#i will fucking LIVE for all of you in spite of life's awful shit

[fuwaprince]

(˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) i apologize to once again be asking for your support </3

PLEASE forgive me but also PLEASE consider that i am trying extremely hard (MY BEST) to survive day to day. yet i am barely staying afloat regardless of my efforts!!! (˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) aaa... would any of my 38K followers be willing to help with a reblog/boost? i updated my wishlist from last month in case some friends/somebody could be interested in helping that way. please take a look? thank you for kindly considering and thanks for reading my post! anything helps

[hotgrrrlgross]

YES !! YES !!!!!! AHAHAAAA YESSSS !!!!

my personal headcannons for the loveliest of lovely little guys <3333

extra info + flags!!

randy: (pan and agender)

-fibromyalgia for sure, trauma does shit things

-probably needs a cane or something similar to aleviate pain (doesn't think he's ill enough to need one, absolutely is)

-if he gets high please treat him like a fish in an aquarium, probably would hate the lack of control

-flushes really easily, and constantly clammy

-if you put a blanket on his head he'll fall asleep

-narcolepsy

-loves the feeling of a nice, heafty, soft quilt and a hot cocoa on a cold afternoon...

oliver: (trans, gay and demiromantic!)

-has a stuffed animal collection 100%

-probably picks up a million different projects only to put them down, a new hyperfixation every week kinda guy

-him being a stoner is basically cannon but, in specifics he seems like a bong or joint guy to me, would let u smoke the first hit (bc he's nice)

-rollerskate date :]

-glasses to at least semi help his shit 'eye' (optical sensor) and lack of depth perception (they can only do so much though)

karen: (nonbinary, lesbian)

-doesn't particularly care about gender as a concept

-has a bunch of tassles and cords in her house she has braided

-can't keep a plant alive to save her life, has mourned at least 20 house plants, has a fake one (somehow dies too)

-mitski.

-the biggest sweet tooth out of the group

-will lock herself away for hours and hours, sometimes an entire day or two, just creating. only to come out of a hole haggard and exhuasted with her New Horse Drawing.

-hEDS, uses a walker to get around!

Norm: (questioning/bi ?)

-writer (how the hell else wouldn't he go absolutely bonkers all alone, other than having a goal and spite i guess)

-uses coffee to live, but definitely enjoys tea in his free time

-probably learned archery at some point

-whittles little sculptures to pass the time (made karen a little wooden horse sculpture once)

-randomly schedules cook outs/junctions when he's feeling lonely and isolated

-he would absolutely take the will graham route and end up with 20 fucking stray dogs out of a deep empathy and then wake up one day and realize the mess he got himself into.

-grilldad. (duh)

phonegingi: (genderfluid, polyamorous, pan)

-gender? yes.

-sexuality? yes.

-will consume your clothes if you are not careful with your gingi Care instructions. (taking little nibbles is okay as a treat)

-if weed is consumed it basically acts as a horrifically strong catnip, and it will get the zoomies and make it everyone's problem

-purrs

-pays really good attention to detail stuff, and its brain is basically a filing cabinet. but big events are basically a blur

-gets SUPER !! fluffy during the winter and there's an awful period where it's shedding and it's...super patchy and silly lookin

-me and the bitches i pulled by being HORRIFYING and lovely,,,,

bigfoot: (aroace. i don't take criticism.)

-banana,,,

-genuinely pretty attentive and smart

-becomes a painter because he is INSPIRED ! by his friend karen

-absolutely splendid lad

-i wanna live in a world where one of his passions is making and wearing silly hats, please, PLEASE

-karen showed him mitski,,,god help him he's sad now

-knitting,,,he knit giant banana,,,,

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not going to my brother's wedding?

I (35F) and my brother (29M) have always had a bit of a rocky relationship. Like, don't get me wrong, I love him, always have, always will. That said, we've been at each other's throats since he was capable of speech, and probably will be until one of us dies of spite.

My brother, let's call him Carter, has been in an on-and-off relationship with Taylor (29F) ever since they were in middle school. Personally, I hate Taylor, and I'm fine keeping it that way. She treats Carter like shit, she's cheated on him more times than I can count, she steals money from him, she is just an awful person to be around. Like, don't get me wrong, Carter's also an asshole, but can you really blame him considering what he has to deal with?

Now, a few months ago, they broke things off after Taylor stole his car to go and hook up with a guy in another state. He got the car back, told her to go fuck herself, and that was that. In the meantime, he ended up moving in with his best friend since high school (28M), let's call him Tim, and they have been no contact with Taylor ever since. About a month ago, I was talking to Carter, and he sheepishly told me that he had realized he was bisexual and was now dating Tim.

Honestly, I was ecstatic. Like, he and Taylor have been a thing for forever, and despite all of their breakups, I've never seen Carter actually date someone other than her. Also, Tim is someone that has a really good head on his shoulders. He can be a dick, but honestly, so can Carter, and he's really smart and down-to-earth. I was super accepting, of course, and I told Carter how happy I was for him, how glad I was to see him moving on and living his best life with someone that actually respects him.

Fast forward to last week. It's my day off, and I'm hanging out at my house, getting some chores done, when I get a call from Carter. I pick up and ask him how he's doing, and he tells me that he's doing good, but he wants me to come down to the courthouse. I ask him what for, and he tells me he's getting married! I'm kind of in shock, like--yeah, I'm glad he's with Tim, but isn't that a little fast?

That is, of course, when he drops the bomb on me: He's not marrying Tim. Taylor came crawling back yesterday and proposed to him. He's marrying Taylor.

I lose it a bit, I ask him if he's lost his mind, and we get into a shouting match over the phone. He tells me I'm being a bitch, I tell him it'll be a cold day in hell when I just stand there like a dumbass at his and Taylor's wedding. I don't go, they get married, that's that.

Yesterday, I went out to get lunch at my usual spot, and who do I see but Tim. I sit down with him and ask him how he's doing, ask him what's going on in his life, and so on. I tell him I feel so awful that things went sideways with Carter, and tell Tim that he's always a part of our family, even if Carter's lost his mind and dumped the best thing that's ever happened to him. Tim gives me a weird look, and asks what I'm talking about. I tell him that I heard about Carter and Taylor getting married, and that's when he drops the bomb on me that he's still in a relationship with Carter.

At first, I'm pissed at Carter for cheating on Tim, but Tim reassures me that he's into it--something I wouldn't have expected from him. I mean, I'm glad Carter still has Tim in his life I guess, but I still feel like he's being a dick to Tim. I don't tell Tim that, but I do tell him that I can't accept my brother marrying Taylor.

He tells me that he knows, but that Carter's been miserable since the wedding after I didn't show up. Tim tells me that Carter misses me, and that he's really been hoping I reach out. That's a surprise to me, because he's been saying he's not going to talk to me again until I apologize.

I really do care about my brother, but I can't pretend I support him marrying someone that's just going to keep being a toxic presence in his life. I don't care about how many people he's in a relationship with, or whether he's straight or bi or gay or whatever. I just want him to be safe and happy, and I know this relationship is really bad for him. Tim seems to think I should have just sucked it up and gone to his wedding anyways for the sake of my relationship with him. I'm starting to have doubts--I know I hurt him. But I also don't feel sorry. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[chaoticneutralgood2627]

Advice to College Students (From someone who's trying to apply for a master's program)

Note that these are in no particular order and from my own particular experience. I will add if I think of more.

TAKE NOTES ON EVERYTHING, ESPECIALLY IF YOU FIND IT COOL: your brain will tell you 'I'll remember that fact, it's so neat!' Your brain is a BITCH. You will not remember SHIT. Take ALL the notes. If you can record your classes, even better!

Write down who your professors are for each class. Make a big document. All the years. Write them. Write down their vibes and if you like them. Write down what sort of assignments they gave. Because I'm over here trying desperately to remember which professors I had multiple classes with so I can beg them for recommendations.

Save your assignments. Even if they're horribly cringey. You can use this to gauge how far you've come. I know it hurts your soul. I have fanfic from when I was 12. Do it anyway.

When they tell you the grad school shit, pay attention. Even if you don't plan to go back to school. Because I didn't listen and now I have changed my mind and I have no recollection of that section of school.

Networking. Gather contacts from your classmates. If for no other reason than because you think they're intimidating and you don't want your LinkedIn to look depressing. They're probably just as intimidated by you. And if not, you can pretend they are.

College is not high school. Next to no one has friends at first. Everyone is a disaster. Talk to people. You might not find Your People in your first friend group. That's fine. There are people there somewhere that can make life less awful. The worst they can say is no, you can't be friends with us (and most people aren't that bitchy). The universe is big and no one is judging you harder than you are.

It's not that friends Can't Live Together, it's that people have different organization styles and needs for survival and sometimes those Do Not Mesh. If you're going to live with someone, make sure that you have talked about things.

Everything can go on a resume if you word it right. Editing a friend's paper? Congrats, you have editing and tutoring experience. Playing DND on weekends? Cooperation and teambuilding to work towards a common goal, sometimes in the face of creative differences (your friends want to Fight Everything and you want to Stay Alive (or reversed)). EVERYTHING CAN GO ON A RESUME.

There are so many resources on campus. Use them, for the love of god because then you're going to be an adultier adult and realize that there is not a med center right across the campus.

Find what motivates you. Mine is spite, I am applying to grad school to get out of retail and to spite 2 specific supervisors. Cling to that when you want to drop out and quit.

There is not a specific route to take in college. Or out of college. Listen to yourself rather than everyone's advice (I am aware that this is ironic to be on an advice post).

If you think you can wake up at 9 after like 4 hours of sleep, that is the devil talking to you. Go to bed.

On the same note. I am aware that you woke up at like 5 for high school. You will not want to exist before noon. 8 am classes are not illegal, but they should be.

Take care of yourself. You're paying a shit ton of money to be there, you can take an hour to eat the food. Plus, if you take care of yourself, then you will work better.

There will be weird shit happening all over. Just roll with it. Unless it's hurting someone or has the potential to hurt someone (my one friend got stalked).

You are not required to stay somewhere social if it's creeping you the fuck out or if you aren't comfy. I think I went to a single party in my entire college life and I hid in the corner with their illegal kitten the whole time.

Speaking of illegal kittens. If you know someone has an illegal kitten, no the fuck you do not. There probably will be at least one. And you do not know about it.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM RED, WHITE & ROYAL BLUE *  assorted (and slightly adapted to suit this meme format) dialogue from the book by casey mcquiston, adjust as necessary

on purpose. i love him on purpose.

i've always thought of myself as a problem that deserved to stay hidden.

i'm going to have you offed. you'll never see it coming.

take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.

get in there.

you're literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state.

before you, i was all right letting everything happen to me.

i can't believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.

sorry, are we not? did i skip ahead again?

you've been warned.

he died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.

my life is a cosmic joke and you're not a real person.

hey, have i told you lately that you're brave?

i honestly have never thought i deserved to choose.

we're gonna make it work. you and me and history, remember?

if you finish that sentence, i'm gonna spend tonight in jail.

but the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable.

i actively wish for the sweet release of death.

yes, good, carry on.

i won't hear a word against it.

we're gonna do it together.

i said you look great, baby!

i meet you in every dream, and when i wake i cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness.

i'm so in love i could die.

you can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse.

i wonder if it's too late to swan dive off the roof.

i'm learning all your hidden depths today, sweetheart.

you must invent an entirely new system.

a curious thing about grief is the way it takes your entire life, all those foundational years that made you who you are, and makes them so painful to look back on.

he's proof that it doesn't matter where you come from or who your family is.

i've bloody well had it!

we can unpack the ironic symbolism later.

that's beyond our sense of decorum!

i'm not afraid of anything i feel. i'm afraid of saying it. i'm only afraid of what happens when i do.

aw, you do care.

if there's any legacy for me on this earth, i want it to be true.

straight people probably don't spend this much time convincing themselves that they're straight.

the moment you first called me a prick, my fate was sealed.

you are the absolute worst idea i've ever had.

should i tell you that when we're apart, your body comes back to me in dreams?

can you perhaps stop putting your sodding life in danger now?

what are we even defending here?

history will remember us.

when i sleep, i see you.

i hate this so much.

every person who bears a legacy makes the choice of a partner with whom they will share it with.

we're just gonna fucking fight.

he is my choice.

i can appreciate that maybe this isn't your fault.

i've been gay as a maypole since the day i came out of mom.

when i wake up in the morning, it feels like i've just been with you.

i can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache.

your spine's a ridge i'd die climbing.

for a few moments, i can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all.

the phrase 'see attached bibliography' is the single sexiest thing you have ever written me.

i promise you, one day we'll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.

give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. there's so much of you.

i want to set myself on fire, but i can't afford for anyone to see me burn.

you see, for me, memories are difficult.

never tell me the odds.

i wish there weren't a wall.

jesus christ, it's like they can see into your soul.

you're it, okay? i'm never gonna love anybody in the world like i love you.

i'm finished. i don't care.

god, i want to fight everyone who's ever hurt you.

the whole world watched, and history remembered.

are you quite finished?

just so we're clear. i'm about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family.

you insane, hopeless romantic little shit.

[hellowoolf]

on strawberries and masonry: chapter v

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

OR

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), maria is pregnant, the dinner party trope™️, joel picks reader up (but its actually been foretold that he can hold any weight ever, so don’t even worry about it), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, SMUT !!!!!, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected piv, breeding kink (don't...even start), creampie, FEELINGS !! (as always, let me know if i missed any !!)

word count: 7.9k

authors note: an epilogue will be (probably) on the way but this is our last full chapter !! gag !! this is my first ever series and i'm so elated i decided to write and release it. this last chapter drained me mind body and soul and i don't know how i feel about it but i really hope you enjoy <3

series masterlist | masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the realization of your feelings for joel, that against all better judgment you’re tumbling somewhat unceremoniously in love with him, nestles itself between your ribs to scratch at your bones. it’s a tolerable ache, at first, and because you refuse to give into anything, you let it remain while joel fucks you on his tongue and fingers. you let him cover your skin in his spit and your slick and the marks of his fingernails, and inch closer to the doom of loving him, believing yourself capable of handling it, willing yourself to handle it. and you do. mostly.

what comes first is a need for him you’re unequipped for. his refusal to fuck you properly again (a promise he has continued to hold himself to) becomes increasingly unendurable, and you’re pushed beyond even the lust for him you’d fought against months earlier. you need him, daily, at least, pulling him behind the stables or coming to slam on his door so you can live another day. you want to please him, to mend him, to save him, even though you know you are incapable, and you try what becomes embarrassingly often to get on your knees for him, but he always denies you. yes, this is the first symptom of your almost-love, a wanting that reaches your innermost self and expands beyond the edges of you.  

the second symptom is anger, a nefarious deviousness against him, a spiteful resentment for the small ways he rejects you. you are less cautious with him, nipping at him on patrol or in the dining hall with your own sexuality, constructing heavily unsubtle innuendos and whispering them in his ear. you’re looking to punish him, so irrevocably that he’s compelled to kiss you again, to fuck you again, but until now you’ve failed at ensnaring him fully. you barely recognize yourself this way; you have never been one for this wild sort of flirting, the obvious kind, but you succumb to it regardless. 

the softness of him is the worst part. you skim your hands up his thighs and pull on the loops of his belt to tempt him to you in the ways he still refuses to give, and he’ll deny you orgasm as punishment, but still he materializes on your porch, or sits you next to him in the aftermath of the pleasure he does allot you, wet with your arousal, and lets you tell him about your life, leaves you breadcrumbs of his. he likes that spot he found on your neck that night when you cut the strawberry, wraps his palm around the base of your skull to feel the warmth of it, and with his callouses circling your skin you know that this is the most awful thing, the most terrible. it’s shameful, really, that he should show you this kindness when you’re this close to complete devotion to him.

“what d’you think, little wolf?” 

little wolf. maybe this trumps even his hand on your head. last week, with three fingers in your dripping cunt joel had stilled his hand in you, let you thrash against him while he smiled into your hairline, and you bit hard into the flesh of his shoulder, leaving the marks of your canines there. easy, little wolf, he’d grunted into you, and he felt you pulse when he said it, so he’s kept the name, uses it often.

“hm?” you lift your head from his thigh, bare legs curled up along the couch while he sits back on the cushions. he’d tugged you from your walk to your garden into his home, licked into you while you pulled on his hair, made you come on his sofa like he’d savor the stain. his hand comes from around the back of your head to your face, thumb sweeping across your chin and along your bottom lip. you take it in your mouth and suck, eyes on his as his own mouth drops open.

“bout the jam. you want me to show you how to make it?” he repeats, voice low and broken as you swirl your tongue along the pad of his thumb. you’d brought the strawberries up again, how many you have and the white fuzz they grow; noah helped you remove the heaters from inside the greenhouse as temperatures rose outside, but a chill remained, and so your plant began a slow death. you’re left now with a small batch you like the idea of preserving in sugar and heat. you like the idea, too, of joel teaching you things, of him watching you learn. you nod slowly. “when?” he tilts his head as he asks. you pull from his finger and trail little unhurried bites along his palm, down the inside of his wrist. you want to suck his blood.

“tomorrow? evening?” 

he nods, eyes hooded over as he watches you. slick drips between your thighs and sticks them together, wetting over the dried come he’d pulled from you minutes ago. you smile against his skin, teeth grazing his pulsepoint. 

“you a good teacher?”

he grins and grips back at your head, tilting your chin up to his face as he leans down to you. “a real delight, i swear it.”

your noses bump and you want to kiss him (the whole of it is you’d like to suck his tongue into your mouth and hold it there, feel behind his teeth, let him spit onto your tongue), another vice he’s denied you since that first time. he sees it in you, this wanting, so he threads his fingers through your hair to hold you in place. the tug at the roots makes you rub your thighs together and he inches closer, close enough to whisper onto your lips “go home, little wolf,” and pulls himself off the couch. he’s practically limping with how hard he is, the strong outline of his cock casting shadows as he walks away from you, and it only serves to make you wetter, but because you’re certain he won’t let you help him (you tried in the stables this morning, hay softening your fall to your knees, but he’d hauled you back up with a gruff quit it) you pull your pants back on and retreat to your home. 

stepping down his porch you bring a hand to your stomach, joel’s refusals of you burning green and orange there. the flames heat your skin and lick through your fingers, and the warmth indulges the part of you that hates him, but the rest of you (the part that loves him, lord help you) bends under the pressure. you drop your hand as you approach your house and find tommy leaned up against the fence post. panic seizes you for a moment, but you tamp it down sharply; surely, he can’t know where you’ve come from, surely he can’t smell him on you.

“isn’t this a little past your bedtime?” 

he looks up at you with a smile as you come to stand fully in front of him. “yeah, well, i figured you’d be comin back from the garden right about now.”

something sparkles across your cheeks and you hope he doesn’t notice. “mhm. how’s maria doing? she’s in the, what, second trimester now?”

tommy nods, that boyishness and the pride of fatherhood puffing his chest. “that she is. she’s a wonder, i tell ya. don’t know how the hell she’s doin it. but the nausea’s gone away now, so she’s just restin up.”

“i’ve been wanting to come by and visit, but i didn’t know if she’d want me there.” it’s the truth; you’ve seen very few pregnant women in your life, and the magnitude of it frightens and delights you. besides, as little as she seems to enjoy your company, you suspect it’s a lonely existence, cooped up by the windowsill growing little arms and fingernails, and you’re self-aware enough to know you owe yourself to her. 

tommy scratches the back of his neck. “well that’s what i wanted to come ask about, actually.”

you tilt your head. “me coming to visit?”

he hums. “maria’s been wanting some socializin, some…” he waves his hands around, looking for the word, “interaction. i figured you could come over for dinner.”

“just me?” you can’t help the surprise in your voice.

“...no. noah, too. and my brother.”

your throat dries out and you stifle a sputter. yes, indeed, dinner by candlelight with your most long standing existing friends, of which you have only two, a pregnant woman who sees you as you have been (a knife, with a girl on the end), and the man you’ve been fucking but not fucking (and you think you may be in love with him, also, but you try to keep this bit irrelevant). yes, yes. a fantastic idea! what a delight!

“i don’t…i don’t know, tommy. maria’s never been my biggest fan.” please, don’t make me come.

“come on, don’t say that.”

“i don’t mean any offense, i just don’t want to disturb her.”

“you ain’t disturbing her! i’m telling you she’d like it if you came!”

“tommy-”

“she barely tolerates my brother as it is, at least you’ll be there to occupy him. please?” and he asks with such sincerity, such unknowing of the things you’ve done to joel, and you know there is no way out.

“yeah, okay. okay. i’ll be there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“so you’re goin to this…what is it? dinner party?” 

joel’s halfway through a bite of something red and meaty when he asks, and you clamp on his moving jaw with your palm.

“don’t talk with your mouth full, sting, it’s not very southern gentlemanly.” he flips your hand away with a grunt and you bite your tongue between your molars to keep from smiling. “yes, i will be there.”

he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, looking out at the milling people filling the dining hall. “i still don’t understand the point of it anyway. the hell we playin family for?”

“joel, you are family.” his eyes flit to yours. “tommy’s family, i mean,” you clarify. he nods, some sort of relieved, the disappointed sort, you feel. you do your best to shake the stick of it, of that feeling, off.

“then why are you goin?”

“well, as it happens, i was invited. besides,” you snort, an unattractive thing but you let it pass, “i think your brother hopes i’ll keep you entertained.”

“entertained? you bein serious?”

you’re golden and beaming with how he looks at you, so incredulous and muscled and stiff with restraint from touching you, you can feel it. “i think his exact verbiage was occupy. he wants me to occupy you.”

“jesus.”

“buck up, cowboy, i’m a delight.”

“uh huh.” you think it’s meant to jab at you, that little grunt, but one end of his mouth turns up as he says it, an imperfect cover of his grin. “he ever do this kinda thing before? before i came?”

you bite the inside of your cheek and look to the ceiling. yes, he did, once. he’d been patrolling with pete mcneilson (a scrawny thing, squirrelish and panicked, but as young as you are) and decided you were fated to be wed, worked his hardest for weeks to set you up. he’d planned the dinner in hopes it would serve as a first date, but your halfway abnormality and owlish inspection of him—tommy’s words, really; he said you looked straight through the poor thing—had frightened him, you suspect. you consider lying, though these days such attempts rarely come out right with joel. you sigh. “yeah, once. maybe two years ago.” joel raises his eyebrows, urging you on. you sort of mumble, “it was a ploy to set me up, really.”

he drops his fork onto the plate, lets it rattle, and you nearly flinch. you’re somewhat surprised to find yourself expecting him to be angry, not that he’s under any obligation to be. really, you might like him to be angry, but he chuckles, instead, biting and smug as he is. “set you up with who?” 

“don’t laugh.”

he raises his hands in surrender, grinning, still. “i ain’t, only askin for a name, baby.”

how often he uses it hasn’t dulled the sharp spasm of want that word seizes you with. “no laughing.”

“what did i just say?” he leans closer. “gimme the name, darlin.”

“pete mcneilson.”

joel does not keep his promise. he chokes on his laughter, heaves with it, tenses his ribs to keep it in the box of his chest, but it tears out between you anyway. oh, how gorgeous he is this way. “christ almighty, pete?” and then, shaking his head to himself, he adds “he’d be fuckin helpless.”

you scoff. “the fuck you mean by that?”

joel continues eating again, self-satisfied with some glorious victory that lays itself over his face. “helpless with you, darlin. you’re too damn vicious for him.”

you think for a moment. “little wolf, and all that?”

he clears his throat, laughter dead in the back of his throat but eyes still pinched a little in the tension of his smile. “somethin like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you think it’s a mistake, going to this dinner, as you walk out your door, smoothing your jeans down your legs. you know it’s a mistake when you walk in and see them all, the whole lot, milling about tommy’s home, your varying degrees of relation to each clashing violently. tommy rushes through the kitchen, mashing boiled potatoes and checking on meat that pours steam from the oven when he vents the door, and maria watches his frenzy with a pleased sort of smile. you know she’ll tense when she sees you here, and so you allow her another moment of secluded safety with her husband, and look around for joel; you’re almost embarrassed at how desperately you search for him, but all of it drains from you when you find him standing next to the dining table with noah, being what could only be described as talked at. you’re filled instead with a gripping warmth, pink and new, at the sight of him, so big and disinterested. he may remain mostly secretive of his feelings with you, but joel is intrigued by you, this much you are certain of, and the picture of him this plainly un-intrigued makes you feel singular, selfish, important to him. yes, tonight is a mistake.

“i can’t believe my eyes, the town ghost has appeared,” noah calls out from across the room. you give him your best attempt at a grin, eyes pulled like gravity and lust to joel but working to keep them ahead.

“in the flesh,” you dip your head in a bow, and noah pulls you into a hug. over the slope of his shoulder you see joel, hip cocked and brittle, and you both have the same thought simultaneously, that he’s never held you like this, not once. for all his increasing softness, he has never held you like this. he’s already angry, you think, gnawing on the figure of you in noah’s arms. you pull away and position yourself between them, nodding to joel, mainly for show. “i haven’t seen you in ages, noah, how are you?” and your sincerity is barely there, so slippery with joel so close, but enough to convince noah.

“haven’t you heard? i’m a mentor, now,” he smiles with sarcasm and a little pride, too. “been showing jesse how we run the patrols and all.”

you’re trying, so hard you are trying. joel is watching you precisely, hawkishly. “so i’ve been told. you started on our patrol route your first day, i think,” and you gesture to joel, but you can’t look at him, knowing you’ll twitch too damningly in his direction.

“ah, yeah, yeah that’s right.” with a playfulness he continues, “of course, we’ve moved onto much harder routes now.” 

in the compendium of near-family you’ve concocted in jackson, noah serves as the spirited sort of brotherhood you imagine was normal decades ago. when you met, skittish and cut open as you were, noah found great joy in poking at you; your hardness grated against the easy youth he’s clung to, and you think he liked the challenge of it. as you melted more into the jackson scenery, though, became more earnestly open to friendship with him, he learned instead to lend you this ease, the sarcasm and good humor. there’s something lovely about taking it up when you speak to him, though it’s difficult now, what with the distraction at your side.

you cross your arms. “oh have you? you’re that good a teacher?” 

joel coughs next to you, nearly chokes, and you feel the gentle thrum again of a shared thought between you, of yesterday on his couch, of his thumb in your mouth, of the jam (oh fuck, that was meant to be tonight). noah pays no mind, a sweet thing but dull around the edges. “you know it, baby.”

with a squeak of his boots and a grunt under his breath, joel storms into the kitchen and out of sight. you and noah watch him go, your stomach leadened with his absence, and you pull a breath in to lighten the weight, but it’s no use. baby, baby, you know it’s baby that’s driven him away. you feel noah step a little closer to you.

“speaking of, how’s your patrol been? i can’t believe maria finally let you do it.”

you shift: joel, his hands, his voice, the man you killed for him. “they’ve been fine, i guess.”

noah bumps his shoulder into yours. “details, details! you spend every morning with the big bad wolf over there, i mean how does that feel?”

you tilt your head at him. “noah,” you scold.

he brushes off your tone, craning his neck to get a look at joel in the kitchen, continuing, “he seems fucking scary to me. doesn’t he scare you?”

you huff and shove him back, but he looks back at you like he really means it. you’re startled with the sudden urge to tell him the truth, blood and spit and all. it rises in your throat like bile, but you swallow it all back down. “no, not anymore. not…not really.” your voice is heady with the history you and joel have carved with lips and tongues, and you wonder how gory it would all become if you had indulged yourself fully, let the acid of your feelings spill out. as you think it, noah scans your face, looks through it, and you worry for a moment you’re caught, that the whole of it is spread plainly on your features, but tommy comes barreling out of the kitchen with food cradled in his arms, maria in tow, and you’re spared from any further investigation. tommy laughs out your name from the head of the table.

“jesus, i didn’t even see you come in, come sit down!”

you nod, give maria a smile, glance at the globe of her stomach. she’s glowing with it, hand along the curve of her tummy, and she does her best to smile back at you, as soft as she is capable of. noah pulls the remaining empty chair next to him out from the table and you sit, finding joel across from you, biting on his tongue and furious, quietly, desperately furious, looking between you and him. fuck.

like the love, joel’s fury fissures you in two. you are, most viscerally, delighted that joel should be so angry at noah’s arm around the back of your chair. he watches the space between you, daring it to close further, shoulders strung taut like you’re his to fuss over. your heart expands and knocks on your ribcage, arteries singing with the pleasure of it, and arousal pools between your thighs and sticks there.

toe to toe with this delight, though, contends your own boiling rage. how desperately his gaze claws at you serves as a reminder of the ways he denies you of him, of his cock and his tears and his lips on yours. you would gladly give him this, let him bark and snarl like a wild animal in some unhealthy possession of you, if he let you possess him back. but, as it is, the edge of his eyeline cuts you irreparably, marks you with an indictment of you as a lover and him as something less. it makes you fucking furious.

“ellie helps you a bunch in the garden, don’t she?”

you look up to tommy. you haven’t been listening. “hm?”

“ellie. i’m always seein her in the greenhouse.”

you nod, grin at the thought of her. “mhm. she’s been a real help, actually, and it’s nice to spend the time with her. i think a lot of the other kids are sort of afraid of her.”

joel’s eyes gleam over for a moment. he loves her, you know, and whatever rift exists between them has persisted. noah grips your shoulder and shakes it a little, and the shine dries on joel’s brown eyes.

“sounds like a bit of you.”

tommy barks out a laugh and you push noah’s hand away. “yeah, yeah.”

maria lays a hand on tommy’s bicep. “i think it’s good for her. she needs to get acclimated here. she’s not like the other kids.”

you all look to joel. he hasn’t said a thing since you all sat down, actually. he clears his throat, and the rasp of it goes down hard. “no, she ain’t.”

“from what i’ve heard she’s got a real sailors mouth, big brother. that your doin?”

joel’s face pulls into offense. “no.”

“well she musta learned it somewhere,” noah sings. so very sweet, so very dull. joel looks like he might skin him.

“she came like that.”

“came like that?” noah repeats.

this is so very off limits. tommy and maria give each other a look, and they glance across the table to share it with you. stop him, for the love of god. you turn to noah, plead quietly, “just drop it, noah.”

“what? i’m asking him about himself,” and then to tommy and maria, “i can’t ask him about his daughter?”

what began as a wholly good hearted attempt at conversation has morphed, you realize, into the same sort of bear poking noah used to do with you. he’s calling joel’s prickliness and raising him a teasing interrogation. but for all your similarities, joel is not like you now, he will not absorb it as you did. he stares, lethal and still, at noah, elbows on the table. 

“come on, we know nothing about the man. i want to hear your stories! give me something.”

joel scoffs and you ask again, “noah, please.”

“how am i doing anything wrong here?” his words devolve into childlike mumbles, unused to being denied this way. “i’m trying to make some fucking conversation.”

voice resigned from subtlety, all desperation, you call across the table, “maria, how’s your pregnancy coming along? tell us a long story about it.”

tommy snorts with your bluntness, but all three millers soften with a breath. maria rubs along her tummy, smiling down and speaking, but you go deaf to it as noah brings his arm all the way up, slinging it across the line of your shoulders. and you know, like all the other touches and like his antagonizing of joel, that he means nothing real by it. but joel takes the world in as meaningful: all of it, including noah. you can’t bear to look at him, but even still you burn with the steaming point of his gaze, frenetic and livid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“joel, jesus, slow down,” you call out as you hurry after him. tommy and maria had let you all loose to the jackson twilight, and with a smiling salute noah pranced off home, brushed already of the dust he knocked loose from joel at the dinner table. but joel eats up the ground in front of him with large, pacing strides, muscles corded in the back of his neck. you want to ride him, punch him in the stomach.

“go home.”

you catch up to him, grip a hand on the sleeve of his coat. “i will not go home. i want you to have a conversation with me first.”

joel doesn’t stop, drags you with him through the front door of his house by the fabric of his jacket. the door slams behind you and as the sound rings out joel whips around, boxing you against the wood. he heaves, little hurricane in his chest, casting shadows on you, even in the dark. “i’m not in the mood for a conversation.”

“yes, sting, i gathered that, but you’re being a fucking asshole.”

he huffs and looks to the ceiling, praying, you think, for divine intervention, or perhaps a lightning bolt to set the house ablaze. he can’t look at you when he asks it. “have you fucked him before?”

“jesus christ, no!”

he laughs, a little insane and swinging like a church bell. “seemed damn cozy in there to me.”

“yes! i’m sure we did! he saved me from bleeding out in the middle of winter joel, i told you that.” he adjusts his stance and peers back down at you, looking almost sorry with the thought of you red and unmoving, but because your fury is insatiable you poke him in the chest, adding, “besides, what if i had? what’s it matter to you anyway?”

he grips your wrist, asks incredulously, “what’s it matter to me?”

“no really, why give a shit? i promise i’ll still let you stick your fucking ring finger into my–”

“not another fucking word.”

the diseased part of you laughs with the irony of this moment, at the anger and jealousy you’d hoped for in the dining hall this afternoon; it isn’t exactly what you’d pictured. you sag with that thought. “please, baby,” his grip on your wrist tightens when you call him that, “throw me a bone. you seem entirely disgraced by the fact that we do…what we do, god forbid anyone found out, you won’t even,” you push a quick breath from your nose, “you won’t even waste the fucking energy to fuck me, kiss me. so tell me, please, what is your problem with–”

“you wanna know my fuckin problem? you drive me fucking crazy. i am clinically fuckin insane, darlin, and it’s your fuckin fault. beggin me to fuck you, fuck your face, i mean jesus, the things you ask of me.” and then, mainly to himself, “i ain’t strong enough for this shit. the hands and the eyes and the,” he remembers you in front of him, faces you again, “and the looking, i mean what—shit—what kind of fuckin look is that? you look at me like–like–”

“like what?”

“like you love me. you look at me like you love me. do you know how fucked up that is darlin? and i’m doin my goddamn best to keep you at arms length and it’s damn near impossible but i knew that first time that i–” another heave, “that i’d fuck you again and i’d love you too. be in love with you. and i couldn’t be that selfish. how could you ask me to be that selfish?”

his fingers around your wrist have formed more into a desperate sort of hold, thumb reaching up into the cup of your palm. the weight of his admission presses through your diaphragm, that i’d love you too, but the rift in you, the love and the anger, is growing savage, and you lash with it. 

“i’ve never asked a fucking thing of you. i’ve wanted, jesus joel i’ve wanted, but i never asked you to go on this emotionally stifled quest to prove—prove what exactly? that you’re good? i mean, christ, we’re both awful!” you poke him hard in the chest. “you’re awful and i–i’m awful, and,” the momentum of your fury is slowing, you can feel it dragging its feet, “and you won’t let me get close to you. i’d let you in anywhere. and you won’t,” the loving is thawing from you, and like snow in your hands it drips into water and dirt, down your front, and you’re crying suddenly, caught up in the great tragedy of what you’re about to say. “you won’t let me do it, you won’t let me love you even a little bit. but i can’t help it.” you flatten your palms on his chest, gentle, nearly losing it at the hummingbird winged hum of his heart. “if you can’t do it, i’ll leave you alone. i promise you, sting, i will leave you alone, i won’t ask again, i won’t beg it of you. tell me you don’t feel it and i’ll go.”

he takes a stilted breath in and looks down at your fingers on his front, runs his rough hands up them slowly, feeling you here with him. “i–i…” 

you nod, tears hot and fat running lines down your cheeks, and move to pull away. you open his door behind you, facing him still, but he jerks something frantic and closes it again. his hands come up next to your head on the door, and the both of you are so silent you can hear the wood creak with the press of his palms. you wait.

it comes out with a great pain at first, a terrible ache you see in the grimace of his face, but it eases as it goes, eases as he tells you, “i love you, little wolf, i do, i do.”

and then there’s a moment of stillness, of unsureness. what do you do now? what does anyone do now? oh, but he loves you, he loves you, you have to write it on a wall somewhere, burn a forest and bottle the ashes, wreak some irrevocable havoc. he loves you. 

you drag a hand from his chest up to his face, and with a shudder he leans into the warmth of it, nods against the skin, affirming some wordless agreement, and leans down to press his lips to yours. and it’s been so long you can’t help the whimper that escapes you, squeaky and wet still with the damp residue of your tears, but he’s soft and hot against you, pulls his hands down around your waist and squeezes into your spine. you say his name against his lips and he nods again, presses harder, groaning when you pull the hair at the nape of his neck. you open your mouths to one another, hoping to suck each other’s souls out, you think, and he licks into your mouth with a moan. you’re still whimpering his name somehow, over and over, meaning nothing by it other than you like the taste of it along with his tongue, joel, joel, joel, and he replies with the heated moving of his hands along your body. 

joel grips under your ass, pulls you against his cock as he ruts you into the door, speaks gruffly against your lips, “tell me again.”

and you do, somewhere between your moans, “i love you, i love you,” and he seizes with the sound of it, ducking his head to suck marks into your neck. you hitch a leg over his hip and he takes it as an invitation, dragging his cock through his jeans again along you. 

with his face still in the crook of your neck and a muffled up he hoists you fully into his arms to take you up the stairs, and if you were more lucid you would notice you’re in the same spot you were months ago, the first and only other time he let you have him, but as it is you swirl your hips as best you can against him as he walks, biting the skin that beats with his jugular. you’re drunk on the scent of him, on the pressure of his body. he lays you down on his bed and leans over you with wild eyes as he drags the fabric of your shirt up. he mouths along the skin as he bares it, mumbling into your skin, “so pretty here, baby.”

you raise your back from the bed to pull your shirt and bra off fully and he groans, hands flying to grab at your tits, tracing a line between them with his nose. “and here.” you lift your hips and he pins them with his own, the heft of his cock dragging against your clit through your pants and you mewl with it. joel moves back up to your ear, still pulling at the flesh of your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers, to whisper, “i’m gonna take you slowly. can you do that, darlin?”

and no, you’re not sure you can, but you nod breathlessly anyway.

“good girl.”

that drives you fully to madness, you think, and you tilt your head back into his bed, writhing into a moan. he smiles into you as he moves his face back down, down, past your sternum, hands moving to pull at your jeans. “can i take these off?”

“yes, please.”

he nods and pulls them from you, and runs his hands back up your legs. you can feel your own dripping, the gusset of your panties soaked through with arousal, and his smile drops as he looks at it, a single finger coming to run down the fabric. you shudder, and so does he, you think, hand still on your thigh tightening as the pad of his finger wipes along the dampness. “fuck. this for me?”

you’re already nodding. “yes, yes, you, please, touch me, please.”

and with that joel is pulling them down your legs, leaving a trail of glistening slick where the fabric sticks to your flesh, and joel heaves you to the edge of his bed, kneeling with a grunt to the floor. you hum around a whine as he bites and licks up the insides of your thighs, his own moans reverberating back to you. his fingers, wrapped around the crease where your legs meet your torso, will leave bruises, you’re sure.

“joel,” you plead, but he doesn’t really hear it, heaving open mouthed around your cunt now, breathing you in.

with a long inhale he drops his forehead to your navel, squeezes you between his hands. “so good, baby, this pussy is so good.”

your eyes slip shut and you feel yourself pulse with his words. joel sees it, too, and finally, fucking finally, closes his plush lips around your clit, slurping and sucking as you all but scream into the space of his room.

“fuck joel, fuck, oh my god.”

“yeah?”

you thread your fingers through his curls and tug, and his groan makes your hole flutter. he circles his tongue around your little button, flattens it, flicks over it with the tip, and the drool of his own spit mixes with your slick as it slides from your hole to his sheets below you. you’re fucking aching now, so empty as he sucks around you, but before you can even plead for them, you feel his two fingers slip inside you, gliding in easy around the wetness he’s pulled from you and the slip of his saliva. he curls them, petting against someplace only he has ever reached, and you keen.

“that’s it, huh? there?” and it’s only halfway smug, all the rest earnest, and you pull harder on his hair. your nerve endings flare up and catch fire, his scissoring fingers within you, his taste buds on your clit, his sheets bunched at your head, it all tears at you with unbearable feeling, you feel with an intensity that blurs your vision. with the pulse around his knuckles, joel can feel how close you are, raising his lips from you with eyes hooded. “oh, you’re close, darlin, i fuckin feel it,” he rasps, and you nod again, delirious and mouth open, as he circles his thumb in the path of spit his tongue left. the noises you make would be humiliating in front of anyone else, you think, but his brows furrow with each of your blasphemous little whines, and so you let them claw out as he watches his fingers thrust in and out of you. “c’mon little wolf, let it go, let me have it.” and you do, you throw it at him, really, pulsing around his fingers and gushing down his hand, moaning wildly something that sounds like his name as he groans with the squelch of it.

he pulls his fingers away only as you relax, spine released and flat again on his bed. he drags his eyes up and down your body, spent but not yet satisfied, as he rids himself of his own clothes, and your pussy shudders with her own heartbeat again as you take him in. his cock reaches stiff between his legs, blushing and pearled with precome, and you lick your lips with finally, finally. he pumps himself once, twice, stalking towards you again, but you stand from the bed with shaky legs, sit him in the wet spot you made together. as you sink to your knees he curses and squeezes the base.

“jesus christ, baby.” but you only smile as you run your nose up the underside of his shaft, tentatively pressing the flat of your tongue along his head to collect what’s escaped him there. the salt and musk of it makes you whine and you fit your lips around him, laving along his skin and watching his hands bunch in the sheets. you smooth your lips down his head, lower, lower, and suck, cunt fully dripping again at the noises he makes. a broken version of your name leaves him as you start to bob your head, spinning your chin as you come up, letting your teeth graze the vein along the underside. 

“oh fuck, you—shit—your mouth is so fuckin good,” and he brings a hand, now, to collect your hair and wrap his fingers around it, anchoring himself more than you, “yeah, yeah, that’s it baby, fuck.” you moan into him and his hips twitch as it moves through his skin, and fuck you want him to fuck your throat. you bring your fingers up to move his other hand, clenched taut at his side, to your head, pushing it down to show him. his fingers tighten in your hair as he starts to move you on his own, pulling you into him as you gag and swallow around his head. “oh fuck, oh fuck,” he grunts, hips starting to rut up to meet your face, and your hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he thrusts deeper, sputtering as he grits out, “fucking gag on it.” you hum, so gloriously pleased with yourself and the taste of him, feeling him twitch in your throat, but with one final drag of your tongue on him he pulls you off. you start to whine but he’s heaving you up by the elbows to straddle his lap, grabbing you by the jaw to bring your face to his. your tongues meet and circle, the both of you groaning at the taste of the other, and he drags his wet cock along your seam. you angle your hips so he catches on your opening and his hands tighten on your waist.

“you still want it, darlin?”

you almost laugh, maybe you do, nodding with your hands on his shoulders. “yes, yes, please.”

and when he pushes in it is not like last time. he’s slow, agonizingly so, as he lets you sink down, your forehead dropping to his as you groan in unison. you clench and throb when your thighs meet, fully seated, and he pulses inside of you, but he doesn’t move yet, brings a finger from your waist to between the wings of your shoulder blades. as you breathe together, chests meeting in full flex, he drags the pad of his finger down, your body open and seizing with feeling of him. 

“you like to touch me there,” you whisper.

joel nods. “it holds you up.” and something about it makes you wail. when his finger reaches the bottom, he bands his whole arm around your back, pulls you impossibly closer against his chest and moves his head next to yours, asks into your ear, “can i move now?”

you twitch as his breath fans over the side of your face, whispering back some sort of please, please, and he starts to thrust into you, slowly but deeply, so deeply that his tip kisses your cervix, and you both hold each other tighter as he drags back out.

“fuck, joel, so good.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“you’re fuckin—ah—soakin me, baby.”

between the whispers in your ear joel takes your lobe into his mouth, biting and releasing, kissing the spot beneath it. your body tenses in his arms as his cock ruts in and out of you, still so slow and still so much, and his bicep around your back flexes to keep you in place. 

“what is it?”

“fuck me faster, please,” you whimper. you feel his little smile into your skin.

“you said you could take it slow.”

“and i—fuck—i’m trying.”

he groans, long and with the movement of his cock in you. “one more second like this, just like this.” you try to roll your hips again but his grip stills you. “you have no patience, do you?” you shake your head. without a word, he reaches up to push your elbows up and over his shoulders, and you wrap your arms down his back. he nods a little, whispers just like that into your skin, and you throb around him.

the slap of his skin on yours rings through the room as he speeds up, thrusts meeting you, and you scream like this is salvation (you think it might be). neither of you can control your noises now, not that there was much control to begin with, and joel grits out agonized moans into the arc of your ear. your nails scrape up and down the skin of his back as he pounds up into you, clawing marks and holding there. again you’re on his name, repeating it with a fever and a cry, joel, joel, joel.

“fuck, i fuckin love the sound of my name like that, baby. you sound like you’re mine.”

you do your best to nod, head bobbing at his shoulder, i am yours, i am yours, but still it’s only his name coming out. he fucks you harder, holds you harder, moves like a zealot into your softness. he brings a thumb to your clit, circles it tightly, eats up your noises with a gluttony that pulls you right there, right there. 

“i’m so close, joel,” you whimper.

“fuck, i know, i fuckin feel it. come on, darlin, come on my cock.”

again, you do, you do as he asks, pulled tight into him as you pulse and thrash, ecstasy washing over you.

“yeah, that’s—oh god—that’s it, that’s it,” he rasps, thrusts unrelenting, slapping against the wetness dripping between you. as the rigid pleasure runs through you and your body relaxes again, he picks you up, knees his way up the bed to place you down beneath him. you watch his face pull together as he forgets his plan for a moment, fucks you into the bed with a hand on the headboard, but he collects himself again and heaves you over by the crook of your knee so your stomach is to the mattress, keeping the head of his cock inside you. you hold yourself up by your knees and elbows, feel his hands spread down your back and around the globes of your ass before he picks up his pace again, hips meeting your ass in harsh bumps that make you scream into his pillows. the kick of him inside you is coaxing your body again towards orgasm, and you arch your back for him. 

“such a tight fuckin fit, ain’t it?” you whine in response, pushing your hips back against his. he pulls you up, back flush against his chest, spreads his knees a little to rut deeper up into you. with what sounds like waning sanity, he grits into your ear, “you make it fit for me, darlin, i know you do.” your bag arches off his chest as you go stiff, so startlingly close again. you’re defying your own anatomy now, gone from the confines of your body, submerged fully in a rapture that beads like sweat down your skin. “fuck me, you gonna come again?”

“yeah, yes, fuck” you heave.

he nods against your shoulder and slides the paw of his hand down your front to rub you, using the flat of his hand to press into your clit. “i’m gonna—oh fuck—you’re gonna make me come, where do you want it?”

and you know you shouldn’t, but you’re so fucking close, and you want it. “inside, joel, please.”

his thrusts are stumbling now, losing rhythm. “yeah? you want me to fill you up? fuck,” and he laughs breathlessly, “tha’s how we’ll tell everyone, i’ll fuck you full of my fuckin baby.”

the both of you vibrate with that notion, buzzing together, barely human anymore, and suddenly you’re falling into climax, a third and quick and jolted one, pulling him with you as you clench and flutter, and the pump of his warmth inside of you feels like the most wonderfully selfish thing you’ve ever done. and as his cock softens inside you, a mix of your come sliding out, he’s really just holding you, wrapped up in his arms on his bed. he kisses you in the silence, up the line of your shoulder and to your ear. “stay here, baby,” and he pulls out as you lie all the way down, wipes you both with a rag before climbing up behind you and cradling you in the crook of his body. 

night has fallen fully now, but the moonlight peers through his window and marks the wall ahead of you. joel’s hands are warm as they run up your sides, draws his name on your hip. you smile.

“sting.”

J–O–E–L. “hm?”

“will you tell me again?”

he stretches out his fingers and leans his head over yours. you turn to meet his face. and you think it hurts him, still, to say it, but he does, forehead creased with sincerity and a will to tell you anyway. “i love you, little wolf.”

“i love you, too.”

joel thinks a moment. “are you…” you sit up a little to see him fully, and even in the darkness you can see the flush of red around his ears. “do you still want me to show you how to make the jam?”

oh god, he is so tender for such a violent thing. “mhm,” you hum, but turn all the way over to situate yourself into his chest. through the hair spattered there, you add, “later.”

his thumb finds your spine again, traces it like he’s done before. in his arms here, you can admit that this, now, is your greatest achievement, the closest you’ve ever been to sacred. the puffs of his breath on the top of your head, the slowing of your heartbeats as you both drift towards sleep, yes, this is holy, a sanctified thing, the loveliest thing you’ve ever grown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

aaah !! i can't believe this story has come to a somewhat-end !! i can't thank you all enough for the support on it. as my first fic it was fucking terrifying to put out, but i'm so glad i did 🍓🤍🤍

taglist: @koshkaj-blog @limerence4u @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 (let me know if you wanna be added or removed !!)

[moonlight-prose]

Tommy Miller. Please hit me with all the psychoanalyzing/breaking his ass down you've got because you're the queen of writing him imo. I'm ready 🍿

(thank you! 💖)

tommy miller thoughts & musings

note: the queen???? you're so fucking sweet my darling raven. i have been saving this for when the brain rot returns, but i have to be honest - the brain rot for this man never leaves. so here we go!

There's never been a man more devoted to the concept of love - even if it's muddled in his mind. He treasures his family. He'd die for them. That fact remained true the day he turned sixteen and realized how Joel stepped in.

How he helped in making sure the little brother who followed him around everywhere (both in awe and to be a constant annoyance) become the man he was today. Joel Miller. The legend he one day hoped to make proud.

The fact of death - of family and love - hardened in his mind in time with his heart. Something broke the night Sarah died. Fractured his soul at the sight of his big brother - his hero - lying in the blood of his niece, begging for her to live.

The imaginary concept of dying for his family...now suddenly a reality.

Tommy Miller is a man who uses humor to hide the dying light in his brown eyes. He's the first to offer a smile, a helping hand, the promise of hope. Because what little remained in his mind was barely enough for him. Yet he gave it away without question.

The lessons of his big brother live in his mind - a tether to the life he once had. This is his commandment; the rules he's set for himself to keep a piece of the old Tommy alive. Though the world may have gone to shit, he refused to go down with it. Even as Joel and him committed atrocities - destroyed the humanity in their souls - he fought to keep himself in tact.

Tommy Miller is a man who is scared of so much yet keeps it to himself. What's the fucking point of making a spectacle of his fears? Who would care to listen? He'd been on this shattered road for so long he forgot that he was human. That he deserved light and love and a chance to redeem the sins of his past.

He's afraid of dying.

He's reminded of it every day he opens his eyes.

But he won't reveal the real horror that is buried in the depths of his heart. The darkness he hates with a bitterness on his tongue. Oh how he wished he could spit it out like tobacco. Cleanse himself in the River Styx and resurface anew.

Tommy Miller is a man who is is afraid of dying.

Tommy Miller is a man who wants to die.

Tommy Miller...is a man who wants to love and be loved in the horrendous tumultuous landscape of hell he's found himself in.

He cares with his entire body. Loves with every part of his heart and soul. He gives and gives and gives, hoping that it would be enough to suffice for the broken parts of a hollow man. If you look close - inspect the makeup of who he is - you'd see the pain.

You'd catch a glimpse of the mania behind the curtain.

So he offers himself up on a silver platter (everything he believes you want) to deter you from pushing down the wall holding him together. He begs for more, silently fighting against the ache of need that sprouts deep. Yet assures you that he's fine. He's okay.

He's alive.

That's what he wants.

And that would have to be enough; knowing that to ask for more in this world, was to dip himself in the greed he knew couldn't be appeased.

Tommy Miller.

A man who gave the world too much. Yet managed to smile in spite of his grief.

[nicki0kaye]

random Kallus hc inspired by someone else's post #2

man he's gotta hate that he lost his bo-rifle to fucking Thrawn

like so the moral of the Honorable Ones to me was Kallus realizing he has nothing of value in his life--he has TWO personal items to his name; this fuckin glow rock and his bo-rifle which he has just learned is his by right. Regardless of what he did to Lasan, regardless of all the awful reasons he should never be accepted by any of his enemies, that fucking bo-rifle is his and no Honor Guard of Lasan can argue otherwise. There are a lot of reasons he turns on the Empire, but this is where it starts. The realization his life is so small and so empty, and he just limped back to it. Why? Why is this life worth living? And with more research, it stops being a selfish desire to ditch and becomes an informed hatred of the Empire, BUT

lets go back to that kernel of rebellion. Kallus' life is small and empty. He's got a Rock and Bo-Rifle. That's all that defines him outside his identity as a ISB officer.

He just acquired the Rock. He's been living with bo-rifle as his single defining trait for maybe a decade at this point. It's an extension of his beef with Lasat in general, which started on Onderon when one blew up his first Big Boy Mission. It makes sense he'd fixate on such a traumatic event but it's not JUST that. You don't get to have personal hobbies or a sense of fashion or really any kind of identity within the Empire outside who you personally want to fuck up. Kallus chose the Lasat and got fucking spiteful about it, which led him to the Siege of Lasan, where he won his bo-rifle.

but like, it's more than that. It isn't just hatred--if it were, I don't think Zeb would have gotten to him. I think that Kallus has had a buried respect for the Lasat for a long time, if only because of how much time and effort it took to win and then become proficient with the bo-rifle. Then there's the layer of it being the only true outlet for identity he's allowed. THEN there's the fact the bo-rifles are a Force weapon. They've got kyber crystals inside them. And I personally subscribe to the idea that everyone can sense the Force, thus be guided by the Force, it's just that not everyone can recognize what is intuition/one's own emotions and what is the Force, nevermind having an ability to influence other shit with the Force.

What I'm trying to say is I wanna believe Kallus bonded with his bo-rifle in a cosmic way. He is the Warrior, hunting the future; the Force always had plans for his ass and saw that a Force-conductive weapon made its way into his hands, that he then spent years becoming deadly with. That fucking weapon is connected to his soul.

and he lost it to Thrawn.

Thrawn didn't beat him in a fight while Kallus was armed with his bo-rifle, but he super beat his ass in a fight. Even if Kallus could argue he didn't earn the bo-rifle, Kallus couldn't retrieve it before having to gtfo. It's still somewhere on Thrawn's stupid ship--my assumption is that Thrawn goes and adds it to his collection of stolen artwork.

Regardless, Kallus doesn't have it anymore. This thing he poured what little identity he was allowed to maintain, years of hard work and practice and countless battles where he relied on it to keep him alive as his primary weapon, nevermind a Force connection, anyone would become attached to a weapon after years of service. This reminder of Lasan, this piece of history, its fucking gone now.

I don't think he'd think he's allowed to mourn that, considering all he's done, but you can't logic away your feelings, and now he's with a group of ppl who actively find that kind of coping pretty fucking unhealthy. At some point he's gonna have to process what that weapon meant to him and its not gonna be pretty.

imo, he gets a tat of it on the forearm of his dominant hand. He'd think about it for a long time but only go through with it after finally discussing all his mixed up feelings with Zeb, who would super approve of him paying his respects to a sacred fuckin weapon this way. It was his, by right, by soul, by will of the Ashla.

[nutteu]

[cattonquick] angry smol ft. smitten tol, but make it longer

[AO3 ver.] [rambling compilation]

you remember this? okay, let's make something out of it, one of the possibilities. go ahead and read if you fancy it, but don't blame me in the end lol (also prepare yourself, it's gonna be long and messy, format wise. enjoy this 14k something i whipped out on the spot lol)

let's see. why not have oliver attending oxford out of spite, demanding that he was to be given a fast track towards graduation and making research journals just to piss off people who looked down on him, riding on full scholarship because he didn't want to waste time. sure, he could just stay at home and enjoy life because his family didn't expect anything out of him and would love it if he spent his time close to them. but he had another plan, and he was one angry motherfucker, so he'd conquer this goddamn educational path and obliterate anyone who dared to stand on his way, even god, because fuck that entity as well. oliver would rather swallow a beating heart whole than admit that he'd be defeated by a fucking concept and something practically unseen.

and so, there he was, arriving at the campus and giving nasty glares to those who giggled at his appearance. he didn't give a shit about people who thought that he was ugly, he had no time to fuss about that. but they were saying stupid shit about his buttoned-up shirt and his scarf, and those were from his father, so fuck them. these were precious to him, everything that had anything to do with his family was. he was aware that he was fiercely protective of them, even from his early childhood, but they reciprocated it by loving him completely, entirely, encompassingly. there was nothing that could ever compare to his family's love for him, and he wasn't interested in finding someone who could match it. again, he didn't have time for it.

he didn't peep through the window, in this universe, didn't see someone who would swerve his entire plan of being a recluse, didn't see someone who would love him the way his family did, even more so, because that someone was greedy and selfish and childish, above all else. but, oliver did pull off his scarf and unbutton his shirt near the window, and felix catton happened to look his way, seeing glimpses of him through the window as oliver moved to close the curtain. their eyes met for a moment, dark sky and summer blue, felix with a benign smile on his lips, and oliver with a scowl on his. the curtain was roughly yanked and oliver muttered under his breath about popular kids and high school all over again. it didn't matter; it wasn't his goddamn business.

unfortunately for him, the reaction that he gave wasn't something that felix catton was used to, hence the surprise in his dark eyes. he blinked several times in disbelief, then laughed to himself. it was kind of funny, because he was used to awe and worship in people's eyes when they looked at him; used to batted eyelashes and a twinkle of infatuation. he definitely wasn't expecting such an impressive scowl on an unfamiliar face, those ungodly glasses, and a peek of chest beneath the unbuttoned shirt. felix told himself that it was amusing, and didn't think too much about it. after all, sooner or later, people would cave to him, for him. it just needed time, and since the stranger was within the dorm, it was safe to say that they'd cross paths soon enough. he didn't know why it was important that they met again, but he figured that it was probably because this was the first time someone acted that way towards him. sue him, he was curious, and there was a certain part in him, one that was raised in wealth and multitudes of privileges, that urged him to take this as a challenge, just to prove that, at the end of the day, felix would be someone hard to ignore, let alone to be despised, like the stranger had seemed to feel towards him.

but, right now, they were separated and going forward with their own agendas and lives. it would be some time before fate would have it that they finally found each other in their paths. right now, oliver was calling his mum to tell her that he had arrived and that the student body already pissed him off, listening to her laughter and her soft cadence as she advised him not to be too rough on those poor kids, and felix was on his way to yet another night spent at the pub, keeping a stranger's scowling face at the back of his mind as the crowd cheered and urged him on for another shot, farleigh laughing next to him and telling him that he'd be abandoned by the side of the road if he passed out from the drinks.

let's have some moments of oliver trudging the corridors like he was on a warpath, and people's widened eyes as they caught sight of his narrowed ones and brusque movements. they whispered and jeered and oliver stared them down until they skittered away, then continued his way to the library. he wasn't going to waste time dawdling around; he had goals to achieve and time to compete with. as it was, in this universe, he still met michael gavey, and instead of playing along, he glared at michael and said, "fuck off before i punch your face."

let it be known, right now and later on, that oliver's entire repertoire of responses to people consisted solely of: fuck off; get the fuck out of my face; stay there, i'm going to punch you; and, the favorite, you're a pathetic idiot. let it be that, in this universe, oliver was way too pissed off at the universe and fate to ever consider being anything else than angry and impatient. it didn't matter anyway; it wasn't like he needed to play nice with people, other than his family, and he didn't need anyone's else to achieve what he wanted. he was more than capable to breeze through his syllabus and the requirement to graduate early on the four-year course, and if he didn't get that, he'd terrorize his dean until she understood the magnitude of fear that oliver would incite in people. he wasn't afraid of anything, because why would he? he had known fear more than people would assume from him, and he head learned that it would do nothing but hinder his plans if he were to succumb to it. and so, there he was, angry and impatient and on the path to conquer his education. nothing would stand in his way, and he wouldn't stray from it, no matter what michael gavey said. it truly was a miracle and oliver hadn't punched him the moment that guy opened his mouth.

then, of course, the tutoring, with oliver debating the professor within an inch of his life, and farleigh start coming twenty minutes late into the discussion. the professor looked blatantly relieved at farleigh's arrival and immediately changed the topic towards some bullshit about farleigh's mother and how she was someone admired to the professor. oliver didn't give a shit about that, and he also didn't give a shit about farleigh's not-so-subtle mockery. he glanced at farleigh, and flatly stated, "you're useless. if you have nothing to say about the discussion at hand, then better shut your mouth before i punch the fuck outta it, see if you can still speak with four teeth gone."

"oliver!" the professor exclaimed, eyes wide yet staying still on his seat, because he was terrified enough by this young man and his mind, his insistence and his no-nonsense attitude. it was safe to say that he would be wary of every tutoring session that involved oliver quick in it for future to come. "come on, we can discuss this without throwing insults or punches, can we? farleigh, how about you tell us what you've read?"

farleigh, shocked and pissed off because some nobody dared to threaten him, yet keeping the seed of fear anyway because oliver didn't seem like he was joking at all about what he said, finally stuttered out some things he remembered from his incomplete reading. it seemed to pacify oliver, at least, and it made farleigh curios, because he had never met anybody like oliver, who dressed himself like a grandpa, glasses that made his harsh features worse, and soft voice that belied the words he said out loud. it was kind of entertaining, seeing oliver steadily and mercilessly beating the professor to the ground, metaphorically speaking, though farleigh was suspicious that oliver wouldn't mind the more physical side of that statement. farleigh might have his own insecurities and he had a nasty habit of belittling people he deemed below him, but this was the first time someone actually threatened him and didn't seem to give a shit about farleigh's reputation. it was a breath of fresh air, to be honest, because while oliver's words were harsh, they weren't lies and oliver didn't seem interested in playing coy to be in farleigh's good graces. people like that was rare, and farleigh had all the intentions of keeping oliver close, if not for a debating partner to trade insults with, then for his honesty.

and so, farleigh draped himself all over oliver's back, easily overshadowing him because oliver might be someone with incredible temper and short fuse, but he was so small that it was easy to forget how cruel he could be with his mouth. farleigh said, "give me your phone, i'll put in my number."

"i'm not interested," oliver stated plainly, trying to get out of farleigh's hold and only ended up trapped within the man's long arms because he refused to let go. "i'll punch your dick if you don't let me go right this second."

"oh, come on, oliver," farleigh laughed. "i promise i can keep up with your studies. i didn't take it seriously because i thought it would be a joke, you know? i'm not going to disappoint you, honest to god." it might be a little bit of a lie, because farleigh had plans for oliver that didn't include studying, but that was for later, after he managed to wrangle oliver into being his study partner. then, after that, some parties and perhaps a round of jagerbomb. oliver didn't need to know that, however.

oliver finally stilled, then looked up at him suspiciously. "if you bother me for something else than our study, i will burn every single one of your belonging, farleigh start."

farleigh laughed again, more honest this time. "cross my heart and all," he said, and cheered when oliver reluctantly gave him his phone. he punched in the number, and messaged himself, before letting oliver go and skipping ahead before oliver changed his mind and went through with his initial plan of punching the shit out of farleigh's face.

you might ask yourself, where did felix fit into this? where was he? don't you worry. felix might not have the best first impression on oliver, but the act of surprising farleigh with his temper and threats was the catalyst. unbeknownst to oliver, farleigh had told the experience to felix as soon as they met, drinking themselves to stupor as farleigh told his cousin, half terrified and half entertained to no end, about this little guy with his ugly plaids and terrifying intelligence; described him down to the last detail and proudly showing the brisk message oliver had sent him last night, a mere ok, 5pm, library. felix, drunken and amused because farleigh was chattering about some stranger who managed to mess with his head, for the first time showing interest in anyone instead of just mocking them to hell and back. farleigh seemed to have this reluctant respect for oliver, and if felix squinted enough, he could see the start of a juvenile crush.

still, there was something, niggling at the back of his mind, that pulsed when farleigh told him about this mysterious and hilariously angry oliver quick. the memory didn't come, however, and so, he chalked it up to his drunken mind trying to conjure an approximation of the stranger farleigh seemed to be fond of. perhaps, felix could tag along to their study session and see for himself just who was this oliver. not now, though, it wasn't that important.

as fate would have it, however, they met sooner than felix thought. there he was, still a victim of the thumbtacks despite being in another universe, another possibility; his tire useless and his bike a heap on his feet as he sighed dramatically and wishing for a breeze so his hair could be ruffled and he could look more miserable. he was hoping his pitiful stance would appeal to people, and they would help him, but of course, those fuckers only glanced and whispered then left. heartless, all of them.

then, then, a small, vaguely familiar figure approached him, halting to a stop before felix. those summer blue, he recognized this person. felix smiled at him, and the man pursed his lips in a grimace. he seemed to be debating internally about something felix didn't know about, before he sighed roughly and got off his bike. he shot felix a disgusted look before he took the books out of the basket, and pointed a short finger at him, said, "get the fuck up. you look pathetic. take my bike and go to wherever you need to. return it to the shed and i'll take yours to be repaired."

"oh my god," felix exclaimed, standing up and graciously letting the insults breeze through him. he had expected this from the moment he saw this man through the window. it was both hilarious and scary, how this man seemed to be perpetually pissed off at the world. there was that feeling again, niggling at the back of his head, and this time he knew what it was. the oliver quick that farleigh raved about, was the same man that had tickled felix's curiosity on that day. "you're my saviour! thank you, thank you so much, mate. you didn't know how hopeless i felt before you came. what's your name? i need to know how to call my savior."

"i don't give a shit about how you feel," the man said promptly. "just take the bike and stop looking like a pitiful idiot."

"awh, come on," felix cooed, standing up to wrap an arm around oliver's small shoulders. wow, he didn't know that oliver was this small; it would be so easy to completely overshadow him, engulf him with felix's entire height. he smiled at this, because it was yet another funny thing about this man. his stature was so disproportionate to his apparent, constant anger. he was like a chihuahua, or better yet, black-footed cat. small and deadly. yeah, it seemed fitting. "i'm felix," he continued. "now you know my name. give me yours? please?"

oliver looked absolutely disgusted at him, and forcefully wrangled his way out of felix's hold. it was sort of ridiculous, him with his scowl, while wearing those nerdy glasses and a goddamn helmet. who the hell used bike helmet these days? oliver, that was who. it kind of suited him, though. made him adorable and geeky. oliver let out another rough sigh, and said curtly, "oliver quick. now, stop talking to me and go."

"yessir!" felix smiled brightly, then advanced on oliver and gripped his shoulders tight so the man couldn't escape as felix peppered his helmet with kisses. "thank you so much, ollie. you're a savior!"

"stop calling me that," oliver grunted out, trying and failing to get out of felix's grip. "and i only helped you because my mom raised me right." he paused, then shrugged. "and because you looked pathetic."

"awh, you care!" felix said, palm on his chest. "still, thank you. can i get your number? i gotta give you something in return for helping me."

"not interested," oliver said, then gathered his books and secured it with his arms, walking over to felix's bike and inspected it for a moment. "you got three thumbtacks and you didn't realize it? are you that stupid?"

felix shrugged. it was kind of insulting, but then again, he had prepared himself the moment he heard about oliver quick from farleigh. compared to what he had heard, this was mild coming from oliver. "must be some pranks."

oliver sighed. "whatever," he said, then pulled the bike upright. he stabbed a finger on felix's chest, said, "don't get my bike all fucked-up like yours. pathetic or not, i will break your nose if you messed up my bike."

"understood," felix nodded genially. then, because he knew how to flaunt his eyes and he had a dramatic flair he learned from his mum, "now, your number?" he added a smile, offering his phone.

oliver shot him that disgusted look again, and snatched the phone, punching the numbers in with more force than necessary. "don't text me if it's not important, and don't call me unless i give you the permission to do so."

"noted," felix said, happy now that he got the number, immediately sent a silly hi ;). oliver checked his phone, and glared with the power of a thousand suns at felix, who just smiled wider and hee-hee'd his way out of the man's ire. "gotta go now. thanks a lot, ollie!" he said, and placed one last kiss on the man's helmet before escaping from oliver's temper and scurrying away.

and so, they met, and oliver almost regretted his decision of giving felix a leeway. felix, however, would take that inch and asked for miles, for more, because he was selfish and greedy and had never known grief or disappointment. he would learn those, but it wasn't for later. right now, oliver took his bike to be repaired and felix spent his lecture messaging farleigh, flaunting that he got oliver quick to save him, didn't get a punch to his nose for calling him ollie, and even managed to kiss his helmet. farleigh would say, you're joking, and felix would flaunt further that he got oliver's number as well now. he then spent the remaining time of the lecture arranging a meeting with oliver soon. like oliver, he also didn't want to waste time, albeit with different reason. he figured that he could ask farleigh for oliver's schedule, because his cousin managed to wrangle it out of oliver's mouth, for the sake of their study-date was his excuse.

oliver, on the other hand, was complaining to his sisters about farleigh and felix, called them juvenile bastards and mona said, awh, you have friends now! and it was so humiliating to admit what happened with felix, because oliver saw it as a weakness. his mother, on the other hand, seemed to be so proud of him for helping people, for opening up enough to let people into his life. he told her it wasn't like that, and that felix and farleigh were just pulling his pants, that sooner or later he would have to break their teeth. but there was a smile in his mum's voice, pride in his dad's, and gentle teasing in his sisters'. oliver let out a sigh and smiled despite himself. he missed his family already; missed their presence and constant chatters around him, their understanding and their strong hearts. he missed waking up to eliza holding his hand, or alicia running her fingers to his hair, softly singing a lullaby when he had difficulties falling asleep, constant headache that he ignored because he was used to it.

oliver still had that headache, difficulties falling asleep, and there was no one to accompany him now, no one to sing him lullabies. he couldn't just constantly call his family, because he had to focus on his study and he didn't want to make them worry. they were worried enough as it was, especially now that oliver had decided to go to college. he had taken a year-gap and stayed at home, but he figured that fate wouldn't wait for him, and thus he decided to pursue what he had always wanted to do. perhaps, in another life, he would have all the time in the world, would be less angry. but in this life, he was stuck with his fate, with his inability of being kind, with his perpetual anger towards the world at large, the absolute indifference he felt for people who didn't know him.

except, it wasn't really true now, was it? oliver could admit that he had let his weakness shine through when he gave farleigh his number, even though he reasoned that he liked having someone to banter with, trading insults and arguments back and forth. people were usually afraid of him, especially since he started being an absolute asshole in his last year of high school, so it was kind of relieving to have someone who didn't shatter easily when he insulted them. it was nice having someone who could give as good as they got. then, there was felix, who had received oliver's backwards kindness simply because he was so pathetic and oliver pitied him. then, of course his assumption about felix was proven true when he quite literally and immediately asked for more from oliver. spoiled children, all of them. but he just looked so earnest and pitiful and oliver still remembered what his mother said. it's okay that you're angry, my love, but never forget that kindness is something you're capable of. let it be something you can possess despite your fate. curse his upbringing and habit, but he couldn't just leave felix and his stupid puppy eyes on the side of the road.

then, not even two days since they met, felix bombarded him with messages, asking his dorm number, and oliver, already impatient from his headache and assignments, told him just so he could shut up already. what he got after that was someone banging on his door, and felix grinning at him when oliver finally opened the door.

"hiya, mate," felix greeted, and oliver slammed the door close on his face. he banged on the door again, shouting, "come on, ollie! it's cold out here! i just wanna see you, please? pleaaase!"

"oh my god," oliver groused out after opening the door again, "you can't shut up, can you? what do you want?"

felix he-he'd his way again, and said, "how about we go to a pub tonight? you must be tired from all that studying. you know farleigh, right? he's my cousin and he told me he knows you. you can meet him again! with me, of course. my friends are also there, so i got you fresh meat to terrorize!"

"i meet him enough on daily basis, any more and i'm going to throw up," oliver said. "i'm not interested. go there on your own."

"oh, come on, ollieee," felix pleaded, dishing out his charm and intentionally looking as pitiful as he could. he knew that oliver thought of him as this pitiful child, and he was going to milk it for what it was worth. "just a round? then we can go. i'll even walk you back!"

"you really don't know when to stop, do you?" oliver gritted out as felix batted his eyelashes at him. "fine," he sighed, because, what the hell. he had done workloads for an entire semester, thanks to the lecturers who gave him leeway by giving him the entire syllabus and assignments to finish, so he'd have enough time to finish the rest and graduate as quickly as possible. he still needed to pressure his dean, but that was for later. right now, he could just get drunk. "but you're paying."

"deal," felix grinned, satisfied with his victory, and got the door slammed on his face again as oliver changed his clothes. he didn't mind it, even if he could admit he had wanted to get inside the dorm room, wanted to see what kind of person oliver was from his belongings. after a few minutes, oliver opened the door again, his attire completed by the same ugly plaids. did he not possess any other kind of clothing? well, it didn't matter. felix could always buy him some, once he roped oliver into it. for now, baby step. "let's go, they must have started without us already."

oliver's first outing with felix was... disastrous. not even twenty-minutes in, and oliver already started three separate fights that thankfully didn't come to fruition, because they were too busy being obliterated to the ground by oliver's scathing mouth, and felix looming over him and glaring at anyone who dared to mouth off to oliver. felix didn't exactly know why he did it, but a part of him just couldn't accept it when oliver's attention wasn't on him. it was gratifying to be lavished by the rare attention from someone who seemed to hate anyone on-sight. besides, he kind of liked it, listening to oliver's insults and how he always managed to strike where it hurt the most. two of the three fights were finished because the victims of oliver's mouth left while sobbing, and the last one didn't escalate into physical fights because felix's and oliver's combined glares were enough to make the stranger scurry away. then, when oliver turned around, felix plastered a genial smile and wrapped his arms around oliver, steered him away from the possible fights and into the couch on the corner of the room, where his friends and farleigh were.

felix's friends were definitely terrified of oliver, but farleigh could see more into it because he knew both oliver and felix. he knew that felix had a nasty habit of choosing a toy to be played with until he was satisfied, discarding the used toy in search for another. but this was the first time he actually did something like this, follow someone around like a pathetic puppy, using the advantage of his stature and status to beat someone into submission, simply because they tried to fight with oliver. farleigh wasn't dumb, he knew that oliver quick was different than felix's other toy, solely because oliver had self-awareness, was cruel and mean when he wanted to, and didn't give a shit about felix's background. oliver would break felix's bones if he dared to think of him as a plaything, and felix seemed to be aware of it. what farleigh didn't understand, was why his cousin seemed to be attached to oliver when they weren't even that close to begin with, and he had known oliver for lesser time than farleigh. his first guess, and the strongest, was because, this time, it was felix finding himself a puppy love, a fleeting infatuation which wasn't reciprocated, because oliver didn't seem all that interested in felix, romantically. but farleigh knew, that the harder the challenge was, the more felix would work for it. he didn't know how this would end up, but he banked his horse on heartbreak, on felix's end, more likely.

well, it wasn't his business, felix's love at first sight with oliver. it was kind of hilarious, too, because this kind of thing almost never happened to felix, simply because it was always the other side who fell in love with him first. this truly was a puppy love, and farleigh would enjoy the entertainment for as long as it lasted.

and so, the night continued, with farleigh shouting jagerbomb at one point, and oliver simply pointing at felix and said, "tell him. he's my wallet tonight." and farleigh laughed, because of course felix was. they were sitting close, the three of them, flanking oliver left and right because everyone else was too scared to come near oliver. the man seemed satisfied enough with the fear in their eyes, and was even willing to be urged to drink shots after shots. farleigh said, "wow, oliver, didn't know you're a party animal!"

"i have constant headache from people's stupidity, and i'm not going to waste free alcohol," he replied, then downed another shot after shrugging and muttering eh, what the hell, i'll die anyway. well, farleigh thought, he'd definitely die with that much alcohol in his veins, and it was such a waste of a good debating partner.

so, he steered oliver away from the alcohol, and instead started quizzing him about his daily life and background. oliver parried his questions with glares, and only softening a little after felix joined in the conversation, all puppy-like and eager to hear more about oliver. farleigh realized, with hysterical laughter in his throat, that oliver probably thought of felix as someone so pitiful and pathetic, and that was the only reason he hadn't razed felix to the ground. felix was just that pathetic, and oliver allowed him to be close because it was simply not worth his time being angry at someone like felix. it was fucking hilarious, because this was the first time someone ever thought that way about felix. farleigh was enjoying this immensely.

oliver said, he had three sisters: mona, eliza, and alicia, all older than him. his mum was a housewife and his father worked in a construction company as a civil engineer. he took a year-gap and only now decided to enter college. he took literatures and theology because it was easy and he wanted to graduate early, fuck the four-year course. his hobby was actually knitting and studying, and he didn't give a shit about his clothing style because he idolized his dad and wanted to look like him. well, there went the reason of why he dressed himself like an old man. still, farleigh thought as oliver got progressively more drunk as felix plied him with more alcohol, it was such a shame to leave oliver wardrobe in its pathetic state. once he found a leeway of entering oliver's dorm room, he'd do something about it. felix would certainly appreciate that effort, and it would be funny, him making heart eyes at oliver without realizing it himself.

but, still, all the answers oliver gave didn't explain his constant anger and scowl. farleigh chalked it to them not being close enough. but maybe, with enough gatherings at the pub and more liquor, he could get the answer out of oliver. it was fine to leave it this way right now. besides, it was funny as hell listening to oliver blatantly disregarding everyone around him but felix and farleigh, and answering to annabel's attempt of getting felix's attention with can't you see we're talking? get your needy ass elsewhere, which was beyond rude, because annabel knew felix longer than oliver did. but farleigh thought that it was might as well, since annabel had been blatantly belittling oliver's appearance and his prowess in commanding felix's attention. farleigh didn't blame annabel, though her crush was ill-advised and doomed to a heartbreak, because someone like felix didn't do proper romance, simply because he was too stupid to recognize it, and no one ever snagged his attention as much as oliver did. farleigh imagined it, felix pursuing a proper relationship with oliver, and laughed, because it was both impossible and, just like annabel's feelings, doomed to a heartbreak. he could see it easily, oliver shutting felix down mercilessly. farleigh ought to be there when it happened, maybe bring a handicam. venetia would appreciate the laugh, he thought.

at the end of the night, felix had to carry oliver because he was too drunk to walk properly. half-asleep and drunken out of his mind, oliver actually looked cute, definitely an improvement than his usual frown and scowl. he looked more peaceful like this, younger. it also didn't help that he had a small stature, and so, seeing him being carried on felix's back was something novel and funny at the same time. farleigh took it upon himself to accompany them, because he wanted to see oliver's room. he noted, that this was the first time felix didn't take someone back to fuck; he didn't even glance at the girls making eyes at him, all his attention on oliver.

oliver grunted something out in his sleep, and farleigh put a palm on his small back, steadying him as he reached for his head, muttering out fucking headache, then went back to sleep. farleigh moved his hand to sling around felix's neck again, and they resumed their track. once they arrived at the room, oliver was let down carefully, then they waited until he was awake enough to open the door. once he did however, it seemed that some of his sobriety had returned as well, because he just nodded curtly at them, said thanks for bringing me back, and slammed the door on their faces. farleigh stared, not used to being treated this way. but felix, that lovesick fool, only sighed pleasantly and said, "this is the third time he slammed the door on my face. it was kind of cute, don't you think?"

"you're crazy, man," farleigh laughed as they made their way towards their own room.

"do you think ollie will accept it if i bought him new clothes? no offense to his style, but it needs a little... reshaping," felix sighed.

"he'll probably kill you," farleigh shrugged, and promised himself he'd tell venetia about it. it would entertain her. or, maybe, she needed to meet oliver himself, get herself away from liquor for a moment to enjoy life in sobriety. as much as farleigh understood her reasoning, it didn't mean that it didn't make him and felix despair when she tried to numb herself and her feelings with alcohol. maybe, oliver might be able to get venetia from all of that, call her out without mercy and make her see the light. farleigh didn't know why he put such responsibility on, virtually, a stranger to them. but oliver was honest, had no interest in people, and was beyond merciless with his quips. if he were to be taken to saltburn, he'd be a storm. it would be priceless, seeing elspeth and james' faces.

"ah, but he's so cute too in his plaids," felix said. "don't you think?"

"no," farleigh laughed. "you're wasted, and he'll punch you if he heard you talk about him that way."

"i kind of wanted to see him punch someone," felix sighed wistfully. "but he's so small. what if he can't reach the face? oh, well, he can always kick the groin, i suppose. he's the perfect height for that, isn't he? is that the reason why he's so angry? i heard the shorter people are angrier because they're closer to hell."

"you're being silly," farleigh said. "go to sleep before oliver caught you saying all of that."

"he won't do anything to me, though," felix said confidently. "he helped me and accepted my invitation to hang out."

"yeah, because he sees you as this pitiful puppy," farleigh said, sighing out loud. "be careful, though. you're kind of stupid when it comes to love. you might hurt yourself."

"ollie won't hurt me," felix said, again with that confidence. "he thinks i'm useless and can't do anything right. he'll protect me."

"you're talking shit out of your ass, man," farleigh sighed again, and pushed felix inside his dorm room when they reached it. "go to sleep, and don't dream about oliver. you don't even know him, for fuck's sake."

"but i will," felix said, assured. "just you wait, i'll make him like me too. we're gonna be best mates and everything!"

"see?" farleigh said, rolling his eyes. "already showing your stupidity. go to sleep, felix."

felix fell asleep and didn't dream about oliver, but he did think about the man when he woke up, a stupid smile on his lips as he thought about all the things they could do together. he couldn't help it, oliver was so different than the people around him. he was so unapologetically himself, didn't give a shit about other people's feelings, had insurmountable rage for such a small body, and was so smart that it was scary. also, he was kind of cute when he was half-asleep, and when he talked about his family. it was evident that he loved them so much, and felix didn't know how it felt. sure, he loved venetia and farleigh, but their upbringing wasn't exactly something to be compared with oliver's apparent close tie with his family. he valued them and thought of them as something precious. felix's life was served on a diamond platter, a heirloom from a legacy he didn't know how to run away from. he never experienced true familial love when it came to his parents, and he envied oliver for that. it was truly a miracle that felix still ended up with heart on his sleeve, because he had seen what happened to his sister and cousin. farleigh covered-up his insecurities and needs of genuine love with his haughty attitude and mockeries; venetia buried her feelings and dreams with cigarettes and alcohol, long since given up about the way her parents didn't really see her as a person, and instead merely a failure. they had money and an estate spanning across acres, they had influence and privileges, but felix had never heard someone talked about him with such reverence and fierce love the way oliver talked about his family. he wanted that, and he felt like oliver was the only way for him to attain that. if anything, maybe oliver would pity him enough to be invited to the quicks' household, get away from the sprawling mess that was saltburn, experience how it felt like to be cherished and valued, instead of something to be projected onto and be flaunted in parties, only to be ignored in daily life.

oliver, on the other hand, woke up with massive headache and regrets of talking so much when he was inebriated. curse farleigh and felix for their curiosity, he was going to murder them later. but right now, he needed something for his headache. it wasn't like he wasn't used to it, but this morning it was even more so. he sighed and promised himself he wouldn't accept the next invitation for a night's out. he took his pills and showered, brushed his hair and rolled his eyes at the fallen strands of hair. at this rate, he'd be bald before next month. well, that wasn't a problem. he had been bald before, and it had been hard growing out his hair again, and it kept falling once it got longer. maybe he should just shave it off again, less hassle that way. but, well, they'd just fall out and he'd be bald eventually anyway. he just gotta wait for it.

he didn't have an assignment today, already finished it prior to going out last night. but he did have an appointment with his dean, and he promised himself he'd extort quick graduation from her dainty hands. with that in mind, he gathered his bag close and headed out of the dorm. there was a vibration from his phone, and he opened it to farleigh's message of 'study together at lunch?', to which he replied with 'ok'. he had time for that, and farleigh was actually really smart once he stopped acting like an asshole. but oliver didn't mind that, either. he was also, after all, an asshole.

the dean looked wary when she saw him, probably already hearing from the lecturers how he behaved. he didn't care; he wasn't here to play nice. he was here to pursue his goals, and like fuck he was going to let anyone get in the way of it. so, he debated back and forth with the dean, almost made her cry and got himself booted out of the oxford. but he didn't, and he got the schedule for advanced classes in his itinerary. it meant more workloads, but he didn't mind that. he didn't have time to waste complaining about it.

the dean walked him to the door, and placed a hand on his shoulder. she was a tall woman, with weary green eyes and a look that only someone with responsibilities got. she said, "don't push yourself too hard. enjoy your youth while it lasts, it's okay to be like that, you know?"

"i don't have enough time for that," he said, and her eyes softened. so, he sighed, and nodded. "i'll try, but i can't promise anything."

"that's good enough for me," the dean said. "come see me if you have difficulties with your advanced classes. we can work something out for that."

"no need to," oliver said, but his tone was gentler. "i appreciate the offer, though. have a good day."

he left the office and went to the cafe which farleigh had sent the address to him. when he got there, he rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, because of course felix would tag along, even though they were in completely different majors and he didn't need to be there. oliver felt a pulse twitch in his head, overshadowing the constant headache. this pathetic git, he swore to god.

"come on, ollie, don't make that face," felix whined. "i'm a great company, you know?"

"no, you're not," oliver said blatantly. "and your presence here isn't welcomed."

felix smiled, looking like he had won something, as he said, "you mentioned that you liked physics and civil engineering. i happen to know someone you can talk about those things with."

that piqued oliver's interest. he chose literature and theology because it didn't require him to think too much, but he had always been interested in all kind of knowledge, and it was especially nice to have someone whom he could discuss those things with. his dad used to be his study partner whenever he had free time, teaching oliver about civil engineering. he looked at felix's stupid smile, and nodded, taking a seat between him and farleigh. "where's that person."

"let me call her," felix said, giddy because this was yet another inch he could take from oliver. he dialed venetia's number, and waited until she picked up the call. "hey, are you busy? i got a friend here. he likes the things you used to study. do you have time to talk? he's not a git, i promise, just... very honest--oh, come on, vee. just a little bit? i promise you won't regret it."

oliver waited patiently as felix tried to assure the person on the call to speak to oliver. farleigh didn't deign them attention as he focused on his papers. at last, the phone was given to oliver. felix looked proud of himself, and expectant as well. so, oliver just sighed and spoke, "hello?"

"is this oliver?" the voice on the other line said, mirth in her voice. "felix's new boytoy?"

"you keep calling me that and i'll find out your whereabouts and boil your teeth for supper," he said, and frowned when there was a laughter greeting his words.

"i like you," she said. "can i call you ollie? i'll call you ollie. i'm venetia."

oliver gritted his teeth. what the fuck was it with these people? they trampled his personal space, were stupid enough to enjoy his presence, and had weird knacks of liking his insults. masochists, all of them, he swore to god. but then, venetia mentioned a research he had read before, and she was so adept in the theories and methods used, and oliver found that he could forgive venetia for her weird taste in company. they talked about their favorite physicists and argued about some journals. it was also fun to know that venetia used to write her own research journals, and she was entirely open for suggestions and critics.

somewhere along the conversation, she said, "you're the most real person i have ever known, ollie. i think i'll keep you around. might have to fight felix for his boytoy, though."

"i'm not a thing to be kept around, and i have no intention of being anyone's boytoy," he groused out. "i can take both of you in a fight."

venetia laughed, bright and honest. "okay, how about a friend, then?"

oliver wrinkled his nose. he didn't have many of those, friends. he didn't consider farleigh or felix as friends, because they just did whatever they wanted and dragged him along with their shenanigans. but he could do with venetia. she was smart, even though she didn't sound entirely sober, and she possessed a keen mind that oliver could appreciate.

"okay, i can do that," he said, nodding even though venetia couldn't see him.

felix, from his seat, made a gargled sound that vaguely expressed his happiness and victory. he looked so smug, oliver wanted to punch his handsome face. once the call had cut off, oliver gave the phone back to felix, who accepted it and looked at oliver like an overeager puppy. he seemed to expect something, and oliver wasn't adept in reading someone's mind or emotion. but felix did introduce him to venetia, and he enjoyed their interaction. he bit his lip, and slowly formed the words on his tongue.

"uh," he started, "good job. i like venetia."

"yes!" felix exclaimed, drawing attention from the people around them. he didn't seem to mind the stares, however. "see, ollie, if you keep me around, you'll find good things and have a good time!"

for the second time that day, he said, "i don't have enough time for that."

"just you see," felix promised.

oliver considered it for a moment. these people were strangers to him, no matter how much they seemed to want to know him. he wasn't used to it, and he definitely wasn't used to people who liked his not-so-charming personality. farleigh was fun to be around, and there was a certain part of oliver that felt fondness at felix's stupid puppy eyes. maybe... he could spare some time for them. any kind of risk they could have from befriending someone like him was their responsibility entirely. he refused to take the blame. it was, after all, not him who started this tentative friendship.

felix, on the other hand, was overjoyed. not only because oliver seemed pleased with a new discussion partner, but also because venetia sounded sober enough throughout the call and she had seemed... happy, though reluctantly. he understood, happiness wasn't a concept she was familiar with, and she had thought that oliver was just another toy felix would discard at the end of the day. but see, oliver was more than that. at least, felix thought so.

the days went forward, and within them were various meetings and nights out that oliver finally relented to. it was weird, this kind of thing. oliver realized that farleigh and felix were genuinely curious about him, and he was allowed to ask them questions too. oliver wasn't used to it, wanting to know someone. it'd be futile in the end, was something he had always thought. he talked about it with his mum, and she sounded suspiciously like she was in tears when he heard about his decision of giving the cattons' siblings a sliver of his time. oliver used to have friends, yes, but he pushed them all away once his anger at the world overcame him completely. friends were something he couldn't afford, being him. but now, there were people who wanted to know him, on their own volitions. they were adults now, though young, and oliver thought that heartaches and loss were something they could handle maturely. it wasn't his responsibility to console them at the end of it, he reminded himself.

enjoy your youth while it lasts.

he thought about it, and concluded that he could be selfish, this time. he knew that the cattons were only curious about him, and they possessed an entirely different mindset than him, courtesy of their upbringing and state of family. farleigh had told him that the catton siblings didn't mean to offend him by calling him a toy, it was just something they were used to because they could afford blind kindness and thought that they could have everything in their lives. they were unaware of their ignorance, and it was, unfortunately, one of their defining personalities. but, farleigh said with a pained face, as if it hurt him to talk about oliver with kindness, too used to them trading insults, oliver was someone different. the cattons were used to people following their whims, but this time, they met someone who didn't see them for only their status, but instead a person who saw them for who they were and didn't discriminate them from his sharp mouth and scathing insults. in the following week, he had three calls from venetia, once she acquired his phone number, and one of it was spent insulting each other.

this time, they met someone whom they had to work for, to get close to. it was different, because oliver refused to be anything but himself, and they needed that kind of person in their lives. at least, that was how farleigh thought of it. afterwards he looked sick at his admission, and said, ugh, being nice to you makes me want to puke. to which oliver replied with, go ahead and puke, i'll laugh at you.

still, ultimately, he ended up with friends. it was so weird, thinking that he had people who didn't mind his prickly nature and habit of starting a fight with dumbasses. venetia told him to call her vee, and he listened about her inability to face her own thoughts and feelings, the reason why she chose to drown herself in liquor. listened, when she cried and whispered i just want them to love me, you know? said to her, you don't need their love. you can achieve anything you want. come to my house and i'll introduce you to my parents and sisters. they'll welcome you and my dad is a good conversation partner for your interest. he gave her his parents' numbers, and got a call from them that a venetia catton had introduced herself as his friend, and asked if they would like to have lunch together some day, so they could meet one of their son's current closest people.

felix pouted and whined when he found out, because, hey, he wanted to be introduced to oliver's parents, too. but there was undeniable happiness in his eyes, and he spoke so gently when he said i'm glad you allowed her to be your friend. oliver was silent when he said that, and didn't think about how this would end. it was okay, he could enjoy this while it lasted, and when it ended, at least he could be rest assured that he did something to change someone and pull them away from their misery. venetia might not know him for long, but oliver thought that it was unfair for such a bright mind to be dimmed down because of stupid people and fate. he told his parents that venetia was allowed to sleep in his room, should she come to their house; told them to always contact her, because he didn't want to risk undoing what the girl had achieved if she were to be left behind yet again in the yawning emptiness of loneliness.

oliver still didn't know how to handle having friends, but he trudged forward like he had done all this time. he didn't know where this decision would bring him to, but like fuck he was going to let it go, now that he had decided to pursue it. he hounded the catton siblings with questions of his own, and gleaned knowledge about their personalities, their memories, their dreams and wishes. he found out that farleigh was a lonely boy who needed love, because his mother couldn't give it to him; was so embarrassed that he had to constantly ask he cattons, beg with a bowl. oliver told him to start being independent and to try out work, so he could have income of his own. he was smart and he could tutor people. he could also choose to delve into fashion or entertainment, because he got the skills and mindset for it. farleigh considered it, and oliver told him that he'd introduce him to his family too, if he had the time. now, there were two cattons whom his parents knew about, and, apparently, mona and farleigh got along famously, because of their shared interest in fashion and completely appalled by oliver's choice of attire.

the last catton to be introduced was felix, and he had complained loudly about it. to be honest, oliver didn't know how to do that when it came to felix. with venetia and farleigh, it was because of shared interests and understanding of their minds. but felix was someone oliver had helped simply because he looked so pathetic, with his bike a useless heap on the side of the road. felix was... someone oliver didn't understand. he was painfully kind, and people flocked to him like moths to fire. he was stupid beyond belief when it came to studying, and had to be threatened before he did his assignments, muttering and whining under his breath. he was popular, could converse well with people, had a savior complex a mile wide with the way he treated people, and definitely didn't understand how to not be the center of attention.

felix followed him around like a puppy, always chattering about some mundane things that oliver unfortunately listened to; he was smart enough to understand that oliver's anger wasn't going to be directed at him because he was seen as pathetic, and he was okay with it, as long as he could annoy oliver on daily basis. he was surprisingly secretive about his own feelings, even though he wore his heart on his sleeve. oliver couldn't understand that-- felix's habit of putting his feelings at risk, just because he didn't know how to love while still protecting his heart. if his heart was to be hurt, it would shatter completely, because, even though farleigh kept telling oliver that felix was a dumbass when it came to love, but oliver himself believed that felix simply didn't know how to love except with his whole heart.

it was terribly easy to make him sad and ruin his mood, but it was also easy to appease him in return, if he were to be given attention and a touch of affection. he seemed to be aware of his shortcomings, but didn't know how to process them healthily. so, he turned towards alcohol and meaningless sex and friendships that only scratched the exterior he put out for people to see. he cried easily, and he pouted and whined all the time, even about the smallest thing. but, one thing that shone the brightest was how felix, at heart, just wanted to help people. it was selfish, sure, his need of being seen as a savior, but oliver understood that it came from his parents shaping him up to always think this way, their habit of belittling those more unfortunate than them, making out charity as a selfish act instead of a selfless one, wolves in fancy clothing who couldn't understand the plight of those they deemed beneath their level. oliver could see traces of it on all the catton children, but he understood why they were the way they were.

the difficult thing was that, while felix was eager to share about himself to olive, it was like pulling teeth when it came to his private thoughts. at first, oliver didn't really think about it. they were friends and that should be enough kindness to be given to these weird people who insisted on being close to him. but he couldn't just ignore it all the time.

because, while oliver was still not privy to felix's thoughts, he knew how it felt to be seen with adoration and awe in those dark eyes, mirth and amusement when he started cussing people out, thoughtful expression when he started lecturing farleigh about their assignment. he knew how it felt to be called ollie, like it mattered; knew how felix's kisses felt on his forehead and his cheeks and the back of his neck, because felix liked standing behind and looming over him. it was a weird habit that oliver was helpless against, because, as much as felix acted like a pathetic puppy, he was so stubborn and selfish when it came to satisfying his curiosity and need of constant physical touch.

he would wrap his arms around oliver, giggle into his hair, patting his thigh, play with his fingers, demanding his attention all the time. he would pull oliver close to him when they went out to pubs, and would forcibly wrench away oliver's head when it became too close to farleigh. there was a reason why he always sat between oliver and farleigh, ever since that time. farleigh just laughed at his face, and oliver rolled his eyes but ultimately relenting. he thought that maybe he was going insane, because what was he doing here, within felix's arms, listening to him sing a song terribly. he had goals to achieve, and time to compete with, so what was he doing here?

but see, oliver, with all his anger and scathing mouth and habit of starting a fight, was still a young man. he had decided to open up to the catton siblings, and he didn't know how to take it back, how to warn them that it would be futile in the end, because it wasn't wise to cultivate relationships and memories with oliver. no matter how rough his exterior was, he still had a heart.

a heart, which stuttered a beat or two when felix came to him, all smiles and all the intentions of hogging oliver's attention; when felix laughed at his insults; when felix touched him; when felix looked at him with something close to wonder in his eyes; when oliver finally allowed farleigh and felix into his room, and felix touched all his belongings with reverence while farleigh started criticizing his wardrobe.

when felix spent the afternoon staring at oliver as he did his papers, when he smoked and stared intently at oliver, when he held oliver close underneath the dim light of the pub, when he carried oliver back in drunken nights, when he whined and complained and pouted and begged for oliver's time and attention and care.

within those moments, oliver realized, mortified beyond belief and heaving out wistful sighs, that he had been too soft when it came to felix. he had always gave the man a leeway, a path into oliver's live, simply by being a simpleton who didn't know how to give up.

on one of their outing, oliver went alone to pay for another round of jagerbomb, because he knew that farleigh was stressed out with the upcoming exams, and he wanted his turn to pay, instead of solely relying on felix. that, was when a man stood close to him and started a conversation that oliver had no intention of reciprocating. he was merely there to wait for the jagerbomb. as per usual, the man grew irritated by his lack of response, and oliver only said, "scram. i have interest in entertaining self-centered idiot like you."

now, it wasn't unusual for oliver to start a bar fight, given how his mouth operated. but this time, felix wasn't there to loom over him, engrossed in a conversation with his friend, and the man had thrown a punch before oliver could anticipate it. his head was ringing, and he felt blood flowing down from his nose. he licked his lips, and was about to throw a punch back, when a familiar back came into his vision, and then it was a blur of screams and sickening crunch of someone's nose being broken. oliver's cheek pulsed in pain as he cradled it, and his nose still hadn't stopped bleeding. he watched, as if in a trance, as felix absolutely pulverized the man, and only stopped when the man no longer moved.

oliver wiped at his nose, and more blood flowed. shit, he thought. wasn't from the punch, then. he did what his mum always told him to when he got nosebleed, but the headache that suddenly overcame him was too strong for him to think of anything else. his vision swum, then, suddenly, he was encased in warmth, and someone was calling out to him. oliver didn't realize that his legs had failed him, until he felt himself being carried by strong arms. he vaguely remembered the whispers as he was carried through the masses, farleigh hot on their heels.

"felix," he croaked out, reaching blindly for the man's face. felix winced when he pressed on a bruise. oliver laughed a little. "you shouldn't fight someone else's fight, you know? i could handle myself well enough. you know that."

"i don't care," felix said, harsh and cold, so unlike what oliver had seen from him. it made him uncomfortable, and weirdly guilty. "he punched you, he touched you. you were bleeding and almost fainted, ollie. how is that handling yourself?"

oliver sighed, and considered redirecting the conversation altogether. but... but he had known felix's birthday and what kind of food he liked, what kind of spices he couldn't handle, who was his favorite singer, his favorite liquor, his go-to brand of cigarettes and liquid for vapes. he knew how it felt like, for his hand to be enveloped by felix completely, to be carried by him, to be in his arms when felix was feeling particularly clingy. he knew all of that. the least he could do... was to offer the truth, the warning he should have given.

he tried to speak, but there was nothing that came out of his mouth. his throat felt dry, like sandpaper, and he ended up just burying his face into the crook of felix's neck, uncaring of the blood he smeared on the skin. "don't be angry," he said, muffled. "it's my job to do that."

felix let out a rough sigh, then his arms tightened around oliver. "you scared me," he admitted. "you don't know how scared i was when i saw you falling. don't do that anymore, ollie. don't let yourself get punched like that. your body isn't strong enough to withstand it."

"you're treating me like a child," oliver said, suddenly tired. his headache was steadily making it difficult to think, and his guilt was eating him alive. "also, your requests are beyond selfish and stupid."

"i don't care," felix repeated.

"why are you doing this?" oliver finally managed to ask. if felix ever said that it was because he didn't like having his toy being touched by other people, headache or not, nosebleed or not, oliver would punch his nose until it cracked underneath his fist.

"because i care, ollie," felix said. "i care about you. you're my friend."

oliver gulped with difficulty. he didn't know how to say it to felix, that it was unwise for him to think like that, that he'd only hurt himself in the end. because oliver was supposed to be alone, supposed to bear the burden of living on borrowed time by himself. he wasn't supposed to offer up friendship blindly, wasn't supposed to care about these people in return. it'd just hurt both sides in the end. oliver wasn't someone who could stay, after all.

but he couldn't say it. because felix's voice sounded pained when he spoke, and his arms were strong and warm and oliver didn't want them to let go. so, he let himself be carried back to his dorm, wiping at his nose that had thankfully stopped bleeding, took his pills, and relented to felix's request of staying the night. farleigh had been silent since they left the pub, but he sighed like oliver had hurt him, and bade them goodnight as he settled on the extra mattress.

felix slept next to oliver that night, holding him close like he was afraid that oliver would disappear if he were to let go. that was an apt analogy, he supposed. oliver let himself be held, tracing patterns on felix's arm, and scrounging up courage to finally speak.

"felix," he said, staring at the man's clavicle so he didn't have to look felix in the eye and break down right then and there. "why... why do you care? i know you follow me around because you thought it's entertaining to see me insult people and start fights. you were fine with it, so why the change of mind?"

he saw the tick in felix's jaw, then a gust of air as he sighed. he buried his face into oliver's hair, before he said, "my feelings changed."

"you don't know me," oliver reminded him. "it's only been a few months. you don't know me, and i don't know you. not well enough for you to care like this."

"you're a dumbass, ollie," felix said. "didn't you see the way farleigh looked at you just now? and venetia would fuss and worry when she found out about this. i might not know you completely, but i want to. do you?"

oliver thought about it. thought about his decision to go college, the advanced classes, the fast track towards graduation, the goals he must achieved, the promise to himself, the hatred towards the world, the fate, the universe. he didn't have time for this. he didn't. but, felix didn't deserve his ire and cold shoulders. not anymore. as much as it pained him to say it, he was oliver's friend.

"i do," he whispered, like it was a secret. "what do you want to know?"

"what's your favorite genre of music?"

"it's rock and metal, actually."

a laughter. "no way, ollie!"

"what's yours?" he asked, pressing a smile on felix's skin.

"honestly? classical music."

"what was your childhood dream?"

"a gardener."

what's your favorite colour. why did you choose latin. what kind of book do you read. what's your favorite movies. who's your preferred sibling, venetia or farleigh. who was your first crush. why did you smoke. what do you want to be. what's your best childhood memory. why did you choose to befriend me. what do you think about your parents. what's your secret.

it's blue. i chose latin because i thought it'd be easy and i can sleep more. i read gardening and cooking books. i love the godfather. i love vee, but farleigh is so fun at parties and he makes the best insult. you completely dethrone him though, i like your insults more now. my first crush was this girl on sixt form. i smoked because i wanted to look cool, and then i kinda became addicted to it. when mum bought me a music box. because you're entertaining and, as i found out later on, an amazing person to be around; you're so honest with your thoughts and being yourself; you're so smart and i like your attention on me. my secret? i think i'm afraid of ending up alone and with no dreams; i can have anything money could buy, but i'm scared of ending up with an empty heart and a house too big for my loneliness.

now you.

it was green, but it's brown now. i chose literatures because it has the easiest workload and i can graduate early. i read researches the most but i love sci-fi. i also love the godfather. i like vee the most; sorry, but you and farleigh can't compare (oliver! how could you wound me like that?"). my first crush was this girl who used to be my neighbor, then she moved away. i didn't smoke because my body suffers enough as it is. when i was eight and mona fell into my birthday cake by accident. because i thought you were a pathetic idiot, so i let you follow me around; then i found out that you care about people more than your heart can handle, that you're so selfish and greedy and i find myself not minding it; that you're so painfully kind that it's hard to look at you sometime. my secret? you wanted to know my secret?

"yeah," felix whispered, pulling him closer.

oliver closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around felix. "i'm running out of time."

"what do you mean, ols?" felix asked, and there was a tremble to his voice.

"you wanna know why i'm always angry?" oliver said, then chuckled to himself. "it's because i decided to stop caring. why should i care when there's more important matters at hand? i'm always angry, because i'm running out of time. because i've been fucked over by fate and the world. so, i'm angry, because that was the only thing i've learned how to be. i don't want to be weak anymore, don't want to cry rivers over my fate anymore. so, i'm angry, all the time. the headache is also another reason, but honestly, i have that all the time, so i'm pretty used to it."

"ollie," felix said, and he sounded so small, so lost. oliver hugged him tighter. it broke his heart, too, to hear heartbreak in felix's voice. "why didn't you tell us?"

"i tried," he said. "but i didn't know how, and i didn't think it was important enough."

"you always did say that it's futile, being friends with you," felix laughed; it sounded hoarse and brittle. "i thought that was you being a pessimist."

"i am a pessimist, but not because of the reasons you thought of me." he heaved a sigh when felix's breath shuddered. he continued, "i got diagnosed when i was fifteen; back then we didn't know and it wasn't something to be worried about. then, my hair started falling and i got constant headache; i started having fainting spells and often had nosebleed. they said that it could still be cured, so i underwent a surgery. it stopped for a while, then the symptoms started again, and it turned out that i still have it. so, i decided, i'm not going to cry or complain about this. i think, i was angry because i was scared, of dying, of leaving behind my family, of not being able to pursue my dreams. so, out of spite, i entered college, extorted fast track to graduation from my dean's hands, which she allowed because she knew about this."

he took a moment. then, said, softly, "i had wanted to just ignore everything and continue with my study. with enough luck, i could graduate before i'm out of commission. they told me that it came back stronger than before, and that i'm living on borrowed time. imagine telling an eighteen-year-old that," he laughed, and felix's arms tightened around him, almost suffocating. he welcomed it and embraced the man just as tight.

felix heaved something that sounded suspiciously close to a sob, and oliver heard the rustle from the mattress on the floor where farleigh was sleeping. there was a dip of weight on the bed, and someone took one of oliver's hand to grip it tight. oliver sighed; he had thought that farleigh could be spared from this.

"there's no cure anymore," he continued gently, as he broke his friend's hearts. "they told me i have at least three years, if i keep doing chemo. but honestly, i don't think my family's budget can handle that, even with healthcare, and chemo takes a toll on my body. i want to at least be myself, look like myself, when i die." there were twin hitches of breath when he said that; oliver ignored the pang in his heart and trudged on, like he always did. "i still take my pills but no more chemo. my hair is starting to fall out again, though i count it as victory that i didn't faint as often as i did before. i think my body knows that i'm being stubborn."

"you'll be bald by the end of the semester," farleigh choked out, and oliver laughed freely. "you'll look so ugly with bald head, but don't worry, we still like you."

"i'm... glad," he said, voice small. "i'm glad that i have you guys, and venetia. i thought i shouldn't have friends anymore, because it'll be such a hassle, you know? leaving everything behind, and i'll just hurt someone's heart with... well, me dying."

"you're so blase about this, it's annoying," farleigh complained, but his voice was heavy with emotions. "cry like a normal person, goddammit."

"i'm not exactly normal," oliver said primly, then laughed along with his friends. "it's okay. i've got everything sorted, eulogy and all. i'll finish my course and graduate; i've made enough research journals to be put in our libary, and i've made friends with assholes like the three of you. i'm glad i'm able to do it, despite everything."

there, he said it out loud, at last. now, it was time to weather the storm yet again.

felix's body shuddered, and then, he started crying in earnest, hiding his face in the crook of oliver's neck. his tears seeped into oliver's shirt, and it broke his heart to pieces to hear anguish in felix's sobs. farleigh tightened his grip, and brought oliver's hand to his chest.

"it's alright," he tried to console, patting the back of felix's head with his free hand. "you saw me--i was okay, wasn't i? i didn't get nosebleed that often, didn't faint often as well. three years? i'm too angry to die that soon. i'll be okay."

felix sobbed harder, and oliver didn't know how to mend his wound. this was an act of mercy as much as it was conscious effort of breaking someone's heart. it would never be easy, to lose someone.

farleigh seemed to sense his helplessness, because he said, "scoot over, losers, i'm sleeping on the bed."

it took a little bit of coaxing to get felix to move. in the end, oliver lay on his back, between the two, each hand gripped by them. felix laid his head on his shoulder, and farleigh rested his chin on his hair. they didn't say anything for a moment, until felix seemed to get ahold of himself, and whispered, "ollie."

"yeah?" he hummed.

"don't go," felix said, sounding so much like a lost child, one whose heart was aching.

"i'm not going anywhere," oliver said, and let the lie stay between them like a blanket. it was alright, even if it was a lie. he could lie as many times as felix needed to finally accept this, to stand on his own feet without oliver to follow around.

 "ollie," felix called out again.

"yeah?" he answered patiently. he just wanted felix to stop hurting, no matter how impossible it might seem at the moment.

"tomorrow, let's ditch class and go to your house," felix croaked out, voice heavy with tears. "i'll go get venetia and my jeep, and we can have a road trip."

oliver's heart hurt. "okay," he said gently. "we can do that, fels."

they didn't sleep that night, trading stories and banters as they waited out felix's sobs. when he calmed down enough to respond to them, they started planning a week-long escapades to prescot. they could afford to do it, they thought, because they wanted to be foolish and young and alive. in the morning, farleigh stayed with him as he packed up his clothes, and felix was gone for some time before he met them outside of the campus with a jeep and venetia on the backseat, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. but there was courage in them, persistence and selfishness so on brand for a catton. oliver couldn't believe it, but these three were so stubborn and he couldn't do anything about it. if he were to die suddenly, they'd probably wouldn't allow his soul to rest. that was how determined they were.

the trip was spent chattering amongst each other, singing on the top of their lungs, and the siblings flaunting embarrassing memory of each other to oliver. he laughed and joined in the conversation, feeling so, so scared and so, so hopeful for the first time in his life. he could do this, he thought. he could have this, as long as it lasted, and he was going to get everything he could desire because he knew they would give him the world and more.

his parents were surprised when they arrived, smiling sheepishly while saddling their belongings, but they were soon welcomed and his parents gushed about the catton siblings and how they were such a good friend for oliver. it was quite embarrassing, especially when his mum pulled out the baby pictures, but he figured that if he didn't do this know, then when else? it wasn't like he had all the time in the world.

but it felt like that, being here, with his family and his friends. it felt like he had all the time in the world, all the dreams he could achieve, all the memories he wanted to carve. his sisters flocked to his friends and shared camaraderie with them, complaining about oliver's mouth and his nasty habit of insulting someone within an inch of their lives. they had dinners and picnics for lunch; they watched movies together and played board games; they slept late into the night trading stories, camped and cramped into oliver's room because suddenly it became everyone's territory.

but no matter how much they seemed to be enjoying these moments, sometimes, oliver would look at felix and saw the grim look in his eyes. he would jostle felix's shoulders, let the man entwine their fingers together, lie yet again and say, "it's going to be okay, felix. i'm not going anywhere."

venetia slept in alicia's room, and farleigh in mona's. felix slept with oliver, and his siblings graciously let it. they still spent more time in oliver's room than their respecting resting place, though. they really were greedy, these cattons. give an inch and they'd take miles and miles away from what was given initially. they would befriend oliver like it was the last thing they did, and it probably was, given the situation. oliver gave as good as he got, because like fuck he was going to be weak, he had been strong all this time, hadn't he?

but, when the night came and felix held him in his sleep, he would say, "i'm scared." and felix would pull him close, whispering all the things they could do once summer came, then the fall, then winter. they would do all the things in the world, and oliver would be there, because felix was selfish and greedy and wore his heart on his sleeve. oliver was going to break it someday, already breaking it right now, but they didn't talk about it.

the same way they didn't talk about the fondness in oliver's eyes at felix's antics, his unsurprising possessiveness, his penchant of hogging all of oliver's attention and care, his constant need to touch oliver, his newfound habit of cuddling oliver to sleep, the kisses he pressed to oliver's temple when they pretended to be asleep. they didn't talk about it, because oliver refused to-- refused to break felix's heart further.

in the end, it was venetia who stole him away for a girl's night, which consisted of oliver's sisters and her, and oliver as the victim of their pampering. he was in the middle of having his toenails painted when venetia said, "he's not a child, you know? i know he acts like that most of the time, and he's too sensitive for his own good, but he's stronger than you know. go ahead and kiss him. i can be entertained by him acting more like a buffoon, as if he's not already. just kiss him and do whatever the fuck you want. if you're going to die anyway, why not have the last hurrah and say fuck you to the world and fate?"

venetia was the only one who didn't shy away from the topic, the one who was strong enough to keep her tears for herself. oliver respected and envied her at the same time. so, he nodded, said that he'd consider it, and kissed felix anyway when he was staring at oliver yet again from the windowsill, smoking his stupid cigarettes.

his mouth tasted acrid and bitter, and he gaped like a dead fish for a few seconds before his brain seemed to get the memo, and then the cigarette was forgotten on the floor, an ignored fire hazard, as he gathered oliver into his arms and kissed him like a man starving. felix kissed him like he was the one dying, like this was his only chance of doing this, like his life depended on it. oliver supposed that the looming threat of his death was enough of a motivation.

"we don't have to make it into a relationship," oliver told him. "we can keep it casual. it's not fun being left behind after all."

"you stupid little shit," felix laughed and kissed him again. "i've been flirting with you non-stop and you still thought i don't want this?"

"well, it's easy to mistake infatuation for love when we're in this kind of situation," oliver shrugged, and was kissed yet again.

"oliver, ollie, you stupid fuck," felix said, and there was that heartache again in his voice. "farleigh kept teasing me about it, venetia too, and i was too dumb to realize it but i like you, you angry, violent motherfucker."

"did i rub off on you too much? why are you cussing me out like this?" oliver laughed, leaned into the embrace and enjoying the warmth he was encompassed with. "so much for a confession."

"i don't know everything about you, ollie," felix said, calm and resigned and happy within the same breath. "as you do about me. but i've said it before: i want to. we still have time; we'll make it count."

it was hard to breathe, to swallow. here they were, living on borrowed time, finding love at the most inopportune moment. but that was alright, they both could lie, could wish that they would have all the time in the world. it could be their little secret, that they were both afraid of the end, the looming storm on the horizon.

for now, oliver could kiss felix until they were breathless, spent his time with his family and friends, making the most of his time, because fuck you universe. he could be happy, and he wouldn't have it any other way. he might be defeated, but it still tasted sweet, this acceptance of his fate at last, because he wasn't alone when he did it. he had people who adored him, who cared about him, who were selfish and greedy and loving when it came to him.

it was alright. in this moment, he was alive; in this moment, oliver was happy.

-

in a sunday afternoon, the summer sky outside of the window, oliver died in felix's arms. it was a beautiful day to die.

it was two weeks before his early graduation, and he got flying colors, a fucking valedictorian. felix catton's heart was shattered at last, after so long of breaking apart at the seams. he held oliver close, for the last time, before he strengthened his heart and made some calls.

oliver's funeral was attended by many people. his family, his friends, his dean and professors, and his lover. his eulogy was read by felix, and flowers were arranged on his tombstone. venetia wrote his name on a stone, and they invited the quicks to throw it over a river, to honor his memories and life.

oliver's life was cut too short, and he spent most of it being angry at the world, at fate. but it was okay, because he had people who held him dear, who thought of him as someone close and important and beloved. his researches would be studied, and his pictures would be put on bedrooms, in cherished albums. venetia strong-armed her siblings into living a life they promised oliver they would live, dreams they would achieve, wishes they would make real.

every year, in a summer afternoon, they would have a picnic with the quicks, pulling out old albums full of oliver's childhood pictures, and talked and laughed and remembered-- a young man with anger so disproportionate to his stature, with mind so intelligent, with heart so big, with compassion and kindness that he hid beneath his biting words and hilarious impatience.

every year, felix catton's heart break apart all over again when he visited oliver's tombstone. but he would tell the stories of his life, how much he missed oliver, how he wished that they had more time. but, he would also be grateful that they were allowed to spend the end of it within each other's arms.

it would be some time before the people in oliver's life healed from their wounds, but it's alright. even though it was a lie right now, it was okay. they would be okay, and they could always try. it was alright.

-

[skyeblue8]

Alrighty, thank you for letting me share this stuff! Fair warning though, this is a stupid long ramble.

The title of this little rewrite project is currently Halfway Hell. Our star is Reagan Morgenstern, daughter to one of the most powerful and influential men, who lives in the lap of luxury, wealth, and privilege. However, her cozy life is changed forever the morning after her 21st birthday, when she is woken by a group of seven horrific and grotesque beasts. Her father, Solas, reveals to her a dark secret; He is not human, but rather a powerful sorcerer as old as humanity. Long ago, he and a group of wizards and witches were banished from their home world in the stars to be imprisoned in the Earth’s flaming core for the rest of time. Before they were banished however, Solas and his six siblings used their remaining magic to curse the first vestiges of humanity; The more wicked, despicable, and sinful they were when they were alive, the more monstrous, deadly, and magically potent their souls would be reborn as Solas’ unholy army. Utilizing the damned and tortured souls’ as magic replenishes, the Seven Siblings of Sin were able to breach their flaming prison, and now, Solas, The Dark King, believes the time for his forces of darkness to conquer all three realms is growing near, and when that time does, Reagan will be leading the charge alongside him as his Dark Princess. So to prepare, Reagan is shipped off to the many parts of the world where her father’s siblings reside, to learn to weaponize the magical properties of the six souls spiritually chained to her. But as Reagan spends more time with her ensnared entourage, a conflict begins to brew within herself: Should she follow her family destiny of rulership over all that is known? Or will the suffering and maybe-not-so-awful souls enslaved to her convince Reagan to turn a new leaf?

Ok so that’s basically the plot, I’ve also got a design for Reagan, who is my stand in for Charlie. It is a bit old which is why she’s called Piper on it, but I am planning to give her a slight makeover digitally. I’ve also got a bio for her but that’s also old and really long so I’ll be tweaking that. (btw solas is the stand in for Lucifer, he’s not meant to be Stolas, they’re entirely different characters here, I’m just using the name Solas for reasons including it sounds like Soulless and I think that’s good for your main villain)

Basically, I’m making this rewrite mostly out of spite for all the wasted potential of hazbin/helluva, and all the stupid choices that were made that completely butchered what could’ve been two great adult animation shows. I’ll take the characters from both Hazbin and Helluva and change them to suit this new narrative, while sort combining both of their plots into one(a group of morally ambiguous non human entities do some fucked up shit on Earth, while also growing from hating each other into a found family and trying to save themselves and others like them from their eternal suffering) However, instead of directly using actual Christian demonic/religious figures and stories, I’m using those texts, mostly The Testament of Solomon, as inspiration for the characters, story, and world of Halfway Hell (example; Heaven and Hell are not the traditional Heaven and Hell we know in Christianity, though the parallels with fallen angels and the seven deadly sins and Armageddon are there) So no actual names of demons and angels will be dropped, my characters will just resemble them. I don’t want to offend people and their beliefs by using these names in vain because religion is important to a lot of people, and it’s a nuanced topic that has made people do good and bad things in the name religion ever since, well, the beginning. Plus, I feel like it could make room for more diverse creature designs if I don’t make them explicitly demons or other similar concepts from different cultures such as yokai. They’re meant to be moreso ghosts and monsters in a generic sense, just ones that were originally humans and sprout from a burning land. I want this to be fantasy oriented with all the magic and creature designs I’m planning, while also having a core general theme of change, and a more specific theme of how we can make the changes we want to our lives, and why we make those changes, unlike Hazbin where it’s all about redemption for now. The best way I can describe what I want Halfway Hell to feel like is if The Owl House was written like Bojack Horseman, basically a dramedy with fantasy elements. Originally I was gonna make this even more like Bojack Horseman in terms of realism and tone down the religious influences even more, with purely human characters, an ordinary Earth setting, and it was gonna be called Seven Swinging Souls but dammit, I like fantasy stuff and I wanna draw fantasy stuff. 

And that’s pretty much what I have so far. I’m thinking once I develop more ideas and make plenty of art for it, I’ll make a new account dedicated to Halfway Hell and maybe one day make a comic series out of it. No promises at all, I’m still suffering through college and this is mostly a creative outlet but who knows. Let me know your thoughts, thank you for reading all of this nonsense!

Honestly, after looking over the whole summary of the rewrite, I think this is a really solid re-imagining of Hazbin. Actually, I think it's more than that.

Now, I will make note of how much it deviates from the original concept in the fact that it takes away from the idea of a traditional Hellish afterlife, as well as the whole thing concepts we've been introduced to since everything's on Earth, I guess, but, it's because of those differences that I think it would work brilliantly as its own piece of written work as I think it would give it more credibility for being an outstandingly well-written, original project without having the association of Hazbin Hotel as I feel that would discredit it both to those who have problems with Hazbin/Helluva Boss' writing and those who are so loyal to it that they may want partial credit for Viv.

Now, for a bit of warning, I am often extremely picky and skeptical of all new shows, stories, written works, and series I first encounter, regardless of how well-recieved they are – and that's not usually a matter of one’s storytelling ability so much as my general pickiness. With that being said, I'm deeply interested in the potential this concept could have and how you can make it your own. Good luck in college! Idk what that's like yet, but I'm sure I will soon enough. And excellent work, here!

[catbountry]

I think before I go to bed, I should make it clear that my flippancy about the failed assassination attempt on Trump is because this man didn't give enough of a fuck to protect the citizens of the country he fucking ran from a deadly virus that killed hundreds of thousands of people in that country alone.

Like we talk a lot about all presidents being war criminals to come extent but for your average American, it's very hard to put names and faces to the anonymous brown people we hear getting bombed by drone strikes on the other side of the world. Like we know it's bad, but because we don't see these people, it's hard to actually like, internalize that. But with COVID? Your average American knew somebody who died, or almost died, or was in danger or dying. And this motherfucker, pumping his fist in the air after getting grazed by a bullet while a spectator in the crowd died, got to live through getting COVID because he was the President when he got it. He lived when our friends, our family, or neighbors, suffered and died. 100s of 9/11s worth of deaths happened while he was running for re-election. It's now gotten to over a million under Biden, but those early days when the most could have been done to curb the number of deaths, we just were at the mercy of a man who could not give a less of a liquid, fast-food induced shit about the average American. Like I know the government gladly serves capital over us but I've never seen it so mask off in my entire life.

I can't speak for when Reagan was president, mind, I was born halfway through his second term. Not a whole lot of memories of that because I was, you know, a baby.

But like Reagan, Trump did not take the lives of our countrymen seriously enough to even look out for us when we needed it most, and it wasn't even motivated by homophobia; just indifference. He failed us, not that we ever expected that much of him to begin with. The blood of people who we know with faces and names and voices and memories are dead because of him. And even if COVID is "over," he's made it clear that if he gets in, he doesn't fucking care if he does shit that kills more people through simply not caring, or just out of spite.

I'm sorry that I find it hard to try and play at good optics and respectability politics for the sake of not giving republicans ammo (they're gonna find ammo regardless, they always do). This man raped our country, and that word choice is very deliberate. He stumbled in, took what he wanted, broke so many rules, violated every boundary put into place to keep him in check, and like a vengeful ex, sicc'd a pack of his flying monkeys to enact violent revenge on the government elected by the people that dumped his ass. He's a petty little tyrant trying to become a dictator so he can huff deep from the most concentrated narcissistic supply known to a modern leader so far this century, and he has apologists who think he should have raped the country harder.

I am going to continue to live my life as normal as I possibly can, to try and focus on what I can do for myself to be happy and have a sense of stability and to be able to like myself, while also doing what I can to support my friends and loved ones. To remember the dead and remember what it was like to come down with COVID myself and how awful it felt. To try not to lose hope and vote if only just to protect the rights of my friends, my family, and myself, and hope that we can get through this together, whatever the fuck it will even be. I'm kinda scared, and jokes make things a little less scary because at least I know there are other people who are just as frustrated as I am, reacting the same way.

We gotta look for each other. Monke together strong.

Stay safe, guys. You are loved.

[crappy-homestuck-confessions]

MY hot take about Vriska that no one asked for is that she's just disappointing. Like she gets So Much Time And Focus and she does So Many Things that are crucial to the plot and the progression of various characters, but it is so disproportionate in comparison to every other troll and even some of the human kids. Therefore the time spent on her had better be justified. You better make us enjoy our time while she's onscreen. Either we're interested in how fucked up she is, we yell raucously about how much we hate her, or we cradle her in our arms like a poor little meow meow, and Vriska Serket inspires None Of This in me.

She gets just enough development and we are given just enough opportunities to sympathize with her that we understand her and we get what her fucking deal is, but the shit she does and says is way too awful for me to ever like her, so it becomes this Net 0 Emotional Investment because I don't enjoy hating her either because she's not some glorious cackling center of villainy and hubris that I wish to see fall, that's Caliborn. I LOVED Caliborn everytime he was on page, he's a phenomenal villain I want to squeeze him until his stupid glass doll eyes pop. I want to write an AU where he and Callie are a silly little cherry limeade duo who somehow fucking Actually Made Things Work fully in spite of their fated animosity. He's AWFUL and I love watching Hussie smack talk him to his face through an arbitrarily frustrating computer modem radio tower thing.

Vriska is an intentionally bad protagonist because That's The Irony; she's a light player and she's shaped her entire personality around being the coolest and the best and the center of everything, but in doing so she's made herself an awful friend and a bad person who's Very Un-Protagonist-Like. But she's a bad *antagonist* because she's never actually framed as An Antagonist, she is simply antagonistic by a cruel stroke of bad luck that her life was set out to be lived on Alternia where she must blah blah blah EVERYONE is on alternia bitch, Get Over Yourself you are SO pretentious and not even in a fun way!!! In an annoyingly realistic way!!!!!

She's written as a real person in contrast to all these cartoonish personalities literally everyone else on the cast has. Everyone but Vriska in Homestuck is SO much more entertaining than her because she's written to be a normal girl in a fucked up situation while John is written to be a riff on The 90's Everykid who's encountering some truly absurd bullshit for the first time in his life. It's no secret Vriska's Hussie's favorite, and because of that, she gets so much focus and fleshing out and narrative weight that she Does Not Need.

Vriska would be better if there was less of her just Point Blank, because then we'd have a lot of potent moments where we see how monumentally messed up this kid who's constantly trying to keep all the randomness and peril in her life under her control is. Vriska being this awful person who everyone agrees is awful but who they keep around 'cause she's not awful ALL of the time and some of the group has unfortunately formed a deep attachment to her meanwhile she's constantly doing her 'All according to keikakku' shit would be WAY less disappointing as a central character. Also give other people who Aren't Her some of her consequential shit, the distribution is WAY too disproportionate.

(did not expect this to go on as long as it has whoops)

.

[macksting]

I'm gonna try to find other places my favorite people here are, that are not X or Tumblr. I'm gonna try to retain my contacts here. But I'm leaving again. I don't feel a need to get myself banned to make some point, and it looks like that's easy to do for now. He wants us off this site? Fine, I'll go. There's better places to be anyway.

But before I go.

I apologize in advance to any Christians who feel unfairly hurt by what I'm about to say, but: I don't hate Christianity, but I hate being unable to escape it anywhere I go. In the same way that a Christian atheist may still have a rabid hatred of Muslims, I find Christian and ex-Christian trans women still want our suffering to be holy, to be martyrs. Mostly they don't go running into the mouth of hell to suffer, if nothing else because that'd hurt and most of them aren't that devoted to this mindset; and some of us fly too close to the sun not out of masochistic death cultism but out of just being at heart a bunch of pains in the ass, so I ain't talking about that either. I'm talking about needing to be seen as suffering, as more suffering than others, as a kind of social oneupsmanship. And it's not better to do so in some kind of communion or solidarity or whatever, it's still ridiculous no matter how you do it.

We should be learning about the means of each other's oppressions, to better understand our own, not turning it into a fucking pissing contest.

And I cannot escape these mindsets. I see these baffling crab-bucket behaviors in these shitty online spaces that I almost never see in real life, with real world groups and people, because... iunno, maybe because I live in the PNW and a lot of folks didn't grow up being told that suffering is the highest form of virtue and therefore that if you are not suffering enough then you are not virtuous enough, and since real suffering sucks, it's best to just make people accept that the level of suffering you're going through, which is bad, is superior and unique and untouchably awful.

My friend Michael says it's also kind of a white thing. By creating a hierarchy of who is most oppressed and placing yourself on top, you can make yourself feel immune to criticism, and apparently this is just something a lot of white folks feel they need. Myself, iunno, I'm white too, I hope I don't do that, but I suspect my particular brand of OCD means my anxieties in that regard can't be alleviated without significant therapy and medication, which is not better but it does seem to make me a little less likely to try to put myself on top of hierarchies out of sheer terror of myself.

I seriously cannot escape this shit. I dunno how much I've got to go dismantling my own bullshit, but at least I wasn't raised Christian. It must be so exhausting. If you see me posting something positive that's happening, believe me, it's not intended as toxic positivity. It's intended as a radical statement that a better world is possible. It's radically asserting that life is not pain, and that our pain has causes that can be dealt with. And I dearly do hope it pisses someone off to see someone living their best life in spite of the horrors. A car outside our homeless shelter says, "Birds sing after the storm, so shall we," along with countless Christian statements scrawled all over it, and I am not waiting for some storm to pass. It won't pass in my lifetime. I'm singing now. And some of those songs are happy, and some of those songs are angry, and some are both.

If all you want is the aesthetics of suffering or the aesthetics of social justice, fuck off. I don't need more Christendom. I'm trapped in this place, and I am so fucking tired of it. I feel like Shrek yelling at Donkey, "can you please stop being yourself for five minutes!"

[genuineapoptosis]

Prolonged (Miguel O'Hara)

Characters: Miguel O'Hara x Nb!Reader

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, domestic, mental illness, control issues (or lack there of), alcohol

I genuinely made a new writing blog just for the sake of posting this. Lmao.

Grief is a nasty sort of thing. One that eats at you slowly. Like rust on metal. You don't notice it until bits and pieces start falling off and you know it won't ever be like it was before.

It's one of those nights again.

You were working late. It's always the silence that really does it for him. Creeps into his bones. Makes his stomach turn.

Miguel did try to fight it off. How pathetic it would be having another one of his episodes. Another one of his fits. You never called them that. But he did.

Isn't it funny, how when you need alcohol to fix your shit the most, it just makes it worse? He probably shouldn't have reached for the whiskey. He probably shouldn't have poured himself a glass. And he probably shouldn't have poured another.

He knew you'd be back from work soon. He knew how awful of a sight he might be now. He knew you'd just be disappointed in him. How revolting it all was at the end of the day.

Every last tragedy in his life was his own fault. And every last one that will hit him in the future shall be as well. So when eventually you get tired of his shit, he has to mentally prepare.

And then he'll be alone again. Missing every single person he lost, with the number raised slightly.

Pity is for weaklings after all. He owns up to it all.

The keys jangled as they entered into the outside lock. You were back.

You opened the front door, leaving your things in the hallway and stepping into the living room area. Only to find Miguel sitting on the sofa, staring into empty space. Next to him the evidence of his situation.

You walked in slow, immediately reaching for the bottle so you can put it away. Your action cut of by his own hand wrapping around it. Pulling it back towards him without a word.

"Love.. I thought you weren't gonna do that anymore.." You spoke softly, as if a single wrong sound could offset what you were trying to say.

"Should it matter?" He asked bluntly, placing the bottle besides him but not pouring up another glass. He has yet to turn his face towards you, still staring off.

You sigh, moving in front of him. "It matters to me. You promise you'd deal with it differently."

As if that shoved a knife into his flesh, he looked up at you. Eyes full of malice and spite. "As if you fucking care!"

He realised what he had said once the words had left his mouth. Eyes growing wide as his hands cusped his face. "I'm sorry fuck I shouldn't yell. I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry."

You knew nothing you said could help right now. How could it? This was something you knew you could never truly understand. And you could never truly help him heal.

So you just reached your arms around him, pulling him up to your chest. His body tensed at first, before he wrapped both his arms around your torso. Eventually he relaxed, but you could still feel how rapid his breathing was.

"Was it... -Again?" You spoke with a pause, unable to yet again find the right words.

He squeezes you tighter, trying to gain some stability in doing so. "...Yes..."

"It wasn't your fault." He didn't have to do anything for you to know that he didn't agree with that statement. But you had to try. For him, at least. "I wouldn't lie to you. You know this."

You losened your grip, lifting up his face by his chin so he'd properly look at you. "It's always the hardest when it's something out of our control. Because then we feel like if we tried harder, worked better, we could stop the bad things from happening."

"But you did so much. It's not your fault, love."

You knew it hadn't gotten to him on the level you hoped. But he didn't scoff this time. And he didn't push you away. And that was okay. He needed to take his time and you were willing to give him as much as he needed.

"Can we go to bed? ...Please?"

He asked and together the two of you slowly made it to the bedroom. And together the two of you held each other to sleep. And together, the two of you will make this work.

[our-queerplatonic-experience]

hii sorry if this is too venty or depressing or whatever but i really need help

ive been in a qpr with my partner nagisa for like 3 months (weve been friends before that for a few years) and i love him so much ive never wanted anyone in my life more than him. but i am deathly afraid of being a bad partner, and i am even more afraid of him leaving me for someone else even though i know thats not realistic.

he asked one of our ex friends if he could complain to them about something in private and for the rest of the day i felt anxious and sick and guilty like i just killed someone. i cut this friend off mainly because i was so jealous and spiteful (didnt say that tho i feel guilty) (also he was a really shitty person and made me really uncomfortable but it was mainly cuz i was jealous)

whenever im not talking to him my brain shouts to me that im ignoring him and im a horrible cold monster who just has him as a battery to feed my sick desires or whatever the hell that thing tells me at night. whenever i talk to him too much my brain shouts that i look desperate and clingy and i am annoying him hes probably sleeping! but it hurts less than feeling cold. so thats why i try to text him as much as possible. it almost feels like a compulsion, that im not actually texting him because i care and im talking to him so i personally dont feel like shit (ok that made me feel awful to type out but Fuck whatever)

i am not a bad person i really love my partner ive never loved anyone more than him hes the only person i really connect with on a deep level anymore and i think we genuinely have some sort of spiritual bond because of how often we share the same emotions and think the same thoughts at the same time. but i dont really believe in spirituality shit so whatever

he actually has the same issue (but seems to have figured it out better than me) with me and my friend, and it actually made me hate myself so much i have stopped talking to that friend because i dont want him to feel any percent of what i do. when he isn’t there to talk to me i feel alone and abandonded and like my arms have been cut off and like im living without a 3rd dimension. i feel like a normal person when im with him. he is the only thing keeping me sane. i would drop all my friends if he wanted me to

whenever im not talking to him i feel like im neglecting a bird in a cage even though i know he doesn’t need me that much

whats funny is that i dont worry about being a bad person in any other aspect of my life i literally do not give a fuck whether im a bad person because i always justify everything i do in my mind and i cant find a single bad thing ive done. other than the intentionally bad shit i did, of course, i did that stuff to kinda.. give myself something to feel bad for and so i dont feel like im fully a perfect person? hard to put into words

so yeah i guess you get the point! i really need some sort of advice. ive told him this but not really the full extent behind it, just the jealousy and vague mentions of the fear of being bad. i am worried that my anxiety of being a bad partner is leading me to be a bad partner

damn... okay i don't know a lot about this but it sounds like you might be developing a codependency. you should definitely communicate all of this to your partner so you can work together to lessen your anxiety. you also should probably go to therapy but i don't know if that is accessible to you right now. i'm sorry i don't have much else to say but hopefully someone in the replies can also help

[azar-rosethorn]

More Most Wanted Incorrect Quotes

Karai: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos-

April: I wrote you a poem.

Karai, already crying: You did?

--

Casey: We have a problem.

Raph: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

--

Karai: Who's in charge here?

Raph, shrugging: Usually whoever yells the loudest.

--

Casey: I’m so tired.

Donnie: Did you get to bed late?

Casey: No.

Donnie: Did you do something strenuous?

Casey: No.

Donnie: Then why are you tired?

Casey: I’m alive.

Donnie: Sounds exhausting.

--

Draxum: Don’t worry, I have a permit.

Mikey: ...This just says “I can do what I want”.

--

Draxum: *visiting the squad* Hello, I just came to-

Draxum: *sees Donnie shoving Leo into the washing machine while Raph records and Mikey watches*

Draxum: *retreating* Something suddenly came up.

--

Leo: Are we really going to let Raph keep Casey?

Splinter: We kept April.

--

Karai: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

--

Splinter: We've got to find a way to cut down our expenses. What can we live without?

Mikey: Raph, probably.

--

Karai: Please pray for Leo.

Casey: What happened to them?

Karai: Nothing, they’re just very stupid.

--

Mikey: I made lightly fried fish fillets for dinner.

Splinter: Mikey, It’s 1:15 am, what the fuck.

Mikey: Do you want the lightly fried fish fillets or not.

Splinter: Well, I mean yeah.

Mikey: So come downstairs while they’re still hot.

Splinter: Wait, you just made them?

Mikey: Yeah, I wasn’t tired so I decided to make lightly fried fish fillets.

Splinter: Say lightly fried fish fillets one more time Mikey.

--

Karai: Life is like Mikey. It's short.

--

Leo: I think I need a hug...

Raph: Good thing I'm hug shaped!

*45 minutes later*

Leo: You... you can let go now.

Raph: No, I absolutely cannot.

--

April: *slams down an absolute doorstopper of a tome* I checked this out weeks ago for a bit of light reading.

Casey: This is light?!

--

Draxum: Knock, knock.

Mikey: Who's there?

Draxum: Boo!

Mikey: Boo who?

Draxum: Why are you crying?

Mikey: I'm not crying.

Draxum: Hello notcrying, I'm Draxum.

--

April: Where are you going?

Raph: To either get ice cream or commit a felony. I'll decide on the way.

--

April: Love makes people do stupid things.

Mikey: I love everything!

April: That explains a lot.

--

Donnie: There's no meeting today because Casey is at the police station.

April: They're in jail?!

Leo: We have to get them out!

Mikey: Jailbreak! I'm in!

Leo: I'll dress up and distract the guard!

Mikey: Ooh, I'll bake some food to help distract ALL the guards!

April: I guess I could bring my frying pan in case we need a shield to keep us from being shot-

Donnie: No! Casey wasn't arrested! They're undercover, taking the system down from the inside. They don't need our help!

--

Leo: How late were you up last night?

Donnie & Splinter, in tandem: Me?

Leo: No, not you two. You stay up late all the time.

Leo, to Mikey: You.

--

Splinter: Are you really planning to shoot the demon?

Raph: Don't worry, it's a holy gun.

Splinter: How so?

Raph: It makes holes.

--

*April and Casey looking at a locked gate into a park*

April: Aw. :(

Casey: You know what they say.

April: Please don’t-

Casey: BE GAY DO CRIME! *hops gate*

April: Frick-

--

Raph: I need life advice.

Splinter, sipping Gatorade and eating cookie dough: You came to the right person.

--

Leo: I still don’t have a New Year’s resolution.

Mikey: You could lose a few.

Casey: You could be less lazy.

Raph: Don’t be such a bitch.

Leo: Okay DAMN, SHIT.

--

Casey: My ultimate goal is to punch God in the eye, just to spite him one last time.

--

(Pssst if u like these guys go check out my askblog for them)