#that’s just a fact from the logbook
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The FNAF Mikes and Vanessas watch Immortal and restless
#myart#chloesimagination#comic#michael afton#vanessa afton#vanessa shelly#fnaf vanessa#fnaf vanny#mike schmidt#The immortal and the restless#fnaf#sister location#security breach#fnaf movie#fnaf fanart#five nights at freddy's#do yall know Michael canonically kins Clara#that’s just a fact from the logbook#Seeing Michael loves Soap Operas I wanna believe game Vanessa does too#while the other two are not that interested at all#the Aftons just love drama#All of them in comfy wear Mike sleeps in his work clothes so he stays the same#the four of them… besties
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If any other FNAF fans wanna throw in your favorite fucking insane FNAF facts PLEASE do
VAGUE explanations under the cut (please know I feel like that xkcd panel about overestimating the average person's knowledge of a topic right now)
the bite of 87 isn't important to the lore: It comes up ONCE in the first game, barely effects the lore, we don't even know who it happened to, literally its only lore impact is that the animatronics can't walk around during the day anymore. meanwhile the bite of 83 is incredibly likely to be the inciting incident that caused the murderer to do the murders. the "WAS THAT THE BITE OF 87" meme is not the bite of 87
golden freddy might have two souls: in the final fnaf 3 cutscene the bad end has golden freddy's head with two lights in it, and in the survival logbooks it's heavily implied there are two spirits rummaging around in there. there's more evidence but it's funnier if i don't tell you. the generally accepted canon is that golden freddy is possessed by a little boy named evan and a little girl named cassidy which is so genderweird of them
there are two purple guys and only one of them is actually purple: purple guy one is a murderer who killed at least six children. purple guy two is a rotting corpse who had his organs scooped out and possessed his own dead body to hunt down his father (who is purple guy one) and set him on fire twice. purple guy one is also a rotting corpse but he's in a fursuit
foxy has weird fucking genders: the foxy from the first few fnaf games is a guy and is referred to with he/him pronouns. in sister location, there's a foxy called funtime foxy, and when you select "girls night" in the custom night, they're one of the contestants. and in ultimate custom night, mangle (a really fucked up version of foxy) is referred to with he/she pronouns. this is canon and makes my gay little heart very happy
fnaf takes place in utah: fnaf takes place in utah
one of the novels had matpat mpreg: okay it's technically not matpat it's a guy named mat. however it's hilarious to say it's matpat. no this isn't a joke there was mpreg. with springtrap. i refuse to explain this
purple guy (the murderer one) might also be a yellow guy: in pizza sim there's a minigame with lore in it where you play a yellow mustard man who's a terrible father. it's theorized a lot that he may be the ourple guy because his son has grey text. no we don't know why he became yellow. he's never yellow again except when he's one of the comical amount of bunnies (there are like ten different bunnies in fnaf)
there are eight dead kids: we even know their names!
purple guy and his family are all british: in the opening cutscene to sister location, we hear the voice of one "mr. afton", who is the purple guy (the one who killed kids). he's british. throughout sister location, we hear the voice of a little girl, who is heavily theorized to be afton's daughter- elizabeth afton. one piece of evidence for this is that she is also british. and in the final cutscene of sister location, we hear the voice of someone named michael (who is the purple guy who's actually purple), talking to his father, and saying he's gonna come fucking KILL him, right before springtrap (purple guy) is shown and guess what michael's fuckin british. fnaf takes place in utah and no other characters are british. it's just the aftons.
there are three different jeremys and they all die: jeremy fitzgerald from the second game is heavily theorized to be the bite of 87 victim. one of the missing children is named jeremy and is possessing one of many bunnies. in the vr game a guy named jeremy is haunted by one of many bunnies and cuts his own face off. i personally find it hilarious to headcanon that jeremy fitzgerald is also jeremy from vr and maybe even the jeremy who got killed by william afton. especially considering the time traveling ballpit
bears are canonically extinct: in security breach, handunit mentions this in ONE LINE. it is not lore important. it is never mentioned again. objectively the funniest possible thing steel wool could've done
what the fuck is going on in fnaf: Buddy this is barely scratching the surface I haven't even talked about the child sized compartment in Circus Baby. You don't even know about the Charliebots or the Nightmare Gas. Do you even know about the Mimic. Do you have any idea what remnant is. There are ten different bunnies who are all also the same bunny. If you get into FNAF lore you will exit a changed man. Nothing here matters. There is a time travel ballpit
Anyway Cassidy isn't the Vengeful Spirit Michael is read that excellent Google Doc by @/whencartoonsruletheworld and THANK ME LATER
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*it's literally just. an assumption. based on "we know she's possessing golden freddy in the logbook" and "andrew in fazbear frights maaaaybe parallel???" and yet the entire fanbase is like "this is canon tho. angry little girls are epic" (which. true, but)
EDIT: on the mike one meant to say "three weeks for body to skeletize" so how the hell is this man still walkin. does he have just some super sweet glue and is a walkin skeleton or
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(Call me surprised when I found out the you takes Q and A's for the characters!)
Hey Mr. (Cassie's dad)! Nice to meet you. I would like to ask you a question. Judging by the fact that you have a Survival Security Logbook, do you perhaps know a certain Michael Afton? Like, from teenagehood?
I just need to confirm something...
Ooo I didn’t expect an ask for the technician! This is awesome! :D
Asked by anonymous
#asks#fnaf asks#fnaf sb#fnaf#anon asks#fnaf security breach#fnaf gregory#fnaf technician#fnaf helpy#finding home au extras#ask the characters
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༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid-Chapter 3·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻
A/N: Hii everyone! Sorry this chapter is a little later than usual, burnout happened, school happened, the whole shebang!
This chapter is a doozy though, hope you all will love it <3
Playlist:
Navigation
Enjoy<3
꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫☾🥀꧂
The sun rays peek through your window and the birds’ chirps awake you from your slumber.
Or maybe it’s the snoring of a drowsy Adam, who was lying beside you, though you’ve inured yourself to his unconscious noises for ages.
You get up from your bed, just to almost have your legs give way under you, thanks to the fact that you had to be pounded by your husband, as you promised to him.
Last night felt like a chore. You feel really bad for thinking it, but it really did.
You’re not an expert, but sex should feel enjoyable, by all sides involved, but with Adam, it feels like an obligatory activity.
You spend the next 25 minutes brushing your teeth, showering and getting ready for the day. Since there’s nothing to do at home (well, there’s nothing to do at home) you decide that this is a good time to be productive.
You head into the kitchen and scrutinise each and every ingredient that graces your pantry.
“Hmm, maybe this would work…” You grab flour, eggs, milk and a frying pan…
꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂
The smell of buttery pancakes drifts throughout the kitchen. You sit down in your chair and take a bite of your breakfast.
The pancakes themselves were lovely; the consistency was just right and the flavour was something to die again for, courtesy of Heaven’s always perfect ingredients.
Heaven….
‘Perfect’ Heaven.
Up until a few weeks ago, you would have believed that sentimental saying that you hear being thrown around on multiple occasions, but now, those words seem like direct opposites of each other, an oxymoron even.
The mere thought of it sets an uneasy feeling in your stomach.
You shakily finish one pancake, and neatly leave the rest in the microwave.
You have more pressing matters to get on about today, and pancakes aren’t one of them, though you want it to be.
꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂
“Welcome to Heaven, how can I help?” The Saint looks up from his logbook with a face coloured with surprise when he recognises you.
“Y/N! How’ve ya been?”
“I’m doing good,” you smile up at the angel behind the pedestal.
“So, what can I do for the wonderful wife of Adam, hm?” St. Peter clicks his tongue and finger guns.
“Well, Peter, is there a chance you could show me the list of Heaven’s recent residents? There’s a certain person I’m looking for…” Realisation hits you like a truck. Would this information be classified? You wouldn’t know until-
“Yeah sure, here!” The Saint passes you a page with written names and dates.
“This is a list of Heaven’s newest angels from up to a month ago. I hope you find who you’re looking for!”
“Thanks Pete, you’re a Saint,”
“Well, I am Saint Peter after all, ah bye-bye!”
Well that was easier than anticipated.
Now you need a private place to mull it over…
You walk through the brightly lit heavenly streets and bump into someone, sending you and your papers flying.
“Oh my, misss, I am ssssso ssssorry,” The person bends down to collect the papers.
“No, no it’s fine, sorry-” your voice gets stuck in your throat. You take a close look at the person collecting your papers.
The person, or, you should say snake, was sporting a smart coat, top hat, and eyes in his hair?
He was familiar. Where have you seen him before?
Your eyes dilate in recognition.
He was pixel perfect to the mural that Charlie showed you the other day.
“Excuse me for asking, but are you Sir Pentious?”
The snake demon, or angel, looks around before leaning in.
“Depends on who’sssss asssking,”
“Oh uh,” you think for a moment. How do you explain that you know he was a demon, without seeming like a stalker of sorts.
Clearly, this isn’t the subject to have casually in the street.
“Here, let me explain over tea and cookies, hm? My treat!” You grab the hand of Pentious gently and head to the nearest café.
꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂
“And ssso, thisss Adam guy just sssnapped me out of existence, and now I’m here, but without my egg boisss,” Pentious explains while indulging himself with a Pain un Chocolat, eyes welling while doing so.
“Huh, I see. So Charlie’s plan does work,” you mumble to yourself. “And I apologise for my husband, by the way,”
The snake pales, his skin now ashy. “He’ssss, your husssband?” he instinctively pushes away from you in his seat.
“Yes, but don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I just promised Charlie that I would help her with the hotel and redemption and all that…”
“Oh I sssee. Here’ss my card if you need anything more,” He produces a card and hands it to you, and you accept it graciously, despite it having a slimy residue on it.
“Great! I have to go now but it was nice meeting you,” you shake his hand and leave the café.
꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂
“So, what’s it like having sex with the first man? What are your orgasms like?”
“Angel, don’t torment the poor girl,”
“Whaat? Just askin’” Angel groans and puts his phone on the countertop of the bar.
Apparently, Charlie has gone AWOL, along with Vaggie and Lucifer, the three people that deserve to be the first people aware of the gratifying information you are holding.
This tension is getting you antsy, but you answer your newfound bestie’s question.
“Overrated to be honest. Not meaningful in the slightest,” Your blunt answer stuns Angel and Husk for a moment.
“What’s this about orgasms?” You turn back to the entrance of the hotel.
Shit.
The one person whom you didn’t want to hear you say that, was standing in front of you, holding about 10 shopping bags, his daughter and his daughter’s partner following suit.
God, what must he think? You want to slam your head into the table, but you refrain yourself.
“Uh Dad?” Charlie taps her dad’s shoulder.
“Maybe let’s refrain from talking your way into the sex life of guests? Anyway, how are you, Y/N? I hope everything’s alright?” Charlie inadvertently snapping you out of your apparent embarrassment.
“Oh yes! Not just alright; absolutely amazing actually. I have important information to tell you so forgive me for my impromptu visit, but it clearly cannot wait,” you practically jump out of your chair, bursting with energy.
My, you haven’t felt this emotion since…
Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
“Well, I did some digging and…” you grab the crusted card from your bag.
“Well, congratulations to you, Miss Charlie Morningstar, Princess of Hell, because your dream is a reality!” You flourish the card to Charlie, and she takes it.
She blinks.
Everyone else blinks.
“Uh, what is this exactly?”
You groan. Fun police much?
“Sinners can be redeemed, I found Sir Pentious in Heaven just this morning,” you concede, impatiently tapping the card.
“Wait really? You aren’t just messing with me?” Charlie’s eyes practically shone with stars.
“Angels aren’t known for that darling.”
As soon as you say that Charlie squeals and jumps up and down, ecstatic.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyooouuuuuu!” She gushes and hugs you extremely tight, constraining your lungs, but you really don’t care.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” You pull away to have Alastor behind you, with that ever-so-familiar-yet-unpleasant grin.
When did he get here?
“Seems like out little Morningstar is becoming quite the entrepreneur,” Alastor places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, as though they are father-daughter.
Father-daughter, where the daughter’s biological dad is directly beside them.
“Hey, hey now, get your slimy claws off of my daughter, would ya?” Lucifer asks the Radio demon, half laughing.
“Oh? The same daughter you’ve abandoned for countless years on end? The same daughter who had to build this establishment by herself, with no support. The same daughter I’ve been faithful to, in comparison to you? I’ve stuck through thick and thin with her. Hell, I probably fit the Dad position by definition,”
The room is loud with silence; you could probably hear a pin drop.
Alastor’s voice carries those words in a seemingly defensive manner, but you can tell that those words don’t hold any meaning to him.
It seems like you’re the only person to realise that, because with the slam of a door, Lucifer exits the room, leaving an aura of pure anger and jealousy behind.
“Dad!”
“Charlie, maybe you should give him a breath of fresh air-” Vaggie tries pulling her back.
“No! Vaggie, he needs someone to be there with him. God knows what he will do and what if-” Charlie is in a craze to get to the door.
“I’ll go,” you say abruptly. Without question, you go through the door.
꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂
“Hey, it’s really hot out here, you know,” you stand at the garden door, as the king gazes out on Hell’s not-so-perfect landscape depressingly.
Silence.
“Alastor was just pulling your leg back there, he just wanted to piss you off,” you stand beside him, keeping an appropriate distance.
“I know. That’s not the problem. The problem is that-” his voice hitches.
“Go on,”
“The problem is, is the fact he’s not even wrong; I left Charlie with nothing, she had to support herself before help came along, I barely was there for her throughout all of this, until the very last moment, when she didn’t even need me anymore,” The King of Hell rambles, and fidgets with a small yellow thing in his hand. A bird of some sorts.
A duck?
“I can’t do anything right,” he continues.
Okay, you have to stop getting sidetracked by meagre things.
“Lucifer, listen. Yes, you may not have been there for her before, but you’re here now, and you are ready to help. Yes, I know it’s scary, yes I know it’s hard, but I have an inkling that Charlie would love to start having a bond with her father again. Also, you know her and how she is; she isn’t the type to shut you out. Just try to put some work into it, okay?”
That felt like more of a ramble, than advice, but it seems to suffice for the King of Hell.
“Thank you. I really know why Charlie has taken a liking to you…” he trails off, continuing to fidget with the rubber duck. He squeezes it, and it plays a short, spunky tune.
“And see? Atleast you’re doing something small for now, you should take it easy. By the way, that’s the most adorable rubber duck!” You gush at the plastic fellow, earning a smirk from Lucifer.
“Oh? Changing the subject are we?” The fallen angel teases.
Well, that was out of nowhere, but you just go with the flow.
“Yeah, and what? That’s a fuckin’ cool duck, so I apologise for acknowledging that fact,”
“Ah well, I have better. By the way, why are you talking about orgasms to that porn star- I mean Angel, back there?”
Oh yeah. That happened.
“Gee, why does everyone want to know the juicy details of my life? But really,he was just interested in my sex life, that’s all,”
“Interesting. You know I slept with 2 of Adam’s previous wives?”
“Don’t even try,” you give him a playful shove.
“Eh, worth a shot,”
꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂
You and the blond-haired demon go back inside, giggling about some disastrous function you went to when you were younger, and how you may or may not have been the leading cause.
Thankfully, the only person in the lobby was Charlie, who jumped to hug her father the second she saw the two of you, making them both cry and profusely apologise to one another.
Yeah, maybe it’s a good time to go. Maybe quietly too this time.
You open the portal, and you are back in Heaven again, in front of the pearly gates of the place you call home.
As you open the door and turn into the living room, you nearly jump out of your skin.
“Hey,” The sound of your husband’s voice rings through your ears.
“I ate your pancakes from this morning,”
“Alright. I’ll make dinner soon, but I’m tired right now,” you pave your way to your bedroom, when Adam pulls you back.
“Where were you even?”
“Places,” you try to pull away, but the First Man doesn’t relent.
“Where? You weren’t in Heaven, were you?”
“Alright fine. I was in Hell, cleaning up the mess you and your little play soldiers made by the way,”
“Were you not there the other day? Why are you so attached to this-” Cogs turn in Adam’s head.
“You were with him, weren’t you? You fucking slut,” Adam’s hand swiftly slaps you across the face. A small cut of golden blood streaks down your face.
“What the fuck? Of course Lucifer is gonna be there, you dumbass?! Why do you think I’m gonna sleep with-” You dodge a flying porcelain jug that was headed in your general direction.
“That fucking demon, thinking he’s hot shit and- and all, just fucking whoever he wants-” The Angel starts storming around the living room, just throwing random shit about, like a kid having a tantrum, making colourful insults while doing so.
You sigh and go into the kitchen to make dinner; hopefully Adam would have blown off enough steam by then.
“Oh and- You better not go back there again, you got it?”
“…Fine,” You slam the door behind you.
Clearly, you have to be more furtive about your visits to the underworld.
For now, maybe you should cook some dinner, and a warm bath.
Your back really hurts.
꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂
Word count- 2264
Taglist:
@dionysusismypatrongod
#fanfiction#hazbin hotel#lucifer morningstar x reader#hazbin lucifer#lucifer magne#hazbin hotel lucifer#angst#lucifer morningstar#fluff#slow burn#angel dust hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel husk#sir pentious#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel adam#adam hazbin hotel#light angst#lucifer x reader angst#lucifer x you#lucifer x reader
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It's possible I misunderstood your post but dw cuz I'm speaking in good faith. Concerning your post about Rest in Power and oral history, I think it's more apt to compare the dismissal of oral history less with what's going on right now - as so much of it is being recorded and plastered all over social media - but rather with the Nakba and the dismissal of its history because it's oral and it is old and constantly denied. As recently as a few days ago, an American reporter went up on live television and denied the Nakba, stating it's something we simply 'think' happened to us. Anytime you see a Palestinian blog you'll see hate anons saying something along the lines of "The Nakba was fake, it never happened. We need another one."
Likewise Wikipedia, Twitter reader-provided context, white leftists, etc... denying the use of 'Rest In Power' prior to 2000, and the fact it was used to mourn the many assassinated members of the Black Panther party in the second half of the 20th century; simply because it wasn't written in a Columbia University ethnography but rather remembered in the collective memory of African-Americans. The very fact itself that Black activists and leaders were killed and assassinated by the establishment is not known. People treat 'Rest In Power' as though it's a new phenomenon just because it left containment. It's not new, simply new to the white gaze which cannot see past its fingertips. As new as Turtle Island was to them when they first saw it in 1492. Same thing with 'woke'. And acrylic nails. And AAVE in general.
The things my family has been through will never be written in a history book. It will never be considered legitimate testimony or recorded history by academia. We prize these memories far more than any exploitative institution ever could.
Ending this off with a link to a website called "Palestine remembered", which compiles lots and lots of information gathered both from old primary sources such as maps and logbooks and the like, as well as oral history from survivors of the Nakba and refugees. All village names can be found filed under specific central cities. For the hundreds of villages and towns erased off the map of Palestine, our elders have stories to tell:
https://www.palestineremembered.com/
admittedly I don't have much to add to what you said, I can say you didn't misinterpret my post at all, and thank you so much for your insight and the link!! I really appreciate it
palestineremembered.com <- hyperlinked text.
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On Mourning
Everything feels like a nightmare. It would have been easier if she could cry.
unnamed FMC. Zayne. cameos from other characters. post chapter 4.03, so spoilers for that. canon divergent(?)
She hadn't attended a funeral visitation in years. In fact, she doesn't even remember attending one, ever.
But here she was, having to arrange Grandma's and Caleb's. Captain Jenna forcefully put her in a leave, and she couldn't exactly say no to her boss.
So she stayed. In a small room at the funeral parlor, with only photographs of the deceased—because the explosion and the fire were so bad and nothing was left of her childhood home.
She sat there, received people who offered her condolences. Grandma's neighbours, Caleb's associates in Skyhaven, her friends from Linkon University. Tara, good soul that she is, visited almost every day, bringing homecooked meals delivered from her mother. Xavier dropped by, offering nothing but an understanding look. Thomas did too, haphazard in his condolences with an extremely extravagant flower display. And there was Rafayel, who came so late at night and gave her the conch shell he said a seagull would give her.
Amidst all those visitors and well-wishers, no one had noticed: she hadn't cried at all.
There was a heavy weight in her heart, and she wished so badly that she could, but there were no tears in her eyes. She sat there, pale as a sheet of paper with her mouth pursed, staring at the pictures of Grandma and Caleb. Aghast, befuddled, and mad. So, so mad.
Mad at the suspicious old guy, mad at herself for not even noticing. Mad at herself for surviving.
It's late night of the visitation, the night before the funeral, when Zayne dropped in. He's late, they both know it. He should have been there earlier. She wants to blame him, wants to be angry at him, but she can't. Not when the Wanderer attacks have been happening more frequently and he had to work around the clock.
She gives him a perfunctory smile as she stands up to welcome him instead. "Hey."
Zayne looks at her as he finishes signing on the logbook. He looks at her in that searching gaze that he always does. 'Assessing,' she thinks, because he's a doctor first and foremost and that's how he always is.
"Have you gotten enough sleep?" he asks, without so much as a greeting, as they sit side by side.
"I'll sleep when I get to," was her non answer.
Everything falls silent. Outside, it rains. She listens to the pitter patter as the house exploded again and again, in her mind's eye.
Zayne taps her quietly on the arm. Hands her something.
It was a handful of photos. With trembling hands, she takes and looks through them.
"My parents had always loved taking photos, and there were some of you. I thought you'd like seeing them."
Her childhood. With him, with Caleb, with Grandma. She stops at a photo with her and Caleb and Grandma. It was taken right outside the barbecue restaurant they frequented in their childhood. She remembers this day, because it was Caleb's birthday, and she's gifted him a bracelet and grandma gave him a red packet. None of them were related by blood, but it was a family.
"Thank you." Her voice was strained, hoarse.
Zayne stands up.
She expects him to say goodbye, so she stands up too. She was trembling.
"I'd see you off, then..."
Just as she was about to step away, Zayne, who was behind her, covered her eyes with his hands.
"Zayne?"
"It's alright to cry, you know."
His warmth behind her back, the rough but steady hands over her eyes made her slump, releasing the tension on her shoulders.
"Zayne..."
"If no one sees it, it won't count as crying."
A sob rips free from her throat, before she can even stop it, and she begins crying, weeping. Loud as can be. The long denied tears came down like torrential flood. She starts yelling, asking, pleading. Why did it have to be them? Why ? Why? Why? It isn't fair!
Zayne turns her around and buries her into his chest, pulling her into a tight hug, but never once looking at her face. He listens quietly to everything she says, offering no condolences or well wishes. Offering nothing but himself so that she can mourn.
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this is a tommy miller and gabriel luna appreciation post. there are simply not nearly enough of these.
i’m gonna exclude the bad times and just talk about the good ‘cause we need some happier talks in this fandom.
first let’s talk about tommy miller.
his relationship with joel is absolutely one of my favorites. the way that joel basically raised him alongside sarah. tommy definitely looks up to joel in the way that only a little brother can. joel was a mentor, a friend, a father figure, a brother, someone who tommy could mess with like a brother but also talk to about the serious things. and of course, we have the obvious examples of how close tommy and joel were…
tommy wrote joel letters from camp when he was a kid just because he missed him, and even after they reunited those twenty some years later in jackson, they screwed with each other in the patrol logbooks.
and i’m sure they’ve both saved each other from dying on many accounts. like on outbreak day, while tommy was too late to save sarah, he saved joel, and joel was probably crazy about making sure tommy was safe after the outbreak because he was the only family he had left.
then we have that time in jackson when joel and him reunited. makes me cry. and then how tommy agreed to take ellie because he knows that his brother CANNOT handle another one of his kids dying, despite the things that he is putting at risk himself: the relationship with his wife and the fact that he himself is going to be a father. but he’ll risk it because he loves joel.
tommy’s promise to joel AND ellie that there will be a place waiting at jackson for them after their return.
tommy and ellie bonding, him just being an amazing uncle.
after joel’s death, tommy showing up with some food for ellie and checking on her.
and literally so many more examples of why i love tommy.
and then we have gabriel luna. i CANNOT WAIT for him to eat this role up like he already has.
gabriel is a gorgeous man himself, alongside pedro, and their acting together is *chef’s kiss*. they work so well together. pre-outbreak, the reunion, the bar scene, the heavy talk, like i’m so ready for more.
and i’m so ready to see more gabriel and bella too. they’re all such good actors and i really love gabriel as tommy, so i’m super anxious to see more of him these next seasons. next emmy winner, i see it.
#the last of us#joel miller#pedro pascal#tlou#ellie williams#hbo the last of us#the last of us hbo#bella ramsey#joel tlou#ellie and joel#tommy miller#tlou analysis#tlou fluff#tlou angst#tlou 2#tlou spoilers#tlou2#tlou part 2#the last of us 2 spoilers#the last of us game#tommy and joel#tommy and ellie#gabriel luna
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I really like the analyses you've been posting lately, you've got interesting thoughts and observations about the skrunklies c: No idea if you've already been asked about it, but I was curious about what are some of your thoughts on that poster, and what things from earlier games it resembles? (I only vaguely remember earlier FNAF lore - Also not trying to rush you, of course!)
This poster?
Well, it appears in a Moon-themed segment of Security Breach where we find a bunch of seemingly odd reprogrammed Glamrock endos who are being taught “right from wrong” (I use that term loosely here)…
And what’s interesting about this poster is the striking resemblance it bears to the bed from FNAF 4:
(Looking at the bedside lamp and the bedcover pattern, they do not look dissimilar from one another …)
It’s also interesting how the bed in the poster looks sort of like one of those adjustable hospital beds.
Back when FNAF 4 came out, a lot of people were arguing over whether the events of the FNAF games were in fact all a dream.
Then, some weird evidence in Sister Location pointed to the rooms in the FNAF 4 house where the protagonist of the game is having nightmares being “observatories” which appear on the security monitors in the private room.
At that point, a lot of people began to wonder if the protagonist of FNAF 4 was being experimented on or observed in a dreamlike state.
Then, the FNAF logbook kind of furthered this whole “dream observation” route of thinking.
Now, this being FNAF, the lore can be a little all over the place and probably a lot of things differ from game to game and from book to book. But still, I find it interesting how all this dream experiment-adjacent imagery appears in a Moon-themed area complete with a weird little TV showing an advertisement for moondrop sleepytime candy and a loooot of Moon posters and merch.
What’s extra weird and might just be a funny little cameo is that Security Breach isn’t actually the first FNAF game to feature moondrop sleepytime candy. Before that, we had Help Wanted. So it’s not impossible that Moon has been playing some part in all this before Security Breach (in some capacity at least).
And we know Moon in Somniphobia (I know this is from the book continuity but I find it fascinating) can use your dreams to draw you deeper and deeper into the dream sphere and basically steal your soul.
Now, I’m not saying it’s canon in the games, but with all that in mind, I love the idea that Moon might be used for some kind of dream experiments and potential soul snatching on the side. You could throw that into so many scenarios! Somniphobia style obsession, hypnotism, being torn between the conscious and unconscious, missing children that aren’t dead, missing adults that aren’t dead, an interconnected dream style consciousness that plays out like a video game. The whole idea just has a lot of potential!
#fnaf#moondrop#fnaf daycare attendant#fableasks#fablethoughts#just a lot of thoughts on this#Moon has been given this strong connection with dreams in the books and then he’s put adjacent to dream experiment imagery in game?#very interesting
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Romantic Relationships
"Everyday and night I'm gon' chase you...I'm in love."
.......
ONEUS - Leedo (January 17, 2019 - January 31, 2021)
They met pre-debut when she accompanied Hongjoong to a single day song production seminar during which she recognized Leedo to be the latest member of RBW Boyz. Seeing as she was much too shy to approach him, the rapper made the first move and began talking about how he had watched the KQ Fellaz performance video and liked the energy behind her dancing, leading the two to talk for quite some time before Hongjoong dragged her back to the studio.
Since the two had exchanged numbers before their conversation was cut off, they began texting almost every day and quickly grew very close to the point where they took every opportunity possible to spend time together. Around a week after ONEUS had made their debut Leedo decided to confess to the her, a confession she was hesitant to respond to since she was worried about what would happen to them were they to get caught, but due to how strong her feelings for him had become she
accepted. The rapper took great care to not make a single mistake that would draw suspicion to them as to ease her worries which led to their only shipping instance being during the 412th episode of Weekly Idol where the two had gotten slightly too flirty. Since their fandoms had little interaction between them, the couple was able to constantly wear matching jewelry and Leedo was even able to lend her some clothes without people making the connection.
Unfortunately with ATEEZ quickly rising in popularity her schedule became much too hectic for them to keep seeing each other so they reluctantly agreed to break off their relationship and see what the future holds for them. Despite their separation there are no hard feelings between the two and they are still in contact to this day as they knew it was simply due to their line of work and not the other's loss of interest. For a long while they hoped that the other would reach out to mend their relationship back together yet neither made the first move as they did not want to burden the other with the weight of hiding their relationship.
.......
ATEEZ - Mingi (February 25, 2022 - Present Day)
The two were already relatively close to one another but they grew even more so after the rapper came back from his hiatus, though any romantic possibilities were pushed aside due to the fact that they had been nothing more than friends for around 4 years. One particular night however caution was thrown to the wind when Mingi came into the studio late to find her relentlessly working, his worries turning into their first kiss. At first neither dared to talk about what had happened let alone take part in any sort of skin-ship with each other yet the more time passed, the more unbearable the tension between them grew until one night after a drinking party with the members she ended up blurting her feelings out to him as he was bringing her to her bed. The next morning while the two were on a silent walk he finally brought the subject up, explaining her drunken confession and clarifying that he too felt the same way, that he couldn't stand being "just close friends" anymore.
When they officially entered a romantic relationship it seems as though there was more freedom in their skin-ship, though not enough for fans to notice, the rapper leaving his hand on her waist, their hands unconsciously gravitating towards each other or even a simple hug where his hands seemed much more comfortable on the curves of her body. A few slip ups failed to evade the fandom's eyes however such as their near kiss during one of their tour's concerts where the rapper seemingly forgot their relationship had to be hidden, Himari sitting between his legs whilst his hands rested on her thighs during a logbook and even the vocalist's lack of hesitation when she danced against him during the Waterbomb Festival. The borrowed clothes and matching jewelry within casual wear could not slip past their keen sight either, bringing more attention to their ship with most ruling it as the simple fact that they are very close friends like most group members.
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More Than My Father's Son
Joel Miller x f!OC
Chapter 5 - Search and Rescue
Summary: A chance encounter on patrol leads to intel too troublesome to leave uninvestigated.
Rating: E
Word Count: 5.5k
Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix-it fic
Chapter 4 || Series Masterlist
The green that normally surrounded you had exploded into flames, the orange, yellows, and reds bursting from the trees and raining to the ground was a sight you’d never tire of. As the leaves had begun to change, the knot always present in your chest loosened. Joel and Tommy had repaired your roof, and cooking lessons with Indy were still ongoing but had proved somewhat useful as the jeans you’d been given upon arrival were passed back to the swap shop in favor of the next size up.
“Are you coming over tonight?” your favorite chef called from ahead of you, the next outpost on your assigned route coming into view, “Ellie was asking, guess she prefers my cooking.”
The smug look on your partner-turned-friend’s face said it all, Ellie’s budding relationship with her half Indy’s skill at cooking and half the fact that she let her sip at a whiskey that still went down rough during dinner.
“Only if you’re making that soup again,” you replied, your eyes following a leaf as it twirled through the sky.
“You want me to make that soup because Joel likes it,” her tone was teasing and all-knowing, “And I know you send your leftovers with Ellie to give to him.”
“Oh yeah? How so?”
“He brings me the containers back.”
It was true, Joel did like it, and no matter how hard you tried to remember just how she did it, the steps never stuck. You didn’t expect him to be the one giving you away. Although, Ellie was in on the ruse of telling him bringing him home a bowl was always entirely her idea.
Things had been tepid but pleasant after the summer incident. You’d spent two weeks letting the cut on your hand heal and Maria had taken too much time in forcing you out of your house and into society. You had a shelf of books now, your focus having improved enough over the last four weeks you could sit in the new armchair Tommy had found with you in mind for at least an hour at a time. Ellie supplied you with more than enough movies, opting to spend Fridays at your house now filling you in on her weekly favorites. Maria always made sure you had the day off.
You sat for drinks at the Tipsy Bison every Thursday, keeping quiet but sitting with the group as they conversed candidly. Indy had come to realize Joel was only someone to fear if you’d earned it, teasing him constantly about seeing another glimmer of that fire from the field again while Tommy teased her bravery for poking the bear. It all felt right and wrong at the same time, the walk back to your house Joel always insisted on accompanying you for the most natural twenty minutes of the evening.
“We’ll go to the market when we get back,” Indy said as she pulled the heavy steel door shut behind you, “You’re buying.”
“Deal,” you agreed, “I’ll even write the recipe down this time.”
In an abrupt motion that had your heart skipping, she bolted quickly to the open window, her rifle pointing up at the sky as you followed after her, ready to fire at whatever threat she’d spotted but finding nothing out of place or amiss.
“Oh,” she sighed in relief, lowering her weapon as your eyes darted around, “Sorry. Thought pigs were flying.”
“Fuck you,” you groaned, laughing as you shoved at her shoulder, finding the logbook on the table and pausing at the neat ‘Clear -J’ on the most recently filled-in line, “We all clear?”
“Just check the back.”
The floorboards creaked beneath your boots as you wove through the remnants of office furniture, your hand gliding over rotting wood just lightly enough to keep it from splintering into your skin. The fall air was crisp as you breathed it in, the cold of wintering hinting in the sweet aroma. It would frost soon, the mountains welcoming winter sooner than you would have liked for its extended stay well into the months you’d recognize as spring.
“Is anyone there?!” you heard a voice calling, the hair on the back of your neck prickling as you pulled your pistol from the tattered holster on your thigh, “Please!”
“Shit…” you hissed under your breath, your back colliding with the wall beside the door, your head peering around just enough to see a man in the clearing ahead.
“Please! I…I need help! Just…I saw horses!”
“Mother fucker,” Indy sneered as she took cover at the other edge of the frame, “I’m not falling for this. Tell me you’re not falling for this?”
Almost every single one of your razor-sharp instincts told you to hop on the back of your horse and bolt, save a single tickle at the back of your head. There was a tug on a thread that had been loose for months now, the reminder that at one point in the not-so-distant past you’d been a straggler collected by a man willing to take a chance.
“Jesus Christ,” Indy scolded at your silence, “Let’s go.”
“Who’s with you?!” you yelled through the missing glass, Indy groaning as she clicked the safety off on her weapon.
“Just my son!” the man replied, hope seeping into his voice, “Please! I’m unarmed!”
“Well that’s fucking stupid,” Indy muttered, earning her a dirty look, “He’s lying. Millie, he’s lying. Eugene barely made it home alive two weeks ago—“
“Show me the kid!” you demanded, ignoring Indy entirely, your fate now dependent on this momentary lapse in judgment.
When a boy no older than eight emerged from behind a tree that should have been too narrow to hide him, your spine straightened. You could hear Indy muttering under her breath as the frail child slid behind his father, peering out from around his hip with wide, terrified eyes. With your gun raised, you kicked the door open, Indy following closely behind and demanding for hands to be in sight at all times, the man obliging as he watched with fear and hope swirling in his gaze.
“Talk,” you instructed, the muzzle of your gun inches from his forehead as he dropped to his knees in surrender.
“We’re…looking for a place called Jackson,” his voice was shaking, eyes averted, “It’s a myth…but we couldn’t stay…had to chance it.”
“Are you bit?”
“No!”
“Spores?”
“Traveled in open air, I swear.”
“Anyone follow you?”
“We snuck past a camp three days ago, but they never saw us.”
“A camp?” Indy cut in, “Where?”
“By the river.”
Another problem added to the growing list. Maria and Tommy would want as much information about the visitors encroaching on the protected territory, risking Jackson’s people and resources wasn't something either of them took lightly. The possibility this man was a scout passed through your mind, flashing like a warning beacon as you felt Indy’s eyes staring. She’d left this decision up to you and was impatiently awaiting your verdict.
“Is this your dad?” you asked the boy, putting your gun back in its holster and hoping for the best as you kneeled to get on his level, “Tell me the truth.”
“How did you get that scar?” he asked after a nod, timid as a mouse, his big brown eyes so terrified it made your stomach clench.
“Bad people.”
“Like the people at the river?”
“You tell me.”
“They took mommy.”
Caught in a lie, the man began to stammer in defense as Indy doubled down, her gun still raised as she took a menacing step toward him. He detailed their journey, the narrow escape from the hunters camping on the water banks, and the loss of his wife who had been taken as the child's eyes remained transfixed on the long scar slashed across your nose and cheeks. He promised none had followed, swore on his life, begged for at least the boy, James, to be taken to safety or spared, your own intentions becoming murkier to the survivor who had begun to weep.
“Let’s go,” you snapped, “Give me your pack, the kid can ride with me.”
“So I get to ride with the weirdo?!” Indy chastised as you began to search through the man’s bag, finding food that had been stretched too thin and clothes worn down enough to be sheer.
“Where are you taking us?” you were asked as Indy helped the small boy up to sit in front of you in the saddle, her grip on the father's coat collar rough as she tugged him towards her own waiting mare.
“It’s your lucky day, Simon,” she taunted, “We’re headed to the mythical land of Jackson.”
The first face you saw as the wooden gates of Jackson closed behind you was unexpected, Joel bursting out of the stables and running with Tommy hot on his heels.
“Who the hell is this?” he growled, placing himself between you and Simon as if you hadn’t just ridden miles beside him on a horse.
“Simon,” you answered, the way the new gray and black flannel Joel was wearing hugged his shoulders slowing your speech, “and James. They come bearing bad news.”
After scans to the backs of their necks, the Tipsy Bison welcomed them just as it had you almost three months ago. They devoured the food put in front of them unlike you had, Tommy and Joel immediately planning the scout of this supposed encampment for the following morning at dawn.
“They’re armed,” Simon warned, his face falling at the decision to take on the hunters head-on.
“So are we,” Joel replied, his tone hard and menacing, “You two comin’?”
“Of course!” Indy answered with an air of sarcasm, “Who could refuse?”
With the help of Simon, an ambush was planned, Tommy thanking you for having the judgment to trust the stranger enough to bring him back. It had gone against every one of your most basic instincts, trusting a man in the wild like that, and your eyes drifted over to Joel as you contemplated exactly why that was. You hadn’t trusted him either, and he hadn’t trusted you, but here you sat beside him in a bar enclosed in the safest stronghold the United States had to offer.
“Is your wife alive?” Joel asked Simon as Tommy began to lead him and his son to the inn for the night.
“Last I knew,” he answered sadly, the reality of why that was settling onto Joel’s face in a furious scowl.
“Can you handle a gun?”
“Joel…” you scolded, this man clearly in no state to be storming into the trenches, “He’s not up for it. If there are women there, we’re getting them all out regardless.”
Your tone left no room for argument, and Joel’s surrender was swift as you turned to follow Indy to finally begin your evening plans, “Yes ma’am.”
“She’s terrifying,” Simon muttered when you were just out of earshot, a smirk ticking up one corner of Joel’s lips.
“She is, ain’t she?” he chuckled, smiling fondly as you disappeared further and further into the gray autumn dusk.
An impatient Ellie was seated on the stoop of Indy’s single-story home, her face lighting up when you rounded the corner before bounding down the street to meet you. Her “you’re fucking late” had you smiling, your arm slinging around her shoulders as you explained yourself honestly, promising to make it up to her Friday when she came by.
“I already picked the movie,” she bragged as you dropped the bag of groceries onto Indy’s counter, “Something with planes.”
“Talk to me, Goose!” you recited, a toothy grin breaking onto Ellie’s face.
“Goodness gracious great balls of fire!” Indy chimed in with a bushel of carrots as a microphone, Ellie promptly inviting her to join the Friday festivities and beaming once again when it was accepted.
The lessons in the kitchen were just as much for you as they were for Ellie, her dinner postponed dinner party having ended before it began when Joel walked into his kitchen so filled with smoke it had left his eyes red for two days after. You’d teased him about it passing him at the stables after patrols, for a man that had tossed smoke bombs he scrounged up from expired explosives and sugar, he certainly had gone soft.
“This is what you’re missing,” Indy informed as she tossed a bushel of green herbs in front of you, “Thyme.”
“Guess it’s time to start learning how to grow herbs in my backyard,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face through the terrible joke that had Ellie practically on the floor and Indy giving you a dead stare that reminded you of someone else.
Gardening was something that had piqued your interest, it always had. You’d tried to maintain a small Pothos in your dorm room, the lack of light killing even the most hearty of plants, and then the world had gone to shit. Ellie had griped about her hatred of farming rotation, but every time you passed Maria in the streets or saw her at the Bison, you were tempted to request a week here or there in the greenhouses. Winter was approaching, but a book on the subject sat waiting by the armchair in the living room, Joel having accompanied you to the swap shop with the last of your venison from his freezer to exchange for the pile of to-be-reads.
“Don’t chop food with that!” Indy screeched as the familiar click of Ellie’s switchblade broke through the comfortable silence, “You kill things with it!”
“I washed it!” Ellie defended, grumbling to herself as she pocketed it, picking up the provided knife laying beside her on the counter.
All you could do was laugh at the exchange, your fingers staining green as you plucked at the thyme you’d been thrown. The prep went quickly with three hands, the pot bubbling on the stove as the deck of cards was quickly brought out, a lively round of blackjack ongoing between Ellie and Indy as you dealt.
Clean-ups and laundry services were wagered, with Ellie bringing home the big win of Indy’s hand in clothes washing for the next week, a full basket waiting to be scrubbed back at her little converted garage. After dinner was shared, Ellie was sent home with two containers, one for her and one for Joel, with Indy sliding you a third with a knowing smirk.
“Before you go,” she blurted out as you followed Ellie out the front door, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t listen to me today.”
Quickly you spun, running out onto the porch and almost knocking Ellie straight onto the ground, “Oh,” you sighed in relief, “Thought pigs were flying for a second.”
“After I fed you dinner.”
“See you bright and early.”
“Can’t wait! Nothing like the smell of gunpowder in the morning.”
When Ellie asked where you were going as you walked her home, you skirted around the subject. There was no need to worry her, she’d already been particularly on edge since the incident six weeks ago. You knew she could tell you were lying, and as much as it ate away at you, it was for the best. Her life had become exponentially easier and less burdened once the walls of Jackson had welcomed you, but you knew the years of freedom from worry would be short for her already being 15, she could savor the time she had to be carefree.
As you rounded the corner from the greenhouses to the back gate closest to her little house, soft notes of music greeted you, the sight of Joel on the porch gently plucking the strings of an acoustic guitar lit by the dull orange glow of his backlight held your gaze as Ellie bid you goodbye. She laughed while your brain caught up to her words, a quick, nervous goodbye mumbled as you quickly glanced at her teasing expression before returning to what would be seared into your memory. Your feet carried you subconsciously toward him, his eyes finding yours in the dark.
“Hey,” he greeted, gruff but soft, tuning the instrument in his hands with subtle turns of the pegs, “Thanks for walkin’ her home.”
“Sure,” you choked out, your mouth dry, “I didn’t know you could play guitar.”
“Yeah. Been playin’ since I was a kid. Haven’t touched one in some twenty years now though.”
“Sounded fine to me.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
With nothing but a gesture, he welcomed you to take the empty chair on the porch, a round table with a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler set between the two seats. He picked up where he’d left off, unbothered by your intrusion, his shoulders relaxed and his features serene as his fingers ran off of muscle memory untainted by decades of disuse.
“Help yourself,” he offered, his chin ticking towards the amber liquid to his left, and you filled the empty glass halfway at his invitation.
The whiskey was warm as it settled in your stomach, the cool night air nipping at your nose and cheeks as you settled back in the chair, your eyes fluttering closed as the notes of his song traveled with the breeze. This was contentment you hadn’t felt in a very long time, not one you could vibrantly remember anyway. Your thoughts calmed for a moment, each twang of the guitar recentering you in this serenity, your fingers tapping absentmindedly on the glass now sitting ignored in your lap.
“I ain’t carrying you home,” he teased, one of your eyes opening into a slit to peek at him.
“Can I have a blanket at least?” you jested in return, enjoying the toothy grin stretching up on his face.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Another gulp of liquor preceded your meditative state returning, his song continuing longer after finding the perfect harmony. You weren’t sure how much time had passed when silence roused you from tranquility, his fingers pulling the glass from your lazy grip.
“No, keep going,” you mumbled, it was almost a whine, but a breathy laugh followed the request.
“Yes, ma’am.”
It seemed darker, a little cooler, Ellie’s lights were still on but some of the surrounding windows that had been illuminated before were now black. Joel seemed indifferent to the late hour, decades of long, days-long stretches without sleep still wearing on him, the dark circles beneath his eyes improved but not indiscernible. His hair had grown longer, the length now closer to what you recognized from your time on the road, the curls behind his ears beginning to reappear.
“You should get home,” he announced, pouring a glass of whiskey and downing it in one shot, “We got an early mornin’.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, already missing the state the night had put you in and hoping it lasted long enough to get you to sleep, “Okay.”
“Want me to walk you?’
“No. I’m okay. Thank you though.”
A restless night followed, the faint hint of a song replaying in the back of your mind enough to at least stop you from screeching into the gray morning light as it filtered into your windows, the cold sweat coating your skin enough to remind you of the horrors that had filled your nightly rest. You dressed quickly, eating breakfast slowly as you watched the clock tick closer to 7 AM. The sun greeted you a little later each morning as autumn approached, the air still with its overnight frost stinging your lungs as you took off towards the stables. Joel’s house was on your way, the hope of crossing paths with him inflating in your chest like a balloon all to be popped as he was nowhere to be found despite your slowed steps.
The stables were bustling with the team of six heading out, the Miller brothers, Indy, Paulie, and Eugene all prepping their horses during your apparently late arrival. Indy teased you while you scrambled to fill your quiver and grab a few magazines of ammo for your handgun, your breathless thank you to her as she passed the reins to your saddled horse to you putting you in her debt. “Ellie’s laundry is now yours.”
“That is not a fair trade-off! For putting a saddle on!? Are you out of your mind?” you argued to your laughter, “I’ll help you. Best you’ll get.”
Despite the stakes and danger that lay ahead, the ride was surprisingly lighthearted. When the river came into view, however, business took over. Tommy and Joel had established that the hunters had likely moved closer, opting to camp for a few days between shifts. Jackson might have been a myth to some men, like Simon, but to others, its lands were a hunting ground for unexpecting survivors eager to regain some normalcy. Hunters, slavers, and cannibals alike stalked the woods preying on the innocent. Fear that this group was a faction of slavers was high, few groups took women and kept them alive.
“Okay, listen up,” Tommy announced, a plume of smoke visible from the shoreline of the river less than half a mile away, “Indy, Arrow, find the women. That is your job. Take out who you can, but the four of us will clear you a path. They ain’t gonna want to see any of us, it’s gotta be you. Understood?”
Not that you were a soft place to land, but you understood the sentiment.
“Joel and Paulie, take right, Eugene and I will take left,” Tommy finished, Joel’s grumbles of protest were heard throughout the group as you suppressed a smile, “We’re all making it out. No questions asked. Be safe. Be smart. Home for dinner.”
“I am not cooking,” Indy butt in, “Not this time.”
“Well, the Bison it is then,” Eugene conceded, “I could use one of Seth’s sandwiches. Haven’t had one in a bit.”
“Okay, focus,” Joel snapped, “We can worry about dinner when we’re all out. Alive.”
“You’re insufferable when she’s around…” Paulie mumbled what he though was only to himself, Tommy’s arm immediately shooting out to stop his brother from lunging, “Eugene and I can take the right! He’d get me killed keeping his eyes locked on his prize.”
“I swear to God!”
“Shut the hell up! Both of you!” Tommy snapped, “Joel, with me. Jesus Christ.”
“You should look a little less excited,” Indy whispered in your ear, your jaw snapping shut at her warning.
Gravel cracked beneath your boots as you crept towards the muddy bank, not a soul spotted mingling about yet, red flags waving in all of your heads as you continued the approach. Indy was muttering under her breath about how fucked this was, there was no way this wasn’t a trap, and you were inclined to agree.
“It’s too quiet,” you hissed at Joel as the two of you took cover behind a large boulder, the camp completely visible and notably deserted, “Something is wrong here.”
“Yeah,” he growled, “Shit.”
“Look, camp’s empty,” Paulie spoke too loudly, everyone’s wide eyes shooting to him filled with confusion and rage, “maybe they left something behind.”
“Push forward,” Tommy commanded, you and Joel both sighing in disagreement, “We gotta at least look around.”
With weapons drawn, you crept forward, noting that even though this camp was haphazardly put together, it was expansive. Someone had no intention of leaving here anytime soon, the question was where that someone might be. The silence was deafening, your leg throbbing as memories clawed at your fragile psyche that had just begun to shoddily repair. It had been silent that day too, until gunfire echoed through the neighborhood and the pain became too much to resist.
“Hey,” a deep southern voice rumbled from beside you, “I got you.”
“He asked me to bring her back,” you choked, recalling the ride back to Jackson with Simon and James in tow, “either way.”
“And we will.”
If only the confidence in his voice was reassuring.
Muffled voices were heard, halting all of you in your tracks, cover being taken as Joel went ahead alone, your heart hammering as your eyes stayed locked on him, your finger twitching against the trigger of your gun as every muscle tensed waiting for the need to strike. When Joel halted and crouched behind a pile of firewood, his arm shot up, four fingers pointing up towards the sky. Six on four was no concern, in fact, it was probably almost too easy.
“Okay,” Tommy began, the plan now being set into full motion, “Ladies, you know your job, we’ll do the rest. Search every tent, they gotta be in one of ‘em.”
“There has to be more than four,” Indy warned, pulling you back down to the ground as you rose, still staring at the man ten yards ahead of you.
“Maybe. Maybe not. They’re probably out huntin’ and this our time for an easy strike. We pick those four off and take the rest out at the wall when they come lookin’. Easy.”
The logic made sense. It was now or never, with or without Indy at your side. As she went to press her argument with Tommy, you took advantage of her distraction, taking off uncaring of who followed. You and Joel had taken out more than four hunters in your day, you could do it again. The sound of your boots had him rising to his feet, his finger pointing to a larger tent off in the distance, the one the men were closest to. There was no doubt in your mind he was right.
With a nod, you were off, Indy hot on your heels as the men engaged the four sitting around a fire, somehow managing to finish the job without a shot going off in an attempt to not alert anyone who may still be lurking nearby. The tent you and Joel had assumed housed who you were looking for turned out to be filled with supplies, ones you hoped you had the time to search through later, leaving you and Indy to search the remaining half a dozen tents.
“Nothin’?” Tommy asked as your head emerged from the third with a downtrodden expression, “Shit.”
“Maybe they’re deeper in the woods,” you suggested as Indy came back from searching the final three with nothing, “It would make sense. Isolate them, make them feel stranded, helpless.”
“Okay. Fan out, whistle if you need. No more than ten minutes and we regroup. I’m serious. I don’t like this.”
Stress and tensions were high as you and Indy walked deeper into the woods, her warnings it was time to turn back went unheeded; they had to be here, they had to be somewhere. A whistle from your right set your feet into a sprint, Paulie and Eugene standing outside a dilapidated shed sealed with too shiny a padlock. A hand stopped your gun as you raised it, Joel coming to stand beside you with a look of warning in his eyes.
“Be smart,” he cautioned in a low voice, knowing how you got in high stake situations, “I’ll get it.”
The butt of his shotgun took out the lock in three blows, the edge of the door shattering at the impact. You went in first, your blood running ice cold in your veins at the sight before you.
“Oh my God…” you muttered, Indy’s equally shocked breath echoing beside you, “Joel…”
“Christ,” he exhaled, his hand pulling you slightly behind him as he surveyed the group of eight all staring at you with wide, terrified eyes, “We’re here to help…and we don’t have much time.”
Indy took over, the group sighing in relief when everyone was on their feet. At least they could walk. The walk back to the horses was quick and guarded, the six of you forming a perimeter around the women all huddled together, one visibly pregnant but you doubt she was alone in that. They were understandably skeptical, but somewhat hopeful it seemed, all of them looking to you like a beacon of hope, of reason.
“Get them on the horses. Indy, Arrow, can you share one?” Tommy strategized, with fourteen people and six horses, this had turned into a predicament, “Paulie, Eugene, get on the last one. Joel and I will walk.”
“I want to check that tent,” you reminded them, Indy staying back to help get everyone loaded up to go while you, Joel, and Tommy advanced, Paulie and Eugene staying planted in the middle ground.
There was some food that would come in handy, various boxes of ammo you stuffed into packs uncaring of what it was, you’d find a use for it, and one little canvas sack of what felt like dry beans that had your lips lifting into a smile when you brought it to your nose.
“Hey Tex!” you called out, tossing Joel the bag as soon as his attention was on you, his brow furrowing as he peaked inside, the contents setting his face aglow.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he sighed, grinning so wide it sparkled into his hazel eyes.
“Hey,” Paulie snapped, “Why’s he get that?”
“Cause Deacon has a favorite,” Eugene answered with a wink in your direction.
“Deacon has a debt actually,” you corrected, movement catching in your peripheral.
The whistle of your arrow through the air caught everyone’s attention, the cry of a man taking a bolt to the chest cavity setting off a row of dominoes on a trail to disaster. As more men emerged from the trees, panic set in. Five turned to seven and then seven to twelve… Tommy was screaming at Indy to take off, don’t even slow down until the walls of Jackson were well in sight while Joel bellowed at you from behind a stack of firewood to get to the god damn horse, but as a chain of automatic gunfire cracked through the woods the world fell away.
Standing like a target in the middle of a field, the rattling of the assault rifle had you frozen in place. The echoes of FEDRA soldiers, the rumbling of a tank, the smell of smoke, gunpowder, and decay, the screams of the QZ citizens caught in a war zone…
“Tommy!” You didn’t know a Tommy. Who was Tommy? “Cover me!”
Cover him. You could cover. You knew how to cover. Your pistol was heavy on your thigh and cold in your fingers as you pulled it from its holster, firing off in front of you despite having no target in sight.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Maybe there was a target.
Whipping around wildly in search of him, your ears began to ring as a flash bang went off, shrouding your surroundings in a smoky haze. It all came flooding back as the piercing shrill grew louder, the smoke growing thicker as you began to choke, and you weren’t sure if the tears streaming down your face were a product of the burn or the memories that now went hurtling to the forefront of your mind and trapped you in your nightmares here in the light of day.
An arm wrapping around your middle pushed what little air you’d been able to bring into your lungs, your feet forced to shuffle as it pulled you backward, your back hitting something jagged and splintering as you were tossed to the ground and caged in. You couldn’t hear a thing, your eyes locked on the dirt as your body focused on its need for air. Someone was in front of you, you could feel the heat radiating off of them, something was grazing against your cheek, a jacket maybe, or the edge of a knife. You couldn’t be sure. Bullet shells rained down from above you, one brass cylinder falling into your lap, smoke still billowing from the searing metal, at least whoever it was wasn’t shooting at you.
“Joel, get her out of here!”
That name... You knew that name.
“Joel?” It was a plea, an anchor, a place to ground yourself.
His canvas coat was rough in your fingers as you realized it was gripped between your knuckles, the comforting sight of a red and black flannel coming into view as you breathed in the familiar scent of leather and wood. Joel.
“Move,” it was a command, his voice hard with what could be anger or focus, you couldn’t be sure.
A large palm swallowed your upper arm whole as you were lifted to your feet and forced to take off into a sprint you weren’t prepared for. His grip kept you upright every time you tripped, the whinny of a horse startling you as you were lifted and tossed into a saddle.
“You ride and you don’t look back, you understand?” he instructed, shooting his eyes over his shoulder, “Do you understand?”
With a snarl at your lack of response, he slapped the horse’s back end, your hands forced to grip the horn of the saddle for dear life as the horse took off in a gallop.
“Joel!” you yelled as you steadied yourself enough to look back and see him disappear into the trees and gunshots, “JOEL!”
Chapter 6
Pretty art of them from this chapter that makes me swoon (why is tumblr eating the quality of images worse than usual today. annoying.)
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic
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LEWISOHN: THE "LOGBOOK" IS NOT REAL
I can tell from the syllabus and what they've done so far that the #AKOM ladies are going to get to all the "Paul was jealous," "Paul wanted to be out front and hated Stu" nonsense not supported by the citations, but it's worth looking at some more objective stuff. Things that are clearer and have nothing to do with Lewisohn's s over-the-top John fawning. I know I'm hitting in places that make Beatles fans uncomfortable, but it has to be done.
THE "LOGBOOK RECORDED"
“[Koschmider's] logbook recorded antics so outrageous that he suspended their wages for a time...” (Tune In, p. 376)
Recorded??
“Deeply unhappy—actually, morally offended—by such antics, Bruno Koschmider started to keep a behavior logbook (long lost, regrettably) that could be used against these Liverpool louts if things got seriously out of hand.” (p. 367)
There is a "logbook" brought into the Hamburg narrative to support much more than these direct statements referencing it. I think this logbook must come from Allan Williams' lore. Williams was a great tall-tale teller, did not speak German, and spent very little time in Hamburg. I have to guess that the logbook lore comes from him by inference because despite Lewisohn sounding like he's quoting from it, or at least from Koschmider about it, he's not.
There are two citations after direct references to it:
[FN 30 - DM100,000 was the equivalent of £8550—a strangely large amount in 1960. Koschmider said this in the only recorded interview he’s known to have given about the Beatles (for BBC radio, 1972) and wasn’t asked to substantiate it.]
I've listened to this "only recorded interview" and there's no logbook or anything close to it mentioned.
The other citation is [FN9-'No more is known of this. Allan Williams ought to have been handling the negotiations but remembers nothing of it. Bruno Koschmider didn’t operate in Berlin so perhaps the Beatles were fixing the deal themselves with another club owner. It never happened.']
IF LEWISOHN WANTS TO BRING IN ALLAN WILLIAMS' LORE he is more than welcome to do it, but writing things like, "the logbook recorded" followed by a citation of an audio interview of Koschmider THAT HAS ZERO TO DO WITH A LOGBOOK is playing so fast and loose that I don't even have words. It's egregious.
Let me be clear, lore or not, no one even knows for sure if this logbook existed, and yet Lewisohn writes paragraph after paragraph prefaced on the what this possibly-fantasy logbook had RECORDED in it. What??!
And this matters because we trust him. It's so tedious to check every citation. (Ask me.) Especially because 98% of the cites check out, especially the Just-the-Facts ones. And it's harder to parse the ones like AKOM is doing; saying basically, "This cite is for this quote and here's the reason it doesn't make sense." Trust me, I know. Even just looking at my notes I see how unwieldy it is. It takes a few steps. It's hard to get a "boom!" moment.
But once your Overton Window shifts to realize that "the logbook recorded" IS WHOLLY INVENTION... well, it's a helpful lens.
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So what's the difference?
Includes: gn!shopowner!reader, just a bunch of fluff lol
@newworldnet
Thank you to @bunnliix for assigning me this trope
You own and run a small business that sells instruments. Stringed, brass, woodwind, and so on. Mr. Gold, or Rumpelstiltskin, helped you in building the business and taught you how to run it. You were writing down the purchases the customers made in your logbook when you heard the familiar chime of the bell, indicating that someone came into the shop. You looked up and your knees almost gave out.
A tall and handsome man wandered into the shop and you gulped nervously as he approached you. He had long silver hair, sharp eyes that were very much similar to a wolf, a pretty nose, prettier lips, a sharp jawline, and nice hands.
Very nice hands.
Hands that were covered in big rings.
He was only wearing a white tee and gray sweats yet he still looked godly in this otherwise bed fit.
"Hi! Welcome to the Swan Song! I'm Y/N. Let me know if you have any questions."
The guy nodded shyly and gave you a small grin before looking around.
It had been around three hours since he wandered in. You were helping other customers whilst keeping an eye on him. After the customers left, he approached you and scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"Sorry. I might sound dumb but uh... what's the difference between a violin and a viola?"
His deep voice resonated throughout the small shop and you found the question endearing.
"Well the main difference is their ranges."
From there, you explained the difference between the violin and the viola. You explained it in a way that he can understand and he was nodding along, making mental notes while he listened tentatively. Once you finished, he pointed to a violin on the rack behind you.
"I'd like to purchase that one please."
You nodded and got the violin off the rack before placing it in a black case. You made sure the bows were in proper shape before closing it and handing it to him. You rang him up and he took out a few bills before giving them to you.
"Keep the change. This is my way of saying thanks for sharing your expertise."
He winked at you before taking the violin and exiting the shop.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That was almost three weeks ago. Three times every week, he would come in. He became a regular at this point. He would either come in to have the strings changed, the bow rehaired, or to simply talk your ear off. As it turns out, the violin was a gift for one of his friends.
That friend's name was Yeosang.
His name was Mingi.
Business was particularly slow today and you were tired. You were still recovering from taking care of baby Gideon, Belle and Rumpel's son. He was a good baby!
He just happened to cry a lot during the night for some odd reason.
As soon as the couple came home, you informed them and they took it into account before thanking you and paying you a hefty amount.
You had your head bent over the counter and buried in your arms as you tried to catch up on sleep. You didn't hear the chime and someone walking in until you felt a presence in front of you and a deep voice talk softly and quietly in your ear.
"Hey, baby."
You immediately shot awake and looked at Mingi, who had a shit eating grin on his face. Had it not been for the fact that you were enamored with this guy, you would've swung at him.
"Oh. Hey, Mingi."
"Long night I assume?"
"Yeah."
"So why did you open up shop if you knew you were going to be tired?"
You shrugged. You honestly had no idea. It was probably a force of habit. Mingi lifted your head and rubbed your chin with his thumb.
"Want to get coffee with me? It seems you need the energy boost."
Nodding along, you closed up shop and headed out with him to a cafe in Storybrooke, giddy over the fact that you were basically on a date with this guy.
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JOURNAL OF THE LIGHTHOUSE STATION AT CACHALOT COVE
[[ log 56 ]]
~Partly Cloudy Conditions All Day. Rain From 1245-1630~
~Wind Speeds Up to 10 km/h~
Time of writing this log is 2150
Duties done at the station:
𓇼 Fog Watch
𓇼 Mail Check
𓇼 Grocery
𓇼 Winding of the Clockworks
Good eve logbook! Today was a very simple day, with a singular tour. Now I have been catching up on my reading with the nutrition book, and so far, I have learned how to manage what humans call stress, and I am keeping up with the fact that I need to drink a lot more water. A funny thing that happened during said tour, is a guy my age, simply came up to me in the middle of my tour, and just… handed me a tomato. No words exchanged, I simply see him approach the group, he makes his way around our small crowd, pulls out said tomato, and just places it in my hand, like its normal to accept a random, singular tomato. Actually the more I think on it, what if it has a poison placed inside. Oh dear. No no, I am overthinking. Oh but what if…
The duality
May the Seas and Stars Guide You~~
#lighthousecore#sirencore#piratecore#siren aesthetic#lighthouse aesthetic#mermaid aesthetic#lighthouse#lighthouse keeper#ocean#oceancore#nautical#nauticalcore#seacore#ocean aesthetic#goblincore#coastal#cachalotcove#keeperslogbook
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1927 Bentley 3-Litre Sports Project
Registration no. YF 2654
Chassis no. TN1566
Engine no. TN1567
• Originally an Offord-bodied coupé
• Matching chassis and engine
• Family owned since March 1957
• Garaged unused for some 50-plus years
• 'Barn find' offered for restoration
With characteristic humility 'W O' was constantly amazed by the enthusiasm of later generations for the products of Bentley Motors Limited, and it is testimony to the soundness of his engineering design skills that so many of his products have survived. From the humblest of beginnings in a mews garage off Baker Street, London in 1919 the Bentley rapidly achieved fame as an exciting fast touring car, well able to compete with the best of European and American sports cars in the tough world of motor sport in the 1920s. Bentley's domination at Le Mans in 1924, 1927, 1928, 1929 and 1930 is legendary, and one can only admire the Herculean efforts of such giants as Woolf Barnato, Jack Dunfee, Tim Birkin and Sammy Davis, consistently wrestling the British Racing Green sports cars to victory.
W O Bentley proudly unveiled the new 3-litre car bearing his name on Stand 126 at the 1919 Olympia Motor Exhibition, the prototype engine having fired up for the first time just a few weeks earlier. Bentley's four-cylinder 'fixed head' engine incorporated a single overhead camshaft, four-valves per cylinder and a bore/stroke of 80x149mm. Twin ML magnetos provided the ignition and power was transmitted via a four-speed gearbox with right-hand change. The pressed-steel chassis started off with a wheelbase of 9' 9½", then adopted dimensions of 10' 10" ('Standard Long') in 1923, the shorter frame being reserved for the TT Replica and subsequent Speed Model. Rear wheel brakes only were employed up to 1924 when four-wheel Perrot-type brakes were introduced.
In only mildly developed form, this was the model that was to become a legend in motor racing history and which, with its leather-strapped bonnet, classical radiator design and British Racing Green livery, has become the archetypal Vintage sports car.
Early success in the 1922 Isle of Man Tourist Trophy, when Bentleys finished second, fourth, and fifth to take the Team Prize, led to the introduction of the TT Replica (later known as the Speed Model and identified by the Red Label on its radiator ) on the existing 9' 9½" wheelbase, short standard chassis. Bentley had made approximately 1,600 3-Litre models when production ceased in 1929, the majority of which were bodied by Vanden Plas with either open tourer or saloon coachwork.
Dr Clare Hay's authoritative work, Bentley, The Vintage Years, records the fact that chassis number 'TN1566' (with engine number '1567') was completed in April 1927 on the long standard 10' 10" wheelbase chassis with coupé coachwork by Offord. Hay records that 'TN1567' was first owned by one W A Thompson and registered as 'YF 2654', noting: "Now 2 seater on 9' 0" wheelbase." It is not known when this modification was carried out.
The next ownership record we have is an old-style buff logbook issued on 1st June 1950 listing four owners: Arthur Ratcliffe Ainsworth of Dorking; A B B Woodburn of Bolesworth; Bursledon Autos of Sholing; and one Miss Mary Louisa White, BSc, who registered the Bentley on 2nd March 1957. Miss White appears to have been a most enthusiastic owner, a view supported by the numerous Bentley Drivers Club membership cards on file, mostly dating from the late 1950s to the mid 1970s, while there are also some spectator's passes, an RAC membership card and a VCC official's badge. According to the deceased's family, Miss Mary Louisa White passed away in 2005 and was the last known person to drive the Bentley in the late 50s or early 60s. 'YF 2654' was then left to Miss Nicola White, (the last recorded keepers' niece) along with the property where the Bentley was kept. Miss Nicola White passed away in July 2023.
Additional documentation includes assorted correspondence, sundry bills, insurance paperwork, a later buff logbook (1963), an old-style V5 registration document, and four MoT certificates, the most recent of which was issued in 1964. The most recent tax discs on file date from the 1960s, so it seems reasonable to conclude that the Bentley was taken off the road sometime towards the end of that decade. It has remained in the owner's garage ever since, concealed beneath a variety of non-Bentley-related clutter, and is presented in 'barn find' condition, ripe for sympathetic restoration. Sold strictly as viewed, 'YF 2654' represents a wonderful opportunity to bring a long-forgotten 'W O' Bentley back to life.
Bonhams
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Sakura is a junior high student doing a part-time job at the newly built library. To encourage the villagers to come and use the facility, they hired people that will read stories, do spoken poetry, and do other things to entertain the visitors at certain schedules. Sakura reports for work after her class at 5 PM.
Her favorite thing to do is to recite her self-written poems that are sweet and sometimes thought-provoking. The villagers frequent the library around late afternoon just to see her perform. They like her delivery and the message of her poetry.
Three weeks in and Sakura becomes more confident with her presentation. She likes the fact that everyone seems to appreciate her work. Happy audience makes her happy. Until she notices a student who has never clapped for her like the others.
From the logbook, she knows a few details about the guy. His name is Uchiha Sasuke and he goes to the library daily at 4:30 PM and stays until 6 PM. He usually borrows books about mystery and Science.
His ignorance motivates Sakura to write more poems with deeper meaning. Every day she checks for his reaction. And every day she gets upset because he doesn't even lift his head to see what's going on.
Sakura starts to get frustrated. Are her poems not worthy of his few minutes? Does he hate library performances in general? Are his readings that important to keep his eyes locked on them? These thoughts bother Sakura.
There are only few junior high schools in their village and she realizes that she does not know where he studies. "Maybe he's an outsider.. But it's odd to go here everyday if he's not from here. There's a logo around his arm but I can't see it clearly from where I sit," she wonders.
She takes note of his uniform and opens her laptop to search for it. She sees 3 schools but none of them has the same uniform as his. She scrolls down further and sees the schools from another category. "Special Education.. Konoha School for the Deaf?" Sakura feels bad for being upset at someone without knowing his situation. "That's probably the reason why he never spoke with any of the library goers."
From then on, she stays for another hour at the library after her performance to read books about sign language. She tries hard to learn it as fast as she can by reading and watching videos. She makes poems specifically for him. She's not sure why she's exerting this much effort for someone she doesn't even know but it makes her happy somehow.
Now every time she's at the library, she makes sure that she sits where she can see him. She likes it when he's so serious reading a book then he smiles all of a sudden. Before leaving, she borrows the book that he's currently reading, curious of what it is about. "What are you doing, Sakura?" This thought comes to her mind every now and then but she still keeps her routine of learning for and about him all the same.
When she's confident enough to perform her piece, she asks a teacher from Sasuke's school to check her signing. The teacher is very fond of Sakura, especially after learning why she's doing it. "Ah, Uchiha Sasuke is our top student. He's kind but he's always alone. You know, it's harder for deaf and mute people to make friends, so he'd rather study during his spare time. I'm glad that someone his age is taking interest in sign language to talk to him. I support you fully."
The next day, the set-up for the performance is prepared differently. The main lights are turned off, only illuminating the mini stage and Sasuke's usual seat. Because of this, Sasuke has no choice but to look where Sakura is standing.
Sakura waves at him and he nods. She starts her poem using sign language. Sasuke is shocked and amazed at the same time. He has never felt that happy before. How can a stranger make him feel that way just by doing sign language?
I don't want to swim on the surface anymore
I never want to pretend again that I know you completely
Let me dive deep inside you
Take me in
Allow me to look into your secrets
Make me feel every breath I take
Make me crave for it more
Carry me to your darker side
Where you are afraid to allow anyone
Pull me deep inside
Make me one of your secrets
He stands up and signs to her, "you did well! That's beautiful!"
Everyone claps for Sakura but at that moment she only sees him. The audience goes back to what they're doing but Sakura's eyes are still glued onto Sasuke.
He smiles at her and motions to sit with him if she's done. She follows suit and he immediately thanks her for the poem.
"That's a really meaningful poem. Thank you very much. I'm Uchiha Sasuke."
"Nice to finally meet you, Sasuke. I'm really gald uou liked it. I'm Haruno Sakura. I perform here every 5 PM."
"Sakura.. That's a beautiful name.. So, when did you learn sign language, Sakura?"
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