#Adapt; Don't slow me down.

[the-busy-ghost]

Me normally: Let people love what they love

Me, after a Test Match Special commentator expresses their belief that the new All Creatures Great and Small is somehow "better" than the 1978 version: This is pure insanity and TMS can no longer be trusted on anything, how can they even be trusted to know about cricket, do they have no TASTE

[orionsangel86]

I watched X-Men 2000 tonight. Yup the Deadpool and Wolverine brain worms got me - at least for a little while - so I figured I'd rewatch the old movies that I havent seen in over a decade and have basically forgotten entirely at this point.

You know what really stunned me? Even more than the slow pace, serious tone, actual dedication to telling a coherent and interesting story with layers of meaning and social commentary attached to it, as well as a sincerity that's been missing from most superhero films since the MCU was born (thanks Josh Whedon).

Nope, what shocked me most was this:

This is a perfect specimen of a man. Look at him. He's gorgeous. But look at his chest? His arms? He's muscular, he's pretty well toned, he's hairy. He's definitely got a six pack - but it's nicely covered by a healthy layer of fat. His skin is plump, he has a bit of squish to him. He'd probably be great to hug (Jean Grey certainly gives him a good squeeze lol).

When he sits down he looks like his stomach will roll just nicely. Like a stomach should.

I know my point here is obvious. It's just that scrolling the Deadpool and Wolvering tag is basically 50% "oh they definitely fucked in the Honda Odyssey" (yes lol) and the other 50% is just horny posting over Wolverine's topless scene like the entire site suddenly adopted Deadpools horny brain.

I gotta give props to Hugh Jackman for his dedication to turn himself into an actual comic book character - because that's what this new movie does. It gives us a comic accurate Wolverine in practically every way (except for his height lol) the suit is amazing, the cowl was a joy to see brought into live action. The body too though was straight out of a comic book artists male power fantasy.

What I wanted to emphasise was that this:

Is extremely tough on the human body. What I wanna know is how long he starved and dehydrated himself for before filming this scene? How long before they shot this did he last drink some water? Because damn that must have been tough. The oil and the lighting probably help further emphasise the muscle, vein, and sinew definition. It's probably similar to how body builders prepare before a show.

Nothing about body building is healthy though. So in the coming weeks as the whole entertainment industry rides on the coat tales of this movies success, and everyone goes crazy over Hugh Jackmans physique, please don't feel pressured into thinking that his 2024 physique in the movie is remotely realistic - or realistically attractive. Like I get the fantasy sure, but come on. I'd personally rather lie on a cushioned bed than a concrete floor.

Deadpool may disagree with me, but he's a masochist lol.

Oh and whilst I stand by the shade I threw at the MCU above, I think Wolverine's different physiques in the movies is a good standard of comparison for how much superhero movies have changed. Because when superhero comics first started getting adapted I think a lot of the choices made were about how to bring them to live action realistically and believably and the attitude was to try not to make them look ridiculous. The first X-Men movies definitely do this.

It was about bringing the comics to life in a way that fit in our world. But over the years, as audiences got more and more used to comic book movies the movies became more and more like comic books and less like a realistic adaptation of a comic book. Does that make sense? So as the movies attempted to bring the comics to life in a way that was less realistic and more comic accurate, the demands on the actors to sculpt their physiques to meet the standards of comic book art became normalised.

I think Deadpool and Wolverine is the MOST comic book accurate of all superhero movies made in the past 2 decades. Half the time the images from the movie look like they could be literally pulled from the pages of the comic books. The story is convoluted and stupid, the plot is barely there and is full of gaping plot holes and elements that don't fit any past stories. The action is ridiculous, extremely fast paced, gratuitous, and violent to a hilarious level. But it's so entertaining, joyful, exciting, and laugh out loud hilarious throughout.

It reminded me a LOT of my attempts at reading through the Deadpool comics (I've read a lot of them but no where near all of them).

To sum up this rambling message with multiple points, I'll say that Deadpool and Wolverine is a really fun movie that I thoroughly enjoyed, but make no mistake there is nothing real in it at all. It is almost literally a comic on screen. Don't expect anything more than that and you'll enjoy the experience.

[madrone33]

Number 1 Rule of adapting the Odyssey into EPIC is: if it can be more dramatic, it will be more dramatic.

The Greeks decide to throw the infant Trojan prince from the walls because they're scared he'll try to avenge his family? No, Zeus comes down to personally give Odysseus a vision of being killed and says his family WILL die. Kill the baby that reminds you of your son right now, it's the gods will.

Odysseus goes to greet the inhabitants of an island and gets trapped in a cave for two days by the cyclops that's eating his men one by one? Nope, we got BOSS BATTLE 30v1 in the Ithacans' favour until BAM fourteen pancakes are made by Polyphemus' club and oh shit Polites is DEAD-

Athena is just vaugely absent for the whole journey until the end? We got emotionally charged platonic breakups instead, with yelling and insults and "well I'm breaking up with you FIRST!"

Smooth sailing to Ithaca? STOOOORM-

Odysseus' great-great-great-grandfather giving him a speed boost to help him on his way home? Get ready for trickster wind gods, mischievous winions, and a game that was rigged from the start.

Random-ass suspicious and greedy crew mates open the bag? It's Eurylochus, his second in command, his brother-in-law, the man he trusted, Eurylochus WHYYY

Parking in the wrong harbour and getting boulders thrown at the fleet by angry man-eating giants while Odysseus backs away veeery slowly? Nah Poseidon himself pulls up to dunk on them, and Odysseus has to make a last minute getaway using the power of STOOORM to avoid being curbstomped like his fleet.

Odysseus gets some stronger drugs from a god to make him immune to the other drugs of a goddess? Well these drugs actually give him magic powers which he uses to engage in a Pokémon/Yu-Gi-Oh style BOSS BATTLE!

Get some closure with dead loved ones and acquaintances, and be the first interviewer of the fallen heroes of past ages? Nope, we just got TRAUMA and a whole boatload of guilt!

A neat outline of what the rest of the journey will look like, a warning against an island of cows that will slow him down, and the way to appease Poseidon? This Tiresias just says "Y'know there used to be a world where you made it home, BUT I DON'T SEE IT NO MORE. IT'S GONE. IT'S OVER. Also, your palace is fucked."

Sailing past the sirens while getting to be the first mortal to hear their song and live? M U R D E R

Sailing past Scylla to avoid Charybdis and accidentally getting six men eaten because he thought he could totally take Scylla, even though Circe said he couldn't, and then he realised he, in fact, cannot take Scylla? ... Eurylochus, light up six torches.

Eurylochus waits till Odysseus is out hunting and then goes behind his back to mutinously rally the crew and feast on some sacred cattle? Betrayal on both sides, stabby stab, K.O., and then Odysseus helplessly watches them make the greatest mistake of their lives as they ignore his pleas.

Quick clean and easy lightning-strike to the ship, leaving Odysseus to cling to some driftwood and paddle away? Zeus himself appears to the mortals, monologues, makes Odysseus be the one to choose, and then smites the whole ship leaving Odysseus to nearly drown anyway.

Telemachus gets advice from a disguised Athena to yell at the suitors and then sail away to look for news of his missing father? Telemachus gets into a full on beatdown with the suitors and gets FIGHT CLUB TRAINING from Athena!

Athena goes "dad I want my favourite mortal back? Did you forget about him? I think you forgot about him" and Zeus instantly replies "nonsense. How could I have forgotten that funny little mortal? Of course you can have him back my sweet favoured child <3" and then Athena skips off to Ithaca? "Father please-" "LIGHTNING BOLT! ANOTHER LIGHTNING BOLT! LIGHTNING BOLT TO THE FACE HOW DARE YOU ASK ME OF SUCH A THING!"

Poseidon does a double take "wait they let him go?? Oh hell nah!" and then sends a giant fuck off storm for Odysseus to swim through until he reaches the Phaeacians? No, Poseidon's just been there on Ithaca's shores, waiting for eight years, now get in the water BITCH- except Odysseus is just like "oh yeah? Fucking FIGHT ME"

You thought the suitors in the Odyssey were bad? Jorge really just said "dial that shit up to ELEVEN"

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Since you've mentioned Scarlet Lady in one of your posts, what's your opinion on it?

I've mentioned before that I'm a big Scarlet Lady fan, which is the only reason that I'm comfortable answering asks like this one. I don't publicly criticize the content of hobby creators. That's wildly inappropriate! Punch up, not down.

The linked post was a general discussion of the adaptation process and how @zoe-oneesama did a fantastic job, so for this one, I'm just going to do some general gushing because I do actually like praising and enjoying things!

Scarlet Lady's chosen format (comic) allows it to have this wonderful conversation with canon where it can rely on the framework of canon to tell it's own story while also using canon for jokes and meta commentary. This means that Scarlet Lady is about as close as fan content can get to a direct reboot because it's able to have moments like this one from the comic's first post:

[Image description: Adrien standing in his room after transforming into Chat Noir for the first time. He is beaming and his eyes are shining with excitement as he exclaims, "This is gonna be awesome!"]

A single picture that communicates everything we need to know about Adrien getting his miraculous. When I've done this same thing in fanfic, I had to write out the full scene because that's how novels work. You have to give the full picture. With a comic, you can just quickly acknowledge this thing that we all already know and then move on to the new stuff. A picture really is worth a thousand words! (Or, in my case, more like two thousand...)

This allows Zoe to keep the same akumas that we get in canon without her story feeling like a boring rehash because she can focus on what's different in her version. A novelization of the same content would have to show both the stuff that stays the same and the stuff that changes for it to be coherent. That's a lot less fun to read and write. It's why I basically never revisit canon akumas in my own stuff. It's just too derivative for the written word.

This is one of the big reasons that I loved Scarlet Lady. Because it was able to have that more directly conversation with canon, it was able to take canon and say, "hey, why don't we embrace the tone that you established in season one and retell the story with that vibe?" That's something that I desperately wanted to see, but that is totally unsuited to my chosen artistic form. It couldn't be a novel. It had to be a comic.

If you want to know what a true formula show version of Miraculous would look like, Scarlet Lady is it. It does everything that Miraculous should have done:

Sticks to a lighthearted tone where nothing is ever super serious

Keeps Gabriel entirely unsympathetic

Has slow character development and background hints at a bigger plot as the only serial elements, allowing the individual episodes to be their own story while never feeling incomplete or rushed

Allows characters other than Marinette to shine while keeping Marinette as the clear main character

Makes Adrien narratively important

MAKES THE LOVE SQUARE CUTE SO I CAN ACTUALLY SHIP IT

Understands that Lila and Chloe can't coexist as antagonists

Reverses the love square, which is the best way to tell their story. Yes, I will die on my "love diamond" hill. It's a good hill. Come join me. I'll bring cookies.

I could keep going, but you hopefully get my point. While Scarlet Lady is certainly not the only way to do a formula version of canon, it's proof that a formula version does work! You don't have to go the serious route for Miraculous to be successful.

I want to take some time to gush about the ending, but I don't want to spoil it, so I'll put that gushing under a "read more" in case anyone hasn't seen it. I'll finish out this less spoilerish section with this:

I feel like some people are surprised when they learn that I love Scarlet Lady because - as some of you have probably picked up - it is quite different from my ideal version of canon. I'm not sure why that would stop me from enjoying a thing, though. It's important to remember that our personal ideals are not the only way to tell a good story. There are lots of ways to take what canon gave us and make something wonderful! It's part of the reason that I enjoy being in a fandom.

If I only wanted to see my ideal take on canon, then I'd stick to writing/imagining my own stories. But I don't want that! I like seeing alternate takes, too. Scarlet Lady is one of my personal favorites. It's completely different from anything that I'd ever think to write and that's why I'm so glad that it exists! I like being entertained just as much as I like creating my own entertainment and I don't want to only read stories that look like something I'd write. That's boring!

Spoilers below:

I've mentioned before that there are many, many ways to properly handle Chloe's character and Zoe did such a good job with her take on that! Chloe isn't absolved of all the things she did wrong, but she's also treated as a young woman with the ability to change.

While the comic bares the name of Chloe's alter ego, she was the never the main character. She never went on a journey. The story kept her to her shallow season-one self: a petty brat who just wanted attention. It did this because that's who Chloe was in canon and who Chloe needed to be for the comic to work.

The first time we see any complexity from Chloe is in the comic's final few episodes, which was absolutely the right call for Zoe to make! In a recent post, I talked about how the end of a formula show is the only time when you can break the formula in catastrophic ways and that's what Zoe did. She kept Chloe static until it was time to end the story and that's when the formula breaks. That's when Chloe gets depth because, once she has depth, the formula doesn't work.

That depth is not used to redeem Chloe, but to show us that there's hope for Chloe. That this petty brat who we've been dealing with has some serious issues and needs help. Help that she's going to get far away from the people that she's hurt because her issues aren't an excuse for what she's done. They don't erase the harm that she caused. At the same time, understanding her issues makes us hope that she can be better now and Scarlet Lady took a moment to give us that hope. To show us the START of Chloe's true story.

That is the kind of ending that I have wanted to see in so many properties!!! It was so wonderful to finally get one that did this right. A story that understood that full redemption to the team and damnation to death/suffering are extremes on a scale of possibilities. You don't have to go to extremes! You can fall in the middle and the middle is a perfect, natural place for Chloe to land in this kind of story. Fully redeeming or even fully damning Chloe simply doesn't work in lighthearted formula content. It's too big a lift as canon has already demonstrated.

I also loved Zoe's take on Emilie. I've mentioned that I don't like evil Emilie in part because it makes her revival feel like the start of a new story. She's back and she'd bad, so we have to take her down now! But I don't want that. I want the story to end when Gabriel is stopped. Zoe does this by giving us an Emilie that is another perfect middle ground. She matches canon's uncomfortable implications without feeling like a true villain who is a threat to society.

[royalarchivist]

Quackity: These past days I've been in many calls, and I'm not done yet. I've spoken to a lot of people and creators. I've read your comments and I'm well aware of what needs to be done to carry out this project. I want to tell you all, beforehand, that for me the team's well-being is fundamental. I'm very involved in this topic to sort it out and I want to make that very clear. I want to tell you something... I want to tell you all that the administrative staff responsible for so much harm to the project has been fired. Specifically, those who made decisions without my permission, affecting the administrative and financial area of the project. Consequently, after this, I was in charge of doing a financial analysis that's carrying out for the QSMP.

Guys, to be really honest, it was not going to last. Therefore, I've had to make deep drastic structural changes that have lead me to reduce the performance of the server down to the most essential, and this is in order to ensure the well being of everyone involved in it. Having said this, I want to give a very important update: I want to let you all know that the QSMP will have to slow down temporarily. This is to ensure this new structure adapts to the project, because it's a restructuring that's taking place. I'm letting you know, and I reiterate, there are no voluntary positions inside the QSMP.

At the moment, there will not be any more individual update accounts of all 5 existing languages in the project. In any case, during this transition, there's going to be a temporal absence of all Eggs and NPCs. I know these are difficult changes, and I repeat, it's temporary until we adjust to these new conditions that will improve the performance of this new structure that's being made from scratch, both in the administrative and financial part. I'd like to reintegrate people fro the QSMP as time goes by if a financial viability can be found for the project Taking advantage of this update to tell you guys that within the changes of the server as it is, creators will have full control of their lore and stories. The team will not intervene in the way that it was being done. Moreover, efforts will be made to change the competitive dynamics inside the game so as to ease up the game style for the creators. Like I'm saying, all of these changes, and more, are being carrying out to have the project as best as possible, and they're being done little by little. This is a whole new structure that will ensure the best continuity and experience for the creators, the community and the team behind.

Guys, I want to make very clear that this is restructuring process, and again, it's not a fast one. The server being open does not mean everything's perfect, I understand that very well. Conversations will keep taking place, communication will continue and the constant improvement of the project as well. I ask, please, for everyone's patience and understanding regarding all changes. Please do wait for official announcements since a lot of incomplete and incorrect information is being spread. I want to tell you all something- if you don't trust in these changes or have many doubts about it, and don't want to consume any more of the project's content, I understand 100%. I have a personal commitment with the QSMP and I will work until it functions in the way it is supposed to do.

Lastly, I want to let you know that it was being worked on for months on finalizing the integration of Korean creators to the QSMP. For that reason, tomorrow we will be welcoming the new Korean creators of the QSMP, of course, taking into account all the changes I've just mentioned. I hope you can give the new Korean members warm welcome to the project. And as you know, their schedules are earlier. For everyone who would like to watch, they will be joining at 11am Mexico time and at 9am US time. Basically, I wanted to give that update regarding everything that's being done within the project. Again, thank you for your patience and understanding- these are necessary changes and I'm glad they're being done now. And many more things will keep being adjusted.

via @QuackitySubs

[nanamis-bigtie]

JJK MEN WEARING A SEXY COSTUME FOR YOU

featuring: gojo, ino, takaba, naobito, geto, toji, higuruma, ijichi, nanami, choso, naoya, shiu, kusakabe, sukuna, yaga cw: ambiguous reader, suggestive themes a/n: various ideas were stuck with me since i saw this sukuna fanart by @clumsyraccoon and i finally put them together in my online notebook; i finally got myself to write my underrated husband takaba too, yay!

100% into that

Gojo

What is sex if not fun? Sticking to one outfit or doing stuff butt-naked would be boring and boredom is the last thing Gojo wants to have incorporated into his sex life. He's the one bringing this up, actually, one day appearing in the bedroom as a sexy nurse. He changes costumes more often than his everyday outfits, until he gets bored and returns for a while to the classic naked routine.

what he would wear: literally anything. he would fuck even in a fursuit

Ino

Sweet boyfriend Ino has quite a kinky side to him and likes to experiment. You're proposing, he's in, no questions asked—and gods above, he feels amazing while dressing up for you. Rather than coming up with ideas, he lets you dress him however you desire; he prefers costumes to be tied to his submissive strike.

what he would wear: sexy bunny costume, catboy/puppy attire, lingerie

Takaba

He takes to costumes and crossdressing like a duck to water, he's a professional, after all. No shame and no restrictions to imagination found—and he loves to roleplay while in costume, so be ready to be encouraged to wear a matching one. Takaba is pretty flexible when it comes to adapting to your whims, so whether you prefer a submissive femboy or a leather daddy, you will have it.

what he would wear: he's down to anything you propose but personally loves burlesque the most

Naobito

He has a huge crossdressing and role reversal kink, and he lets you know about it beforehand—he can't imagine sex without a little dress up game from time to time, so if it's a big no for you, you won't be compatible partners. He doesn't expect you to wear a costume as well but will be delighted if you play along, especially with his favorite geisha & customer game.

what he would wear: traditional feminine japanese attire

likely

Geto

Himself, Geto is rather indifferent when it comes to what he's wearing (or not) during spicy moments. But he likes to spoil you in bed and to nurture your kinky side, so he will take a mental note whenever you come up with dressing-up or roleplay ideas, and strike when you expect it the least despite the slow build-up he prepares on the way. He leaves a trace of his schemes, lets you run into clues, like browsing history or a receipt "recklessly" left on display. You will know what awaits you—but never for sure and never when.

what he would wear: priest attire, sexy bunny costume, nurse costume, latex, lingerie

Toji

What are some clothes in comparison to all those wild and weird things he's done with all those women for a place to stay. He even likes it but he's usually just too lazy and believes that, in the end, the simplicity and naked bodies are the best. So, sometimes you have to coax him into wearing what you want—but for Toji there's no such a inconvenience that couldn't be bribed with a bowl of good ramen or a blowjob.

what he would wear: leather, uniforms and working clothing, cosplay

Higuruma

He's just unsure if he's more into that or into the overwhelming embarrassment he feels when you put him into a costume. He hasn't done it with previous partners and, on top of everything, no matter how hard he tries, he can't quite click with roleplaying, if it comes with the costume. In the end he almost always caves but he definitely feels more confident in outfits that don't require coming up with acting.

what he would wear: suits, uniforms and working clothing, priest attire

Ijichi

The thing about him is that he just...doesn't have heart to say no, and once he finds himself in the middle of situation, in crushing majority he's so much into that he scares himself. Dressing up at least doesn't come with the aftertaste of "in the end, it did awaken something in me". Prefers to be dressed up like a doll rather than coming up with costume ideas

what he would wear: crossdressing, sexy bunny costume, catboy costume, cosplay of female characters, maid costume

rather unlikely

Nanami

He just...doesn't get the appeal. Will do it for you, if you insist really hard, but it's a special kind of a treat and you won't get it often. Once he gets into the attire though, he's dedicated to his task for 100%. Nanami never does his job half-heartedly, if you want to have a sexy maid, you will have a sexy maid to the tiniest detail.

what he would wear: leather, suit or uniform, maid costume for crossdressing & role reversal roleplay | i actually did write something about the latter...

Choso

Poor soul, it's almost too embarrassing for him. He blushes so hard he gets scarlet-red all over his face, stutters and ineffectively tries to bolt from the place where you attacked him with your ideas. Why do you want him to do this, it's weird, he looks weird, why can't you two have normal sex? Eventually gives up if you pester him long enough but he gets so submissive about it it's almost more adorable than sexy.

what he would wear: any cute attire. he looks surprisingly good in cute, lolita fasion inspired dresses

Naoya

He's rolling his eyes and scoffing even before you finish explaining him your idea. It's ridiculous, you are ridiculous, if you hoped he will do as you please and put that hideous outfit on (after all, anything that hasn't been chosen by Naoya himself is hideous by definition). He has more pride and praise kink than braincells, though, so he will cave just to show off. He loves it but he will rather be skinned alive than admit it to you.

what he would wear: if you stroke his ego hard enough, he will literally wear anything, even the most stupid outfit possible

Shiu

A sly smirk dances on his lips when he's listening and counting how many favours he can squeeze out of you in exchange for what you're asking him to do. He never explicitly says yes or no, so you're not sure whether he hates the idea or quite contrary; it's always an exchange of goods for him and you need to be prepared for hard negotiations.

what he would wear: oh baby, that completely depends on how much you're willing to pay for your whim...

you need a miracle

Kusakabe

If you thought Choso is the peak of embarrassed blush, look at Kusakabe's face when you show him the bunny ears you bought in a sex shop. He stutters and talks way too loudly, has no idea what to do with hands, paces around as he explains why absolutely never and why did you even bring this to him, is this a joke and if it is, then a very not funny one. Will, reluctantly, try, if you're pleading long enough, as conscience gnaws on him and calls him out for being a coward.

what he would wear: sexy bunny. once. never again until you effectively bribe him

Sukuna

You really have the gall to ask him for such things in the first place—but, luckily for you, he loves when you're being bold. Just don't overuse your special privilege if you don't want to have it revoked and face...consequences. Be patient, he will wait for the right moment and eventually reward you for your assets. It's an exceptionally rare moment, so treasure it.

what he would wear: leather, uniforms, genderbend cosplay of female characters

Yaga

He's too old for this, leave him alone. The best that you will squeeze out of him is one of the suits he doesn't wear anymore but doesn't want to get rid of it either. And still, as soon as the matters get closer to sex, he will just take it off.

what he would wear: he's a hopeless case, let him be the boomer he wants to be or else he will ruin any outfit for you

[thisaccountisagainstmywill]

BG3 Characters Safest Driver Headcanons

I've been thinking about that poll from months ago way too much, so I've pulled this from my drafts. In this essay, I will explain why Boo is the best driver. Astarion: Terrible. Absolutely terrible driver. He is doing his makeup with the visor down, looking at the mirror more than the road. Suspend your disbelief, he's driving in this universe. He can use mirrors. ♥ You have to grab the steering wheel, regularly. Without warning, the man twists around to find his purse in the back seat because he wants a different eyeliner than what he grabbed. You are on aux duty. He hates everything you've picked. 2/10, he lawyered his way into that license Gale: You would think he would be safe, but then you remember that Gale didn't pay attention in boring classes. And how hard could driving really be?? The man knows how to drive perfectly textbook. He also thinks he knows how to do it better than everyone else. He does not adapt well to poor drivers. The roads are full of poor drivers. He is yeling "Zipper!" at the merging traffic. You spend five minutes in the parking lot so he can find just the right song for the trip.

6/10, you will probably not die Halsin: The man drives slow, I'm sorry. He's fuel efficient as you can get with the windows down. He pulls over and stops traffic for ducks crossing the road, no matter what the current road conditions are. He stops to show you the new tree the neighbor got. He is a Yellowstone Park tourist. He wants to show you the world, one traffic-stopping mid-road parking job at a time. There is no music, we are listening to nature today. 4/10, you will be rear-ended with him and not the way most people want Jaheira: I stand by what I said last time: Jaheira reminds me of so many older women I know. She drives like she wants someone to start shit with her. She's so conditioned by having 5 kids fighting in the backseat at all times that every time she's behind the wheel she's having Vietnam-level flashbacks. Her blood is pumping in her ears. There is no road, there is only the red of her vision. She won't start the road rage incident directly, but by god, she will end it. (You tried to ask about music, but the look she gave you when asked killed the question.) 5/10, you make it to your destination intact. But at what cost? Your pants are a different color at the end of the trip than they were at the beginning. Karlach: Karlach is talking with her hands while she drives. She's fiddling with the radio constantly. You've blown four red lights. Three of them were the same red light because she took a wrong turn. She will not use GPS, she's got the vibe of where she's going. She was trying to show you something on her phone at the same time. It cannot wait. It was so good you have to see it right now. The tunes are so loud she hasn't heard the sirens behind her. 4/10, the tunes almost make up for it Lae'zel: You are helping her check her mirror distance before you get in the car. You are buckled in before the car even starts. You are not allowed to touch the light in the car if it is dark out. She was taught that it's illegal to have on at night and she takes that shit seriously. You are on blindspot-watching duty at all times. You're not allowed to have music on the in car, it is a distraction. 7/10, we are efficient, but we are miserable Minsc: Minsc cannot drive. Minsc was meant to drive today, but Minsc got into the wrong seat. We are all relieved. Jaheira trained him wrong on purpose and will kill you if you correct him. 0/10, don't even try. He will survive the accident, you will not. Minthara: Minthara, light of my life. She is gremlin cackling and riding bumpers the whole time. People are pulling off constantly to get away from her. You are white-knuckling in the passenger seat and are too afraid to let go of the bitch-bar. You pray her airbags are up to date because your life has not stopped flashing before your eyes since you got onto the road. We are exclusively listening to The Flight of the Valkyries. 7/10, it is shockingly efficient when no one else is on the road anymore

Shadowheart: I have been in many a 'Shadowhearts' car. The car is more of a problem than she is. She drives the type of car that makes people go, "You live like this?" She drives a manual. She was not trained to drive a manual. Almost every single dash light is on, the ones that aren't had their bulbs die out years ago. We don't know how old that trash is, but it lives here now. She has one of those cassette players that has to hook into your phone to come out the speakers. Good luck finding the right adaptor in the mess. 4/10, girl get your shit together Wyll: Wyll is the best driver, hands down...when he is alone. Like all things in his life, his greatest flaw is being too polite. He turns his whole fucking head to look at you when you talk because that is the polite thing to do. The road is secondary to how important your conversation and companionship are to him. And you can't not talk him! He's asking you genuine questions about your day because he's interested. You get to listen to whatever you want and he's totally down for it even if it's not normally his thing. He'll find something he likes about it. Alone: 100/10, he somehow makes everyone better drivers by just being on the road With you: 5/10, Wyll, please, look at the road. ;_;

Boo: My eyes are closed. It's better this way. We made it there in record time. I don't know how it happened. I don't need to know how it happened. ?/10, it's best if you don't think about it

[thelastofhyde]

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra​​ @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet. 

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?” 

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s. 

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point. 

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

 “you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure. 

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass. 

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

 and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time. 

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you. 

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms. 

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.​

[14buddy22]

Hey if you're looking for Hotch requests, what about Hotch dealing with a crush on a non-bau sunshine reader when he's still sad after the divorce/Foyet but he's so confused by his feelings because it's been so long that he doesn't know what's going on??

Like if it's case related, maybe he thinks reader is a suspect because why else would he be so on edge around her and it's just so painfully obvious to everyone else. Idk if that makes sense but I just think Hotch being so out of touch with his emotions despite being a profiler would be funny lol

Feel free to adapt and make it your own!! Thanks!!

Thanks for your request! I hope it lives up to your expectation!

You were the best damn bartender in Quantico, Virginia. At least, that's what you thought to yourself. You made work fun. You worked in a club environment so if you wore something scandalous, flirted with the customers a bit, you were sure to bring in a hefty tip at the end of the night.

But, you loved the hustle and bustle of it. You loved the interactions, loved singing along to the bands or the good music. You loved having conversations with the locals, loved celebrating parties for kids turning 21, people getting married, or hell, people getting divorced.

Then you met who you swore is your soulmate. Something in you stilled when you were bartending. You never froze up at your job. You were good at what you do. But seeing him walk through that door, looking all handsome in a suit, he took your breath away. You watched how he interracted with the bouncer.

You watched him show his badge to your best friend. FBI. An average Joe wouldn't just waltz into your bar, you knew he was a sophisticated man.

But when he locked eyes with you, you felt like the bar had heated up 100 degrees. Making his way over to you, you were trying to calm down. What had you feeling like this?

"Hi, I'm Agent Hotchner with the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the FBI. It's my understanding from the gentleman at the front that you are the lead bartender?"

You finished making your drink for one of the locals and asked your partner to manage the bar. Luckily it was early evening and the college kids had about another hour before they started flooding in so you knew you'd be okay leaving her by herself.

"Yes, I'm Y/n Y/L/N. It's nice to meet you. How can I help you?"

You shook his hand, and you swore you both held it for longer than you both intended.

All I could think was that she was beautiful. No, no, I can't think like that. My wife, ex-wife was brutally murdered a little over a year ago. Something's different talking to her, to-Y/n. Something I haven't felt in a while but I don't know what it is.

She's a bartender. I hear she's a damn good one. Maybe that's why she's about to be the suspect in a string of murders. Men have been killed shortly after they leave this bar. Traces of posion have come back on the tox screen. Bartenders have access to the drinks and alcohol before they serve, y/n's the perfect suspect.

But she's beautiful, and I haven't seen her stop smiling at all. She has a gorgeous smile. She'd be the sunshine on the rainiest days for the men that have been murdered. Before I know it, my thoughts and feelings consumed me, I'm still holding her hand. I could feel Dave's eyes burning a hole into me.

"Have you heard about the three men murdered around town?"

"Yeah, I have. It's very unfortunate. They were great men. At least to me. They tipped well and always had friendly conversations. They also stood up for me if some men coming in here for the first time were getting a little handsy with me."

Oh how I wished I could be the one to make sure no one got handsy with her. Wait, what am I saying? She's a suspect, she doesn't know it, but she is.

"How were they killed?"

Agent Hotchner's partner spoke up to answer your question.

"They were poisoned."

Ugh, these poor men. Had to die a slow pain, they didn't deserve it. They deserved justice now.

"We just wanted to come in to see if anything unusual has happened lately."

"I've seen a lot of crime shows with my ex-boyfriends before. You're really trying to see if I did it. Which I didn't. I don't think I have the heart to kill anyone. I broke up with my last ex because he hunted and I couldn't bare the thought of killing animals."

Of course you broke up with your ex because of that. But I have a job to do and I have to investigate further. Plenty of killers have lied straight to my face before.

"We'll be in touch Ms. Y/l/n, thank you for your time."

You smiled and shook their hands one last time before you went back to working your shift. Something about Aaron caught my eye. Maybe it's the way he was blushing like a school boy. You're not sure, but he was handsome.

Just when Aaron walked into the bar, you smiled at him, offering him a drink.

"Agent Hotchner, it's good to see you again."

Your smile never waivered. Maybe you would shoot your shot with him.

I can't believe I have to do this. Arrest someone this pretty. Arrest this girl who Rossi thinks I have feelings for. What? Feelings? That's an intense word, but I have to arrest her.

"Unfortunately I'm here to place you under arrest."

I watched all the color drain from her face. I watched her smile fall so fast. But it had to be her. Rossi and the team wasn't so sure, but I have a gut feeling it's her. Of course with it being my team, they weren't going to stop me. I took her sunshine away.

"Agent Hotchner, I, I didn't do anything."

Your manager saw what was going on, he was like your work dad. He took care of you like his daughter, despite him having sons, he treated you like his princess. You heard him say say, "Y/n, I'm getting you a lawyer, do not speak. I know you didn't do this. But I'll meet you where they're taking you."

You smiled back at him, tears filling your eyes. You wanted to make everyone happy, you never wanted to hurt anyone. How are you being arrested? You didn't do anything wrong.

Your ride back in Aaron's SUV was silent. How could you think he was your soulmate? Your soulmate would never arrest you. But you were still feeling something, you couldn't explain it.

I keep looking in the rearview mirror at her. I had to trust my gut. She poisioned those men. But why do I feel so guilty arresting her. From the time we had met her, been surveillencing her, up until I placed the handcuffs on her, she had smiled. Everyone spoke highly of her. I took away her sunshine. I did that.

As you walked into an interrogation room, Aaron sat you down in the seat, then took off your hand cuffs, handcuffing one hand to the table instead.

"We'll wait for your lawyer, do you need anything?"

"No."

You couldn't even look at him. How could her. You told him you didn't do it.

As I walked out, I was greeted with Penelope. "Sir, she has nothing on her record, not even a speeding ticket. I've looked through her social media posts and everyone spoke so highly of her. Friends were making special post to thank her for being a great friend. She took care of everyone. Sir, I-I know I'm not an agent, but I just can't believe it's her."

Penelope was cut off by my phone ringing, picking it up after viewing the caller I.D.

Morgan said, "Hotch, we got the wrong girl. It's Y/n's bartending partner. I just watcher her slip something into this guy's drink. I'm bringing her in, we can cut Y/n loose. You can be happy now. Y/n's not a killer. What that gut feeling is, is your feelings that you like her Hotch. You haven't felt that since Haley. I know it's been 20 years, but trust me man. Y/n is something special, according to the track record she has. She's the opposite of a killer. She's just the type of sunshine that you and Jack need in your life."

Aaron walked in and said, "I'm sorry, there has been a huge mistake. You are free to go. It was the other bartender you worked with.

"What? There's no way. She's amazing at what she does."

Aaron shook her head and said, "One of my agents was in the bar watching the entire time, he was undercover. He watched her slip something in another man's drink."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you got the right killer. If, if you don't mind, can one of your agents give me a ride home? I don't have my car, obviously."

You didn't know how to feel. You knew you didn't do anything, but was Agent Hotchner always going to have a doubt in his mind that you were a killer?

You got in his car, this time sitting in the front seat. A storm was coming in, you enjoyed the rain and thunder, it calmed you. You two rode in silence, when he dropped you of at your apartment, he walked you up.

When you opened your door, you turned around to thank him, instead that didn't come out.

"I told you I didn't do it, ya know?"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I. There's something about you, y/n. I thought you were a suspect, but you should've never been one."

As your eyes were red and filled with tears, you looked at the man who you thought was your soulmate, instead, he had ruined you. Yes, you two didn't date, yes, you didn't hook up, but there was something there.

"Well then why the hell did you do this, Aaron? Why arrest me?"

"My ex-wife passed away a year ago. I haven't had feelings for anyone in nearly 20 years. My feelings for you confused me. I didn't know what I was feeling. I didn't know what these feelings were because I've been so out of touch with them. And it took me a minute to realize that these feelings are because I didn't think you were a killer, I thought you were beautiful. I think you're beautiful. But that gut feeling was that I think. I think I've found my soulmate."

As she stepped closer to me, I watched the sunshine fill her eyes again, her smile creeping up her face. God, was she beautiful and amazing, and from her friend's testimonies who I interviewed, she was a down right amazing person. Just the absolute sunshine to be around.

You were going to kiss Aaron. You were glad he figured out his feelings. This was going to be the start of something new. You didn't know what happened to his ex, you'd find out someday. You took the chance. You placed your hands on Aaron's hips and leaned in to kiss him. You were so happy that Aaron felt the same way. How did you know this? He placed his hands on your face and kissed you back like you were the only sunshine he'd ever see again.

[torialefay]

Hi! I love your writing. I was wondering if you had the time if you could do a skz thing on who prefers rough sex vs love making (like the slow, handholding while thrusting in you romantic type). Or however you want to answer, everything you do is great. And it’s also great if you don’t want to.

honeyyyy, the "it's also great if you don't want to" is breaking my heart. you are seriously too sweet 🥺🫶🏼 these are my rough og thoughts!!!

chris: depends on the day, but is usually either one or the other. because he has all of that scorp energy, he is definitely gonna go deep & slow with you alotttt of the time. like if y'all have nothing to do & are just at home all day, you bet your ass he's gonna take his sweet time & be good and slow with you. he loves knowing that you both have a strong, insatiable connection. and he honestly craves for you to need him badly like that, so he's basically gonna fuck his love into you. BUT, he's also got a lil sag mars action going on too, so he will need to switch it up from time to time & i can definitely see him getting heated and aggressive with it. especially if you don't have much time, but he's just superrrr horny... if he knows you like it, he will NOT take it easy on you. i'm imagining a lot of spanking or ass grabbing going on too idk.

minho: almost always combines the two. i definitely see lee know as the type to start slowly and make sure that he has you waiting and writhing to get more from him. he wabts you to connect onto his energy and basically beg him for more. he'll go slow & establish that early on. because he has all of that scorp energy (like INTENSE scorp energy), he's going to NEED that to establish the mood for the night. BUT i think as he moves on through the night, he gradually gets rougher and rougher. before you know it, he has full control of you and you don't even know how it happened. i'm talking face down, ass up, as he's pushing your face into the mattress and pounding your shit so hard you don't think you'll survive. or if you're in missionary, he'll start basically destroying you. and he will love every second of it <3

changbin: overall more sweet and loving, but he fucks you really really deep so he can watch what it does to you. he gives me vibes that he truly knows how to take care of you and he is practical when giving it to you. think of it as being a gentle giant. he loves being big, yet treating you like you're the most precious thing he could ever imagine. like he's being gentle and watching to make sure you're enjoying yourself, but he's also going so deep that it takes your breath away. and he lovessss that shit. he likes feeling so big and seeing his princess get pampered in the dirtiest way. like you're so cute, but taking him like no one would ever expect. and the entire time, you're just so in awe of how he pays attention to you and gives you soft, tiny praises the entire way.

hyunjin: making love. he's definitely gonna give you some extremelyyyy hard thrusts, but it is just as mental for him as it is physical. genuinely when i picture sex with hyunjin, it is the most intense thing humanly possible. like he is holding your face the entire time, never daring to look away while he is hitting your shit so deep that you feel it in your stomach. and every time he gets a strong moan out of you, he just smiles as he watches your eyes roll back. he wabts nothing more than to basically try to fuck his love into you. and it frustrates him so badly that there are no words to express just how connected he wabts his soul to ve with yours, so he just keeps fucking deeper and deeper to try and get as close as he can. he's definitely really fucking sweaty, but he can't keep his hands off of you.

han: easily picks up on your vibes and gives you what you want in that moment. hannie seems so adaptable that he usually gives in to what you want... without you really having to explicitly say it. he has that libra energy so he just GETS it and he wants to please you. so if you wabt to go slow and just enjoy the sensation of connecting emotionally with him? he's giving you exactly that. but if you've been giving him absolutely nastyyyyy vibes all day and he knows you've been bratty bc you want attention, he'll pick up the ques that he needs to fuck you HARD. i think han can be a lot more dom in the bedroom than most people give him credit for. like if he's had a really long day, i see him taking it out on you by fucking out his frustrations. same thing for if yall get into a fight or something, i can so see you both ending it by getting turned on and him rocking your shit while bending you over. idk maybe its just me.

felix: (i feel like this is an unpopular opinion and i go back and forth ab it), but he's usually on the less emotional side. but like han, he understands you well and changes it up depending on what you need. he can get quite sensitive too and overwhelmed, which is when he wants to be slow and gentle. he'd probably love it if you were both on your sides facing each other while he stills inside of you and you move yourself up and down on him. like i think he'd go feral and watch you with the most love, adoration, and lust humanly possible.but at the same time, i feel like he can sometimes struggle to express himself physically, so he ends up just doing what he feels comfortable with. he needs to switch things up every so often, but i think he's usually more into pounding you and letting it all out.

seungmin: he's usually pretty practical and doesn't go too hard or get too emotional. but on days where he's frustrated... he's taking it out on you. like relentlessly. or he's telling you exactly what to do. i'm just imagining him coming home from some kind of bullshit day and he's ranting to you about it. maybe youre acting up a bit or agging him on and he literally snaps and starts telling you what to do. i don't think he's usually super vocal, but this time he's instructing you about every little thing. kind of yelling, but it's hot. and then he's having you sit back on the couch, legs spread, so he can basically just use you to get himself off oops.

jeongin: i.n. is again a good mix. innie loved to feel big and dominant. idk what it is, but he does. and he likes knowing that you depend on him. so in that sense, he's gonna start slow and make you needy for more. he wants to make sure you're hooked before he does anything more. and once he's given you your attention and is pleased with where he's gotten you, he's gonna fuck hard so that you never forget how strong he can be. like he just has that thing inside of him that lowkey feels like he needs to prove himself & he gets off on it so bad.

[th3-3d3n-g4rd3n]

hi!! I love your writings, I was wondering if you could do a sub zuko fic where the reader edges him? If you don’t mind ofc :D

UH YES I CAN (i was waiting for someone to request my boyf - i love you!!!!) and i'm sorry it took so long for me to replyyyyy, you're so sweet whoever you are i feel so bad 😭

☆彡༄

sub! Fire Lord Zuko x fem!dom! reader

(no anatomy described for reader, referred to as "pretty girl")

all characters are 18+

cw: edging (obvi), teasing, punishment type thing, nipple play, masochism (kinda… zuko rec.), tying zuko to a chair, zuko doesn’t actually get to cum in the fic (oops), begging, ball gag

507 words

☆彡༄

Zuko was a tease. All day he had been teasing you and to be honest, it was working. Stretching so his shirt lifted up, ‘accidentally’ bumping into you from behind (TWICE), putting his hand on your thigh when you were having dinner with your guys’ friends and family. He never stopped.

“What are you doing?” you whispered in his ear after you felt his hand drift further and further up your leg. All he did was smirk at you and turn back to his friends, he must be on something if he thinks that he’s going to get away with teasing you all day.

So, here he was. Naked, his ankles tied to the legs of his throne and his wrists tied to his throne arms. Squirming and writhing under your gentle touches up and down his body. Ball gag in his mouth to keep him quiet.

“Do you regret your choices yet, Zuko?” you ask him teasingly as he glared down at you, as you were on your knees, embarrassed on how much your slight touches were affecting him, meekly shaking his head no and smirking up at you. “Don’t worry…” you pinch his nipple, making his back arch from pain, “I’ll make sure you will.”

You trace your fingertip around his tip, wincing at the feeling of your nail on his sensitive head. You let out a menacing chuckle, basking in the feeling of power this boy gave you with how at mercy he was for you. You take out the gag to hear the pathetic boy's once-muffled pleas.

“Please… just touch me…” he whispers out gently. You couldn’t help but blush as you felt yourself get aroused at his weak begs. Of course, you couldn’t tell him this or he’d start getting confident. “You’ll sit there quietly and take what I give you, okay?” you say, to which he looks down defeated and stays quiet.

Startling him, you start to pump his dick quickly, so quickly that he doesn’t have enough time to adapt. He squirms under the new intensity, “slow down! slow- I’m gonna cum!” he blurts out, you stop. “No you’re not.” you say and smile at him innocently. "SHIT. No no no no pleaseeeee don't do this, I need it, need it so bad, pretty girl, please." You smile at how desperate he is, tracing your fingertips up and down his thighs to keep teasing him.

You repeated this process a few times, jerking him off and stopping once he got close. At this point, he was begging for mercy, squirming and writhing around as to try and finally cum, you were about to let him too. That was until you heard a pounding at the door and a shout, "Lord Zuko! Are you there? It is time for your meeting with the other Leaders in 10 minutes!" You chuckle at the unfortunate timing and start untying the ropes, "Well, go on then, Fire Lord. Your city awaits you," you mock.

Let's just say he didn't speak much during the meeting.

[fen-luciel]

The mistakes of a Acolyte

4

Chapters

Summary: You are pregnant with Qimir's child and the universe is not big enough to hide you from him.

There was an embarrassed silence for a few minutes before Sol decided to clear his throat.

"I understand the fear, but this time we'll be more prepared, we won't let him even touch you" I looked at him unsure, I didn't know what was worse, if I brought them there and he was there... even hiding my belly, being seen with the Jedi would be a death sentence, or he could speak out of turn and get me arrested while he escaped, the possibilities were endless and each worse than the other.

"Excuse me, I need... to wash my face" my hands trembled as I tried to get up, Yord beside me stood up worried before offering me a hand which I quickly took, with a nod he pointed me to the bathroom and I hurried there.

The door opened automatically and I rushed inside, closing the door behind me, the sterile light illuminating the small room burned my eyes.

When I rubbed them, I realized the problem, unshed tears filled my lashes, the burning sensation I was starting to feel was the familiar one of crying.

I turned off the light and turned on the smaller, dimmer one above the mirror, in the dark I took a few deep breaths, hands resting on the rectangular sink before placing one on my belly and gently rubbing it.

The dark atmosphere calmed my nerves and fortunately, I managed to hold back the tears, turning on the water I washed my face with my still trembling hands, my shadowed reflection in the mirror was terrible, like the night before, it was written on all my features how bad I felt, the almost sickly purple bags under my eyes, the reddened irises, a disaster that seemed only to worsen.

As I took more breaths, I realized there was talking in the background happening a few meters from me, I could hear them discussing even with the door closed, especially Yord who seemed to have a particularly loud tone.

I pressed my ear to the door to better understand what they were talking about.

"I'm just saying we could try another way" the rhythmic sound I heard was probably his nervous footsteps, I could imagine him pacing back and forth nervously. "I don't like doing this either, but it's our best way," Jecki replied calmly. "We can get an approximate direction and go—" "With the risk of being discovered?" Sol interrupted her.

"And if he's really there? Maybe waiting for us. He'll assume we've rummaged through his things and found his partner" Jecki speculated. "Ex-partner" Yord immediately intervened afterward.

There was a few seconds of silence, I could imagine them looking at each other grimly. "He could be waiting for us with traps, or see us coming and escape while we search for the way, in the best-case scenario he'll be there to retrieve the last things before disappearing, we must seize the opportunity while it's available. He was injured the last time we clashed but I doubt it will slow him down, we must keep up" more muffled sounds followed, and some words I didn't quite catch as they continued to speak in a more controlled tone.

"We should at least give her time to process and understand if she wants to—" Yord's tone was irritated, you could hear it a mile away, but again Jecki intervened. "We must act now. We can help calm her nerves, but we need her and now."

I pressed my forehead against the metal door, weakly rubbing my eyes, I took a deep breath.

I had to think clearly, now more than ever I was caught between two fires ready to explode in my face, what was happening to me? What was I doing? How many times had I already said the wrong thing without even realizing it?

Was this farce I was carrying on the problem?

Had I become too weak?

Had these months of calm made me more docile or was it just me wanting to be? After all, it had already happened many years before.

Sure.

It had already happened.

When everything around you is a lie, you adapt to it, believe you are part of it, accept it, and carry on that fairytale.

I was doing it again, I had adapted to that desire that had started growing in my chest.

To be a normal person, a mother, a civilian like everyone else.

But I had never been that.

I had never been a victim.

Even what Qimir did to me. I let him do it, because deep down, it was what I wanted.

To feel loved regardless of the consequences, of how it would present itself and how I would live it.

I knew what I had to do.

I left the bathroom after washing my face again.

Immediately everyone turned to me, so I gave an encouraging smile. "Sorry, I needed a moment to think. I'll do it... I just ask that you keep me informed of the plan, if something goes wrong I want to understand it. Especially to escape the danger if it arises" I announced with a deep breath.

The reactions I received were different, it was obvious that Yord was not happy about it, Jecki nodded impassively, but Sol was clearly happy with my choice.

"Certainly, we'll organize the plan this afternoon and let you know when we've decided" Sol replied. I nodded before taking a few steps forward. "If it's not a problem, I'd like to go home, especially if we have to leave early, maybe put some clothes in a bag, or retrieve my old blaster." The three nodded. "If all goes well, you'll be away from home for a maximum of one day, but it's right to prevent, thank you again" Sol replied with a slight bow that I returned.

"Wait, I'll accompany you" Yord offered me an arm which I took with a smile. "Thank you"

We left the ship at a slower pace, the city was fully awake by now, the streets were full of busy civilians, but they seemed to easily step aside as we passed, whether to help a pregnant woman or for fear of the Jedi I couldn't tell.

"You're not obligated if you don't want to" Yord suddenly said, I looked at him with a small smile on my lips, he was deliberately avoiding my gaze, walking with a rigid posture, eyes fixed ahead of him.

"It's okay Yord. I want to end this story. Maybe for real this time" the only response I received was a snort from his nose, it was a rather amusing reaction despite everything, although I didn't understand the reason, sure Sol and Jecki were also worried, but he seemed on another planet.

"How sweet, you're worried" I intoned teasingly as I slightly squeezed his arm, the muscle contracting under my fingers.

"Of course I am. We are putting a pregnant woman in danger, I know you're not inexperienced, but we're Jedi, we should protect you, not ask you to be on the front line" I exhaled a snort of amusement. "Well, I have my Jedi knight to protect me, don't I?" I gave him a playful smile, but I could clearly see a slight dark blush on his cheeks.

When we reached my building he accompanied me to the door of my apartment where I let go of his arm.

"See you then?" he nodded before crossing his hands behind his back in a rigid posture. "We'll contact you as soon as we're organized, I'd tell you to bring something you need so maybe prepare a bag, but I don't think we'll contact you before evening. So rest" rummaging in his pockets he handed me a small comlink which I put in my pocket.

"See you later"

I closed the door behind me, the comlink left on the kitchen table as I quickly headed to the bedroom.

I had to do things right if I wanted to get out clean, to kriff with the Jedi, Qimir, and this shitty life I had tried to get into, peace had never existed, all the notions that had been taught to me were dictated by hypocrisy, but I had come out of it and I would come out of it this time too.

Rummaging through the closet, I took a loose shirt to put on, took off my shoes for comfort, and quickly tied my hair in a messy bun on my head.

Sure, if he didn't answer... but at that point, I didn't care, I would make another plan and another until I freed myself from the problem.

I sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the shutters were still down leaving the room dimly lit, I took deep breaths before closing my eyes, hands resting on my legs.

Over the years Qimir and I had developed a direct bond in the force, which had helped us on many occasions, the more time passed the easier it was for us to use it and outside it was almost impossible to perceive us. In recent months Qimir had repeatedly tried to call me through the force, I had closed the bond as soon as I escaped into hyperspace, the first days were a nightmare, he tried to contact me in every way, dozens of times a day, forcefully. It was obvious he was furious, he immediately realized something was wrong, he was more the type to disappear without saying anything, I wasn't. I would have warned him, I would have told him what I had to do, when I would return, anything, I was paranoid by nature and Qimir was a companion, so it seemed logical to tell him everything.

Even when I had to keep a low profile, I found a way to warn him of the problem, that day 5 months earlier, however, was particularly calm, we weren't doing anything special, so when I took my things and left it took him less than 12 hours to realize something was wrong.

The first calls were calm but insistent, when he realized I didn't intend to answer him, he got furious.

It was absurd how, despite being equals, his presence made me uncomfortable. It was a change I hadn't perceived. It took me five months to realize that what was happening was wrong.

And now I had to reactivate the bond.

And talk to him.

The last time he thought it was a dream, and he still managed to hurt me. I couldn't let him terrify me.

I tried several times, taking deep breaths, trying to reach him through the Force, but between the back pain and the nerves, I could barely concentrate.

I needed to relax, to find his familiar signature.

I lay on my side and closed my eyes again. I had to find Qimir, I had to remember his presence. The night before, we had connected in a dream, more out of visceral instinct, probably. I had emptied my mind of him, had forced myself to forget him, but the arrival of the Jedi had awakened everything, and it would have been hypocritical to deny the truth.

I was worried about him.

Where he was, if he was hurt, if he felt lonely... because of me.

My heart tightened in my chest. A tear rolled down my cheek, but I wiped it away with my sleeve. I hugged one of the pillows to my chest, seeking comfort, rubbing my face against the soft fabric.

The truth was that I missed Qimir terribly.

No matter how much I lied to myself, there was a void in my heart that only he had filled. He would have been so happy to know about this child, would have been by my side, worried about my well-being, massaging my back, and cooking my favorite dishes every day.

I loved him.

And he loved me.

But... the dark side of him wasn't just due to what he had gone through. There was something more visceral, possessive, violent... something that he took out on me.

I thought we were on the same page, that we were equals. But he didn't see it the same way.

I tried again, my arms tightening around the pillow. I tried to imagine him there with me, his delicate yet strong scent, reminiscent of a rain-soaked forest, the warmth of his body, the defined muscles, the numerous scars felt under my fingertips, his soft lips on my forehead... and it was then that I felt him.

It was like seeing a house with an open door from afar. He hadn't noticed that I was searching for him, trying to reach him, but he had left the door open, waiting for me.

And that's how I reached him. The darkness behind my closed eyes was soon illuminated by a cold blue light. I rubbed my eyes from the discomfort before realizing I had made it. My physical form had projected through the Force near Qimir.

I immediately recognized the place, the one I had hinted at to the Jedi. I immediately knew I was right. He had returned here, perhaps for the map, perhaps just to hide.

Looking quickly around, I noticed nothing different from usual. In fact, nothing seemed to have changed at all. It was an old stone room we had turned into our bedroom, although at first glance, it looked more like a storage room. Scrolls, books, devices of all kinds were placed in every corner, on the floor, under or on top of furniture. The windows, usually covered with rudimentary curtains we had hung, were now open, showing the night sky outside.

Walking towards the back of the room, I noticed a backpack carelessly placed on the floor, his clothes haphazardly thrown nearby, and then I spotted some bloodstains but ignored them. I knew who he had fought with, and I remembered Sol and Yord talking about an injury.

And finally, there he was, lying on an old double mattress against the wall at the back, pillows and blankets messily strewn on top, surrounding his sleeping body. A small bandage wrapped around his arm, but apart from that, he seemed fine. He had his back to me, sleeping deeply, his hair tousled on the pillow. I wanted to approach him while he was still asleep, to watch him while he was still peaceful, but I couldn't risk it.

So I did what I had come for.

I approached the small table next to the bed where he kept a flask of some foul-smelling drink and began to hit the metal surface with an open hand, once, twice, three times until Qimir woke up, pulled the lightsaber to him, and ignited it in my direction, terribly confused even as he tried to stand.

"I leave you alone for a few months, and this is the result?" I started, approaching the bed with a flat tone.

I had to be confident. I had dressed specifically to hide the curves of my pregnancy. If I showed any hesitation, he would realize I was hiding much more than I was letting on.

The surprise on his face was almost endearing, his eyes wide and still a bit clouded by alcohol. It took him a few seconds of silence to fully register what was happening.

"Sabrina..." he began to get up from the bed, but I stopped him with a gesture of my hand.

"Let's skip the pleasantries. You're in deep shit" He slowly sat back down on the mattress before deactivating the lightsaber, suspicion clear in his gaze.

"What are you doing here? You disappear for months and then come back to do what exactly?" There was acidity in his tone. This wasn't the dream he thought he was having. He didn't know I was really pregnant, and he didn't see me crying or sad. This probably wasn't the kind of reunion he hoped for. It was just me, waking him rudely and treating him with indifference.

"I've come to warn you. The Jedi know where you're hiding and will be here soon" The surprise and then the confusion were clear in his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't let him start. "The idiot you were dragging along talked, but I guess you suspected that already. They found... our photo" I added the last part with a frustrated sigh.

"Wait, they found you? Were you captured?" He jumped up, reaching out a hand toward me, but I stepped back a few paces.

"No. I convinced them I was an unaware colleague of yours. But they knew too much, and I had to say some things"

The more details I added, the more confused he seemed. He tilted his head in that cute way I often teased him about, and I held back a smile. It wasn't the right time.

"I'll have to bring them here. We'll probably arrive in less than two days, maybe even sooner. So pack the most important things and hide them on the ship, especially all the Sith artifacts. I don't want those dogs touching or, worse, destroying everything we've recovered..." Without realizing it, I started pacing back and forth in front of him, lost in my thoughts. It was true that many of the things were scattered across the various hideouts we had, but what we wanted to study and analyze, we kept within reach.

Needless to say, between things to do, other... hobbies, and the undeniable laziness of both of us, a lot of things had accumulated here too.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Qimir suddenly grabbed my wrist. I turned quickly, my heart pounding in my chest, mentally cursing myself for letting my guard down so easily. I shouldn't have let him get too close. Yet in his gaze, I read none of the emotions that made my knees tremble. He looked at me with an unreadable expression.

"Are you okay? How did you reach me without getting caught?" I exhaled deeply before yanking my wrist away from his warm hand. I was sure he noticed my accelerated heartbeat, but it wasn't unusual given the situation we were in.

"Yes. I'm... in a hotel I rented. They left me alone to decide a plan. I hoped to contact you after knowing it, but I doubt I'll have time. We need to think carefully about what to do next." I cleared my throat before sighing. "If you just want to leave before they arrive, I understand. But make sure not to leave any traces. I told that Jedi about our map. If they don't find it, you'll have time to hide and heal," I continued, nodding towards his arm. He shrugged in response, making an irritated grimace. "I'm fine. It's nothing."

"And you? They know about us now. Do you really think they'll let you go?" he continued. I gave him a half-arrogant smile. "I was very convincing in my story. They think I'm just a former colleague and lover. They actually want to protect me from you" I said mockingly, but instead of smiling as I hoped, he lost every ounce of lightness he had. The rigid posture of his back and the darkening gaze made my toes numb from how tightly I was keeping them to avoid stepping back.

"A hotel? Is that what you've been doing for five months? Wandering the galaxy doing what? You left without telling me anything, cutting me off from the bond, and now you reappear, warning me about the Jedi" he began to slowly step towards me with a gloomy look. The anxiety gnawed at my stomach, but I had to keep the façade.

Attack was the best defense, after all.

"And you? I leave for a while, and you find an acolyte, get caught by the Order, and then what?" He stopped mid-step, fists clenched at his sides. I could see how tightly he was keeping his arms contracted. It was obvious he was furious, but my words had hit him at least a little.

"I was looking for you. But I didn't want to let the Jedi go. At one point, I even thought they had taken you, that you had run away to keep me safe... but it seems I was wrong" the last sentence was almost growled, as I raised my arm towards him and instinctively grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards me. With my other hand, I grasped the t-shirt he used for sleeping, forcing him to bend down to my eye level.

The unexpected movement left him silent as he looked back at me, confused.

"I feel like I've always been honest with you all these years. I've always told you everything. I've included you in my personal and non-personal life. For once when I needed my own space, you're angry? And how should I feel?" Both of us were short of breath, our gazes hard, too many things left unsaid, or at least, I was hiding everything from him and continued to lie to his face, since we were friends, an unspoken rule was that I was always honest with him, not because he asked me or some code imposed it on me, but because if there was something my past experiences had taught me, keeping secrets only led to disasters.

But this was different. I had to lie.

I pushed him away from me and he didn't resist. "I'm trying to help you in case you hadn't noticed."

Qimir snorted before crossing his arms over his chest. The muscles in his arms bulged with the movement. Had he become even bigger while I was away? I mentally pinched myself at the thought. It was really the wrong time to fantasize about those arms.

"I have no intention of leaving you alone with the Jedi. Maybe you've tricked them for now, but it's obvious they won't let this go so easily. If they decide to report this to the higher-ups, sooner or later someone will recognize you. And you don't know when or how. I'm staying. And I'm taking you with me," I swore I heard his voice grow huskier towards the end, but I ignored the shiver down my spine and cleared my throat.

"I know. But we have to keep up this facade until the end. At least as an emergency plan"

The silence that followed was tense, almost suffocating. I rubbed my eyes tiredly, and swore I saw him lean towards me for a second before dropping his hands to his hips again, probably bitter and disheartened by how this conversation was going.

"I could pretend to kidnap you" he hypothesized. "You said you're playing the victim, right? Tell me what you told them and maybe I could-"

"No. We want them to leave us alone, not to pursue us more aggressively" it was obvious things would only get worse if we pretended a kidnapping. They were bringing me there, pregnant, by that time they would have felt responsible and there would have been chances that they would call the council. "We have to make sure you slip from under their noses. They mustn't realize you knew about their arrival. But... you could hurt me" an idea finally flashed through my mind. "Of course, they don't know about my Force abilities, you have to attack me-" I began to pace the room as a plan formed in my mind. "No, wait, I don't want to hurt you—" "—as if you could" I interrupted with a mocking tone.

Maybe it was the fact that we weren't really in the same room, maybe it was the months apart, but I felt much less uncomfortable now in his presence, and having the upper hand gave me more confidence. Sure, Qimir wasn't stupid, but I had the advantage. And I needed to get rid of him like the Jedi.

"I told them we were engaged and that I ran away when I realized you were dangerous—" he rolled his eyes before making an irritated grimace "—we can pretend I betrayed you, you attack us in anger, I slip inside and reach the ship we have down here. While you fight the Jedi, I'll activate the doors to buy you time. They'll think a droid helped you, and we can leave on two separate ships" I turned towards him with a satisfied expression.

"Sweetheart. I thought we agreed not to play the kidnapping card" he whispered with an ironic smile on his lips as he took a few steps closer. I ignored the affectionate name he called me, not letting him get into my head and distract me with less important things.

"And indeed, we'll take two separate paths. They'll be too worried about chasing you, and in the meantime, I'll cut off all communication. We'll both have time to disappear"

He looked at me irritably before walking away, throwing the lightsaber casually on the bed as he started taking off his shirt. "This plan sucks" he hissed through his teeth as he continued to undress, calling his usual tunic abandoned in a corner with the Force and starting to get dressed.

"Do you have a better idea? I don't think so. And anyway, for all we know, they could come in four or twenty" I snapped irritably, raising my voice. "Do you realize how many things could go to kriff?" he ran his hands through his hair, frustrated, and I sighed in response, irritated. "I know! We'll improvise, as we always do, but it's better than nothing... Where's Sam?" I asked suddenly, looking around.

"I deactivated him, he kept bugging me because you weren't here and was blaming me" I rubbed my eyes once again before turning towards him and pointing my finger at him. "Reactivate my droid, get help, and keep your eyes open. If everything goes well, we'll drop off their radar for a while, and maybe we can shake them off since you decided to get caught" I snapped irritably.

"Sorry, but can't we just ambush them?" he replied, frustrated.

I swallowed bitterly before answering more calmly, "I can't. Not now. We need to get rid of them calmly" I saw him make another grimace, ready to protest, but I interrupted him again.

"Shut up. You created this problem. That's why I'm the master between the two of us. Don't forget that. You have orders. Execute them." My tone was hard. Disappointed. I sounded convincing. Maybe I was venting a different kind of irritation at the moment, but he couldn't imagine that. Fortunately, I struggled to read him just as he struggled with me.

Ours was more of a dance, armed with sharp claws and lightsabers, ready to attack each other for sport or wound each other out of personal pride. I could suffer as much as I wanted for his actions, be afraid of him, but I had no doubt that deep down, Qimir had the same fear of me.

It was a race to see who would break first.

That's why I couldn't allow him to see my weakness.

"Don't get yourself killed."

And with that, I looked at him one last time before severing the bond. Darkness returned, and when I opened my eyes again, I was still in my bedroom, hugging the pillow, as that forest scent faded from my senses.

[tossawary]

Honestly, I don't think the Ents were scary enough in the LOTR Jackson films when they attacked Isengard. Like, it's great! It is great! It was amazing to see the first time; the effects are incredible for their time and they still hold up pretty well! I don't need to be told that they had various animation limitations. (More size variation in the Ents could have been nice. They could have been even bigger. But animation limitations and time constraints and such, I know!)

It's just that a lot of the camera shots were looking down on the battle (they're using bigatures and such, I know), so the Ents looked tiny, stomping on tinier orcs, or the camera is sitting with Merry and Pippin on Treebeard's shoulders, and that angle doesn't really get across how HUGE and NON-HUMAN trees are. I think the best shots in this battle sequence are the ones from the perspective of the orcs, where it's just utter chaos, and then some walking tree appears out of nowhere and it's ANGRY WITH YOU. Ideally, I think it would have been great if the storyboarding had leaned more into that bewildered and terrified human perspective more, getting more into the dirt of things, before then zooming out for the overview of the Ents overtaking Isengard for the end of the sequence. The boarding in the film does a lot of jumping in and out in regards to size and what's happening.

Like, have you ever been next to a massive tree in a windstorm? The sort that looms over the roofs of houses? When the whole tree starts swaying in the wind, hundreds of branches twisting like some kind of tentacled beast? And the rustling starts to sound like a dull roar? And you think to yourself, "Oh, if that tall tree ever goes down, it is taking that entire house down with it, cracking open the roof and bashing down the walls. It would smash that car flat. It would crush me easily and I don't even know how I would begin to get out of its way as it falls, because its branches and leaves would just swallow me."

And if you're ever in a heavily wooded area during a windstorm, it's even worse, because the old trees all around you are bending and shaking like they're about to pull up their roots and start walking. Like, you didn't forget that they're alive, did you? And it's beautiful, of course, but it's also dangerous. It looks like they're dancing in their own way, but the amount of wood being thrown around means that one good branch breaking could seriously hurt someone. And it's just a branch to the tree, the tree might be fine, it might just grow another, but that branch could easily be longer and heavier than a person.

It is cool to see all of the other Ents coming out of the woods to back Treebeard up and then go marching forward. But it does raise the question of "Wait, how did the other Ents get there so fast? Aren't they kind of slow?" (If there is lore explaining this, general movie audiences will not know it.) So, it would be fun if Treebeard made his call and the dramatic speech, all alone, and then we could cut away, so we have the plausible deniability of a time skip. There's also the tension of: "Oh, no, is Treebeard going to attack Isengard alone?"

And THEN we could pick back up with orcs on the walls of Isengard, boredly watching the industry below, before the ground starts shaking and the stone beneath their feet cracks. And a huge shadow looms over the wall as a MASSIVE TREE climbs over, basically falling over, and letting its sheer weight take down everything in its path. Followed by dozens more of these creatures. Making the machinery of Isengard look and all the orcs within feel very, VERY small.

If Ents are ever depicted again in any visual adaptation, even an illustrated version of the novel or a graphic novel, I feel like it should be a goal to really capture that feeling of being small and mortal by comparison. Some of the earlier interactions with Merry and Pippin and Treebeard get this feeling well enough. The LOTR films are over and done, obviously, and they did pretty well. But it could be better! I want to LEAN into those moments of smallness just a little more in future adaptations of Middle Earth. I would love to keep the camera LOW as much as possible and utilize advancements like more detailed models and better leaf animation. (Like hair, leaves are hard!)

We are not the Ents here. We are just witnessing them. You have to go out into a forest and ask yourself, "What WOULD it be like if trees walked around me?"

[dangermousie]

A danmei lover's biased and incomplete het web novel rec list

@mercipourleslivres thanks for inspiring me!

When it comes to Chinese web novels, I mainly read danmei. I tend not to care too much for OP heroine with a hero who dotes on her for no reason as she fights with 14 year olds narratives, nor inner courtyard fights. BUT!!! There are some het web novels I like and so here is my biased and incomplete rec list. Most of these don't have OP heroines, and very little to none courtyard fights.

Before I start, my favorite het web novel authors are: Gong Xinwen, Mo Shu Bai, Peng Lai Ke, and Jiu Lu Fei Xiang. I have yet to read anything bad by them.

Anyway, rec list:

1000 Miles of Bright Moonlight - one of my ultimate favorites, this would make such an epic drama! A smart as hell heroine, a hero who is a monk and a warrior (but also terminally?) ill and such a vivid world and amazing secondary characters (heroine’s brother is possibly my favorite supporting character of all time) and so much angst and happy ending. This has an amazing romance but it’s not romance-centric if it makes sense - ML doesn’t appear for a while. But once he does, it’s worth it!

Accompanying the Phoenix - the one that just got adapted into The Legend of Shen Li, this is high adventure and cottage core and funny and tragic and powerful ML being putty in the hands of capable FL and just EVERYTHING.

Apocalypse Arrival - Gong Xinwen’s novels are made just for me. Her heroines are always powerful as fuck and rescue abused MLs. In this novel, our heroine who lives in the post-apocalyptic world, wakes up right before that apocalypse happens. She forms a survival crew and also rescues ML who has miraculous blood and has been drained of it and is now hunted after the rescue for it. SO GOOD!!!

Black Moonlight Holds the BE Script - so fucked up, so good, with monster hero who learns to love and be human and heroine who learns to love and be human (but from the other side, her tower of perfection.) Much better than the drama which I did enjoy.

The Blue Whisper - the drama was so-so, but the novel is a bona fide angst masterpiece, which really delves into what it feels like to be imprisoned or to love.

Counterattack of the Cannon Fodder Chambermaid - I remember starting this and loving the realistic feel and the heroine and wanting to stab the hero and @mercipourleslivres telling me to be patient. She was right, by the end I was on board with both the hero (who was abused and is rather autistic-coded) and the OTP. Anyway, heroine is a servant who was a concubine in the last life and got killed as part of a rich family’s harem intrigues. In this life, she just wants to keep her head down but her life gets derailed anyway. She gets sold away and eventually made a servant in the household of an exiled prince who takes a fancy to her and she endures it because what choice does she have? All she wanted was to serve out her term and become a small time merchant. This is quite realistic about lack of options for women, especially lower class women or upper class male attitudes (ML is never vicious or mean to FL but it does not initially occur to him to wonder if she fancies him or enjoys being his concubine or w/e.) It is a DELIGHTFUL slow burn tho as they grow to love each other and grow together and become one of the most wholesome cnovel couples out there.

Dandere General and His Lord - hi there, Gong Xinwen! God, I love this one. Heroine transmigrates from modern world into a brutal slave-holding world at war (think something like Warring States era.) Our heroine transmigrates into the body of a noblewoman who just hung herself. When she comes to, she discovers that woman’s twin brother was the ruler of a city poisoned by a rival claimant and the besieging army of said claimant is about to take the city and original occupant of the body and the rest of the family chose suicide as a way to avoid dishonor. Our heroine refuses, schemes with advisors to pass as the brother and rally the troops. Once the invaders are defeated, she keeps on the masquerade and rides off to one of the never-ending wars “she” is summoned to. Our hero couldn’t be farther from this. A slave and a son of a slave, he’s escaped a horrific, starving childhood during which he narrowly avoided being murdered or raped, and ended up in the army. When the story opens, he distinguished himself in battle and as a reward, he and a few of his fellow slave warriors are invited to a banquet, where they are given some alcohol and to be playthings of any nobles who want them. One of them does not survive this but ML is lucky - heroine feels terrible and so “claims” him for herself. Instead she just tends to his wounds and sends him back. She does not fancy him or anything, she is just a human being with a conscience. And the story goes from there.

Demon King's Repayment - another delicious Gong Xinwen tale with a powerful ML dedicated to capable FL. This one is a great fantasy plot (I keep imagining it as an animated series) and a sprawling cast of amazing secondaries (and secondary OTPs - there is, I swear, an OTP that is Dong Hua x Feng Jiu done thru GXW lens) to boot.

Doomed to Be Cannon Fodder - I hesitated to put this one on the list because by the end I was not keen on how misogynistic novel got to original female lead but it was one of my earliest novels and I loved it for 90% and it’s fucking hilarious at times. Heroine transmigrates as bit villainess into a novel, all she wants is not to die, but her new attitude of “pls stay away” catches the attention of her terrifying general husband. Honestly, imo still worth it.

Dreamer in the Spring Boudoir - my n1 novel on this list, smart and fierce and don’t really read this for romance because it does not start until really late, but ice cold heroine x ice cold hero both of equal brains and ruthlessness is everything. I went from loathing the ML to finding him fascinating to adoring him (and yet he softened around the edges only for FL, he never became “nice”) and loved FL throughout; secondaries are epic. If you read only one non-danmei web novel, make it this one.

The Emperor’s Beloved Ugly Girl - my n2 novel on this list. Our heroine is the unlucky laundry maid A’Chou. She is a di daughter of an upperclass family but her family got destroyed in one of the political upheavals of the time and A’Chou, only a small child at the time, was the only survivor and was made an enslaved laundry maid. Due to various events, at the start of the novel she is a laundry maid in a minister’s household and the minister’s beloved daughter is having a fit because she’s supposed to marry the former Crown Prince which may have been great a few years back but Crown Prince had since been deposed, tortured, imprisoned and now is living in the middle of nowhere under conditions that are too meager to be called house arrest. And he’s seriously crippled too. Understandably, the young lady doesn’t want to marry him! She’d rather kill herself and so she does. And so, a desperate plan is hatched - why don’t we pretend the laundry maid is the di daughter of the minister’s household and send her off? And so A’Chu is sent as the bride. She arrives to discover a broke, seriously injured man on the verge of death…and we go from there. This is so gorgeous and tender and slow in just the right way and like AAAAAA! Secondary OTPs (one of which is MM) are also epic.

Futu Tower - the drama (Unchained Love) was a mess but the novel is such a lovely, dark exploration of coming back to life, for the ML from his dark revenge-strewn path and for heroine from not being allowed wishes of her own. She is a tribute bride, he’s a (fake) eunuch, they are both servants who use themselves to achieve goals and find peace and happiness together.

The Grand Princess - a tale where both members of the OTP reincarnate as their younger selves after killing each other in their 50s, and get a new start, this is smart and slow and so good in portraying old souls in young bodies. Their rediscovery of not just each other but themselves and their passion for living is just AAAAAA!

Heroine Saves Gentleman - Gong Xinwen novel so we have a tough martial artist lady saving a very upper class scholar and it goes from there. If elegant gorgeous ML being saved and protected (and lovingly dommed) by awesome FL is your bag, pls come right in.

Husband Be a Gentleman - schemer meet schemer. He’s an idle prince she’s perfect daughter, in reality both are wolves out for blood. Mmmm. Very OTP gets together early and is us against the world.

I’ll Be the Male Lead’s Sister in Law - one of my all time favorite novels. Heroine is made to marry a disabled nephew of the emperor. He used to be a victorious god of war but went mad and now is basically locked away and kept as a beast. GOD I LOVE THIS NOVEL SO MUCHHHHH! So much hurt/comfort and awesome OTP and after he eventually recovers, all he wants to do is to fight and murder things and dote on wifey. MMM. He’s honestly one of my fave MLs.

I Married a Disabled Tyrant After Transmigrating - if you have a Florence Nightingale complex, this is for you. Heroine wakes up as tribute bride to an almost dead dragon lord and slowly nurses him back to life as his rivals try to murder him. They are both utter adorable babies!

Let the Villain Go - another Gong Xinwen novel, this and Apocalypse Arrivals are AUs of each other. Heroine is surviving in the apocalypse, ML is the “bugbear” of the world but in reality just reacting to all abuse and torture and after she accidentally saves him, devotes himself. Fun fun fun!

Long Wind Crossing - Amazing ML and FL who grow together, clever plot, arranged marriage to love etc etc. Oh, and one point he feeds her his blood to keep her alive, what’s not to love? (Adapted into Chang Feng Du/Destined)

Lost You Forever - this is a short but delicately wistful tale of trauma and loss and love, wrapped in a high fantasy setting but so relatable despite it.

Love In Another Life: My Gentle Tyrant - so so fucked up in the best way! ML cannot live with OR without heroine. It opens on them banging in jail night before her execution (ordered by him) with corpses of men he killed for trying to defile her cooling nearby. If you want healthy relationships with respectful boundaries, gentle and considerate male leads who are modern men in period clothes, OP heroines who have everyone help them and are OP to the max, fluff and wholesomeness, that is about the worst book for you.If you want complexity, dysfunction, darkness, pain and an absolutely lyrical even if fucked up story, come right IN!!!!I am so fucking in love with the melancholy heroine, with ruthless psycho hero and the endless regret and devotion and paaaaain!

The Marquis Is Innocent - our heroine is a beautiful woman married to a warlord who hates her family. (Yes, this was gonna be The Prisoner of Beauty until SZE tax scandal.) Except she's a transmigrator from the future who knows how it ended last time around and has no interest to end up this tragically. This is in my top 5 - FL is smart but believably so (and doesn't have super battle powers) and ML is a believable period warlord. The way their relationship develops so gradually and the way his character changes so gradually as well (and the way they slowly fall in love, her slower than him) is just amazing. It is such a smart, nuanced, gorgeous slow burn. With some gonzo sex scenes :P

Mulberry Song - you like tragic endings? Come right IN! This is short and heartbreaking and wistful and very what-if.

Nightfall (Ever Night) - so long but also so smart and unusual and bloody and tho it’s not primarily a romance, you will never see another ML who loves his FL as much as Ning Que does his Sang Sang. 

Offering Salted Fish to Master - in some ways, this novel is a mess, but I am recommending it because this is a rare example of "nope he's 100% a villain and murderdude and odd, but he does love the heroine" that the author commits to.

Pihanjin - yet another awesome PLK novel, this is once again, like with Marquis, a ruthless man and a beautiful woman getting a second chance on a second go-around. FL is a lot more wounded this time around though. If you LOVE watching ML grovel and slowly, gradually win FL over, this one is for you.

Princess Agents - a dark tale with an incredibly competent and militarily powerful/ruthless heroine and two terrifying men who love her (but neither is as terrifying as she is.) There is an OTP switch halfway through that shockingly makes sense and it's just SO SO GOOOOOOOD

Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage - this is probably the one “typical” novel on this list, heroine is reborn as her youngest self and gets revenge on those who wronged her last time around. It is really really well-written and heroine is competent, hero is doting and powerful etc. It’s not a trope I tend to love but I do when it’s done THIS well.

Rebirth of the Tyrant’s Pet: Regent Prince is Too Fierce: Borgias cnovel style! Our heroine was empress in last life and put her husband on the throne tho he did not love her. However, he had her executed and had his half-brother carry out the orders and heroine died horrifically. She opens her eyes and she’s a little girl again. The OTP this time around is heroine and half-brother executioner. Why do I love it? Heroine is smart and tough but also this is a rare rebirth novel where heroine does NOT decide to seek revenge for past life wrongs because they haven’t happened yet! In fact, she sees ML abused and stands up for him because he’s a kid and no kid should be mistreated and this go around he hasn’t done anything wrong. She also gets and likes her former life husband. Anyway, this is fakecest galore because she’s supposed to be their half-sister and while she knows (from past life) she is not, they do not and fall for her anyway. ML is especially gonzo, at one point carving chunks of his flesh to save her. He’s feral and unhinged and she’s the one person he worships because she protected him and like - it’s all awesome. (I love secondary ML too.)

Reborn to Love Lord Qiansui - yes, this is a eunuch novel! If you like gender tropes reversals, this one is for you. Heroine is a tough martial artist, hero is a smart as hell and powerful eunuch. A real eunuch. Heroine finds out she owes him her life and decides to protect him. This is a total delight and an awesome love story between two really scarred people. And yes, there is sex - heroine literally reads manuals on pegging :P

Return of the Swallow - so freaking long! But really good. Heroine is neither transmigrator nor reincarnator, just a smart period woman. She is a lost family daughter taken back in. Her father is a minister in a dying empire (father-daughter relationship is one of the best things in this novel), her OTP is enemy general, and the smartness and the awesomeness of this all knows no bounds.

Seven Unfortunate Lifetimes - probably the wackiest JLFX novel I read, this is quite different from Love You Seven Times drama that was adapted from it. Our deity protagonists go through a bunch of lives figuring out they fancy each other. It's light like a souffle but just as delicious.

To Be a Virtuous Wife - some people prefer 8 treasures trousseau but I never warmed up to that one. This one is so good, with smart people (who actually enjoy sex, a ratity) and a perfect mix of plot and romance.

Transmigrator Meets Reincarnator - my very first web novel. A lot lighter than a lot of the ones on this list but a total delight. Heroine transmigrates into a novel as the heroine; she has no interest in drama or chasing true love, she just wants to live a nice life with her nice husband. Too bad for her, her husband has reincarnated into his younger self and remembers how she betrayed him, so is not interested. This one is funny and light and romance doesn’t start till late on but a total delight!

Wishing You Eternal Happiness - this is tied with Dreamer as my favorite het web novel ever though it couldn’t be more different from Dreamer, with its hard-edged and hard-souled protagonists ruthlessly cleaving their way to the world and, eventually, each other, its smart cynical air. Except in one thing - the world of Wishing is just as bloody and dark. Its two protagonists are gentle, deeply wounded souls who may find salvation in each other but even something as basic as safety almost seems out of reach.

Jliafu, our heroine, is neither a modern-day transmigrator, nor some exotic princess or demoness. She is very much a period woman of her time, from a weathy merchant clan, whose beauty is her curse. You can tell the novel’s tone from that utterly bleak opening chapter where she, a favorite concubine of a capricious dying emperor, is ordered to be buried alive with him and is not even given the “grace” of white silk but slowly suffocates in the coffin, scrabbling at the lid. There is no grand threats of vengeance on her part, not dramatic opera events. Just despair and death. The whole introductory chapter is haunted by emotional ghosts - the empress’ unrequited love for the monster on the imperial bed (turning into desire for Jiafu’s suffering after he dies), the emperor slowly dying in his prime after waging too many wars, and his fear of being haunted by Pei Youan, a brilliant if sickly minister who died of illness long ago on one of imperial campaigns. There is no triumph for anyone, only loss.

When she wakes up as still a young woman, all she wants is to escape the same fate. There are no plans for power or revenge, only a desire for survival. And so she latches on asking for help from Pei Youan, the only man in her past go-around who showed any consideration and desire and ability to protect her, though he barely knew her. Pei Youan is probably my favorite het web novel ML. Despite his brains and ability, he drifts through life. In modern terms, he clearly has depression. One of the biggest, best joys of the novel is watching these two very good, very quiet, very wounded people discover happiness and love with each other. I sort of want to cry just thinking about it, tbh.

The Yandere Came During the Night - a bit of fluff that’s oddly delightful. Heroine is reborn as a (fake) sister of ML, she hurts her legs saving him and the “siblings” form a bond that ends up in fakecest delight. They are both smart and efficient and he becomes a sexy marquis etc.

[httpshujii]

WHAT A TEASE !

Kaeya x f!reader

ᯓ Kaeya's new obsession.

"Never had your first kiss?"

He already knew that. But in order not to embarrass you further than you already look, he won't tease about it just yet.

But this is Kaeya that we're talking about. He'll find a way to tease you sooner rather than later.

He's relishing in the sight of you, all shy and nervous in front of him. Nimble fingers fiddling with your sleeve. And there he sits with that stupid smirk on his face, an eye tracing his sweet lover's face.

He's aware of how different this whole situation is for you. This is your first relationship, relying on ink on paper to teach you about a world of hopeless romantics and affection.

But it's very different in the real world. Books don't teach you how to adapt into relationships. Books don't teach you how to kiss or hug or cuddle. It came so naturally in fantasies but why is it so hard in reality?

The inner turmoil raging inside you is left unanswered. It shouldn't be that hard, right? It's just a kiss…

Sensing your troubles, Kaeya reaches for your hands and pulls you in between his legs, "What ails you, my love?"

You shake your head, dismissing his concern. But Kaeya is persistent, nothing should bother your mind, he wouldn't allow it.

"Come on, speak to me, you know you can," he watches you blush, a small smile gracing his lips, "you're shyer than usual."

His tone is playful, boyish. Teasing. His fingers lace with yours, dragging his gaze down to your nibbled lips, he doesn't it like it when you bite on them, that's his job.

You don't speak, he tilts his head, "Do you want me to kiss you?"

You nod your head, not daring to meet his studying eye.

"Do you want me to teach you?"

Another nod and he stands up, towering over you.

"Can't say I'll make it easy though," he chuckles, leaning down to press a loud smooch to your cheek. You're so cute. So innocent, "my precious girl, so adorable, hm?"

Another kiss to your cheek and you're practically fuming. Smoke escaping your ears as your cheeks burning bright with heat.

His kisses near your mouth and you hesitantly tilt away, he giggles, enjoying this a little too much. He lifts your arms around his neck, his cold hands sliding down to squeeze the plush of your waist.

"We'll take it nice 'n slow, just mold your lips against mine…" he whispers against your lips, pressing his to yours so gently. So slowly it feels dangerously scandalous. But just as he kisses you, he pulls away to whisper unnecessary instructions and praises when all you want is a proper kiss.

"Mmm, that's it."

"Tilt your head a little- yes…good girl."

"My love, you're doing so well."

You're shivering with emotion, you're anxious, frustrated, and excited at the same time. But the only indication is a whine that leaves your throat, "you're being mean, Kaeya."

"Do you really think that?" Yes. And he thinks so to. He's being mean, being the biggest tease ever. You nod, he laughs. Kissing your pouty lips, "How so, darling?"

You don't want to say why. It's embarrassing and makes you feel like the ultimate fool. You don't want to say that he's pulling away too quickly, and you don't want him to laugh at you and poke at you for being paranoid.

You know how he is by now. Though still fresh in the relationship, you'd expect him to have a heart towards a first-timer, no? You huff, pulling your face away and frowning. You should probably tell him why. But you won't.

With a frustrated sigh, you squish his face between your hands and latch your lips with his. He's surely caught of guard with the way his hands squeeze your hips tightly. But he doesn't pull away, wouldn't dare to.

His girl made the first move, and you aren't like him. You aren't a tease, you really want this and it's only proper to respect that. Your kiss is eager, passionate, loving. Not similar to his slow, romantic, and casual kisses.

He's dumbfounded, you're expressing an unspoken love towards him, affection that feels familiar despite only dating for two weeks now. He realized early on that it doesn't feel right to not have his hands on you in any given time, he notices the way his fingers twitch during random times of the day, opting to squeeze his hand around his sword's handle to ease the fantasy of squeezing your sides to make you laugh.

He finds himself leaning into you, succumbing to the strong temptation of your desperation. You part for a second, noses bumping into each other oceans collide once again.

Kaeya loves kissing you. It's his new obsession, his new way to pass the time. He could kiss you every second of the day if he could. You taste so good, too good.

After what feels like forever, your hearts relax, yours lips part, and your foreheads meet.

"I like it when you take the lead." He muses.

"And I don't."

He kisses you again, softer than the first. Handling you with care. He won in love. Your first relationship and kiss owned by him and him alone. And he'll own many other firsts to come.

@kaiser1ns @okkalo

[delusionisaplace]

hear me out,, experienced x experienced smut prompts??

kinda just been letting this one marinate in my drafts bc i got so many requests for it but had no clue what to write, so my bad to the 4 ppl who asked

𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨 (𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙)

explicit warning: don't read on if you're under 18 or uncomfortable with anything nsfw/smut related

have fun with these ;) | tag me if you use any | if yall want more prompts like this, jus drop an ask

Knowing just how to get each other turned on

Teasing each other with lingering, tantalizing touches and glances

Whispering foul, provocative things into the other's ear just to keep them going

Slowing down every now and then, just to make the feeling even better in the end

Knowing exactly where and how to thrust to make the other squeal and moan

Exploring each other's bodies to find every sensitive spot, every secret desire

Being familiar with each other's boundaries and preferences, knowing exactly when to stop or when to go faster

Drawing out some moments to increase the pleasure

Moving with perfect harmony, being able to adapt to the other's rhythm

another short one just because i haven't felt like doing much lately and it might stay that way for a while to be completely honest 🫠