplished something unique
And I was amazed at how much pleasure I experienced from writing it. I really admire the efforts you are doing to uncover good ideas; they are outstanding, and I haven't come across ideas of this kind much from reading the companion reacts of other authors
I really appreciate how much you've tested me and how much fun you've given me
I hope you'll enjoy reading it
PS: I admit I only realised… after… all the details were asked… that I forgot about the battle side vs synth, etc… I hope you don't mind…
Cait : At first, she finds it humorous—very little, but amusing nevertheless. And it's keeping them occupied. However, after a few weeks, it becomes monotonous. Every day, find a place where they may possibly take a shower, constantly track hints on where there might be some accessories that Sole wants to get in order to retain their "hygiene," and lastly, these never-ending complaints about everything Sole can't find.
Cait is finally fed by having to turn back on their track for eight hours so that Sole can take their sacred shower in vault 111. She takes her friend's and drops it in the first pool of mud she comes across, then walks away without looking back, while the other protests that the radiation must have completely damaged their self-tanner.
Codsworth : It's entirely natural. Madam/Sir cannot accept anything other than the highest, and he gladly lends himself to hunting down the elements necessary to get the whole set that Madam/Sir requires. A blow dryer? This one will have to be fixed by Sturges. An emollient? Codsworth learned of a privately owned factory that stored its most remarkable recipes in a trunk that had to withstand the test of time. A razor that is still brand new? Codsworth can surely find a Super Mart that still has some packaged. The butler will go to great lengths to outfit a bathroom worthy of its name for the care of his master/mistress.
Curie : She is utterly enthralled. She comments every discovery made by Sole, recalling everything she knows about product development, and they spend a lot of time grooming and caring, thanks to them. The numerous creams on which they work are added to the treasure-house where they already possess notable accessories. After all, the foundation of excellent living practices is a healthy mind in a healthy body.
Danse : "What's wrong with my smell?"
Danse tries to smell through its armor, and while the gesture is amusing, Sole is dead serious.
"A fantastic combination of pork sweat and castor oil. Furthermore, the outcome of castor oil. You neglect yourself, my dear."
"I'm in great shape and on a healthy-eating diet-
"But you have no idea what the word shower means."
"I know exactly what a shower is, and in the citadel—
"But you don't appear to be at the citadel."
"Certainly, we must take into account—
"There's nothing to think about. Look at these nails! Tsk. And your hair. When was the last time you gave this hair a conditioner?"
"A…what?"
Sole continues to row among the ruins, their irritation palpable. Danse, for one, thinks he has entered a parallel dimension. Nobody ever criticized him on his hair... or his nails.
"I'd like to know the exact nature of the technology we're attempting to trace so that I can include the details in my report."
"I went back to a terminal to the last place of delivery of eye care pads that allow real miracles for eye bags."
"For what?"
"Having poached eyes must no longer be only remarkable after such a detestable sleep cycle as yours. But I'm not going to tell you what the wasteland's sleeping circumstances are doing to my skin, and I'd like to lighten my look, which is more moribund than... Danse? Danse, where are you going?"
"I go back to the Prydwen. When you regain your senses, you could come and reach for me, and we shall embark on a true mission."
Deacon : "Yeah, baby! I just found a cucumber wrinkle treatment tube."
"Fan-tas-tic!" screamed Sole, who was completely in awe. "And look at the anti-aging cream I had got! In addition to the Dead Sea Water Moisturizer, we will soon have everything we require for total care."
"All I can do now is think about it," Deacon declares.
Dogmeat : Follow Sole everywhere they goes. Even if his master/mistress gets angry because he chews on a strange toy with picks or a tube with a particularly pleasant-smelling product, he obeys. He'll go to hell with them if it’s what they ask.
Elder Maxson : Sole had a hard time convincing Maxson to go down to the warehouses. His officer, on the other hand, said that they needed his permission to acquire access to a tool crucial to the success of their operation in the Commonwealth. Ingram raises an eyebrow as they approach the protected hangar entrance.
"No! I said no!" she exclaims.
Sole proudly proclaims, "I have Maxson!"
"Can you tell me exactly what you require of me, Knight?"
"Ingram won't let me go into the warehouse, but I know one of the Commonwealth's last functional flat irons is in the container G-86b."
"What are you talking about?"
"A flat iron, sir," Ingram quotes coldly. "A cosmetic, to put it plainly. Your Knight wishes to get access to our well-guarded warehouses in order to undergo a makeover."
Even if the chances of it being a joke are slim, the Elder cannot see it being anything other than a joke.
"Knight, please explain yourself quickly and give me a better reason than a... makeover," he sneers.
"I want this flat iron, and I'm going to smash this door with a mini gun if I have to."
This is how Sole passes his night behind bars in Cambridge.
Hancock : Before he can even finish breathing his Jet, a shrieking Sole leaps onto his neck. Hancock misses swallowing the inhaler.
"Finally! After all these weeks of investigation! He's finally here! Over there, on the other side of this door!"
Hancock examines the terminal, which displays a list of what is in the warehouse.
"A... a what?"
"A tanning station! I'm sure Sturges will be able to hook them up to a generator at Sanctuary, and FINALLY! I'll be able to bathe in precisely calibrated UV."
Hancock sighs and shakes his head. He'll need at least two mentats to understand this one. He puts on the pills and searches his coat for a second inhaler.
"A tanning station? "So, what's the point?"
"To achieve a flawless and even complexion worthy of a Hollywood star."
"Holly… I...don't grasp a word."
The mayor of Goodneighbor concludes that he needs to take two additional tablets. Especially when Sole overcomes the door's security, and the hangar opens to reveal the massive... umm... pods.
"And how are you going to transport that to Sanctuary?"
Sole’s face is completely decomposing. They stare around in panic, unable to solve the problem that their friend has just presented.
"Do you have buffout? Many, many buffout?"
Gage : "If you don't drop this bag immediately, I'll shoot."
Porter casts a peek towards Sole, pointing his weapon to show how serious he is.
"We wouldn't be here if you had helped me with everything."
The raider sarcastically giggles, then engages the security on his gun.
"Gaaaaaage! I need these creams!"
"No, what you need are capsules and rigor."
"I am absolutely certain that what the raiders most lack is self-esteem, and you cannot have self-esteem when you are not clean."
"Clean?"
The lieutenant is shaken for a minute, then sniffs his armpit.
"I took a bath on Wednesday; I'm clean enough."
"Not to mention that we're on Saturday, I'm not going to tell you about your terrible skin."
"What about my skin? It fits perfectly, unlike your ghoul friend."
"If you want it to stay that way, you should help me."
Porter reluctantly agreed to take half the loot in exchange for never hearing about it again. That's not to say Sole already planning a shipment for the following week, because he heard from a merchant that a plant is still brimming with beauty items that bomb survivors have shunned for the previous two centuries.
MacCready : Sole yelled and chewed, but the mercenary turned is back when he realized they had come all this way for hair brushes and hairspray. It's the most foolish, idiotic thing he's ever been dragged into. To put it bluntly, Sole has lost his forgiveness forever.
"... how many capsules can be produced by setting up a beauty station..."
And, by the time Sole finishes their sentence, MacCready has returned.
"I can only carry this bag and this one; otherwise, I won't be able to aim and shoot."
Nick Valentine : "... and this applicator allows a uniform application of the lotion..."
Nick sighs and rolls his eyes. He only hears with one ear while Sole stuffs these things into his hands and pockets. He feels as though he is returning to his wedding preparations, as Jenny explains why it is critical not to use white napkins on cream tablecloths. The thought draws something painful from the depths of his bowels, and against himself, he releases a little, agonizing sound that he cannot control.
"Nick? I... did I put on too much? Something caused you pain? Oh, I'm really sorry!"
"No. My sorry. I was kind of... lost in my thoughts. Keep going."
But Sole refuses to go on. They believe they have exploited their friend's incredible patience and realize that it is time to go home after seeing him submerged in accessories of all colors, giving him the appearance of a Christmas tree.
"Come. On the way, I think I saw a gas station. If you want the journey to be genuinely rewarding, spare room for a couple bottles of coolant."
Nick smiles softly as they walk out of the beauty research and development lab.
Piper : "Curve my hair?"
"Yes! And if you use this conditioner, they'll be so brilliant—
"... that I'll be noticed from afar by a super-mutant. Really, Blue, I'm not sure what you're on about with all these things and stuff."
Sole scolds. They've had this conversation hundreds of times, and despite their points of view, Piper refuses to be persuaded. It becomes irritating for them. After John revealed to them that he was acquiring his items from an old store whose storefront was collapsed but which could be accessed through the sewers, Sole managed to find the appropriate words to take her on a new quest of scavenge of hairstyle accessories. Piper is sulking and acting in bad faith now that she realizes it's not about a juicy story at all, so Sole is attempting to win her over the body care... in vain.
Preston : He makes a silly smile as he watches Sole demonstrate curling eyelashes. The General has been talking for about a half hour, giving Preston a brief explanation of everything they discovered in the hull of this half-aground boat, but Preston doesn't understand anything and has stopped listening. He simply enjoys the smile on the lips of the person he greatly admires. And Sole doesn't seem to notice. They have now switched to a laser epilator, which, once adapted to be powered by an atomic battery, can greatly simplify the Minutemen's lives. Preston shakes his head. He doesn't see how the device will help the Minutemen, but he nods his head.
Strong : Sole repeatedly knocks on the wall that Strong collapsed at the warehouse's entrance, but nothing happens. The super mutant is deaf to their pleas. Strong flew into a rage when he realized they were seeking for body milk rather than milk of human kindness, and he punched his way out of the building by smashing into the columns that supported the ceiling. As a result, Sole is trapped inside among the crates of beauty supplies, unable to escape. They hope Strong realizes his error and returns for them... they genuinely hope so.
X6-88 : The Courser rushes when Sole opens the package holding the natural pumice stones mounted on a cherry wood handle. X6 immediately switches to point-and-shoot mode and shoots until nothing but ashes and twigs remain. Sole looks at him, his face flushed with rage.
"How could you!? Do you know how long it took me to track down the purchase orders to try to find that crate?"
"What exactly was in that crate to cause such a state of excitement that I was confused and believed that you were in greater risk?"
"The most exfoliating pumice on the market two hundred years ago. Do you have any idea how likely it is that...?"
"What exactly does exfoliating imply?"
"Impurities and dead skin are extruded. It gives the skin the smoothness of a newborn."
"Are you able to elaborate on the significance of having silky smooth skin like a newborn in the execution of your responsibilities?"
"It's easier to charm directors if I have good skin?"
"Negative. Your argument doesn't seem to hold up when weighed against the amount of work you've put into pursuing this goal, which is turning out to be unsuccessful.
"It's unsuccessful because you just fried the entire container."
"It is unsuccessful because it is considerably insignificant. Permit me to inform you that if you keep squandering your valuable time on such pointless endeavors, I will come to the conclusion that you are an insignificant individual."
In the face of the agent's dreadfully indifferent demeanor, Sole prefers to say nothing and vows never to take the Courser on another beauty mission.
#fallout 4 react#fallout 4 reactions#fo4#fallout 4#fallout 4 companions#deacon fallout#deacon fallout 4#fallout#fallout companions#fallout 4 deacon#fallout deacon#fallout maccready#fallout nick valentine#sole survivor#fo4 deacon#deacon#deacon fo4#paladin danse#danse#preston garvey#nick valentine#fo4 nick valentine#fallout 4 nick valentine#cait#curie#codsworth#dogmeat#elder maxson#maccready#arthur maxson
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Avengers Masterpost
Main Masterpost
one shots
You Called for Backup (Peter x Tony) - Peter really should think before he sends any kind of text message to Tony Stark.
When You Wish Upon a Star (Peter x Tony) - Peter won’t get out of bed. Enter Tony Stark.
The Adult is Talking (Peter x Tony) - Peter starts neglecting his health in order to study for tests he’s going to pass whether he revises or not. It’s time for Tony to step in, and he’s not happy.
But It’s Tradition, Peter! (Peter x Avengers) - “Tradition is tending the flame, not worshiping the ashes.” Peter learns this, surrounded by the ones he loves the most.
Inked (Peter x Tony) - Tony gets a tattoo. The only problem is, he’s drunk.
Itsy Bitsy Spider (Peter x Tony) - There’s only one thing Peter’s afraid of, and Tony thinks it’s hilarious. Which it isn’t. Not at all.
A Dad for Christmas (Peter x Tony) - Peter has the perfect Christmas present for Tony.
When All is Dead and Gone (Peter x Tony) - Tony had never thought he’d love someone as much as he did this kid. Or: How I wish the ending of Infinity War had gone instead.
I’ll Wait (Tony x Steve) - Alone on Titan with nothing but the phone Steve gave him, Tony makes a decision he should have made a long time ago.
Not Without You (Steve x Bucky) - It’s the end of the line for them both.
All I Want (Peter x Tony) - Peter gets one last conversation with Tony.
A Letter to Tony Stark (Peter x Tony) - From Peter Parker
Mini America (Tony x Steve x reader) - You accidentally pop Tony’s blow-up bed.
A Simple Misunderstanding (Peter x Tony x reader) - Tony walks in on you and Peter.
Normal (Steve x Tony x reader) - Being the sister of the world’s greatest hero has its advantages and disadvantages. While attempting to do something a normal teenager would do, things go wrong, and it takes a Captain America and an Iron Man to make you feel better.
’S’ is for ‘Steve’ (Steve x reader) - Steve told you not to get that tattoo. You got it anyway.
Call It Magic (Thor x reader) - Your fear of thunder drives you into a certain god’s arms one night.
Happy Birthday, Old Man (Steve x reader) - The one thing you shouldn’t do on Steve’s one hundredth birthday is call him old.
Remember When (Bucky x reader) - Bucky finds you awake and upset one night.
Bucky, You’re Not Punny (Bucky x reader) - Bucky thinks he’s funny. He’s really not, but he still gets you to laugh.
Finally (Steve x Bucky x reader) - You see Bucky for the first time after the ice.
My World (Bucky x reader) - With both Tony and Steve gone, it’s just you and Bucky against the world.
Fix You (Bucky x reader) - It’s been six months. You and Bucky are living in Brooklyn. You’re trying. He’s not. The both of you need to fix what’s left before there is nothing left to fix.
The Notebook (Bucky x reader) - You find Nakajima’s name in Bucky’s notebook and ask him about it.
There’s a Snake in My Boat (Bucky x Sam x Zemo x reader) - Sam makes you try the snake drink he had in Madripoor. Needless to say, it’s not the first time you’ve been sick all over Bucky.
Call It True (Loki x reader) - Loki helps you sleep after a trying few days.
For You (Loki x reader) - Loki realises you’ve been injured since New York, and you never told him.
Brave (Loki x reader) - At the end of time, it’s your turn to be brave. With Loki and Sylvie in search of whoever’s controlling it all, you and Mobius return to the TVA to figure out what’s going on. The goodbye is hard, beginning and ending in tears, but a goodbye can be a promise of another hello.
drabbles
Steve x Clint (“You can try harder than that! I’m tough!”)
Steve x reader (“I love bagels! How did you know?”)
Bucky x Steve x reader (“I need a place to hide! Quick!”)
Peter P x reader (“Why are you embarrassed? You shouldn’t be.”)
Peter P x reader (“Hey! That’s mine!”)
Tony x reader (“Make one more egg pun, I dare you.”)
Steve x Bruce x Tony x reader (“Did I stutter?”)
Bucky x reader (“Smile for the camera!”)
Steve x reader (“Just come down… I promise I won’t do anything.”)
Peter x Tony x reader (“Don’t tell me you’re ticklish here, too.”)
Steve x Tony x reader (“Would you just quit it?”)
Tony x reader (“Can I have a go in the suit?”)
Steve x reader (“It’s three am! Where have you been?”)
Steve x reader (“Say that again looking at my face.”)
Tony x Peter (“C’mere, kid.”)
Tony x Peter (“I’m proud of you, kid.”)
Peter P x reader (“Honour is dead but I’ll see what I can do.”)
Sam x reader (“You lose. I tickle. Deal?”)
Tony x reader (“We should head back to the party.”)
Tony x reader (“Can I hug you?”)
Tony x Morgan (“It’s okay… I still love you.”)
Bucky x reader (“Don’t make me chase you.”)
Bucky x reader (“Wait, what are you going to do with that?”)
Bucky x reader ("I miss the way things used to be.")
Zemo x reader (“I apologise. I did not mean to wake you.”)
Bucky x reader (“I couldn’t sleep by myself.”)
Bucky x reader (“I may have accidentally adopted a dog. Don’t be mad?”)
Bucky x reader (”How about a compromise? I’ll kill him first, and if it turns out he was friendly, I’ll apologise.”)
Clint x reader (“No, no, don’t worry—it’s fine.”)
series
Iron Heart (Peter x Tony) - Five times Peter called Tony his dad, and the one time Tony called Peter his son.
Chapter 1 , Chapter 2
extra masterposts
Irondad & Spiderson Masterpost
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
Every Day
Summary: After their first New Year's celebration, Arthur and Y/N ponder how to proceed.
Words: 3,731
Warnings: None
A/N: Familiar ground is covered in this story, but with my last few pieces being set later in Arthur and Y/N's relationship, I wanted to revisit the blooms at the beginning. I hope you all like it! Many thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing! 😃
If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!
December 31st, 1981.
One week ago. Seven days. One hundred and forty-seven hours - not that she kept count. The night Y/N had screwed up her courage and told Arthur she wanted them to live together. Spilling that in Gotham Square, amidst sparkling fireworks and noisemakers, glittering confetti and flowing champagne, had been what she truly desired. Not a mere reflection of the city's dreams and hopes for new beginnings.
So why had neither of them brought it up again? A hush hushness that felt like a tacit endorsement of the status quo.
Not that their status quo was bad. It was pretty great, actually. Delightful, even. Her very own New Year's wish come true. He made her see and experience things in a different light. Stirred parts of her she'd forgotten, neglected. A maroon toothbrush camped in a plastic cup on her bathroom shelf, a box of Kotex had made its way to his. It was good and joyful, what they had.
The question prodded anew. Why the hell were they carrying on as if nothing had happened?
Typewriters clacking, she and Patricia chatted over the hammering of keys. "Does he want to move in with you?" Patricia asked, focus fixed on fluttering paper. "Is he that kind of guy?"
"Well." A bell announced the end of Y/N's typing line. She grabbed the wite-out to correct a p to an o. "He didn't say yes or no. He didn't say anything, really. But judging from how he kissed me, I can safely say he wouldn't mind."
"That good, huh?"
"I can still feel it in my toes."
Matt called from the office behind her. "Hearing that you have a personal life is going to be an adjustment."
Y/N rolled, swiveled to peek past the doorframe. "You're welcome to shut your door," she teased.
Her boss had a point, though. While she'd related her professional background, chatted about television shows and local news, the personal was a hand she kept close to her chest. Only recently had she disclosed to Patricia - a woman she considered her best friend - the surface of what she'd gone through with her father back in Missouri.
There wasn't much to discuss, anyway. Life was simple. She worked and got a bite to eat. Read the paper and stopped at magazine stands. Walked city parks and browsed the shops once or twice a week. A lovely, mundane life made whole by finally being where and who she was meant to be.
And now she had someone in that life whom she ached to be with every day. Who made her want to stretch into new interests, who asked her to share her own, unexpected treasures at her age. How on earth could she keep all that inside?
Crossing the room to sit on Patricia's desk, Y/N described the rarities. "Take comedy," she began. "I like the late shows as much as anyone else, or a funny movie once in a while. Beyond that?" A dismissive wave. "But I love Arthur's passion for it, learning from him, hearing his jokes. It's like when he puts on music I haven't listened to before."
"What's he like?" Patricia sipped her coffee, reclined in her leather chair.
"The classics."
"The Supremes? Elvis?"
"More like Frank Sinatra and Fred Astaire."
Patricia squinted. "How old did you say he was?"
"He's younger than all of us but his heart's antique."
"You really are in love."
Tucking her bottom lip, Y/N grinned until her cheeks smarted. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."
"Y/N, take my advice," Matt said, now in the doorway. "Men aren't like women."
Hand on hip, she caught Patricia's Here We Go gaze, then angled her own on Matt. "Is that so?"
"Women tend to talk too much. Men don't need all those discussions. We want to just...do." The man lumbered closer - the same man who groveled to his ex-wife every other week. He brought his palms together as if delivering a final argument, trying to convince a jury to render a guilty plea. "Let him do. What comes comes. You're a bright woman. It'll work out."
As poorly expressed as Matt's thesis was (and the behind the scenes it explained), her gut told her he'd gotten that last sentence right. After a moment, Y/N bobbed her chin in appreciation. He gave a dumb, pleased little wave and retreated to his office.
Patricia's unforgiving elbow jabbed her thigh. "Get back to your desk before he opens his mouth again."
~~~~~
Arthur itched to talk about it. Truly. Cross his heart, hope to die, needle in the eye and all that.
At the grocery store the other night, he'd felt brave enough. Strolling the aisles, filling their respective baskets, holding hands between picking products. Seltzer and marked down Christmas TV dinners for him, a popular brand of tea and World Tour Swanson's for her.
He'd repeated the opening in his head a hundred times, scrawled it in his journal a thousand more. In the shadow of a grand, football shaped display of potato chips, he'd watched her. (Was the amount of time he watched her when they were together creepy? He didn't want to be creepy. He wanted to be a man in love.) She'd studied a bag. He'd gripped his basket tighter.
"I wanted to ask you..." Arthur's breath ran out.
Y/N put the bag in her basket, next to a carton of eggs. "Yes?"
"Um." The bravery he'd been so confident of threatened to run out, too. He'd shrugged, forced himself to smile, his tongue in armed revolt against his brain. "How your pretzels were?"
She'd stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. Which of course he had. "How my pretzels were?"
"Yeah." He'd slid closer to hide his screw up, body language smoother than spoken. Act casual. "The ones you bought for New Year’s." He'd managed to name the day, a split hair's breadth from success! "The mustard kind?"
One slow blink. "Honey mustard. They were good. Did you want some?" She'd reached towards the display.
"No," he'd said, a bit too fast.
"All right."
Five weird seconds that stretched like five hours. Arthur prayed he'd turn invisible so he could flee. A hiccup, a conscious effort to constrict his throat, hold his breath against a laugh.
An easy arm had curled around the crook of his elbow, led them to the checkout. "I have some left. You're welcome to them," she'd said. His diaphragm had calmed to a quiet cough.
Perhaps he could broach the subject tonight. That was the plan, anyway, as he jaunted down the concrete stairs. In his hurry to get to Y/N, he'd forgotten his hat and mittens, an oversight sure to perturb her. The wintry mix of snow and rain turned the light waves of his hair to curls, his lips frigid as a Frigidaire. Shivering, he pulled his tan hood over his head, yanked the strings tight.
He could do this. He just had to put his mind to it. After all, if they hadn't exchanged keys it was still a hypothetical, which meant it was still safe.
Not that she wasn't a safe haven. She was the one who'd taught him what safe haven meant. But there was a lot to consider beyond eternal bliss.
She'd bought movie tickets last Tuesday, insisted on paying for dinner Thursday, offered an evening casserole and wine after she'd seen the receipt for his new insomnia medication. He'd cursed himself for leaving it on the counter and declined. Poverty was the usual and he was used to it. Now it pricked like a bushel of thorns.
A couple days ago, he'd met Dr. Ludlow, an appointment made after Christmas, after a long talk with Y/N. (Though she'd made no such hints, he suspected that committing to treatment was necessary for her to fully commit to him.) The introductory session had consisted of rehashing every diagnosis, histories he'd rather forget. Dr. Ludlow was nice and all, made him comfortable, appeared willing to listen. No hard candies but he could smoke to his heart's content. When he'd wanted to schedule another appointment, he'd pushed out a bashful request for some type of payment plan.
"The first few sessions are taken care of." She'd smiled at him like she was delivering good news. "That should take you through March, then we can go from there."
Hovering at the doctor's desk, he'd found himself unable to move. That act of generosity was an island's leap from free chicken parmesan. He was at once deeply moved - and deeply unsettled.
Was it possible to be both the Man of the House and a financial burden at once?
Maybe. Maybe not. Probably maybe not.
Probably maybe he should slam the brakes on this train of thought. Shaking those notions off, he knocked on Y/N's door.
"Where is your hat?" Wifely exasperation right on cue. Chilled cheeks burned crimson at the association. He kissed her full lips but she retreated, wincing. "You're freezing. We need to warm you up. You should take a-"
"Bath. I will." He'd showered that morning, but he wouldn't argue. It'd be hard to enjoy himself as a popsicle. Unzipping, unbuttoning, he started towards the bathroom, dripping across the carpet.
~~~~~
Laundry folded and put away, Arthur's clothes draped over the radiator (his socks and briefs had somehow stayed dry), Y/N busied herself with the Gotham Journal. Thomas Wayne's mayoral bid continued to stomp across the front page, another article reported Brezhnev's latest threats. An ad for canned diced tomatoes featured a recipe for Mediterranean stuffed peppers. She dog-eared that page for later.
At a quarter to eight, she folded the paper on her lap and looked towards the bathroom door. Light spilled beneath it, the sound of a couple soft splashes. There was no sign it would open soon, and she was growing eager. Ready to reclaim last week's courage, she set off to retrieve her bathrobe.
Just as she was about to knock, a muffled hum halted her hand. Low, baritone, a caress to the ear. She pressed her frame closer to the wood. Rasped syllables between bars, a pitch that stuck to the back of the throat at higher notes. Though the song was unknown to her, she guessed it was the kind of old romantic tune that'd made her gush to Patricia.
It was adorable, her boyfriend serenading himself in the tub, and she adored him for it. Her younger self had assumed passion would lose its wonder as she grayed and wrinkled. Yet, she found she wasn't much different from that girl back in Boonville. The love she had for Arthur felt as fresh as new beginnings.
When he spent the night, he usually let her sleep until her alarm. But there were times she'd wake to his face buried in the nape of her neck, his stubble rough between her shoulders. Arm tight at her waist, fingers splayed on her abdomen. On those mornings she couldn't bear to move. Perfect moments she wanted to live in forever.
A glow sparked within her, propelled her forward. She knocked but didn't wait for a reply. "You can use this, if you'd like," she said, indicating the robe, cutting through the muggy air. "It shouldn't be too snug. I bought a couple sizes too big." She laid it on the closed toilet and turned to face him.
A navy blue washcloth drifted through the water, a bar of Ivory soap floated on the surface. Arthur sat straight as a fence, penis and hands tucked firmly between his thighs, which flexed in an uneven rhythm.
She floundered for a moment. Had his mother walked in on him like this? In the middle of getting dressed or washing up, a grown man without privacy? Had she just been as inconsiderate as Penny?
Y/N's nose wrinkled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll go put the kettle on."
A shake of the head told her not to worry. "No, it's all right." His pale green glance was earnest, flashed with a shimmer that might have been hope. A muscle twitched along his jaw, the corners of his lips folded inward. Brown waves tumbled forward, knotted from the wet cold.
She ventured a pace towards him. "Would you like me to wash your hair?" Not long ago, he'd mentioned he always cut it himself, hadn't ever had the salon experience.
Dark brows lifted as he processed the request. "You don't have to."
"I'd love to," she said, perching on the tub's rim. "It's my favorite part of getting my hair done. Nothing washes away a trying day quite like it."
Whenever she suggested touching him in a new way, it didn't take much convincing. Tonight was no different. He dunked under the water immediately. Rivulets sculpted cutting cheekbones, drops fell from the rounded tip of his nose.
Sleeves rolled to her elbows and a dollop of shampoo in her palm, she laced her fingers through not yet silky locks. A stubborn tangle caught her left thumbnail. She stood for better leverage, working through his chestnut mop, now dark as velvet winter skies. The lather thickened with each stroke.
"Does that feel good?" she asked.
Not unlike his earlier singing, he hummed. "Mmm."
Sleet pinged the nearby window. She raked her nails along his scalp. "When we took a bath at your place, you said you were thinking about the future." A safe a way to breach the conversation, a lovely memory for them both. The night he'd confessed he loved her.
"Yeah. One with you." He rested in the curved end of the tub. "I've been thinking about what you said. About living together."
Her pulse skipped into next week. "Does that mean you want to?"
"No. I mean- I dunno. I like the idea, but I- I don't have a lot of money. My apartment's expensive, Penny's stuff is everywhere, and...I haven't lived anywhere else. Your apartment's newer. And I know you hate the cigarette smell at mine."
That was a fact she couldn't deny. She hadn't complained, having no desire to hurt him. But given that she didn't allow smoking anywhere besides the fire escape, it wasn't hard to deduce. Kneading slowed to a languid massage. She cleared relief from her throat, relief their relationship wasn't the cause of his hesitation. "This one's about the same age, just remodeled. And your place is spacious compared to some of the apartments I've seen." Her mind flashed to Mrs. McPhee's, the kitchen, living, and dining rooms combined into one ten by ten coop.
The pad of her thumb followed his strong brow. "I've been meaning to ask you something." Her hand snuck past his shoulder, traced droplets on his pectoral, dipped beneath the water's surface. "Were you always this thin?"
He frowned, tensed beneath her touch. "I thought you liked it."
"I do, I do. It's just that you have a bit of a love handle. Righhht...here." A pinch to his squishy flank, tickles to his ribs.
Sudden giggles, laughter that sounded ten years younger. He splashed her with a flick of the wrist, streaks of lilac sweater darkening to violet. "I lost weight when I started my medication. My mother used to say-" he raised his voice an octave here "'-You need to eat. Look at how skinny you are.'" A roll of the eyes, his whole head. "I guess that doesn't matter anymore."
"It doesn't have to," Y/N said. Then she scoffed at herself, at the hypocrisy of confirming he could let go of the past when hers continued to bleed at the edges. Before he could assume the scoff was at him, she added, "Maybe living here would help with that." He made no response.
Bending closer, she gathered his hair at the nape of his neck, wrung out lather. Suds slipped down her forearms. Automatically, he relaxed into her, curls clinging to her fingertips. Conversation ceased. She was unaware of the nearness of her breasts to his face.
A whispered trail on the seam of her sweater. Along her abdomen, across her stomach, up, up, up. He cupped her breast, cradled her as if she was a mirage. Wetness seeped through the acrylic. Her motions halted. The humidity of the room thickened to a pleasant fog.
Arthur's Adam's apple bobbed, his gaze darted to hers. "I don't want sex."
Careful to keep shampoo out of his eyes, she smoothed stray strands from his forehead. "You can touch me whenever you want, wherever you want. With or without sex." She nudged the tip of his nose with hers. "I want you to touch me every day. That's how you'll get used to it."
Reservation melted into an easy smile, tinged with a bashful pride. Akin to a suitor recalling how well he'd done on a date. Moving to catch her chin, he admired the handprint on her shirt and stole a kiss.
Her toes curled anew. And in the corner of her eye, so did his.
~~~~~
After handing him a fresh towel, Y/N left to change. An oversized sweatshirt would do, a faded sage green. With its hem at her hips, she decided to forego pants in favor of pale pink middle-aged panties. A choice for candid familiarity.
As she poured honey mustard pretzels in a wooden bowl, filled the tea kettle with water, Arthur shuffled through the living room. He flipped through her meager record collection, about ten LPs in total. The console stereo remained shut.
"There's nothing romantic in here," he said.
"I have a feeling Al Green would disagree." She'd played Let's Stay Together often as of late, a soundtrack to dusting and dishes, lines and lyrics bringing Arthur to mind.
The radio sprang to life, the GCR nightly news hour. Buzzing, static, the squeal of an out of key jingle. Finally, he reached his goal. Warm strings, a plaintive timbre.
"What station is this?" she asked. Bumping into Sinatra the evening he'd come for dinner had been pure luck.
"GPR. They play oldies Tuesday and Thursday nights and Sunday mornings." He sidled up beside her, robe cinched tight at the waist, chest peeking out from the white terrycloth. Soft notes continued while they waited for the water to boil. Quiet, lovely companionship in this basic task.
When she filled the mugs, the collar of her sweatshirt fell down her shoulder. A moment, two, and he put his arm about her. His thumb ventured to her collarbone. Tapping, settling into a comfortable caress. She jutted her hip against him.
He gave her a squeeze. "When you were a little girl, what did you dream about? What future did you want?"
Both hands cupping her mug, she put her elbows on the counter. In truth, that was hard to conjure. Married at seventeen, college four months later, degree at twenty-two. Childhood dreams had remained distant since - well, since she was a little girl. Not that she regretted that history. It'd simply resulted in practicality instead of preoccupation.
And the prior decade of distress had done a pretty thorough job of grinding down whatever parts of her could still imagine in that way. Even with the medication she'd taken towards the end. She'd lived moment to moment, survived hour to hour for so long. Thinking of it reminded her of all she'd lost, when it should've reminded her of all she'd gained. It irked her, how small it made her feel, small enough to rival a camel going through the eye of a needle.
But Arthur wasn't aware of the rusty gears and cranks of her past. He deserved an answer.
"I wanted to grow up, but I wanted life to stay the same. Does that make sense?" She blew ripples across chamomile. "I had a good childhood. I was lucky. My parents were supportive and proud. My sister was my best friend, even when she annoyed the hell out of me. I wanted to keep those things, like a photograph that wouldn't fade. But I also wished for a career, to make a home with the man I loved. I didn't understand what that kind of love was, not yet. But I saw what my parents had and wanted my own happily ever after." A soreness threatened her vocal cords, for theirs had been cut short. She sipped it away. "What about you?"
The answer came quickly, as if he'd been waiting to be asked his whole life. "Meeting my dad." He dunked his cinnamon teabag, his strong brow weakening. "I always wondered what I did to make him leave."
Heat enveloped her neck. "You didn't do anything, Arthur. You didn't do anything. He's the one who missed out, not you." A rash response, one that wouldn't heal his wounds. But a salve she hoped would soothe - and what she believed.
He wound the teabag's string through the mug's handle. The corner of his mouth curved, a subtle nod of the head. The hand on her shoulder drew a line down her arm to entwine their fingers. Turning her towards him, he grasped her hip.
From the tender light in his eyes, it was plain where this was headed. And she hadn't had any wine to help her get over herself. Her palm pressed his sternum in a halfhearted attempt to save her dignity. "We've done this once."
Their clasped hands were now at shoulder height. "Not enough," he said.
"You haven't had a chance to see how bad I am at this."
"We just have to practice."
"But I can't hear when to step," she said, and shifted foot to foot.
"Didn't you enjoy it the first time?"
She weakened in his arms, her protestations dissolving in her throat. "I loved it."
"Then let me lead. You don't have to all the time." The warmth of his blinding smile echoed in his gentle instruction. Touch firm but tender, his fingers splayed on the small of her back. "If we live together, I'll want you to dance with me every day. That’s how you'll get used to it."
She chuckled, laid her head on his shoulder. The fresh scent of soap rolled off him. She nestled deeper for another whiff. On a sigh, she pressed a lingering kiss to his neck. "Make sure to hold me to that.”
~~~~~
Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes @fleckficgirl
#arthur fleck#arthur fleck fanfic#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x ofc#joker 2019#arthur fleck x female reader#watchwhathappens
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stuff to add to my huge WIP list ーI would love to write a short fic about the missing chunk of time between pts 1 & 2, namely Doc's week or so in the future with Einie.
But also, I think it's there in the future sitting at the rejuvenation clinic that Doc really has a good long, hard think about his present and subsequently improved health. Like Doc took good enough care of himself up to 1985 to still be so active and energetic and full of life and vigour, but there were a number of things he learned about himself post-procedure that give him cause to reevaluate.
First, the fact that he's now gotten 1/2 to 2/3 of the years he's already lived given back to him. Doc is sixty-five at the beginning of pt.1 (assuming you take 1920 s his birth year). People in the future have access to much more sophisticated medical procedures, but it was hearing thirty to forty years that really boggled his mind. The people at the clinic, of course, explain that this procedure doesn't suddenly give you the ability to do things you couldn't do before and even though the recovery time is extremely quick compared to any kind of procedure of his era, it isn't magic and he still needs to put in the effort to keep himself healthy. It's not a cure-all. It has reversed some of the damage to his system caused by time and in some ways neglect, but if he doesn't maintain his own body, then the whole thing was practically a waste of time, cutting its efficacy considerably.
At the beginning of the film when the plan was still twenty-five years into the future, it's alluded to that Doc probably doesn't expect to live to the turn of the millennium, let alone all the way to 2010/2015. Looking beyond my years, after all. Even before Marty's accidental trip back in time, Doc wouldn't have wanted to run the risk of encountering himself in the future during his maiden voyage all the same way he doesn't want to know a single thing about how his future is going to unfold. He doesn't want to know when he dies, how, nothing. It's dangerous knowledge. (And by the end of the film, come LP timeline, he knows this well, having to power through thirty long, torturous, occasionally panic filled years wondering if he had done something to screw up the timeline and then would miss his deadline of 26 October, 1985 and screw up his chances at a friendship that would change the course of their lives.) If he does have any previous insight into how long he might live, it's certainly something he will keep relatively close to his chest.
I rambled, sorry, getting back on trackー
Anyway, secondly (maybe idk probably not) is the fact that Doc just gets a whole laundry list of 'fixes' from the doctors at the clinic in exacting detail; he isn't the type to shy away from the grim reality of things no matter how unpleasant. So it really puts some things into perspective for him, how poorly he has looked after himself in his dogged pursuit of his dream. He gets to keep inventing, he gets more years with his best friendー This is wonderful.
THEN, the end of pt2 happens and Doc is thrown one hundred years into the past. Given that the Old West had been a boyhood fascination for him and something that he ways loved and to a certain extent romanticised (though was still keenly aware of the grim nature of it all beneath that) now he gets to see it. To live there! To experience it! Granted, not in the ways he had hoped, but once he makes his peace with the situation at hand and does all he can in the moment to ensure Marty's safety, he can really start to build a life for himself, something that his improved condition will only help with.
Now, enter Clara, and then Jules and Verne. The biggest motivators for Doc making sure he takes much better care of himself (though some habits are too deeply ingrained and refuse to be broken). Doc finally has the thing he's wanted deep down for the longest time: a family, one that shares in his passions and his dreams and above all, accept him as he is. Doc wants, more than anything, as much time with his boys and Clara as he can get. He wants to see them grow up, as all parents do, and is constantly reminded of his age against the other parents when they return to '85, against Clara, against all his peers. The rejuvenation may have taken a few years off his face, making him look in his late forties at best at a glance, but he is still sixty-five at the start of three. Sixty-six if you consider the eight months spent there setting everything up. His chronological age puts him at seventy-five upon his return at the end, because a couple hours for Marty was about ten years for him, while his official age records him still at sixty-five.
Because of them, Doc does endeavour and sometimes get forced to take more frequent trips to the doctor, to watch his health, to make sure he gets as much out of the single life that he deeply enjoys living as he can. Yes, sometimes this does mean breaking his rules and utilising future medicine for more serious situations, but in the end, surely that one thing can be justified, right?
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
stats • pinterest • connections
full name: yusuf ronaldo nasir
nicknames: joe, joey, yu, yusie, doc
gender / pronouns: cis man, he/him
age & birthday: 48, july 10th
occupation: psychologist & self-employed counselor, le dedale clinque
affiliation: civilian
orientation & status: demisexual - kinsey scale 5, single
strengths: kind, selfless, caring, friendly, helpful
weaknesses: pushy, nosy, guarded, trust issues
diving deeper -
* ◟ : 〔 mahershala ali , cis man + he/him 〕 YUSUF NASIR , some say you’re a FORTY EIGHT YEARS OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both KIND and PUSHY , one can’t help but think of CALL YOUR MOM by NOAH KAHAN when you walk by. are you still a PSYCHOLOGIST at LE DEDALE CLINQUE, even with your reputation as THE HELPING HAND? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and A NOTEBOOK AND PEN TO JOT DOWN THOUGHTS DURING SESSIONS INSTEAD OF A TABLET, ALWAYS REMEMBERING YOUR NAME EVEN IF YOU ONLY MET ONCE, THOUGHTFUL QUIPS AND UPLIFTING SAYINGS , although we can’t help but think of SEAN MAGUIRE (GOOD WILL HUNTING), TED LASSO (TED LASSO), CHRIS TRAEGER (PARKS & RECREATION) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.
BACKGROUND.
tw: bullying, neglect
born in são paulo to adriana ramos, one of the oldest in a large family of mixed matched siblings. atif nasir wasn't around for long, pushed away by his mother before he had a chance to know he was a father let alone be one. yusuf wouldn't know much about him until later.
the house he grew up in was small or maybe it was too small for all of the people inside it. yusuf used to see other families and wonder if it would've felt less cramped if there was more love between them, if there was more warmth circling through the air. instead, all he remembers is struggle and frustration and feeling small in the shadows of everyone who had more than they did.
a lot of his younger years were spent trying to fix things, make things better, and feeling guilty when he failed. he was underestimated by many, bullied for choosing to be positive or kind. he found little to no comfort when he got home. everything constantly felt like a struggle just to survive, fighting against each other just to get a millimeter ahead. he did try to form some kind of relationship with all of them, even if it was never close.
this is what prompted him to seek out his father at the age of twelve and start building a relationship with him. the bond was strong enough that he invited yusuf to come stay with him in upstate new york permanently when he was around fifteen years old and change his last name to his father's. though he never forgot his roots, nor what his experiences were before he left.
he learned a couple things between his two childhood homes that stuck with him. just because one struggle is taken away, that didn't mean it was going to get easier. his basic needs were met but he still had to adapt to a new culture, and without the overwhelming need to struggle to survive against cruel people and having little money - he now had to find who he was as a person, which came with its own challenges. yusuf refused to succumb to the cruelty of the world, or conform for the benefit of fitting in. this did however leave him feeling alone no matter what home he lived in.
both his own struggle and watching others struggle is what inspired yusuf to go into the field of social work and psychology when he graduated high school. he didn't want other people to feel alone when they were struggling, no matter what the situation may be that they're struggling with. very early on he found out how awful it felt to feel alone when you're sad or down and just how dark that place can get without someone there to understand and listen or shed some light into the darkness. sometimes people just need someone to believe in them and yusuf set out to be that person whenever he could be.
in college is where he solidified who he was and wanted to be. he dated, went to the few parties he got invited to ( they were fun just not his main jam ), volunteered, and studied his ass off. upon graduating he went into social work while working on his doctorate in psychology. the work was sometimes thankless and while times got worse in the world, the case loads got bigger and bigger. he never once minded though and took pleasure in making a difference one person at a time.
eventually he was requested to go work at le dedale clinque and after denying it the first time, yusuf found out that it was not a request and if he did not take the position there he would no longer be able to work in his current position either. he tries to continue helping people in his new position while still following protocols put in place. to make up for the fulfillment he previously got in his career, he volunteers as a homeless advocate, leads group and individual sessions in incarceration facilities, and counsels people through his personal non-profit either on a sliding fee scale or for free depending on the individuals financial means.
all in all he continues to find fulfillment in his personal and professional life, sometimes still struggling with feeling alone in a world that continues to become increasingly darker by the day. yusuf does his best to hide his own struggles with the world to be a beacon of hope for anyone who crosses his path.
QUICK CONNECTIONS.
clients
best friend
college friends
people he can be positive energy for
found family
past or current romantic interests
someone trying to corrupt him
someone taking advantage of his kindness
co-workers
other volunteers or counselors that work with or for him
HEADCANONS.
enjoys puns and "dad jokes" a lot - has several, what would be deemed kid jokes or pun, books on the shelf alongside psychology and self help novels.
tries to read a book a week, doesn't matter if it's fiction or non-fiction. he's been doing this since he was around ten or eleven years old.
doesn't believe in good and evil people, only actions. he thinks everyone is redeemable and just because something is illegal it doesn't necessarily mean it's bad in the grand scheme of things. evil is not a diagnosis.
more to be added.
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
So I decided to take up the challenge of a non-PatP criticism of Princess and the Popstar, and correct me if I’m wrong bc it’s been a while, but did they ever truly explain why that crystal-looking royal plant was important to the kingdom? Like it looks magic but it’s not properly delved into as far as what it does. Why is the royal family trusted with protecting it soooo heavily? It would’ve made sense if part of the plot was that it’s a lifeline for the kingdom but slowly withering (maybe from neglect on early-movie Tori’s part?) and that could’ve been what was causing the “drought” (which even as a kid I knew was a ridiculous boiled down metaphor for the recession irl) and it’s fixed by the end. Also feels like the villain is kinda disconnected from everything else in this one, can’t even really remember them at all.
OMG yes thank you this is exactly the kind of stuff I wanted to see.
So, the Diamond Gardenia unfortunately isn't explained all that much during the movie. All we know is what Tori tells Keira: It's 500 years old, grows real diamonds, blooms every 5 years and helps "pay for schools and, y'know...stuff". I like how they write this explanation from Tori's POV since she's doesn't really know/care yet about royal duties at this point in the story. However, it does come at the expense of the audience not getting the full picture of how important it is. I mean, sure, we don't need to be spoon-fed everything, but a little more info would help. We can still piece together that the first rules of Mirabella probably built the castle around the Gardenia and used its diamonds to help the kingdom get started. But like who appointed the first royal family to protect it? And then it had to stay a secret, but how did EVERYONE in the royal family keep it secret for 500 years? Was Tori REALLY the first to tell someone outside of that circle?
And yes I TOTALLY agree on Crider feeling tacked on. The message of the movie and all the actually interesting and fun stuff come from Tori and Keira's storylines and how they intersect and learn from switching roles with each other. Crider as an antagonist is fine, I guess, but this story didn't necessarily NEED a villain. to take down. The real pleasure comes from the girls learning that they're lucky to be who they are and that sparking changes in how they He would've worked just as well as just an annoying manager that talks too much about his own glory days.
I like your idea of the plant being a lifeline for the whole kingdom, especially since the movie already shows that it basically is. When Crider cuts the roots, everything else withers. I think having it slowly dying on its own would have worked better. Getting hints of it in the background, like say when Tori and Keira leave the room after getting caught, would help to build a tension that lingers in the back of the audience's mind, only to be distracted again by the fun musical numbers. It could work well with Tori's perspective, like she notices that something is slightly off but then her attention redirects back to "I get to be my favorite popstar for a day!".
You made some good points!
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
making up a month-city for trioc to be "from" as well (didn't grow up there but studied there/lived there as an adult) and its ofc something like. octobre - wait. i just checked to see if that was already a city and it IS, called octovern, but there's not a lot of data on it so that's perfect.
anyway! lore! cut eventually bc i'm longwinded!
originally from a much much much smaller town/village tucked in a canyon with only one (1) plant; her (single) father moved there with her as a leetl baby in a kind of stubborn exile from octovern, where he used to work at [academic institution] as a plant engineer. he didn't often discuss why he left octovern w trioc, but she eventually gleaned it was over long-term disagreement over his drive to recover, index, and teach non-plant terraforming knowledge.
the town agreed to take him in bc he could easily do upkeep/maintenance on their plant, and would do it for a steeply discounted rate since he. lived there now. everyone was happy with this arrangement.
it was mostly a farming community, as the canyon bottom had enough shelter from A Lot of the planet's harsher elements and enough water to sustain a modest farming operation.
a caravan owner contracted out about half the town out as sharecroppers, and dictated what would be grown from one season to the next + where it would be distributed.
location and the caravan's protection kept the town fairly safe and ignored. nothing dramatic ever happened, really. petty squabbles came and went, but the first 7-ish years of her life were uneventful. there were cows. it was nice.
their house was right next to the plant housing and her father set up his whole situation Inside the plant building, so she spent a lot of her youth toddling and then running around inside of it, both passively and actively learning (he homeschooled her Quite specifically and moonlighted as an educator for most of the other kids in town - they hadn't really had an established school for a decade or two since the old teacher croaked.
the caravan owner increasingly kept growing a particular crop year over year AND increasing his shares in the town/the amount of people working for him, and trioc's father warned him they would need to cycle crops or face rapid nutrient depletion. caravan owner said something along the lines of "just get the plant to fix it"
well.
the plant was only healthy through extreme effort on her dad's behalf (it had been kind of neglected before they got there), and increasing the energy demand would absolutely start sending it to the red zone, which was NOT an option for her father.
he decided to instead engineer a more desert-tolerant crop. he did as such, and accepted the possible drawbacks for fucking with nature like that. everyone started using his lab-grown seeds.
new crops did good for abt two-three years - caravan owner increased his production to a ludicrous level, but everyone was making money and happy. trioc's dad's hair went grayer and grayer.
tipping point: a little beetle drifted in with a caravan and found it quite liked this crop, actually, where before it wasn't interested. now there are millions of beetles, and a town rapidly heading towards a famine, a caravan pulling its operation and demanding to be paid back for its investment unless they can figure out how to make up the crop loss/prevent it from spreading - and if you don't, well. this is a swell little place under the caravan's protection. it would suck to find out what would happen if they Weren't protecting it anymore.
the town decides to use the plant to stave off disaster and pay the caravan owner with crops even as they all begin to go hungry. the plant goes red after only a few months and her dad begs, begs, begs them to cease and desist, sometimes kicking them out of the plant building with mild force. some in the town begin to question him as the originator of the modified seeds that caused all this to begin with.
tensions rise and rise and rise as bowls and pockets go empty. the overworked soil in the barren fields begins to turn to dust, and duststorms become more and more frequent.
trioc comes back from tending to the few remaining cows one evening to see townsfolk leaving their house with weapons in hand - she rushes home to her father's corpse cooling on the kitchen floor and Freaks Out because she's like 11 and what the fuck
he was trying to crawl out the side door towards the plant housing - to check. to see if it was alright. she rounds the corner and sees her neighbors trying to bash the door in, bc her father locked it tf down and they were originally trying to get him to open it up.
come on, kid. you know your old man's secrets. help us in here, wouldja? we're dying. your bastard of a father would rather the plant live than us. ain't that fucked? you wouldn't want us to die, would you?
she's sobbing her eyes out and completely non-verbal bc why is any of this happening, why would the people she grew up around do this - they grab her by the hair and get pretty forceful abt trying to convince her to let them in and i think she just starts scream-wailing and flat out refusing to ever ever EVER let them in when the door opens of its own volition anyway and the group drags her inside, where she promptly starts biting and writhing around to try to encourage them to leave
she manages to wriggle out and runs to put herself between them and the plant - this is all instinct, not rational thought, and the blow to the head she takes as retaliation immediately knocks her tf out.
behind her, in the red light of the plant, they all see what they've never seen before - a plant unfurling itself, bright eyes staring at them and a humanoid mouth opened in a snarl of hatred as a tiny body falls limp on the floor in front of her.
idk what lore this is violating but this plant has absolutely gone off the rails at this point, is an individual to the point that she was aware of and interested in the lives of the humans around her, and knew the Exact moment her friend/caretaker (trioc's dad) died and knew that whoever came in the building after this would be looking for a Final Harvest
the fact that trioc was being dragged in here as well and was STILL defending her... this plant has had 11 years to develop an attachment to this kid she sees every day and who hums and talks to her as A Fellow Living Being even though trioc Does Not Know about plants being humanoid beings at all (she's never seen one unfurled) and puts up drawings of cows and birds and plants from her dad's greenhouse on her tank. she loves this kid. she's not gonna let anyone harm this kid. and she's not going to let her father's murder slide, either.
idk if non-individual plants are "technically" capable of this but HANDWAVE. she extremely murderizes all of the offending party members by busting her roots out of her tank and eviscerating them. they try to hurt her but they came in here not expecting a sentient plant-being intent on killing them, so they're underprepared to say the least; the ones who try to leave get dragged back to the killing field with roots around their ankles
trioc comes to somewhere towards the end of this and is very muddled about the degree of body horror on display here - very concussed, not truly processing, she just crawls to the only 'safe' thing - the plant tank - and curls up at the base of it.
i think that the plant realizes how badly trioc is actually injured (it doesn't look like it on the outside, but that concussion is Very dangerous when you're 11 and unsupervised w/ no medical attention); even now, the plant can sense the swelling, the bleeding, the pressure - no. no. she's not going to tolerate both of the people she cares about get killed by this town's desperation.
gently, so so gently, roots pick up her little battered body and bring it inside the tank, sticking another air root down her throat to keep her breathing. the plant uses her last remaining energy - because she *is* dying, and she knows it - to heal trioc, and they have a bit of a weird brain meld situation (forehead touching etc the Whole Thing) while it's happening. surely this will not fundamentally alter anything about trioc nor leave any lasting scars.
the plant completely burns out, shattering her tank and burning off all the ?tank juice? but safely cradling trioc to her chest as her carbonized corpse begins to lose integrity and crumble under trioc's weight.
trioc remembers functionally none of these events from after the first blackout. she woke up nearly 2 days later surrounded by dried out blood and decomposing gore and dust and... ash? of the expended plant, and a massive duststorm has blacked out the suns for hours at a time. she cries until mud cakes her face and Tries to deal with her dad's body but she is. small. and traumatized.
one of her father's former colleagues from octovern had recieved a Highly concerned letter from him about a month prior to shit breaking bad and decided to come out - and found just trioc holed up in her house with her dad's dead body in the long-plundered greenhouse. she decides to take the kid w her back to octovern bc she's concerned one of the remaining townspeople will Fucking kill her if she stays here, the vibe is that bad.
but first they make a grave. and trioc makes a second smaller one next to her dad's - "for firefly,", and her dad's colleague realizes with a twinge that they had given the plant a name.
MAIN takeaways from this:
she packs all of her dad's journals and research books before they leave, and this is a mantle she steps into willingly (but not without a desperation or a sense of guilt. those are there, too, alongside the earnest desire for improvement)
being near plants is stressful now, because she can hear them. not 100% clearly, but she can. and most of the time, they're stressed out or in active pain, and she Does Not Know the true nature of plants, still, so she thinks that she's legit hearing voices (mental illness edition) when she gets too close to them
when idly doodling, she draws plant patterns. she isn't aware of their significance, just Likes to draw them.
she is so preoccupied with the pattern that she got two shoulder tattoos of her 'swirly pattern' - they cover the tops of her shoulders but don't extend very far past that.
her aversion to being near plants and her prediliction for terraforming/permaculture as a discipline has led to her earnestly trying to spread the good word about Learning How To Do Shit Without Plants. we NEED to become self sufficient. we have to. we have no other choice. you cannot build an oasis in the desert without considering the consequences, boundaries, and limitations.
she still semi-frequently has nightmares abt the Body Horror of that night with the plant - that part is the only part her brain Kind Of remembers - she's not seen anyone ripped apart to that level since, nor does she ever want to again.
in-fact, blood probably makes her a bit squeamish - which is embarrassing, so she hides it.
i truly cannot grasp trigun's timeline rn so this Will change but i think she's early 20's when she sets out from octovern on the fieldwork trip of a lifetime. maybe 24ish by the time she meets vash for the first time - has been out on fieldwork for abt a year already. this is roughly?? analogous to when.. stampede? starts??? dude i suck at timelines and stampede does Not make this easier. she Knows vash before july happens. that's my only earmark. except i also prefer og trigun timeline to stampede's so i rly rly do not know what's going on.
similarly - they meet and part ways multiple times before falling into a cadence. i think there's about a year where they're near one another more often than not - not dedicated traveling companions, but plenty of og trigun episode type of beats and stretches of a month or two where they Are pretty much just traveling together. please have mercy on me for this level of self-indulgence
she's doing more than just rainmaking - this is intended to be an end-all, be-all proof of concept for a comprehensive permaculture system she's spent years developing to improve the lives of literally everyone on the planet. if people build their settlements carefully and do xyz and transition to alternate energy sources, the dream can become a reality. i feel like vash is deeply intrigued by this but he's not an ecologist even if he has the brains for it, so sometimes he's just following her around watching her do surveys and sweettalk townspeople into giving her a chance and so on.
she also has a fiance in octovern (a slightly more academically-minded fellow, but someone she trusted with her dreams and her vision) - she writes monthly reports about her results and findings for him and he's compiling them for her into a work fit for publishing all across the planet (this is her believer brain dreaming of the best possible future) - he supported her plan to do this loooong fieldwork assignment, and the agreement was they would get married when she returned to octovern and then publish the book.
she is reminded of this every time she starts feeling a bit too comfy with her occasional travelling companion despite all the inherent ridiculousness AND blatant danger and yes she feels Stupid every time. what kind of behavior is thisssss. who is she. get it together.
her Constant road companion is a little robot-drone named zip; she (the robot is a girl, she has arbitrarily decided) carries rainmaking chemicals du jour up to clouds as needed and is strapped with all sorts of meteorlogical and other sensors, cameras, meters, etc. quite literally trioc's most prized 'possession' (it's kind of like a star wars droid but not with the shackled intelligence aspect... just very smart and well-trained pet energies. you understand)
again timelines ESCAPE ME and when it comes to wolfwood i prefer the og trigun timeline way more, but she met wolfwood a few years ago on an earlier rainmaking tour of only a few months (before she got engaged) and was getting pretty harshly evicted from a town (under threat of getting shot for being a fraud) when he eased the situation for her and they went on to another town together. she was trying to embrace living in the moment at that point in her life so they did have a roll in the hay and she is embarrassed about it and stubbornly pretending Not to be if he brings it up (read: teases her about it) years later lmfao. she probably saw wolfwood first before meeting vash and this meeting only happened because ww caught her trying to sneak away before he could notice her. cue most annoying but charming man on earth awards.
also clearly there are time skips here and there. at some point After july gets mcfucked, her engagment doesn't work out bc she gets to find out that her fiance has actually been compiling her research for the explicit purpose of only taking what he thinks is useful to him and mocking the rest with his peers. he stands to gain a lot from pilfering her research and dated her with the intention of doing so - and has notttt been acting like an engaged man in her absence.
obviously she immediately breaks it off with him, but that means she can't use any of the information he stole and also she's basically forced out of the same institution her father left. cycles repeating forever. he doesn't return any of her stuff from their shared apartment. she breaks in and takes it back while he's gone because she's not leaving her entire life behind with this asshole, but she is sobbing the whole time she's stealing her own stuff from her own home.
she's really very fucking upset about that for a long time. deleteriously so.
i literally cannot physically figure out anything else regarding timeline tn because. frankly. it gives me a headache. and i haven't finished the og anime yet anyway.
she smells like cinnamon
her favorite fruit is oranges - hasn't had one that measures up to her dad's greenhouse-grown ones, but maybe someday
her regular field outfit is some ridiculous goofy dune shit but she likes to wear a yellow sundress while in a town and not under active threat. it's the only other article of clothing she has besides all her Pure Utility field items lmao
has a gun and Is bad with it. hopes just having it will be enough of a deterrent. zip also has a little shock feature that it's used more times than she's ever fired the gun, but if push comes to shove she Will protect herself.
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
wait I legit thought that the rat dad figure being (?) in TMNT was extremely neglectful and that's why the four stick together because they essentially had to raise themselves alone while hiding from the rest of society?
Like that's why they're big on fighting/being strong is because they had to protect each other from whatever dangers might come and try getting rid of them all for being mutants and stuff.
Also thought they grew up in the sewers and had to climb out and steal a few things at night and that's why they dressed up as ninjas originally. So they could steal food/some supplies and like not die of starvation or whatever
(I have not seen any versions of the show and have only a vague understanding of TMNT. It sounds like it's ripe for dysfunctional family dynamics possibly??)
GHAGHAG OK SOOOO THE THING ISSSS THAT I HAVE A LOT OF OPINIONS ON SPLINTER and the nature of abuse/neglect in the tmnt franchise BUT
the thing is that there are a lot of versions of TMNT that I haven't seen, including any original/old versions or comics SO mind you that my opinions here are also mostly crafted through cultural osmosis, and some vague memories of comics/tv shows. the only tmnt show ive watched in its entirety has been the 2018 version (ROTTMNT).
THAT BEING SAID: I don't think its unfair to call most versions of splinter kind of bad parents. theres definitely versions of him that are barely parents at all, really more of a Master figure who teaches the turtles to fight and trains them, than like, a Dad. 2018 is prolly the most Dad like one (they even call him dad and pops and stuff)
the thing is that TMNT can be either incredibly lighthearted or really really angst-y. They do live in the sewers cause they can't usually live above ground with people, but this really ranges from "all humans hate and fear them and will attack them on sight" to "they just need to stay in the shadows and make sure they dont spook anybody" and sometimes it barely matters at all and people are just like "wow cool costumes guys"
and so in those lighthearted versions, while splinter might not be portrayed as a really cool great dad, he is usually a really cool great NINJA MASTER. so any kind of symptoms of neglect that could come from not being raised by PARENTS is usually forgotten/hand waved because who needs parents when you have your brothers??? COwabunGA lets go eat pizza :)
and thats FINE thats the tone they're going for its ok, even if logically it would be an emotional nightmare. this is a show about teenage mutant ninja turtles its ok to not be logical.
im actually not sure why they're ninjas, apart from Master Splinter training them to BE ninjas. though there are definitely versions where they're being hunted/seen as threats and that's why they need to Get Good at fighting.
so to recap: splinter isn't always portrayed as a good person or a good guardian, but usually the story doesn't really delve into that or frame it as abuse/neglect. sometimes he's "too harsh" or "too cold" but usually nothing deeper than that.
WHICH BRINGS US TO RISE OF THE TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES, the 2018 version that ive watched all of.
THE THING ABOUT ROTTMNT is that they made me uncomfortable by making jokes about splinter being a neglectful shitty dad, which i made a whole post about a while ago. and while they did make him a better dad LATER on it really really weirded me out how his neglect wasn't super focused on except for like. one or two episodes??
the thing is that splinter needs to be neglectful so that the boys can go out and have adventures and I GET THAT I REALLY DO as a storyteller some things just need to be hand-waved I GET IT. BUT. why draw attention to it if you dont plan on there being long term affects???
the only result seems to be that he Becomes a Better Dad but I can tell you first hand if my parents did a turn around like that it would NOT fix everything and I GUESS i'm just weirdly disappointed that they pointed out the neglect, made jokes about it, and then didn't reallyyyy go into it more. I mean im sure if I wanted to I could go into analysis mode and be like "well these character arcs could point to the ways neglect has effected them" but to be HONEST that'd probably be more me projecting than anything else.
AND LIKE. if they didn't want to discuss neglect why even bring it up???
and your point about it being a set up ripe for familial abuse/dysfunction is TRUE, but is also hardly ever the focus of the story. sure the stories focus on interpersonal issues, but its almost never framed through the lens of "these kids are being neglected" or "the reason they're having interpersonal issues because of the neglect they suffer" because well. that's just not very cowabunga. that's not very Kids Show. why not just have Raph and Leo fight over being the leader or again or something that's still a conflict but its less existentially draining.
and like MAYBE there's a version out there, some obscure comic run or something, that addresses all these issues and gives me the catharsis I crave BUT UNTIL THEN I will continue redrawing childhood memories of my shitty family superimposed onto TMNT characters.
SORRY for this huge, loosely jumbled together ramble but you activated my tmnt abuse/neglect fixation trap card
10 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello, would you have headcanons about the origins of each cenobite in the 2022 movie? I really wanted to see headcanons about each of them.
uwu MY FIRST HC ASKS. I'm only writing for the Priest and Gasp first. Hopefully will do the rest when they come.
The Priest
She was a very successful dermatologist and considered one of the nation’s leading experts in skincare.
Though she's charming, she prefers solitude and can count only a few people as her friends.
At first she wasn’t into the occult and was only interested in them as a lark.
That was, until a rival sent her the Lament Configuration Puzzle box with hopes of ruining her life.
She was entranced immediately.
She sees the box as a configuration of flesh, imperfect surfaces waiting for her to arrange it into perfection.
She started to neglect work and was put on probation and eventually she was fired.
She didn’t care, she wanted to solve it, to fix it but every step she took forward, she’d find herself taking a few steps back.
Eventually, she started to experiment on her flesh, to see, to find if she could find the path that would unravel the puzzle box.
Initially she did it with anaesthetics but she disliked how it made her foggy and unclear, so she does it without.
The first time she did, she nearly bit her tongue from the pain. So she began slowly, first a nick here, then a little patch there. She started from her legs then up her hips, then her waist and then her breasts until she uncovered all there was to her.
As she peeled her last, the puzzle finally, finally solved itself.
The OG Pinhead saw her work and called her ‘magnificent’ (the only other who got this praise was Kirsty)
She saw him and his Gash as a work of art and wept because how could she best that?
He carefully wiped the tears from her face and said: “Do not weep, for we have such sights to show you.”
When the chains pierced her, she saw God and rejoiced.
The only thing they found of her mortal flesh was patches of her skins, arranged neatly to a pattern of the Lament Configuration.
The Gasp
She has a lovely singing voice, clear and sharp as a bird, her grandpa would praise. And they would sing together – him in his old tongue and her in the new.
But she was very shy around people, so those who knew her singing abilities were her close family members.
So it came to a surprise for them, when she applied for music school and got in.
The puzzle came to her when she was on field trip with her new friends. One of them spoke of how this puzzle is a gateway to mind blowing pleasure. Most of them laughed at him about it, but she found herself simultaneously entranced and repulsed.
None of them managed to solve it, but somehow it slipped into her bag.
When she got home she was stunned to find it inside her things and threw it out the window. The next morning when she woke up it was back on her desk. She was spooked and knew the puzzle was bad news. She tried to burn it, she dropped it into a river and it still finds its way back.
After one too many she tried to smash it with a hammer, she heard it crack and a piercing pain in her throat.
She only managed to see a thin, small piece of the puzzle sinking into her neck. She clawed at it in horror and soon found herself gasping and unable to speak above a whisper.
None of the doctors could find what’s wrong and thinks that it’s all in her head. She tried to explain that it was the puzzle box but no one but her can see it.
Unable to sing, she became depressed and took a break from school.
She has nightmares of the puzzle unravelling in her throat, causing her much pain.
One day, feeling her lowest she clutched the spot where she thought she saw the piece sank into her, her nail caught a piece and she screamed – a pitch so high it shattered her bedroom window.
She’s stunned and tries again. She finds out if she could touch the fragment she could reach a tone of voice deemed impossible for human kind. The only downside was the pain, but she ignored it because she could sing and she could sing beautifully.
She returned back to school and stunned her teachers and classmates with her range.
But she doesn’t think it’s enough, so she tries to smash puzzle again, to swallow whatever pieces it had to become more, a singer without compare.
Her last show, she sang holding the puzzle in one hand and another clutching her throat. It was said her song was indescribably beautiful, so divine it shattered hearts and caused people into a frenzy of lust and pain. They said her last show caught the eye of the devil and as the final note ended, demons clad in leather and skin of twist and pain embraced her as she joins them in hell.
In the Leviathan’s Realm, her voice whispers to new followers, promising sensations not known to mortal kind. At times when you’re lucky, you can hear her sing the joys of Leviathan and if it made your throat ache and burn from pain, the better.
#hellraiser 2022#pinhead#the gasp#cenobites#headcanon#tw: body horror#tw: self harm#hellraiser#headcanons
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Extraverted Intuitive Description
VIRTUE: Innovation, Subversion, Endless ideas
VICE: Senility, Neglect, Loss of meaning
Contents
1. Novelty and Discard
2. Relativism and Trans-contextual Ideation
3. Ideational Transience: Momentary Cognition and Senility
4. The Dark Ne Type: Uncodified Escapism
1. The extraverted intuitive is primarily defined by two things; novelty and discard. Novelty and discard are not oppositional, they are synonymous. Discard is required for novelty, as if any condition lingers, then novelty vanishes, as the excitement of the new that novelty is defined by cannot exist without the old being dispatched. This makes this type incredibly subversive, and incredibly astute at recognising momentary opportunities, sometimes day-to-day, however, other times second-to-second, i.e. in the form of a freestyle rap, or an immediate pun. They maximise a state of extreme free-association and openness, as in their ability to discard their impressions faster than any other type, they are constantly open to the next opportunity. You have to neglect that which came before for renewal to take place, it is the opposite of Si's conservation and maintenance formed by a stronger cognitive attachment-forming.
This ideational transience carries both a light and dark element. The light element is its childish naivety. The extraverted intuitive gazes at the world constantly with infant eyes. They are the eternal child. When all is discarded, life remains permanently fresh. This can make the Ne type incredibly charming. However, this can also carry all of the callousness and neglect that a child may treat an old toy with after being gifted a new one. I will elaborate upon this in section 4.
2. The extroverted intuitive can also be understood by their tendency to often avoid meaning. In their lack of Ni, they will perceive the world as a series of unrelated stills. While it is true that they link many things together in their free-association, they need to perceive things as ultimately fundamentally unrelated on a deeper level to do so, as if the world was bound up by definite, convergent patterns then it would be impossible to subvert and make novel connections, as novelty is based on originality, which deep, fixed patterns reject. Ne connections do not meaningfully belong together.
The best example of this is a pun. Puns are based upon homonyms that carry two separate meanings, it is trans-contextual. You can assume both meanings of a pun, which is why its funny, as that duality carries a subversion of a canonical, singular interpretation of a word or phrase. Trans-contextualism assumes a lack of holistic meaning because it asserts multiple perspectives as equally valid, but this means that for the Ne type, nothing can truly be meaningfully connected to anything. Things can only be arbitrarily connected, which is why Ne creates so many possibilities.
Post-structuralism Aside
This is also why I believe that the Ne dominant post-structuralist and post-modern types are accused of being 'intellectual tricksters'; their relativism rejecting canonicity implicitly carries the idea of novelty-chasing for its own sake as the relativistic attitude carries the same drive as that which is built on abstract subversion. Abstract subversion is relativistic and trans-contextual, which ultimately looks like 'comedy' over time. In a rudimentary way, we could call it an intellectual movement treating the world with the same cognitive logic as a pun, as it assumes the validity of a multiplicity of interpretations in its relativism, as a pun does.
Difference Between Ne and the Pi functions
In essence, as Ne users revile all kinds of constraint, to 'map' things as Ni would define itself or the world by definitive axioms and would destroy their free-association. Ne is concerned with that which is forever UNCODIFIED. Archetypal patterns that are permanent, eternal, and exist outside of any context in their universalism present a predictability in their codification. Ne is therefore also not typically 'archaelogical' in an academic sense.
Furthermore, Ne types still perceive the world through Si, which means that they build a library of specific contexts and particulars, though the Ne dominant will be bad at maintaining and tracking this library. This means that though it is largely uncodified, when something does mean something to them, it means something to them in a specific context (i.e. nostalgia, a favourite impression that is very wrapped up in their particular experience), which also makes it impossible for them to view the world through universal, sweeping meanings and grand-narratives. Since they cannot divorce a 'structure' from particular instantiations of being and contexts (Si), it does not maintain an over-arching quality like Ni's more typically religious structures (whether actually religious or not, their vision will maintain a religious structure in how it points to something larger and structured outside of their particular 'self').
3. What people do not really understand about Ne in some of the mistypes of Ni users I have seen is that Ne is momentary. It considers 20 different possibilities, but even when deciding on one, it cannot commit even past that point for long, and doesn't perceive where it will actually go. I have illustrated what I mean here.
https://ibb.co/bgXMkNk I intend on making a cleaner, more concisely worded version in the future. It is slightly repetitive because I was making this at a point in which my thoughts were somewhat scattered, and I usually repeat myself on 'key points' to compose my thoughts, I often struggle with internal clarity.
This type of ideation also struggles to latch onto context from the previous moment in its presentism also, which means that in its most extreme state, Ne functions like predictive text, in which the next word is filled in based on relevance of the current word while the sentence itself lacks cohesion, as it cannot recall the context of all of the previous words included. Ne in its purest form bounces from whatever is relevant to the current idea, not what came before it. It is like this scene from Don't Hug Me I'm Scared also: https://youtu.be/dbL-NSkXnl8?t=349. The only difference is that there will be a more clear link between two of the things (i.e. maybe after the "We are in the universe" mentor appears, the next mentor to appear would be more related to something he had said, such as the cricket mentor being switched to in relation planets and realising they are spherical like a cricket ball instead, something more akin to that).
As a side note, I feel that Don't Hug Me I'm Scared may be the best representation of Ne in its most extreme form. Each time a mentor figure is introduced to explore a concept, the concept is explored from every angle with a core meaning being completely lost.
I.e.
Clock: "Now you can see the importance of time! It helps us make pizza, it keeps things in line".
Duck and Yellow Guy: "But when did it start? And when will it stop?"
Clock: "Time is important and I am a clock."
The fact that it can help us make pizza as a divergent what-if to springboard off in-the-moment is considered by the clock to be more relevant than some eternal truth as to what time actually is, with the question of its true nature being dodged. This is extreme Ne, which is also where a senile quality can emerge, in which nobody really knows anything because only the off-the-cuff pizza ideas are being considered. What we could do by using time is of primary importance.
Drug Function? :0
I also feel that this is why it is often considered the 'drug' function. Being high often induces a state in which cognitive cohesion dissolves and previous contexts of thoughts are dismantled, the similar state most likely being responsible for an increase in creativity in many artists that do get high. If you cannot focus on anything other than the current ideational moment, including the context the moment was built upon, then you can go in radically creative directions. The most extreme version of this would most likely carry a senile quality, breaking ideational boundaries to the point in which the brain is addled beyond the possibility of proper, cohesive comprehension of anything (which requires ideational constraints). I do genuinely believe that psychoactive compounds may create a state of quasi-intuition in non-intuitive types, or even maximise it in intuitive types. It may even explain the Ne types attraction to alcohol in the drunk-Ne trope, i.e. Rick Sanchez - blurrier ideation and messier, less inhibited/constrained cognition is where Ne lives, so such compounds may make such a person feel 'more themselves' if they identify with this process so heavily.
4. Where the extraverted intuitive's greatest strength is ideational opportunism, their greatest weakness is neglect. In a state of severe Ne escapism, they neglect themselves, their relationships, their obligations, and so on, not wanting to be bound up by a single frame as they will be unable to access the next shiny new opportunity that may catch their eye, until they lose so much continuity in their life that they can barely recall why they are even doing what they are doing, repressed and aimless (senility). In their ideational transience, their attachment-forming and ability to codify sentiments long-term is often lower. In a dark state, they are a fantasist allowing the rest of the world to waste away provided it is exciting enough. Worse yet, they may not even realise they are doing it anymore, due to that senile characteristic. In their transformative ability, they lose a real store of definitive knowledge, truths and so on, so the idea that they even have a problem is in itself up for debate, as that rests upon many fixed axioms, which Ne rejects.
Examples
In their dark form, they are the evil clown, Batman's Joker and Harley Quinn, or The Terrifier's Art the clown. They are Rick and Morty's Rick Sanchez, neglecting family obligations and ruining his Grandson's school life in pursuit of escapism. I feel that you can also note Rick's senile quality in the first few episodes of the show, and the writers' drifts towards senile aspects for subversion in the original pilot, or buried within episodes like Morty's Mindblowers. Rick's drunkeness and forgoing his real backstory mirror this quality also. They are Better Call Saul's Jimmy McGill, burying his past and decodifying his attachment to as much as possible in pursuit of novel opportunism as an escape, whatever the consequence. I feel Bob Odenkirk plays inferior Si incredibly well; in certain scenes in which Howard or Kim are talking to Jimmy about Chuck's demise, he acts like he is almost unsure of who Chuck even is. Completely buried or dismantled long-term attachment and continuity to the point of near irrecognition of Chuck emotionally. They are Junko Enoshima, pursuing the insanity of despair over the sterility of hope, remarking that hope is too 'boring' and ordered. They are Willy Wonka running so far from his father that his occupation, his factory, becomes a surreal fantasyland full of exciting yet nonetheless dangerous hazards. They are the Cat in the Hat warping sterile reality into a chaos to escape the pristinity of a land of dollhouses.
#extroverted intuition#Ne#cognitive functions#Mbti#jung#mbti personality types#mbti types#don't hug me i'm scared#better call saul#danganronpa#cat in the hat#rick and morty#rick sanchez#time#clock#senility
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ro's Oc Halloween Special!
Part 2
Demon! Silas in:
Possession
Cw: mentions of a family member passing, Ouija board? (Idk fucking around with demons and ghosts) murder, body possession, implied noncon
'To our dearest grandchild,
If you are reading this, I have passed. You are my one and only grandchild, and I love you so much... so in my passing, I leave you the key to my old estate. The place needs some fixing, so I leave you with some of my wealth, as well as all of the treasures I own.
I apologize for not being there for you and spending more time with you in your childhood. I had something I could not bear to bring on the rest of the family...hope I can make it up to you with this final gift.
Love, Grandma'
You had to hold back your tears reading your grandmother's letter. She was a kind woman although very distant to the rest of your family... she raised an entire family by herself and still became a successful career woman.
You always adored your grandmother until suddenly she suddenly cut contact with the entire family. And the family just treated her as if she ever existed
And now here she was sending a letter to her grandchild... her grandchild whom she had not seen in a decade. Why??
After years of not talking, why now?? Why she disappeared so suddenly? And why did the family shut her out when she seemed to have done nothing wrong?
Those were questions in your mind for only a moment before deciding ultimately I'm taking her estate. You needed to move out of your apartment... rent with cheap, but your landlord was neglectful, and the neighbors were Extremely Loud and caused all kinds of ruckus. Also because you wanted to keep something, that belonged to someone you held dear
The estate was huge and empty. The rent was going to be expensive, so you arranged for a couple of your friends to live with you as your roommates...
As you and your four friends were cleaning out the attic that still had some stuff. Dusty boxes with black books and candles with black cloth sticking out of it.... your parents always said Grandmother was into weird shit, something ungodly Unholy... you and your four friends shuddered, the ones cheerful Goof Off atmosphere suddenly became tense and alert as you continued to clean up the Attic.
you noticed an old white dresser with a mirror. The dresser had a black box in one of its drawers with an old paper stuck to it that said "DO N** ****" part of the notes was scratched and scribbled out.
One of your friends encouraged you to open the box, so you did. Your eyes widened when you saw a beautiful black choker with a purple rhinestone in its Center... this was the choker grandma always wore.
All her other jewelry was either given to some of your family members or sold off, but surprisingly, this family heirloom stayed... you didn't hesitate to put on the choker.
You wore that choker every single day it was special to you like it was to grandmother and her grandparent before her.
The first few months in your new home were nothing special. Maybe some little petty conflict here and there, but the house was big enough for your friends to have their own rooms and other rooms for their stuff. But soon, things slowly started to become more and more...off...
Occasionally you would get a pinch of anxiety in your gut, even turning your head to look behind you when you feel like something is watching you. Still, you brush it off as just anxiety.
When all of you were in the kitchen chatting and making breakfast your other roommate walked into the kitchen with dark bags under his eyes. Another roommate asks, and reluctantly, he answers
" I've just been having nightmares lately... Someone killing me in various ways. And every night was different...getting more brutal and gruesome, and what's weird is that it's the same guy. I can barely distinguish his features, but I know he had long black hair and purple eyes."
This is how he would hunt his victims, trying to make them leave... if that didn't work then he would have to take more drastic measures. His powers hadn't fully returned yet, he hasn't gotten a chance to touch you. It has been a millennium since he has had a 'better' meal. Usually living off of the fear and flesh of the ones he haunts.
You or somehow different than his usual prey... kind, gentle, full of life, very protective of your friends and family just like his last prey, but something else had him drawn to you; he couldn't put his finger on why in all his years he has never felt a such attraction to a mortal... let alone a Mortal from a family he targets. The kin of an ancestor that cursed him into the very gemstone they wear.
He wants to continue his torment. Seeing the fear in your eyes will make his heart flutter, but a part of him wants to court you to take you as his mate. Clutching his fists and growling, unable to do anything as his roommates flirt, grabbing even the smallest amount of attention away from him.
You were not safe either, having nightmares of a figure doing horrible things to your seeing your friends and family getting murdered waking up unable to move while you felt hands touch and caress your skin.
Silas yearns for connection to your world.. he can only do so much in people's dreams, especially when the human conscience is on the border of dream and reality, where they lay still and pretty for him to do whatever he wants, for only a short amount of time. Their eyes tearing up with fear because their minds can't fully comprehend his form.
Fortunately for him one night will change forever...
All five of you decide to clean out your grandmother's attic again. It has been half a year since all of you cleaned it the first time, and you weren't even nearly done. All of you had nothing planned today and it was storming pretty bad
Your friend lifts up a box covered in dust; you could just nearly make it out. 'Ouija board' All of you took a small break
All five of you gathered around the board putting your hands on the wooden piece. You didn't know how your friends convinced you to do this. Now you just silently pray that nobody responds.
One of your friends speaks up
"Are you here?"
...
Nothing...
Your other friend right next to you speaks next.
"Are you here?"
....
Still nothing.
It was your turn now you hesitate that first before your voice shakes
"H-hello"
...
The wooden piece on the board begins to move
'H-e-l-l-o'
Your friends chatter in excitement, but you stay frozen, an overwhelming feeling of dread pooling in your stomach.
" I think we should stop" you suggest but your friend shot your request down
"What? Why we just started?"
The wooden piece started to move again.
Slowly spelling out your name.
Suddenly the tune changed in the room quickly. Y'all have seen too many horror movies to know where this is going.
"Um, sorry to cut this thing short but we need to say goodbye."
'No.'
Suddenly none of you can take your fingers off of the wooden piece no matter how hard you struggle.
The peice began to move again quicker and quicker continuing to spell out your our first name over and over until...
The Lights Went Out...
You head out to your room, refusing to come out; your two friends go to the generator to see if they can turn it on. Two of your other friend rush to the kitchen, trying to see if the food is okay. Your last friend stayed with you on the other side of the door trying to console you.
You refused to come out of your room until the lights were on completely spooked by the experience. The clouds covered the night sky and the lightless mansion made everything Pitch Black.
Your friends who went to go to the generator and the kitchen had not returned in 2 hours, your last friend said he would be back in a couple of minutes.
You huddled in the corner of your bed terrified The Dread feeling in your stomach getting stronger and stronger as you feel something was in the room with you something sinister.
You felt your heart leap out of your throat upon seeing a clawed hand rising from underneath your bed gripping the edge.
A shadowy black figure makes its way from underneath the bed mostly humanoid with horns and a tail long claws and a white sinister smile.
"Mine" it growled, it's shadowy claws scratch at the ground as it stands up to full height. You want to scream but nothing comes out of your throat. It stalks closer.
Oh, how long he waited to see you. The tasty blood and flesh of your friends gave him just enough power to form physically in your plane of existence for the first time in 100 years. And no meddling ancestors will get in his way. Oh poor can shaking like a little lamb not knowing the past of your demon Vanishing ancestors, yet you still wear the very prison they trapped him in. He wasn't fully free he was still bound to the gem on the choker, Silas cannot go too far from it or it's wear.
He could use you as a vessel and end you and your bloodline, but he had other plans.
You heard the lock on your door turn before the being lunch at you completely disappearing inside your form.
You felt conscious but you couldn't control your body standing up against your own will. You walk over to the standing mirror expecting yourself everything looks just about the same but purple eyes that were not yours stared back.
You felt yourself smile as you begin to unbutton your shirts
" we're going to have so much fun together sweet lamb~"
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Oh Klahoma
I have been listening for it for quite a while, hello new hyperfixation, and here is a line by line analysis of the lyrics. Because I can.
TW: the theory is about child abuse, bullying and potential suicide.
Set the phasers to rot
So. Star Trek reference. Oldschool and nostalgic stuff, at least I think this is what this is implying. It feels like the singer - not Jack, the character who is singing - is mourning childhood, which feels like it's eroding, rotting.
What has got you distraught?
It's negative attention at best
But call it nothing
I think he talks to his old, childhood self who didn't get too much positive attention, probably because their parents were neglectful and abusive, or bullying. I think being bullied would make more sense in this context, because often the adults tell kids to treat it as nothing.
Maybe its something, a little bit, a little bit
Maybe its something, do a little bit, a little bit
A moment of oh yeah, the things that happened to me during childhood were actually awful.
It's all about ascension, I guess
As in ascension beyond the hurt. Putting trauma behind you.
Notice how he uses grandiose language and turns his attention to ascension immediately after he (barely) admitted to himself he had issues.
Don't put me to rest
The inner child's response. They beg the singer to please, please, please notice them, pay attention to them. Please, fix the issues. Please, fix the pain.
Go on and hand me your clothes
This is probably meant as a sex thing, but I am choosing to interpret it as you either grew out of them, or you played in mud again. Or clothes are symbolic: the singer is trying to shed either their past self, or something that covers up how they really are.
Take a picture or two
This reminds me of those photo albums with childhood pictures.
I can see you
Recurring theme in Jack's work. I think the neglected inner child gets this said to them, as self-comfort.
Tears falling down at the party
Saddest little baby in the room
Fears! Tell me fears! Don't get me started
I get a little grey hair for every scare you share
After the singer finally chose to see the inner child, and their own pain, the inner child is finally able to cry, to release. And now, since they started to unearth the past hurt and pain, the fears and anxieties start to come up.
Those aren't meant to bend
No, those aren't meant to bend
Those aren't meant to bend
No, those aren't meant to bend
The child's boundaries, limits, the child themselves, maybe even physically. I think they were forced to carry much more than they should have, and this brings things like support beams bending in mind. (This made sense in my head.)
I hear your eyes
And I see those cries
I hear those eyes
And I see those cries
I can't be the only one who hears you
This. This makes me think that the crying person is not physically at the party, partially because of hearin eyes and seeing cries is weird at best, and partially because "I can't be the only one who hears you". Often, these kind of experiences are so strong and overwhelming you feel like other people must see and hear you too. And often, they don't.
<insert bunch of repeating lyrics>
Fears! Tell me fears! Don't get me started
I might die
Well. This is because facing your fears is fucking overwhelming, and it can feel like dying. Maybe the singer did die, and committed suicide, maybe they just felt very very bad for a while.
#jack stauber#oh klahoma#i think absolutely devastating themes are on par with Jack"s work#i am doing this instead of everything i should sdfsdf#i didnt see many things like this on Oh Klahoma which I think is a shame#Jack's lyrics in general are very dense with meaning
3 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
cloud-manic
cloud
lasertags-blog
I . F O U G H T . T H E . W A R
bdiaperlover
Unbetitelt
ask-pearlie
Don't Get Cooked!
nclighting
NC Lighting