#i wish the rest of those comics were this weird

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny Fenton is so damn sick of rich fruit loops. It’s worse now, since he’s one of them.

It’s not Vlad that he’s with, thank the Ancients, but Danny isn’t sure that this is better.

Because he’s Timothy Drake, a baby, and he’s been reincarnated after the Ancient of Reincarnation accidentally drank too much wine.

He’s going to kick their ass so hard when he gets back.

Danny huffs. He rolls over, ignoring the silent manor. Sure, he’s read the comics. Sure, he laughed and imagined being adopted by Batman- come on, Danny had black hair and blue eyes even back then, he was totally adoption bait- when his parents gave him reason to lose trust in their love. But that’s it, that’s all he thought it was. A day dream, a wish for a universe that didn’t exist.

Danny hadn’t understood the reality of the whole Infinite Realms thing, a place he was now the King of. Batman? Real. Danny? Reincarnated. Hotel? Trivago.

Like, this wasn’t what he meant, dammit.

And now he’s stuck as Timothy Drake, and Ancients, he was starting to see parallels.

——

Danny tried photography. He really did. He wanted to at least stick to the source material. But that’s not who he is. Even with the shiny new brain that memorized, catalogued, and put together clues at the snap of his fingers, but Danny’s never been one to take photos. It’s a respectable art, for sure, but Danny preferred to live in the moment instead of capturing it to remember forever. It’s just-

He watched the Graysons fall. He watched Dick Grayson turn into Robin. And Danny can’t and won’t ever betray his Obsession like that, ever again. He can’t let Jason die for his “story” to begin. That’s not how Danny works.

He’s there to protect.

Danny hasn’t ever been just Tim. Danny was also Tim and the Ghost King without a haunt. But now? Gotham is his haunt. He, in lieu of an actual city spirit, is Gotham. He’s also a Drake. And Drakes were meant to hoard.

Batman and Robin? They are his.

He claimed them, as a Drake. But that claim is weak. So he claimed them as their city, and that is a claim that will never be able to be challenged.

Danny’ll be damned before he allows some lanky starved clown beat the life out of one of his Robins. So, for the first time in his nine years on this planet, Tim-Danny goes ghost and flies.

“Who- who. Are you?” Robin slurred from his place in Danny’s hold. He is broken, yes. But not dead. Danny infuses some of his vitality, his ecto, into Jason’s injuries to help them heal.

“Gotham.” Danny replied, layering his ghostly voice with those of the city.

“Goth’m?”

“Gotham. Sleep, little bird. Your city has got you.”

When Robin, Jason, settled with a sense of trust that tugs at Danny’s core, Danny carried him to Batman, whose eyes were wild and manic. He glared menacingly at the green and white ghost in front of him, who was holding his broken and beaten son-

Well, it’d be menacing if Danny hadn’t watched him eat bricks and mortar, crashing into a building while using his grappling gun.

“You-”

“I am Gotham.” Danny cut him off. Despite his wary nature and natural paranoia, Batman settled at his city’s gaze rested on him. Danny knew that Batman recognized his city. Batman’s head bowed, but his eyes stayed on Robin. “You were supposed to take care of Robin.”

“I- I know.” And that voice was all Bruce Wayne the Dad instead of Batman the Vigilante. Danny gently placed Robin in Batman’s arms, taking in the tremors as he held his son close.

“Go back, Bruce. And make sure Jason knows how much you love him.”

He laughed as Bruce whipped his head upwards. “I am your city. You are mine as much as I am yours. I’ve known of you before you were born.”

Technically? Not untrue. But Bruce will chalk it up to weird magic shit. It’s not like it’s a secret that Gotham’s kind of curse. Besides, this way, Danny will be able to help out more often. And Bruce won’t be able to connect Tim Drake to the “Spirit of Gotham.”

“Return, my knight. This is not your city. I can not protect you as well as I can in Gotham.”

“Thank you… Gotham.”

Danny sighed. He wondered when he’ll have to field questions from a John Constantine. He’s pretty sure Bruce will call in magical help, even if it was his own city he was investigating.

Batman’s lucky Danny liked him enough to allow it.

[yandere--stuck]

AaaaaAAA I was so happy to see you already had a gore fic for Bill in the works! I have reread it like. 5 times. Your writing scratches my gore itch perfectly, and I just adore fics the intestinal stuff especially <33 and his mentions of your heart also… the romance!! I was inspired by what you wrote, I hope you enjoy it once again :D! (also im doing great, hope ur doing well too :D!!) - zagreus gore anon

Notes for anyone else: This contains gore!! So much gore!! Body horror— It’s Bill’s love language!! (intestinal trauma, mouth trauma, eye trauma…. Honestly ‘you’ here are violated in like every way possible.) No sexual content, but it’s suggestive to me. Bill Cipher is a Weirdo.

---------

You never quite get used to the pain. You wish you did.

In your memories, the sensation is dulled. You know it was painful, you know it was one of the most horrible sensations of your life, but the full extent of it… You can’t remember. Your brain must be protecting you from it. Every act of Bill’s love would constitute life-long trauma for anyone else, yet you live through another session of it day by day. No. Scratch that. They wouldn’t be alive to recall it. They wouldn’t make it half as far as you. For you, no such easy, simple fate can ever be attainable. The weirdness of his new world has conquered Death itself.

Bill had cradled his intestines in your arms, laughing as they helplessly twitched and writhed against his body, cooing at them as you howled in pain. “Aww, are you excited to see papa?” He’d said, and only the strangeness of it had kept you from repressing it. He talked to your guts as if they were puppies, as if blood smeared across his bricks were innocent licks against his skin instead. Another time, he’d wrapped your guts around his triangular body, and called it the ‘world’s most intimate hug’ as he whispered sweet nothings about how much he looooves you, and also the health of your gut bacteria. Somehow, he always outdoes himself.

Bill had dug even deeper, crumbling your ribs to smithereens in his hands, and held your still-beating heart in his palms as an object of reverence. “All mine, all mine…” He’d muttered to himself, his pupil momentarily expanding to a large, inky abyss. The pain had been so intense that you’d slipped into shock. A bad habit of yours, as Bill called it, would be your tendency to slip into memories of the past to escape the present. When you should be focusing on him.

That time, he’d jolted you back to reality by fire-hot pain slashing through your heart. All the time, it continued pumping, spurting blood in Bill’s direction with every pump. His powers were the only thing keeping you alive. When, once, blood sprayed right into his eye and he was forced to take a break, you smiled for just a moment. A lopsided, crooked grin. He’d used a mirror to show you his handiwork. In the outer flesh of your heart, he’d burned a little triangle. He’d already healed the skin. The lighter pink scarring stood out against the rest of your heart. Marked forever. Though he’s usually so talkative, at that moment, he’d been quiet for just a few seconds.

Then, he’d laughed, breaking all tension. “Wow, it sure smells like barbecue in here!”

On another occasion, he had hummed a little tune to himself, comically large saw in hand, as he cut off your limbs one by one. You could never forget the sound as the teeth sawed through your bones, bit by bit. Tearing through muscle. The clunk of your arm hitting the floor. Your leg. Rinse and repeat. You swore you could still feel your arms and legs, once you lost enough blood and your vision went hazy. Bill had hugged you against his smaller form. (He could change his body’s size, technically. But he always preferred appearing just as he was to you.)

“Without all those gangly, long limbs of yours, we can really cuddle now!” The next day, all of your limbs had regrown.

He’d cradled your face with one hand, and kept your mouth open with his other wrist. You could see nothing except for that giant eye of his as he pried your teeth out of your mouth, one by one. The taste of blood filled your mouth. He’d tug and tug and tug, not nearly using enough strength, and being entirely aware of it, until finally yanking it out once and for all. (Until it regrew, that is.) Under your gaze, he took your teeth one by one, drilled a little hole in them and strung them together on a necklace.

“Hmmmm,” he’d hummed to himself, a long, drawn-out noise. “I feel like it’s missing something. What do you think?” Before you could answer, not that you had any desire to, he snapped his fingers. “Oh! I know! For a sign of our undying love for each other, it’s a little plain with just teeth!”

In the next moment, Bill had taken out one of your eyes. You cannot comprehend how such a, relatively, small part of your face could hurt so unimaginably much. You wanted him to drape his guts all over himself again. You’re sure a point-blank gunshot to the head would’ve hurt less. Been less discomforting. His fingers had shrunk into paper-thin appendages and slipped past your eyeball, digging and cutting away at the nerves behind it. You cried tears of blood. If there was anything in your stomach, you might have thrown up.

Then, all at once, pain had blossomed into pure, mind-numbing pleasure. Compared to the pain, this is what you would like to forget the most. You’d gurgled out a moan through the spit gathered at the back of your throat. Your limbs had twitched helplessly against your restraints. When your optic nerve finally snapped, you’d whined as Bill took your eye out, exclaiming “Pop!” as he did so. For just a moment, he’d juggled your detached eyeballs in his hands, having left you panting.

“Yes, now this’ll make a good centerpiece!”

Pain had become just pain once again as soon as his touch left you. There is nothing good about a gaping, throbbing hole left in your face. You whine, sniffle softly, to get his attention. You hardly ever speak out loud anymore. Bill can read your every thought and is aware of your every idea. When speaking takes up more energy than it saves, why should you? In that moment, you had lacked the energy to think about it, your body desperately trying to recover itself.

Right now, you wonder why he’d make it feel good. Why, this one time. You don’t immediately get a response. Bill just laughs and laughs and laughs, running his fingers across the teeth of his necklace, poking the eyeball in the very middle. In your eye-socket, an exact replica of it has re-formed itself.

“You’re so funny! Why do you think I did anything at all? That was all you, baby!” His pupil transforms into a heart. It’s a blink-or-you-miss it transformation, and as soon as it happened, you think you’ve made it up. “I told you that you’d come around to it! Maybe we can even share in a little bit of pain next time, huh?”

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since, both his words and how mind-numbingly good it had felt. Maybe he’d simply lied to you, maybe it’d all been his doing. That would be the best outcome, right?… With time, you know Bill will ‘show you his love’ again— He always does. But this time, you await it with fear, largely fear, but with a little anticipation, too. There’s no need to tell him. He already knows.

ANON I AM BARKING LIKE A DOG!!!!!!!! BARKBARKBARKBARK THIS IS AMAZING!!!!! God, your descriptive voice is so good, it's so vivid!!!! Bill tricking reader into thinking they like it and them believing it...... Yummy yummy corruption in my tummy <3

Thank you so much for this, I can only hope what I write holds a candle to this!!! You never disappoint raaghh.

Bill draping your guts around as the world's most intimate hug. GOD. Also it's so fashionable! Gut scarf, teeth and eyeball necklace, literally wearing pants of your body to shoe his love and claim of you. Aaaa I'm kicking my feet!!

Thank you so much again holy smokes

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

mutual 1: sorry the update for my webcomic this week is a bit late! i really had to rush it so it prolly looks really sloppy lol [some of the most sophisticated comic art ive ever seen]

mutual 2: call me uterine lining the way astarions cervix got me bleeding profusely

mutual 3: do you think nanowrimo will give me a posthumous pity publishing deal if i mention it in my suicide note

mutual 4: okay fine i finally started revolutionary girl utena

mutual 5: does columbo know the service he did for butch lesbians. for all of us

mutual 6: wish you were here [blurry picture set of conifer woods in early autumn evening, taken as if frantically running down a winding trail]

mutual 4: im pretty hardy i dont need the trigger list but thanks for looking out for me guys

mutual 7: good morning lovelies another day the wizard tried to best me and another day i successfully locked him in the spare bathroom lol hope u like drinking shampoo fucker

mutual 8: here is a zip of every yuri manga scan i have and here is a backup in case i get dcma'd. the himejoshi lifestyle will never die

mutual 9: i wish i could go back in time to the shinzo abe assassination and ask to hold the doohickey

mutual 10: here's my essay on how wanting to be loved is the same as wanting to be eaten. three paragraphs in you'll find out that this is 100% tied to an obscure beauty and the beast manga i've been reading lately and how much i want to fuck the beast

mutual 4: oh thats why there was the trigger list.

mutual 11: YOU CAN'T LOCK ME IN THIS BATHROOM FOREVER

mutual 12: why do i have to defend my thesis to people i dont even respect. im not dickriding you just give me the degree

mutual 13: its just me and this scab ive picked into my scalp against the world

mutual 14: my little dragon got glazed and is ready to go into the kiln! everyone wish him good luck!

mutual 3: nvm i am a beautiful genius. perhaps the most beautiful genius of all

mutual 15: i think we should give david lynch rpgmaker and whatever happens happens

mutual 16: kpeyboaatrds brpokem gpuys

mutual 17: also heres my work in progress glossary of mixtec words! i still have a long way to go but i love being able to preserve my roots even in this small way

mutual 4: i just finished the black rose arc. question: what

mutual 18: i need emet-selch to be my wife

mutual 19: i need glados to be my husband

mutual 20: visited the ocean today!!! <3 beach pics!!! there is a darkness growing within me

mutual 21: the forms for my legal name change came in. pls vote in this poll of what my middle name should be: Dill Pickle (Dickle for short), Optimus Prime, Tumblr User Gorgonicteratologist, Smeve

mutual 22: just finished my 100th book of the year! this weeks read was the uses of enchantment by the psychologist bruno bettelheim,

mutual 23: reeses penis butter cups lol

mutual 4: i need to hunt akio for sport

mutual 24: oouugghhrgh. hot. dog.

mutual 25: your favorite character or fictional other would want you to brush your teeth and wash your face so you're well rested and wake up feeling refreshed! make them proud!

mutual 26: being a delivery driver isnt the worst job ive ever had but i do keep wondering what itd be like to drive off into the wild blue yonder one day and not come back

mutual 27: weird dog? [phone picture of critically endangered stork]

mutual 28: i think the two phone line polls in front of my house are having a lovers tryst. no way to prove it tho

mutual 4: WHAT

mutual 29: while you bitches are balduring your gates or finalling those fantasies im doing what a REAL gamer does. playing a b tier rpg that came out in 2004 for the 18th time

mutual 30: ^ real. hamtaro ham ham heartbreak is a masterpiece of interactive art. im not even going to call it a video game at this point

mutual 4: THAT'S HOW IT ENDS?! ANTHY?

mutual 31: can you help me pick which drawing looks better: 34% overlay or 36% soft light?

mutual 32: new video essay out. its called disability in video game narratives: final fantasy 14's most reliable fault. i churned the script out over an all-nighter and my mic crapped out halfway through but by god i did it

mutual 33: my new zine bundle is out! if you buy it you also get a discount on all my game jam games! i really cant wait for you to play them!

mutual 4: yall should watch revolutionary girl utena

[hellfire--cult]

Baring Teeth {Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader} - Ch. 13

Edit of Eddie: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters, plotline and general warnings.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU, Mechanic!Eddie

⚠️This chapter contains: Angst, billy x reader, nervousness, allusions to homophobia, hurt

wc: 6.4k

A/N: Sorry for taking so long. I took a little break because november was a pretty messy month for me. I had complete writer's block, and I am slowly coming back to writing.

Anyways, Enjoy! ❤️ And don't forget to always support me by hitting the reblog button or leave a comment!

Taglist is closed

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CHAPTER 13

“Am I interrupting?”

Your eyes snapped open as you turned to look at Robin who walked right into your office with a smirk to her face. You rolled your eyes, turning back to look at your phone with a shake of your head, the male on the other side laughing.

“You know what Buckley, you are.” Eddie said and you saw his smile spreading as he also earned another roll of your eyes. 

“Eddie is just showing me what else needs replacing in my car.”

“Cause you took it to Rick’s all this time, and everything in it is garbage–”

“Don’t insult my car Munson.” You glared at the phone this time and he raised one hand up in defense.

It’s been two weeks since you talked with Eddie… And since then, you two have grown close… Very close. How you didn’t talk to Eddie before? You had no idea. When you all get together at the bar or at someone’s house, you two always end up in your own world. You assumed that you were both trying to catch up on eachother, learning about one another still, and you were surprised each day by how easy and normal it was to talk to him.

“To me, it sounds like you are replacing me.” Robin pouted as she walked over to you to come into frame and glare at Eddie through the camera and the man only smirked at her with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Aw, you’re scared I’m going to steal your best friend status Buckley?”

“That’s never happening.” You said in a deadpan expression which made Eddie pull an offended frown on his eyebrows.

“Seriously? I give you friendly discounts at my shop!” He yelled at you and you couldn’t help but snort at how he tried to sound hurt from it, but it only came out as a comical act.

“You can’t buy my friendship Munson, and even if you handed me a billion dollars, Robin will always be first.” At your words, Robin blew a raspberry towards the phone, throwing a fart sound at Eddie. Robin’s arms wrapped around your waist and she rested her head on your shoulder while looking at Eddie, a grin to her face.

“You wish this was you, huh.” For some reason, those words Robin let out of her mouth gave you a feeling of embarrassment? They just simply made your belly twist in a way that wasn’t comfortable but it wasn’t unpleasant. 

Eddie on the other side shook his head, yet he felt his jaw clenching slightly, which he dismissed immediately. 

“Sure. Anyways, I gotta go, the new brake discs are coming in next week. We really need to put those in at least before you cause an accident.” You rolled your eyes at him and before you could say anything against that, “No comebacks. I am surprised you didn’t die yet.”

“I drive safely.” You retorted, almost offended, but Robin was amused and let out a snort out of her mouth. Your head snapped to look at her with a death glare and she backed away from you with her hands up in the air in defense.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. Talk to you later.”

“Sure– Oh, about the payment–”

“Next month is okay.” You sighed at his words and you shook your head at him.

“I can do a check.” It was his turn to snort.

“No, it’s fine, seriously Peach.” Eddie sucked in his right cheek as he looked at you and his brows twitched slightly when you sent a smile his way. It was still new, this friendship you two have, and it seems he is still a little weirded out that you smile at him so easily. Not that he is any different. 

“Alright, if you insist, I will take advantage of your kindness.” You heard a commotion behind him as he squatted slightly as if ducking and he just yelled at someone before turning back at you.

“I gotta go before these fuckers do something– FUCKING CHRIST, GARETH–!” And then the call ended. You were left laughing at the whole ordeal, putting the phone down to go back to your laptop, only to feel a presence behind you and you remembered your best friend came into the room a few minutes ago. You turned your chair to look at her, and Robin had her arms crossed over her chest as she looked at you.

“Well, I see you’re slowly changing me.” Robin has always been known for over exaggerating things, and this was one of them. You rolled your eyes and turned again to type on your computer.

“I am not Robs.” You defended yourself but it was true you and Eddie had become very close, but it wasn’t as nearly as how you and Robin are. 

“You talk to him everyday, be it because of a TikTok or a Reel, or just simply messaging.” Robin walked towards you and leaned her butt against the edge to rest there as she looked down at you. 

“We just… We clicked. Putting the past behind us.”

“Which still sounds fucking crazy to me. To everyone really– I mean, you two really hated each other.” And you didn’t need a reminder of that. 

“It was very pitiful. We were hurting each other when we could have helped one another. I hurt him and he hurt me, and all for nothing.” Robin nodded at you, and she agreed with you on that. You had told her about what you and Eddie talked about, and you even bared to her how guilty you felt about so many things you said to him. 

Robin explained that everyone’s stories are private, so you didn’t really blame her for not telling you stuff about Eddie’s life, just like she didn’t tell Eddie anything about you.

“I know… I am glad though. You two seem to be enjoying one another’s company so… that’s good.” Robin said sincerely and you smiled up at her. “And what about Billy? How do you think everything will go once they meet?”

“Well, I think they will hit it off instantly.” In all honesty, you didn’t know if that was true. Eddie and Billy had different yet alike personalities in some sense. Aloof, cheeky, yet attentive if needed. It would be the first time you were going to introduce Eddie to him, and Billy only knows Eddie as the friend who sends you memes all the time.

He doesn’t even know his name is Eddie. You will introduce them tomorrow night.

And you were hoping everything turns out okay.

Things with Billy have been…

Normal.

Ever since meeting your friends, your boyfriend has been a little bit weirder than usual. You wanted to have an all together with his friends and yours, so that the two groups would collide and meet, but all you received from your boyfriend was a talk on how his friends are known figures, and they cannot be seen going out at all.

That felt weird in some sense because you distinctly remember them saying something about going out to a club whenever they get a chance to do so. They didn’t look like the type of people that would avoid the public eye, but rather, seek it. Always seeking it.

Today, you and your boyfriend would go to Robin and Steve’s home, get some drinks, spend time with your friends, but sometimes now you just want to be alone with them. Your boyfriend, even if at the beginning was not very friendly with your group, he now seems to want to be included at every gathering.

You didn’t want to be a bitch about it, cause maybe he does like talking to Argyle a lot. But, they can just message each other to get together by themselves, right? No need for Billy to always be on an outing with you, yet, he sticks with you like a leech. 

You wonder how tonight everything will go with Eddie. Hopefully, he is the one that makes your boyfriend finally have some fun inside the group. You’re pretty sure they will get along nicely… hopefully.

You were in the bathroom, throwing the curtain to the side in order to open it as steam floods the entire tiled room. You step out of the tub after turning off the scorching water, just how you like it. Hot showers always help with your nerves, they never miss it. You sigh in contentment only to be struck with the fact that you didn’t bring a towel inside. 

You groaned as your body started shivering slightly as the air hit your wet skin. You didn’t want to yell so much in respect for your neighbors, so you leaned and opened the door, opening your mouth to call out to your boyfriend, only to stop when you heard his muffled voice behind the bedroom door. 

“I told you I don’t want to do it!”

Silence.

“I don’t want to be part of something I don’t see right.”

Silence again. What is he talking about?

“I know it’s for publicity, I know, and I don’t care what the voting polls in social media say, I won’t stand for something I don’t believe is right.”

Polls? Social media?

“Okay, okay, fine. Fine. I will say I stand by it.”

You were blinking, trying to understand what your boyfriend was talking about just now. A publicity stunt? Agree to what? A belief of his? You heard footsteps and immediately closed the door of the bathroom as quietly as possible and you felt your heart beating loudly in your chest. You jumped in your place when he knocked on the door.

“Baby? You okay in there?” Fuck, he can’t know you were eavesdropping.

“Y-Yeah! I was calling you to get me a towel but you weren’t listening to me Billy! I am freezing over here!” You tried to put on that whiny voice he loves when you get a little bit angry at him. You heard him chuckle but wince at your tone.

“Shit honey, I’m sorry. I’ll get it for you!” You heard his steps walk away from the bathroom and you let out the air you were holding in.

Something’s not right.

Something is definitely not right.

You don’t know what it is, but there is just this feeling in your gut that something will happen, that something is not what it seems, that there is this idea in your head you are afraid that is true but you don’t want to believe it. Not from him. Not when you started to feel more and more for him each day.

Only to be starting to wash away the more and more you learn from him.

“Billy!” You yelled again and the door opened completely, revealing a smirking Billy Hargrove on the other side while holding a white towel in hand. 

“You want it?” He aimed to hand it to you, but as soon as you were going to catch it, he snatched it away with his teeth showing. “Come get it.”

And that’s how you end up chasing your stupid boyfriend through the whole apartment, completely naked while he runs around, laughing in delight, towel in hand. 

You didn’t want to believe it.

So when you finally get to dry yourself off, and get some clothes on for tonight is when your nerves start settling in, harder than before. Something in your gut was turning, uncomfortably, nervously, knowing that something was not right, that something was going to happen, that something had been happening all this time that you decided to simply look away from.

You looked at him, at your splendid boyfriend and you still don’t know how he chose someone like you. How he decided it was you the one he was going to risk his fame for. He was choosing a red button-up shirt today, his hair in a small ponytail in the back. You don’t know how you two came to be.

And yet, you still haven’t told him your story. You haven’t told him a few parts of yourself you didn’t feel ready to tell him, but will that time ever come? Why is it so hard to open up to him?

“You ready to go?” Billy asked you as he walked towards you after checking himself in the mirror one last time. You smiled up at him and gave him a nod.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“You finally made it, Jesus.” Robin greeted you as she opened the door for you, and you rolled your eyes at your friend’s comment. You were late, yes… but it was because Billy took his sweet time always getting ready. You scolded him a few times for it, but he always tells you he has to keep his skincare routine intact. 

“What a greeting.” You heard Billy mutter under his voice as you two walked into the house, music already invading your ears and the chattering of your friends, making your nerves go away a little, only for confusion and disappointment to fill your gut. You turned your head as Robin came back from closing the door behind you both.

“Where’s Eddie?” You asked, and your boyfriend’s head snapped to you and then back at Robin.

“I think he is running late! What, already missing your NEW best friend?” Robin answered with a huff, and you could only giggle at her jealousy, not noticing the storm that was brewing inside your boyfriend’s chest. 

“Quit that Robs.”

“Who’s Eddie?” 

Robin looked at your boyfriend for a second with a confused frown on her face and then back at you. For some reason, there was a turn in your stomach because you realized you never told Billy about Eddie. He just knew there was a friend missing from the group he still hadn’t met yet.

“Um, the last friend you don’t know.” You looked at him and his blue orbs were not very helpful. You couldn’t quite read his eyes as they looked at you, but a twitch in the eyebrow told you he was thinking. 

“Why did she call him your best friend?” And Robin was looking panicked between you and your boyfriend, and you simply smiled at Billy, shaking your head.

“It’s Robin being dramatic.”

“Why did she call him that? I mean–” And you could see the moment Billy’s head clicked, an eyebrow raised up. “Is he the one you’ve been talking to for the past few weeks?”

“Okay, you say we talked, we mostly sent memes to one another.” You tried to defend yourself, but against what? You didn’t do anything wrong. So why do you feel the need to explain yourself?

“Right.” You could see the change in mood in Billy’s body language. This night was already turning in a way that you didn’t expect, or you wanted to avoid. Robin shot you a look with a worried frown and you turned to go into the living room where everyone else was. 

“Billy! My man!” You could hear Argyle yell and god fucking bless Argyle. You saw how he rushed towards you both as Robin walked towards Nancy and whispered into her ear. You knew she was going to tell Nancy about what just happened at the front door with Billy. There is an uneasiness in your throat as Argyle hands you a beer and Billy another. 

“Hi, Argyle.” Billy spoke and you took a sip out of your beer as you felt Billy’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. You raised an eyebrow at that, looking at him. Why did he trap you with him? You wanted to go say hi to Steve and Jonathan, but you guessed you could do that in a few minutes.

“I have so much to tell you Billy man, I tried that shampoo and conditioner you recommended and it left my hair perfectly smooth, but curly man!” You couldn’t help but giggle at Argyle’s commentary and Billy followed through, shaking his head at your friend.

“I told you to get that brand but for straight hair. Not curly.” You looked at Argyle’s hair and sure enough, there were some waves at the end of his long hair. Billy smiled but there was a hint of something hidden behind it as he talked to Argyle once more, “Who is this Eddie guy?”

“Ah, my brochacho, we met way back in California, and then I followed him here.” Argyle replied with a genuine smile and Billy for some reason let out a sigh of relief, making you frown in confusion. 

“Oh, that’s nice. You two are close then.” 

“Yeah, very!” You felt the tightness on your waist loosen up, and Billy shot a smile your way, kissing the top of your head. You blinked in confusion and you stepped away to finally go greet Steve and Jonathan who were looking at you with worried faces.

“What was that all about?” Steve asked and you shook your head, taking a long sip out of your beer. There was a pit in your stomach, a nervousness you couldn’t quite describe, a sense of deja vu of some sort.

“I have no clue, but…” You didn’t want to worry your friends with these things going on inside your head. They would question your boyfriend and you don’t want that but at the same time, you want to tell someone about these feelings you’ve been having lately, or the realization of these feelings. 

It’s not like you didn’t notice the drastic changes in Billy over the past months, and it all started when he met your friends, but it got better… Yet, you couldn’t help but notice certain aspects and your feelings started swaying from side to side. A sense of dread, of being afraid to know the truth.

“But?” Jonathan asked and you opened your mouth to then close it once again when the doorbell rang, making your head turn to the direction of the door. You were feeling your heart in your throat, and excitement grew in your stomach.

Nancy was the one who walked to get the door this time, and you looked over at Argyle and Billy talking excitedly. You saw how Argyle was gesturing as he talked, and you saw how your boyfriend laughed at his commentary. Maybe he and Eddie will get along. You were worrying about nothing.

And then Nancy stepped aside to let Eddie walk in. 

You felt some heat coming up on your cheeks, across your body, but you shook it off as the beer kicking in your system. Your eyes scanned his outfit now. Dark jeans, ripped in some parts, a tight Slayer T-Shirt with a jean vest on top. His hair was in a low bun like always, and the stubble was neatly done. 

You wondered what cologne he was using today.

Your mind was snapped back in reality when Eddie approached you, putting the six-pack on the table. He had a warm smile on his face as he flicked your forehead with his middle finger. You winced at the sudden pain, rubbing your skin while glaring up at him.

“What was that for!?” You whined at him and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“For making me watch the stupidest movie ever.”

“Did you just call ‘When Harry Met Sally’ stupid!?” You couldn’t help but be slightly upset by that. It was one of your favorites, and you also liked watching Eddie’s movie suggestion, ‘Armageddon’.

“I am not a fan of those kinds of movies sweetheart.” He was looking at you as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but there was a sly smile in his lips, tugging up, making you smile at him.

“You’re a lying piece of shit. You liked the movie.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, but you knew he liked it. He was just messing with you to get a rise out of you.

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes you are! You loved that cheesy crap, admit it.” You poked his side, which made him chuckle, moving away from you.

“This is still too weird.” You heard Jonathan talk and you lifted your head to ask what he meant only for your waist to suddenly be grabbed, fingers digging into the skin making you wince just slightly. You turned your head to see Billy looking at Eddie with a grin on his face.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” The voice your boyfriend let out was not friendly. It was strained as if it pained him talking right now. Eddie glanced at you for just a second, and you cleared your throat as your nerves tried to get the best of you.

“Right, Billy, this is Eddie.” Eddie gave your boyfriend a forced smile, and you could feel the tension in the air as the light blue eyes clashed with the brown ones. 

“Yeah. You’re Argyle’s boyfriend, right?”

Oh. Oh god. It’s happening again. Eddie’s eyebrow twitched and gave you a questioning look and he could see the confused frown on your face. He looked at his friend and sighed, knowing that Argyle probably made it sound that way. Just like he did last year with you and you mistook it all as well.

“Fucking christ– No. He is just my friend.”

“Oh?” Billy’s eye twitched as he kept looking at Eddie, and you could feel him tugging you closer to him as he kept looking at the dark-haired man. “Then you aren’t dating?”

“No. I am straight.”

And for some reason, you felt the whole air shift. Eddie’s face suddenly fell into a confused frown, and then into an annoyed one instantly, as Billy’s gaze hardened. 

“Right. He is the friend you’ve been messaging all the time?”

Billy’s eyes now landed on you and you looked at him to only have a sinking feeling in your stomach. You felt your throat closing up at his gaze, and you knew. You simply knew what was going on in his mind. Eddie was looking back and forth in between you and Billy, and he could see how your boyfriend’s jaw clenched.

“I– um–” 

“Billy! You promised to help me with the drinks!” You heard Argyle yell from the kitchen and Billy groaned as he closed his eyes in annoyance. You felt a slight grip on your waist again and then he let go of you, almost unwillingly, giving Eddie one last look before he left. You were staring at his retreating back as he headed to the kitchen, with a confused frown on your face.

“He’s… charming.” Eddie said with not an ounce of likeness in his tone, almost in disgust. He had a bad feeling in his stomach, but he wasn’t going to tell you that. He didn’t want to alarm you in any way, but you looked already confused and nervous. He didn’t want to add more wood to the fire.

“I– I need a smoke.” You stated and immediately rushed out to the backyard, fumbling with the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of your purse. What was going on? Why did Billy’s demeanor change so suddenly? You never told him it was Eddie the one you were messaging, but did it really matter?

You put the cigarette in your mouth, and now you were fumbling to get the lighter out, but you couldn’t find it. Billy doesn’t like it when you smoke, but he smokes as well. You don’t understand that train of thought, but you don't care right now. A flame appeared in front of you from a red lighter and you knew who it was without even looking at him. You leaned forward and lit the cigarette, taking a long puff.

“You look nervous.” Eddie lit his own stick, mimicking the long puff like you did, and you both let out the smoke out of your lungs.

“I just… don’t understand why he is being… this possessive?”

“Well, he might be overwhelmed by how much more of a man I am.” He joked and you snorted, shaking your head at him. He gave you a small grin and took another puff of his cigarette. “You also look pretty today, people tend to become protective when their partner shines.”

You were taken aback by his response. Did you hear him right?

“Oh Munson thinks I am pretty.” You joked, taking another swig of your stick, turning to look at him, but he wasn’t laughing as he looked to the distance.

“No denying there.”

Thump.

He was just being friendly. Steve complimented you before, Nancy did too, so it should be fine. He was just being a nice friend, telling you that you look nice tonight, that is all. So why do you feel your hands sweating?

“Uh–”

“Are you not going to say I look pretty too? C’mon, I even put a red shirt on today, not a black one.” He chuckled to lose the tension but inside, Eddie was a little nervous. The compliment slipped out of his tongue with ease, too much ease. You giggled, the tension going away, and shook your head at him.

“The red and the black go hand in hand with you, it’s not new.” 

“What do you want me to wear? A pink shirt? A baby blue crop top?” You exploded with laughter at the image that came to your head, making him face you with a smile to his face.

“With the care bears at the front!” At that, he too let out a laugh. It was easy being with Eddie, carefree, natural even. You were still amazed by that fact, and cannot even remember how you two disliked each other before. 

You both smoked your cigarettes, sharing jokes with one another, laughing, making the nervousness in your belly leave to a faraway place.

“It’s crazy to think I almost beat the shit out of you out here and now we are laughing together.” You put the cigarette out in the small ashtray that was on the garden table and Eddie followed suit with a chuckle.

“You? Beating the shit out of me? Are you sure about that Peach?” He stood in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest as he inspected you with a squint of his eyes. You copied his stance, and his eyes diverted for a second to your cleavage and went back up to your eyes.

“You think I can’t?” He barked out a laugh at that.

“Sweetheart, if I wanted to, I could pin you to the floor using only one hand.”

And oh, that didn’t cause the reaction you thought it would. It was friendly, it was him telling you he is stronger than you… Yet your stomach did a flip at the thought. He could definitely pin you down, and you know that because of his height and the arms that are big and filled with tattoos. 

He looked at you when you didn’t answer him back, and he noticed the look your face had as if processing a thought, and he felt a shockwave run down his spine. His thoughts were cut off when he sensed a pair of eyes looking his way, and he raised his head up to see Billy glaring at him as he leaned over the doorframe of the sliding doors with his arms crossed over his chest.

You blinked and quickly turned around to see your boyfriend with a stern look on his face. Now you realize how fast your heart was beating into your chest, and now you felt the nervousness creep up on you again as you stared at Billy’s piercing gaze.

“Billy–”

“Can I talk to you for a second? Privately?”

You slowly nodded at that, giving Eddie one look telling him sorry you’re leaving, and turned to go with Billy. He didn’t grab you or hold your hand, simply turned away, guiding you toward the kitchen. You could sense your friend’s eyes following you as you walked into the kitchen, Billy closing the door behind you.

“Um… is everything okay?” 

“You think everything is fucking okay?”

You were stunned at his aggressiveness, never had heard him this way before. You didn’t know what could have possibly happened tonight, but you might have just a slight idea of what and why.

“What is wrong with you?”

“You fucked him, didn’t you?”

And your mouth fell agape at that. Did you hear him right?

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“For fuck sake, you fucked him, didn’t you?”

So you did hear right. Was he talking about Eddie? Why would he come up with that conclusion? What made him believe such a thing between you two?

“I was hoping I heard wrong William, what the fuck are you talking about?” Billy only scoffed with a fake smile on his lips as he leaned against the counter.

“Don’t you dare lie to me! I know you fucked him. That is not just a friend, calling you 'sweetheart'? Giggling together like middle schoolers?”

Was he serious right now? You were feeling your heart breaking, thrumming in your chest in an aggressive manner, and you wanted to run away, you did, but you had to face him. You had to talk to him, once and for all.

“He is my friend! I act that way with Steve, Jonathan!”

“Yeah, well, they’re gay! I don’t care about them!” You could hear the anger in his voice, the way the vein in his forehead was popping out. Your throat was trying to close as a lump was beginning to form, but you weren’t going to back down from this.

“What about Argyle!? He is straight and my friend!” You yelled back at him and he ran a hand through his hair as his nostrils started flaring up from anger.

“I don’t buy for a second he is straight. He is all over me, all the time.”

And the reality of it all hits you like a brick to the face. You remained quiet for a second, feeling your past months with him slip away from your fingers. The image you had of him had been tainted for a while, but this completely smeared the picture.

“And is there a problem if he is?”

And that made Billy look at you, defying you to keep going, almost warning you to shut up, but no… not with this. You liked Billy. You really did.

“What are you saying–”

“You do know that I’m bisexual, right?”

And silence fell in the kitchen. And you saw it. You saw how his eyes turned from anger to complete confusion, to then frown as he looked at you. It was your turn now to scoff, tears filling your eyes as you started pacing around the kitchen, trying to gather your thoughts.

“You…” He couldn’t even speak, and you didn’t want him to. He shouldn’t speak now.

“I thought I was fucking wrong, I seriously didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that my boyfriend… that my boyfriend is–” You cannot even say the word. You can’t. You choked on your own sob as you covered your mouth with your hand. Billy’s face softened and he walked towards you, trying to put a hand on your shoulder.

“Baby–”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You swung his hand away with the back of yours and you stepped away, your face displaying the rage that your heart wanted to let out. “Let me ask you a fucking question, Billy. Are you for or against same-sex couples adopting?” 

And he realized it. You saw how his face turned into an angry one again, his eyes squinting at you as he remembered earlier today.

“You eavesdropped.” 

“You bet the fuck I did. And you, Billy Hargrove, are a homophobic asshole.” 

Silence. 

It was like a knife. Those words coming out of your mouth were stabbing you more than they stabbed him. You should have realized it when some of the dark jokes he and his friends did involved… you can’t even think about it. How could he? Why?

“Just because I do not share the same ideals, doesn’t make me homophobic. If I were, I wouldn’t be able to even talk to your friends for fuck sake!” He defended himself but what was the point? There wasn’t any, your heart couldn’t take it anymore, it really couldn’t. You could feel the tears sliding down your cheeks, shaking your head at him, taking a step back from him.

“I want you to leave.” Your words came out like venom, and he frowned at you, shaking his head.

“If I leave, you are coming with me, we need to talk this out–”

“There is nothing to talk about! Fucking leave!” Your voice was loud, his voice was loud, and everything was static around you, your vision clouding as he came close to you once more, trying to get hold of your hands.

“Baby, baby, come on, don’t be like that… We’ll go home and we’ll talk about this–” His voice sounded desperate now, and your tears were still running down your cheeks, your mind shutting him out completely as you shook your head again, desperate for him to leave. You didn’t want him near you. You were disgusted, completely disgusted.

“N-No!” Billy’s face crumbled into a stern look once more and he quickly got hold of your bicep in a tight grip, snapping you back into reality as he glared down at you.

“I am not leaving you alone here, with him. So if I leave, you are coming with me.” You tried to yank your arm away from his grip but he kept his hand tight on your arm, and you were feeling his digits digging more and more onto your skin, making your fear grow at each second.

“Let go of me Billy!” You tried again only to be pulled against him and you felt as if your heart were in your throat, his touch completely burning you, wanting it away from you. He wasn’t physical, never, and this is the first time he ever touched you in this way. 

“Please sweets, listen to me!” He was desperate for you, trying to get you to talk to him but you shook your head again and as he tried to move you once more, he felt the back of his shirt be yanked harshly, making him let go of your arm as he stumbled backward.

“What the actual fuck do you think you are doing?” 

Your eyes widened as you saw a broad back stepping before you, and the smell of wooden cologne immediately invaded your nostrils. You rubbed onto your arm as you straightened up to take a step to the side to see Billy looking at Eddie with a glare in his eyes.

“This doesn’t concern you. It involves me, and my girlfriend.” 

“From what I heard it seems she doesn’t hold that title anymore.” Eddie was almost snarling at Billy, completely blocking him from you in a defensive stance. Billy’s eyes caught yours, shaking his head.

“You– You’re still my girl, right?”

You felt the lump in your throat again, memories of the good times you spent with him flashing in front of your eyes. Memories that made you want to go around Eddie to get to him and hug him and kiss him. But then you saw your friends, looking at the scene at the doorway. Your friends. The ones who wouldn’t hurt you, and if they did, never intentionally.

And even if your heart breaks, even if your body trembles with need of him, with the need of his lips, with the need of his eyes on you…

You slowly shook your head at him.

“Bye Billy.” 

The room fell silent, and you could see Billy’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at you. What the both of you had was genuine, and it was growing to something even more beautiful, but this is not something you can accept from him. Ever. No matter if he tells you he can change because an ideal never changes that easily.

But his saddened frown turned into a sour one, rage filling his features as his gaze turned to Eddie and then back at you.

“You didn’t answer my first question, but I guess it was true then? You remain friends with guys you fuck darling?”

Your heart shattered at his coldness, at him insulting you this way, almost as if he were calling you ‘slut’ in a very indirect way. A tear rolled down your cheek as you looked at him with shock filled eyes. 

And it all happened too quickly. Suddenly Billy was face to face with Eddie, as the dark haired man gripped the front of his shirt while he glared down at your now ex-boyfriend. Ex. Another ex.

“Get the fuck out or I will ruin your only source of income pretty boy.” Eddie growled at Billy and pushed him away roughly, making Billy tumble slightly, almost hitting the counter behind him. 

His eyes searched for yours one last time, and you could see the hurt in them, reflecting your own. You didn’t doubt his caring for you, not even a second. It was genuine, all of it, but you cannot forgive him for what he did, and does for publicity. You looked away from him and you heard him sigh, followed by steps that were going towards the doorway where all your friends moved away from so he could go through.

“I’ll get my manager to pick my things up from your house. He’ll return yours.”

More steps. More. The front door opening. And then, a slam.

And you broke down.

You were hurt, disgusted, in pain, feeling helpless because of this situation that couldn’t be fixed now. Never. No matter if you have feelings for him, if you will miss the days and nights spent with him. Tears ran down your cheeks as you sobbed into your hands, two arms wrapping around you as a lavender scent filled your nostrils.

Robin was cooing at you, rubbing your head, holding you like a baby to her chest. Your hands gripped her shirt as you cried onto it. Yes… Even if you are hurting you would never choose someone that hates your friends for their orientation. 

You wouldn’t choose them over Robin who is holding you tenderly and has held you this way many times before. You will hurt. You will cry. You will need time alone and space to gather and piece yourself back together again.

But they will all help you through it. Even Eddie who is behind Robin with a frown in his face, Steve next to him with the same look but his hand was on Eddie’s shoulder, pressing on it. 

It will be okay.

End of Chapter 13

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[stalkedbytrains]

“Cheryl? Where is the file for the next appointment? I can’t find it anywhere.”

“It’s the folder with the green tab,” Cheryl called from her desk at the front of the tiny office.

There was the sound of many papers shuffling around and finally an “aha!”

“The Rainbow Snake?” Came the voice from the office. Cheryl’s boss often read out loud when they were studying a client. Just a weird quirk of theirs. “Australian Aboriginal Deity. Oh I do remember them. We were at a party together… 2,000 years ago give or take. I don’t think they’ll remember me, ah well thems the breaks. Let’s see… hmm… I can see that this is going to be a problem Cheryl. Damn colonialists. I wish we could make the British gods fade away. Fucking King Arthur deserves to be relegated to the dust bin. I can tell that we’re going to need some deep cuts on this one. Start making a list of Australians we can contact, I have a feeling.”

Cheryl did as she was told. Her boss was almost always right about these things. She knew what the gods wanted before they even got here.

Several minutes later there was a knock at the office door. Cheryl got up to open it and invited in the dark skinned person and the beautiful snake they wore like jewelry but that might have only been because the snake itself was a living work of art. Like living breathing stained glass.

As Cheryl escorted the Rainbow Snake in, her boss came out and bowed deeply to their guest.

The chipper woman had tied back her full brown hair and smiled widely at the Snake and their human escort.

“A pleasure to meet you again,” the boss said, “it’s been many centuries but I am glad to see you once more. Please come in to my office. Would you care for any refreshments?”

After settling and getting water for the Rainbow Snake, Cheryl sat back down outside the office and listened to the pitch. She never got tired of listening to it.

“How can I help you?” Her boss asked.

“We heard that you can help us gods. Stop us from fading. We need faith. We need followers. The people are dying, the language is dying,” said a dual voice. The voice from the snake, and the voice from the human.

“We can do that. Sort of. I am sorry to say that it’s not a direct thing. I don’t just snap my fingers and make you some new believers. Human beings a wonderful little creatures. They crave us. They need us even if they don’t believe in us anymore. They want our stories and our myths. And that is what I provide. Stories.”

“How does that help us?”

“Do you know how down bad the Norse were? The Christian’s basically destroyed their religion, all we know of it is this bastard version of what was left after the Jesus freaks invaded. But then the comics happened. The Mighty Thor! And don’t get me started on Neil Gaiman and his Sandman and American Gods stories. I send that man a fruit basket every year. I love him. Have you seen how well the Norse pantheon is doing? Loki has seventeen penthouses, and more belief than he knows what to do with.”

“Bah. Western religion. White religion.”

“You are right. I am sorry that was a poor example. Perhaps I should have started with Māui and how well he’s doing with that Disney film Moana. I set that up.”

“You did all of that?”

“Well. Not directly. You know how us gods work. I gave some inspiration here and there. Got a writer to have an idea. Got a director and a bunch of executives to see the bigger picture and how it could be a hit. They did the rest themselves. Like I said, whether or not they know it, humans want us.”

“You can make me a hit movie?”

“Or a TV show or a video game. Those are hard though. Movies are kind of easy now a days, TV is having a resurgence now but you run the risk of cancelation and things like that, video games can be hit or miss honestly. Only the Greeks and Norse really pulled that one off and hoo let me tell you they paid for that one. Great games but still. I don’t want to look at those God of War games ever again. Books are easy. Worked really well for the Greeks and some of the Egyptians. Rick Riordan does great stuff. It all depends on what you want.”

“I can have anything?”

“Sure. Internet stories are easy. Quick and cheap but you are really gambling with the payoff. Could be either a total wash or go viral. Not something I can really recommend but if you need something now it can be done. Movies or tv can be great but there are also risks. It might be two or three years before you see anything.”

“Do I get to choose who does the work?”

“A little. I can influence certain people but sometimes the best person for the job is some down on his luck writer in a hovel in LA. Sometimes it’s Neil. But Neil is expensive.”

“I want a movie, I want it to be written by one of my people.”

“I can do that. But the problem is that reach might be very tiny. There are plenty of Aboriginal writers, I’m sure some can even be extremely talented, but something big and grand and bringing in all the faith and worship and stories you may way may be limited. If you want the Disney treatment you have to give up a whole lot of control.”

“No. I want it to be of the people.”

“Very well. Now, I can influence and give inspiration all over. I can even get this in the right people’s hands. But it is always a crap shoot. All I need to do is channel some of your power into the right person when I find it. Then creativity takes over, they do their work, I nudge some agents and companies their way and if we’re lucky you see some return on investment in a couple of years.”

“What do you get out of this process?”

“My dear, I’m the Muse. I feed off the creativity. These artists come to me most of the time. I just set them up with gods who need a little faith. And six points on the back end. I have a lot of alimony to pay.”

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

Before You Go | MYG

Pairing: producer! best friend! yoongi x best friend! fem! reader

Summary: Life is taken for granted. People like to kill time not knowing it is time who is killing them. Love is not always a medicine, fate is always cruel. Or in which Yoongi realised his mistakes too late and was sentenced to live with an empty soul. There are times in which you can't always be there. He knew he was too late.

Warnings: ANGST, so much angst guys, medical terms, terminal sickness, argument, fainting, character death, more angst, feelings of guilt and desperation. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

A/N: Soooo, this was originally planned to be a drabble but it escalated so, hehe here it is! Also, I'm still working on the next part of Four Seasons. It'll be a long chapter so please bear with me.

Please let me know what you thought of this in the comments! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one.

Word Count: 5.1k

"Three months at the most."

Said the doctor. You looked at him. No emotion marked your beautiful features. You blinked. A second passed. Then another and another. The world continued on its normal course while your sentence was already dictated. It almost seemed comical.

"There is, of course, a surgery we could perform on your brain. But I'm afraid it will only allow you to live for a year, year and a half if we are lucky. But it'd be dangerous. Even performing a biopsy is risky in your condition, Miss Lee."

You took a deep breath, your hand clutched your purse as it rested in your lap. The tickling of the clock was driving you insane, you wanted to leave your doctor's office, you wanted to run, to scream, to cry but your body was frozen in place.

A soft smile plastered on your face, the only reaction you could fathom at the moment.

"Thank you, Doctor Kim. I'll... I'll think about it."

He stood up, towering over you as he said with a nod. His hand extended to shake yours.

"Please, do so. Come in a few weeks if you start having headaches."

You nodded, shaking his hand as you also stood up.

"I will. Have a good day, Doctor Kim."

Your hand left his and you turned around to leave. Your feet carrying you out of the room that suddenly felt too small. You only wanted to go back to your flat and curl on your bed.

In a monotonous way you paid for the appointment at the reception of the hospital. Your eyes didn't focus on anything in particular while also noticing everything at the same time.

You walked slowly through the busy streets, the evening sun kissing your skin. The steps you took were automatic, you allowed your legs to take you home while in your mind there was only space for the doctor's words.

"Three months at the most."

That phrase repeated itself over and over again in your head. How you wished to just be home right now however, you decided to not take a cab, you wanted to enjoy the walk. Admire nature as you pass by the park and feel the sun in your skin.

Rarely did you ever pay attention to all those little things. Details that gave colour to your life. Details you were never able to forget. Not until it would happen and you'd leave this place. But you still had some time. Three months was too much.

Or that was what you thought.

~ 73 days later.

"You are hiding something from me!"

Yoongi exclaimed. Your heart clenched at the words coming out of your best friend's mouth. It hurt. It hurt to not tell him. For you to leave him in the dark. For him to think you weren't being honest with him.

You both had been friends for so long you couldn't count the days any longer.

"I'm not! Don't you trust me? We've been friends for so long, Yoongi!"

He sighed, wetting his lips as he tried to form words with his muddy thoughts swirling all over his head. He wasn't stupid. You'd been acting weird as of lately. You often gave him excuses of why you didn't want to leave your flat and when you both would go out he'd notice things.

He'd always notice when something was bothering you, when you were in pain, when too many thoughts were going on through your head. He knew you. Probably better than he knew himself.

All those little suspicions, the strange headaches you'd have only for later to vanish into thin air. The way you looked paler than usual, how you were overly tired.

He had noticed.

Yoongi would be a fool to not acknowledge the signs happening in front of his eyes. Yet his mind couldn't get a conclusion. Instead he was blinded by worry over you. Worry expressed as anger. As desperation. As frustration.

"It is you who is not trusting me, (y/n)! I know something's going on. And I will figure it out whether you like it or not."

"I do trust you."

Your voice sounded so hurt and small with those four words whispered out. Tears clouded your vision but you didn't fight back the moisture in your eyes. You kept looking at him in desperation.

Couldn't he just let it pass?

Apparently not. Yoongi was a stubborn man. If he wanted something, he got it. One way or another. But how would you tell him you were dying? How would you tell your best friend you didn't have much time to live? He had planned on taking you on vacation together after he had signed a good contract with a singer.

He promised to treat you to ice cream next Sunday. You promised that you'd be with him forever. You had been with him forever. In everything he had ever accomplished you had been there. You had been there to dry his tears and smile with him. to celebrate his victories and advise him during hard times.

You had always been there. Always by his side. Always in his life.

Did you have the right to take that away from him?

You were a coward. Yes. You knew that yourself. A part of you didn't want to acknowledge the fact that you were dying. And it hurt so much when Yoongi couldn't see further than his own assumptions. He didn't see you as someone he could trust anymore. He thought you were hiding something from him. Which, technically, you were.

Never in your life had you ever hidden something from him. That was why it hurt him so much when he realised there was something going on in your life that was taking a toll on you and he didn't know.

Yoongi ran a hand through his dark hair, his gaze softened slightly at the sound of your delicate voice. So vulnerable. So hurt. It wasn't like you to talk like that.

But despite his heart clenching at the sight of your tears, his next words cut you deeper than any knife could ever harm you. Not even the doctor's words three months ago had hurt as much as Yoongi's words.

"It doesn't seem like it. But if you don't want to tell me, fine. Take your secrets to your grave, I don't care."

Take your secrets to your grave.

If only he knew you were already standing above it. If only he had known those words had made your heart shatter in such a way you couldn't even fathom to say something, if only he knew there was more that met his sight.

If only he knew.

You didn't say anything. Silent tears were running down your cheeks. This was it. The tread you feared would ever break. He had broken it when you were already so sick, when your days were numbered. He had broken a friendship of years with a single sentence.

You were to blame too. If you hadn't been so scared, this argument would have never happened. This gap wouldn't exist. You are to blame too. You are at fault too. You ruined his trust, played with his emotions, wasted his time. All for what? So that you could keep a secret that would eventually come out?

But now it was too late.

Yoongi didn't want to hear anything else. You opened your mouth to say something. Anything at all. But the words died in your throat, shot down by his disappointed declaration instead.

"I'm leaving. I need some space to think."

Your hands trembled as they hung next to you limply. You were losing him. Yoongi, who was your closest friend, your best friend. The closest thing you ever had of a family. The man who owned your heart in more ways than he thought.

You lost him.

He wasn't going to intrude where he wasn't welcome. He wasn't going to push you. If you weren't going to trust him, there was no point in him staying in a place he no longer felt welcomed.

Yoongi turned around and left, not allowing you to say a single word. He wished you had stopped him. He wished you had walked over to him and grabbed his wrist, pleading him to listen. For you to tell him whatever was happening that made you hide it.

He wanted to know.

He needed to know.

Because his heart screamed a name he didn't want to recognise. His soul yearned for the touch of a woman he was yet to take into account. His mind was busy with thoughts of you. Memories of you. Plans with you.

But he didn't know what it meant. He didn't know what he so deeply desired. Needed. So he left.

Yoongi left you to yourself, your front door shut and you were alone. Alone for good. Left behind. Abandoned. Everyone has a limit and Yoongi has gotten to that limit.

He said he needed space to think. Space to be on his own. Time to think if your friendship was worthy of keeping or if he had to let it go. Despite the pain his soul would suffer and the wrecked heart he'd have to endure.

Sometimes it's better to just let go.

But he didn't know what he was letting go. He didn't know anything. Yoongi left without answers and you stayed with a broken heart.

It's been a week since that argument. There had been no calls or texts from Yoongi. And you weren't going to get in contact first either. He wanted space, you'd give him that. He wanted time, you'd give him what you had left.

You sat in front of your desk, soft rain pattered over the glass. It was calming. Soothing in a way. A pen rested in your hand as words were being scribbled down on a sheet of paper addressed to him. To Yoongi.

You were giving him all the time you had for him to come back. But just in case you ran out of it, you wanted to explain everything to him. He deserved to know. You realised that now. He had deserved to know since the very beginning.

But you were scared. You had been selfish. You chose to live in a fantasy when reality clawed its way through you, tearing you apart in your little safe world that you wish would come true. But wishes never come true. There are no happy endings for liars. There is no mercy to change your fate.

You put the letter on an envelope with Yoongi's name written on the front. It was a letter only for his eyes to read and his mind to comprehend. It was for his mind to keep and his heart to treasure. Only for him. Always for him.

You stood up, the destination of your bedroom in mind as you were feeling tired. It wasn't unusual these days. The naps you took were getting longer and longer. You knew one day you might as well not wake up again.

But fate wasn't that merciful. You took a step, a single step forward only to have a piercing ache in your head that made you hiss. You shut your eyes, trying to get it to pass but it didn't work. If only it only got stronger with each passing second.

Your hands clasped at your scalp, fingers pulling your hair in a desperate need of relief.

The realisation hit you stronger than a train. You needed help. And you needed it fast. You stumbled towards the coffee table, the only goal in your mind was to get your phone and call for help. Something was wrong. Very wrong. You knew it. You felt it. You couldn't ignore it anymore.

With a shaking hang you reached for your phone, you didn't even bother to unlock it as you pressed the emergency call button. It rang and rang and rang, the pain continued to increase, your vision blurred.

You prayed to the skies that the person on the other line would answer. It was your only chance. The last straw to life you clawed at desperately. But it rang again and again and again and you couldn't help thinking that perhaps this was it.

Yoongi came back from the bathroom in his studio, he had been working on some new beats he wanted to try out in the near future. He had been keeping himself busy with work so as to not think about the fight he had with you a week ago.

A part of him wished you'd call him or text him but he knew you too well. If he had asked for space you were going to give him that. This was probably the worst fight you two had ever had throughout your years of friendship

He sat back down in front of the large computer screen, putting on his headphones. Yoongi continued with his work.

It wasn't until out of the corner of his eyes he saw the phone's screen lighten up. He didn't have to look at it to know someone was calling him. He sighed, taking the headphones off and saving the file with his music before he blindly picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

But there was silence. No-one answered back and for a moment, Yoongi thought it was one of those scam calls he always blocked. But before he could hang up, his name reached his ear in your whispered voice.

"Yoongi..."

He knew something was wrong the moment the first syllable reached him. He frowned, leaning forward in his chair as he tried to listen to your voice.

"(y/n)? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

The fight he had with you vanished from his thoughts as they were clouded with worry for you. He was getting scared, never in your life had you called him in such a state that it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with nerves.

You whimpered, pressing the phone close to your ear. The pain in your head was getting stronger and stronger that you couldn't speak.

"(y/n)?"

Your best friend's voice came from the other side of the phone, if you hadn't been so blinded by the white pain pressing on your skull you would have noticed the concern in his deep voice.

"(y/n), you are scaring me, what's going on?"

Yoongi stood up from his chair, grabbing his car keys in a hurry.

"H-help me."

When you dialled your emergency contact you didn't remember you had saved Yoongi's number there.

Those two words were enough to have him bolting out of the door. The destination of your place carved in his mind as he left the building.

He kept his phone pressed to his ear as he ran through the studio. His heart was beating so fast in his chest he thought it would leave his body. Adrenaline pumped in his veins. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

The fact itself scared him, because that something had to do with you. He felt as if the building was larger than normal. Like in those nightmares as he tried to reach the exit but it got further and further away. This had to be a nightmare, right?

He heard your gasp through the phone unaware of the fact that you had fallen to your knees in your apartment, your other hand clutching your head in a vice grip.

"(y/n/n) talk to me. I need you to say something. Please."

Yoongi reached the door and pulled on the handle with more force than was needed. He stepped outside, inhaling the humid air as the soft drizzle tapped against his form.

"I'm sorry."

He yanked the car door open and got inside, one hand was on the steering wheel while the other still held his phone against the side of his face.

"It's alright, (y/n). I'm on my way, okay? Just hold on, I'll be there in a second."

But you didn't hear those words from him. There was a ringing in your ears that took hold of your senses, the phone slipped from your grasp as you fell to the ground over the soft carpet with a dry sound. You closed your eyes, allowing the pain to take you in its claws of darkness as you surrendered yourself to it.

You had been fighting for so long. A little nap wouldn't harm you. You slipped into unconsciousness with the last thought in your mind being: Yoongi.

The man who you were previously speaking to fell into a frenzy when he heard the sound of the phone colliding with your carpeted floor. The hand on the wheel tightened to the point where his knuckles turned white.

"Darling, answer me please! Say something."

But he could only hear your laboured breaths from the other line. He ended the call and threw his phone on the passenger's seat. A curse leaving his lips. If the circumstances had been different, he would have blushed when the nickname escaped his lips but he couldn't fight it in a moment like this. He couldn't help the fear, the anxiety, the stress, the guilt from controlling his mind.

From making him act the way he was. He pressed on the gas and accelerated into the street. Not caring if he got a ticket for the speed limit, not caring if he drenched the bypassers with his car, not caring for anything else other than getting to you.

Tears of desperation began forming in his dark eyes but he blinked them back. It was not the time to cry. Not now. Not when you needed him. Not when you were in danger. Not when you had called him to help you. Not when his heart yearned to have you, feel you, touch you.

Not now.

Yoongi arrived at your flat in record time. With his heart thumping in his chest and his hands trembling, he stepped out of the car. He didn't even bother to lock it behind him as he was already running up the stairs that led to your apartment.

He used his spare key, one he was immensely grateful you had given him. Not bothering to knock or to take his shoes off he barged into the place like a desperate man. He was a desperate man.

Desperate to see you fine, to find you healthy, for you to be alright.

But his world came crumbling down like a paper plane when he saw you laying over the grey carpet, your phone by your side. You weren't moving.

For a moment he couldn't move. The patterning of the rain against the window drowned him in an ocean of tears he was keeping inside his soul. The quietness of your flat wasn't normal, you were always humming to yourself, playing some music. Doing something.

But as he saw you laying there, limp and cold, Yoongi's heart shattered into a million pieces.

He was brought out of his trance by some miracle, he found himself at your side the next second. His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he pulled your shoulder to lay you flat against the floor.

"(y/n)?"

But you didn't react. It almost seemed as if you were sleeping. The rise and fall from your chest was the only indication to Yoongi that you had only fainted. The circumstances as to why were still unknown to him.

His hand cradled your cheek, trying to get a reaction out of you. Something. Anything at all. But you were long gone in the world of darkness.

In a mere second, he was able to recall your call with him. You sounded in pain. Hurt. There was something that had led to your current state. Something that needed medical attention.

His hands slipped under your body and he stood up; an arm beneath your shoulders and the other supporting the back of your knees. Yoongi walked towards his car in long and hurried steps. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. His stomach churned with nerves.

If you hadn't called him, how much time would have passed until someone eventually found you? He couldn't think of that possibility. He decided to focus on the now, on the fact that he had you in his arms, that he had found you, that you were going to be okay. You had to be. For his sanity.

The soft rain wasn't enough to drench you or him as he made his way towards his parked car. With as much care as he could muster and with some tricky manoeuvre he managed to sit you in the passenger's seat and strap you to it.

Your head lulled to the side and his hand, once more, found home against the side of your face. In any other situation Yoongi would have thought that you were merely sleeping. To a point you were.

Have you always been this beautiful?

He thought to himself before he shook himself out of those thoughts and walked around the car, getting into the driver's seat and speeding off to the hospital.

One hand was on the steering wheel while the other one clasped yours tightly. It was a way to ground himself. To ground his thoughts and remember that you were there, that you'd be fine. That you were with him.

If someone had asked Yoongi before today when he had been the most patient he'd have answered when he had to download one of his large files.

But now, now as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital waiting for news about you was the time when his patience got tested.

How he wished to just enter into the room where the doctor was checking you. He needed to know what was going on. What had happened to you.

He needed to know that everything was going to be fine.

In his desperation, he called one of his friends, Hoseok and explained the situation with a lump forming at the back of his throat.

"She'll be fine, Yoongi. She's a tough girl. I'm sure it's nothing serious but I'll be there in thirty minutes in case you need anything."

That was what Hoseok had said over the line. He had met you on a few occasions, more than a few to be honest. The sweet man came to know that you were a beautiful woman with a kind heart and he respected too much the friendship Yoongi had with you.

"Is anyone here for Lee (y/n)?"

A doctor said with a clipboard in his hands. Yoongi immediately got up. His legs carrying him to the man dressed in a white coat, his eyes were red with unshed tears.

"I brought her here. Please, is she alright?"

The doctor let out a sigh that made alarm bells ring in his head.

"You better come with me."

Yoongi swallowed yet the lump in his throat only got bigger and bigger with each passing second, with each step he took behind the doctor. He stopped in front of a door, presumably your room before he spoke, his tone professional with a hint of sorrow for the broken man in front of him.

"(y/n)'s condition worsened too much in the last week. I'm surprised how quickly it deteriorated. The tumour in her brain got to the amygdala, that was what caused her immense pain resulting in her to lose consciousness."

The tumour in her brain...

The tumour in her brain...

The tumour in her brain...

...what?

"What... what do you mean with "the tumour in her brain"? She... Is she-"

So many thoughts were racing through his mind too quickly he began to feel nauseous. You were sick? All this time you had been sick? Is this what you had been hiding? The doctor sighed yet again as he spoke once more, his voice sombre this time.

"I believe she never told you."

Yoongi shook his head. Too in shock to utter a word. He felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart. He'd bet that a stab wound would hurt less than this. The sole thought of losing you was heartbreaking enough but he couldn't help but feel like shit when the argument he had on your flat repeated itself in his mind over and over and over again.

Like a broken record player.

In a mocking manner.

With sadistic intentions.

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Mr. Min."

A tear rolled down Yoongi's cheek slowly.

"Will she be alright?"

The world might as well end now because the younger man couldn't fathom the idea of existing. Not after the doctor's next words.

"I'm sorry. She was never a candidate for surgery, we detected the tumour too late. She isn't conscious right now but you might as well go in. I don't think she'd be able to hold on for much longer."

He hadn't expected that. He was supposed to be told you hadn't been taking your meals or you were dehydrated to the point in which you fainted. You weren't supposed to be dying. And what was worse was that he had never known.

For how long have you known of your condition?

Why did you hide it from him?

Why didn't you let him support you?

Yoongi entered your room without another word leaving his lip. He nearly collapsed at the sight of you. Pale and weak lying in a hospital bed. An IV tube was attached to your hand. Your eyes were closed.

He sat on the chair next to your bed. His trembling hands reached out for your smaller one. Why wouldn't his hands stop shaking?

"Why didn't you tell me, (y/n)?"

Those whispered words were meant for your ears only but they never reached you. You couldn't react to his stimuli even if you wanted to. your limp hand in his made tears cloud his vision and this time, he didn't hold them back.

"This was it, wasn't it? This was what you were hiding from me, right?"

He wished you'd just move, he wished you would open your eyes and gaze at him like all those times before. He wished he could hear your voice. At least one last time.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry for shouting at you that day. Y-you didn't deserve that."

If he could turn back time he'd make everything different.

"Please, (y/n/n). Please open your eyes."

If only he had been more observant.

"You cannot leave me now. Not now. Not like this."

If only he hadn't been so selfish and distanced himself from you.

"I cannot live without you, (y/n)."

If only he had been there.

"Please."

If only he had been a better friend. The best friend you deserved. The best friend you needed.

"Please don't leave me."

If only he had said the words when you could hear them. If only he hadn't taken your time for granted.

"I beg you, darling. Please don't go. Please."

Hoseok ran through the halls, the number of the room you were at was engraved in his mind for he knew Yoongi was by your side. His hand grabbed the door handle and he twisted it.

What Hoseok saw after opening that door was never going to leave his memories. A sight for his eyes to never forget.

Yoongi was grasping your hand so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were red and puffy as tears leaked from his dark orbs, like endless rivers of absolute and utter pain. The sound of his sobs reached Hoseok's ears. A flat line in the background.

"S-she's... she's gone. She's g-gone, Hobi."

Hoseok could only watch in horror. Never in his life had he seen Min Yoongi look so broken. So empty. Never had he cried in such a way. The sight was painful enough that tears made their way to his own eyes.

Yoongi's sobs were like poisonous arrows dripping with the blood of his wounded heart. An irreparable wound. Shattered pieces of his very own soul.

Hoseok took slow steps toward his friend until he was able to rest a hand over his shoulder.

"She didn't suffer, Yoongi. You were by her side, you allowed her to go in peace."

But those words did little to console him. He couldn't stop thinking about the "what if's". He couldn't stop the blame to gnaw at his already broken heart.

"I-I never told her, Hobi. I was a coward and I... I never fucking told her."

Hoseok's heart clenched at the pain laced in his friend's words. His pale hand grabbed yours with more strength, if that was even possible. As if he could prevent you from leaving him when you were already gone.

"I never told her that I loved her!"

Hi Yoongs, I hope you are alright.

How's life going on for you?

If you are reading this letter it probably means I am no longer with you and I'm so sorry that I had to leave you behind but as you may already know, I had no choice.

This was what I had been hiding from you. I am sick. Terminal apparently. There's nothing to be done and I don't want any kind of painful treatment. I decided to let go and enjoy what I had of time.

Please don't blame yourself. I chose not to tell you so that I could experience my life as it was. Normally and by your side.

I may not be there physically but know that I live through your memories. Please don't give up on your dreams because of me and go and do all the things you talked to me about. Fulfil our wishes. Be happy.

I wish you the best.

Thank you for being my best friend. And it is probably the worst way of saying this but I want you to know that I love you. I love you in that way. As in more than a friend. You were the best person that ever crossed paths with me, I didn't want to ruin that friendship.

I now realise that was probably a mistake. I loved you deeply. With all my heart and being. That was why telling you about my condition was more painful than it should have been. Because just as your happiness is my happiness; your pain is also my pain.

I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want you to say things out of pity. I didn't want that. I wanted to leave in the most normal way I possibly could.

Please know that I love you and I wish you the best in life. I won't be your friend all your life, let alone your lover. I won't live that long. But I will treasure your friendship and love you all my life.

I am part of your life but you are my whole life.

~(y/n).

July/30/2023

~Masterlist

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are really appreciated!!!

**☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

[morganas-pendragons]

Haven’t We Given Enough? | Joel Miller

Okay, so hear me out. I've known about this game for years but have been exclusively an Xbox kid since like 2004 so I've never had the opportunity to play it. I heard Pedro was cast as Joel and I was shocked that I actually knew the actors playing Joel and Ellie. Saw the trailer, watched the entire first game gameplay, and now I'm here.

Whoops.

I will say this though: I'm really bothered that I could find like nothing but hardcore smut in the tag for this character. I aim to change that. Enjoy some hurt/comfort!

@ironmandeficiency​

This is meant for a fem!reader. There are themes of past pregnancy in this that may come back into play later (reader had and lost a child) so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, read at your own risk. 

***

It’s remarkable how similar he is to the very thing you’ve thought him to be since you met. While Ellie is like a summer fire burning across empty, barren fields, Joel is the vengeful, unrelenting snow storm that threatens to pull you apart. 

He becomes increasingly good at it the longer you know him. Those dexterous, strong fingers wrap around the rungs of your ribs and pull them apart until the fragile beating thing you call a heart is exposed. 

That fragile beating thing has simply endured too much. It’s endured heartbreak, and loss, and pain, and it’s somehow still keeping you alive despite having lived through the beginning of the Outbreak and twenty years into it. 

Sheer determination has kept you alive. Not love, not your little sister, just a culmination of all the things you’ve endured that have turned into anger. 

It’s not like his anger though. Yours is calm. Methodical. Purposeful. 

Joel Miller’s anger is exactly like him: Vengeful, unrelenting, terrifying. It’s only once you meet that your anger begins to temper down into something he has never quite known. Not in this life anyway. 

Gentless. Compassion. 

Peace. 

And well, Joel Miller finds that the longer he knows you, the more he aches to learn what that really means. 

It’s weird. You know it’s a weird habit, but you’ve been doing it since you were a little girl and have a difficult time not falling back into old habits. People have often accused you of being aloof. Bashful. 

At the very least, people-watching is resourceful and educational. It really teaches you about what to expect from the ones you don’t quite know yet. 

People watching was how you found yourself drawn to Joel Miller. 

It started whenever Marlene sent Tess and Joel to smuggle the two of you out of the city. You were Ellie’s older sister - born before the Outbreak, almost fifteen years her senior - and her solely remaining blood family since your parents deaths. Your mother’s dying wish had been whispered into your ear with her final breath: Look after your sister. 

So you did. 

  “I will be damned if you even think I’m not going to follow that girl,” You snarled, jabbing your thumb into Marlene’s chest. “That’s my sister. My blood. My promise. You will not take that away from me.” 

The Boston QZ was, as to be expected, a literal hell. The only way that you and Ellie were going to survive was if you joined the ranks of the Fireflies. You did. You did, and it ruined you. Any remaining semblance of innocence that you had died years before. 

You didn’t want to think about that. It was past, it was gone, just like that part of who you’d been at that point. 

All gone. Just like the rest of the world. 

Marlene knew better then to argue with a Williams. Where you lacked, Ellie made up for it. It was comical how a fourteen year old girl, in certain situations, had more diplomacy then you did. 

She was the one who talked when Joel came into the room for the first time. 

  “Be careful with that one,” You warned afterward. Marlene snorted as both Williams sisters simultaneously crossed their arms over their chests and leaned into the counter as Joel left the room to confer with his partner. “He’s a storm.” 

Ellie knew of your comparisons. She knew of your uncanny ability to read people, to see people, and she’d never doubted you. Not once. 

  “Funny. First time you told me this, you said I was a fire. If he’s a storm...” She nudged her head uncertainly in the direction Joel had left in. “Then what kind of storm is he?” 

Your eyes flutter closed. You’d been able to gauge a lot just from those few minutes of conversation. “Winter,” You reply quietly. “One of those blizzards we got caught in the winter you turned four. Mom and Dad had us hunker down. We didn’t leave the bank we were in for well over a week. Stayed in the safe.” You pause. “If we had even threatened to step into that storm, we would’ve been obliterated. That’s the kind of storm Joel is. Unyielding, vengeful.” 

  “Your comparisons never fail to amaze me, kid,” Marlene commented. “You’re right on the nose. Watch out for Joel Miller.” 

He’s nothing if not ruthless. 

*** 

For the first couple of months you’re forced to travel across the country with Joel, you hate him. You hate how dismissive he is of you and you hate how he continues to act like dragging Ellie to the Fireflies who will then make the cure is the worst inconvenience he can possibly experience. 

You hate him. You hate him so much because he seems to be able to see right through you. No one has done that since-

Not since him. 

Ellie knows who he is. Joel doesn’t. He doesn’t ask why you sometimes wake up with a cry bubbling in the back of your throat, or why your hands always subconsciously drift toward your ring finger when there’s nothing there. 

He also doesn’t ask why your hand is almost always lingering on your stomach when he sees you through the cracks in the doors of the rooms you and Ellie sleep in. 

He doesn’t ask. 

So you don’t tell. 

*** 

You remember the first time he ever saved you from a clicker on your way through Pittsburgh with Joel, Henry, Ellie and Sam. It’s another one of those instances where you can recall things most other people can't: the details people cannot be bothered to remember. 

The smell of the tunnel. Damp. Dark. The smell of infected wafting through your nose, a familiar smell now just like the burnt bodies you so often found permeating the air in the QZ. 

The click of the shotgun. The desperate shout of Joel’s voice as he tackled that creature to the ground before firing once, twice, three times into its face while you struggled to regain your breath. 

The way that, afterward, he’d tossed the gun into Ellie’s arms to take your own into his hands and survey your skin for bites. 

  “You good, darlin’?” He’d asked, and your brain short-circuited because this was not the same man who'd spent the last several weeks showing you and your sister nothing but utter disdain and contempt. 

  “Yeah, yeah... I’m good.” You murmur. “Thanks Joel.” 

The most memorable part of that particular day - aside from the sunlight and the way it reflected just right against the grey and white of Joel’s hair and his eyes - was the way you had learned that, underneath the rough exterior, he had the same bleeding heart you did. 

*** 

Jackson is nice. It’s clearly the beginnings of what’s meant to become a larger, thriving civilization somewhere down the line, but it’s the first place you’ve been in the last twenty years that feels calm. 

Joel’s entire demeanor changes upon arrival, and it’s not until the gates open that you realize why: The man who steps through - and is clearly one of the few in charge - bears a remarkable resemblance to him. 

You and Ellie later find out that it’s Tommy. His younger brother. 

The details of that newly made memory are astonishingly clear: The curve of Joel’s smile, the feeling of the sunlight, the laughter that echoes as the three of you are led inside. 

For once in the last two decades, you have finally met someone who doesn’t have malicious intent. 

  “So who’s the older girl, Joel?” 

  “Kid’s sister,” Joel replied curtly. “That’s it.” 

Tommy clucked his tongue and shook his head as they entered the water plant. “I know you better then that,” He argued. “Way you look at her? Not just her sister. You’ll figure it out sooner than later even though that thick skull of yours.” 

The plant is attacked by the bandits who have been trying to infiltrate the compound for the last couple of months. Your illusion of peace is shattered as you again are forced to take, take, take, until there’s nothing left but bodies to deal with. 

That’s when you find out Ellie is gone. You find out Ellie is gone and for the first time in quite a while, you are properly afraid. 

And fear fuels you. Just like anger. 

Joel knows anger, but he doesn’t know your anger until he has the gall to tell your little sister she doesn’t know what loss is. It’s unfortunate you manage to hear the entire conversation through the bedroom door while staking out the house to ensure you’re in the clear. 

She’d run away from Jackson. Why, you don’t know, but you had been more panic then anything else because it was the first time Ellie had ever attempted to do something like that. 

You really just wanted to know her reasoning. 

  “What do you want from me?!” Joel snaps, harsh and sharp, as he storms deeper into the room. 

  “Admit that you wanted to get rid of me the whole time! Admit that my sister has been nothing but an inconvenience to you and you’ve felt burdened by us both!” 

You can’t see Joel’s face. You can’t see his face, but you see the way his body reacts to that statement. He’s trying really hard to keep himself under control. It’s admirable. 

They argue for what feels like years. Ellie calls him out, again and again, only to be stonewalled by Joel’s incessant need to keep everyone at arms length and provide as little information about himself and his feelings as possible. 

What causes you to storm into the room is the statement that makes the whole world grind to a stop. 

  “I’m sorry about your daughter, Joel... but I have lost people too.” 

  “You have no idea what loss is.” 

Ellie’s entire aspect shifts into something akin to both horror and shock as you storm into the room, fury radiating from your features, to only then whip Joel Miller around and slap him in the face. 

Your handprint burns against his cheek as he stares at you slack jawed, raising his own hand to cradle him jaw. Joel’s seen you do a lot of things. He’s seen you kill, and he’s seen you comfort, but he’s never bore witness to the heart of the storm itself. 

He immediately regrets provoking the argument now. 

  “El,” You say quietly, fury dripping from your words as you grip his shirt with tight fingers. “Go downstairs and join Tommy. Now.”

Ellie doesn’t argue. She never has because she knows better. With a curt nod, your little sister evacuates the room like a flood has just fallen upon it to leave you - the gentle storm versus the vengeful one - alone with Joel. 

  “Sunshine-” 

  “Don’t.” You snarl. “Don’t you dare. You don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to telling her she doesn’t know what loss is, you sanctimonious egotistical-” Your hands pound against his chest, once, twice, three times. Every hit makes you just a little more tired. “We all know what loss is, Joel! You’re not the only one who’s had to deal with the funerals!” 

Funerals. 

Huh. 

Snatching your hands with his own, Joel’s response is quiet and extremely unnerving as he murmurs, “We didn’t have funerals. We just burned them.” 

You don’t have time to reply. There’s people in the house, and you’re left to slip back into your mask as you remove your gun from its holster and flick the safety off. 

You don’t spare Joel a second glance. 

*** 

It’s another dead end. Another dead end full of questions and no answers that leave you asking more that no one seems to be able to give you. There might be nothing here but bodies and unanswered questions, but it does give you one thing that makes it memorable. 

The way that Ellie has smiled more now than she has since your parents and Riley died. You don’t try to intervene, to make yourself apart of what are undoubtedly her memories to carry, so you watch. 

It’s enough. 

It’s pretty straight forward into the University - nothing, nothing, and more nothing - until you’re ambushed by another group that has you and Joel fighting hand to hand for the first time in a while. 

You’ve only just managed to incapacitate yours when a resounding crash sounds from outside, and you just barely see the telltale salt-and-pepper hair go careening over the edge of the balcony. 

Seeing Joel like that.. That’s the second time you’ve known the same fear in such a short amount of time: Fear of loss. 

There’s me, the fool with the slow heart who dared to think I could love someone else again. 

***

The storms feels like it’s dwindling now. Like it’s simply the kind you get in the early hours of the morning in December, where the clouds are thick and gray and cover the entire sky as snow slowly falls to stick upon the chilled earth. 

Joel Miller has been this unyielding, fierce storm that threatens to tear everything apart from the moment you met him in Boston. He’s cold. Calculating. Sharp. You’ve seen what he’s capable of - and reacted quite violently the first time, you hadn’t realized the human body held that much blood - and have experienced the ramifications of what such things can do. 

The nightmares, the abrasiveness, the need to push everyone away because it’s simply easier than allowing yourself to love something that death can touch. 

You’ve always known Joel to be a storm, but since Ellie - and you, though you just don’t know it yet - have wormed into his heart, the storm has dwindled. It’s gentler. Softer. More willing to listen to reason, to fight for something other then himself. 

The rough exterior that turns so many people away is slowly giving to show who’s under the surface. 

You were almost positive that your heart was going to give out when you watched Joel fall from Ellie’s horse. You’d barely been able to do anything about the wound he’d obtained from the rebar at the university, using what meager means of medical supplies you had in your saddlebags to pack and dress it so the bleeding stopped. 

Ellie had watched you from the top of Callus as you carried him to the horse and slowly eased him into her arms. 

  “Do you think he’s gonna make it?” She asked you later, long after you’d lost sight of the school over your shoulder. 

  “I hope so, El.” You reply quietly. “I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t.” It’s half a truth with a confession hidden in between of your true feelings toward the matter. You’d spent so much time watching Joel - learning about the inner workings of a man your heart aches to know, to heal, to love - that you weren’t sure what you’d do if his steady, sure presence wasn’t around anymore. 

The three of you have made your home inside a garage in an abandoned neighborhood when the snowfall hits. Ellie volunteers to take care of the horses while you situate yourself and Joel into a crude attempt of a sleeping situation inside, pushing two of the remaining mattresses together and scrounging up blankets for you to shield yourselves from the cold.

You don’t like how pale he is. His wound isn’t infected, which is good, but his heartbeat is too weak and you can’t help yourself from feeling somewhat responsible. 

  “Joel Miller,” You whisper, long after Ellie is gone and it’s just the sound of uneven breathing and the pounding of your heart from where you lay curled around him on the pair of mattresses. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself into my blood stream. You’re not allowed to give up on me. On us. Do you understand?” 

Joel doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t answer. You don’t expect him to, but part of you wishes he’d open those dark brown eyes and gaze up at you with all the longing and desperation you’ve felt towards him since... since. 

The bitter cold that settles in your bones is an alarming reminder that you need to curl around Joel to preserve body heat. Last thing you need is him dying of hyperthermia. 

  “Don’t leave us,” You whisper again, curling your fingers into his hair as you tuck your body around his own and press your chin against the top of his head. “Don’t leave us.” 

We can’t take another funeral. 

*** 

The first time Joel wakes up is the day before Ellie leaves for another hunting trip. She’s scrounged up a meager amount of supplies through the houses in the neighborhood, just enough for you to get by, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the guilt settling in your stomach when you hear Ellie’s stomach growl halfway through the night. 

It’s not like you’re sleeping anyway. 

Joel’s sudden state of awareness is brought upon by the fingers raking through his hair and the warmth that touches his skin from the body wrapped around him. It’s odd, foreign. After so many years of isolating himself from other people, he hadn’t realized how much he craved physical contact. 

And the burn that follows is enough to make him groan. 

  “Joel?” Immediately your hands are at his sides, Ellie’s face just above his head as his vision swims. The pain is muted. Numb. He’s barely feeling is because he’s far too distracted by your hands. “Can you hear me? I’m going to check your wound again. If you stay awake enough, I want you to eat.” 

Ellie has taken his head into her lap before he can protest. Joel is awake just enough to say your name, low and hoarse, before his vision swims with black spots and the last thing he can remember is the burn. 

He can remember the burn, and he can remember how you made him feel in the midst of it. Peaceful. Safe. 

Joel Miller has never known peaceful or safe. Not since her. Not since Sarah. 

And as he succumbs to sleep, he finds that he wants to know it more. 

***  

Ellie’s been gone for too long. You know she’s been gone for too long, and you haven’t heard from her on the walkies the two of you had found a couple of weeks before. 

She’s been gone too long. You need to go find her. 

That’s the second and final time Joel wakes up. 

You’re halfway through loading his shotgun when he finally comes to, wide eyed and alert as his hands scramble for purchase on the closest weapon to him. “Easy, Joel,” You chide gently. “It’s just me.” 

Something settles in him. He seems at ease with your answer. 

  “Where’s-” Joel grunts as he sits up, pressing a hand to his side as he does so. You ease the shotgun to the side and kneel down to his level to meet the worry in his gaze. “Where’s Ellie?” 

Your frown deepens. “She went out to hunt too long ago,” You reply. “I was just about to secure this place and then go look for her.” 

  “Why didn’t you?” 

You fidget nervously with your hands as your gaze drops into your lap.  “I didn’t want to leave you alone, Joel.” 

He wants to scold you. Joel wants to chastise you for such a foolish decision when your sister’s life is on the line, but he can’t find it in him to do so because your gaze is so genuine. He’s not used to that. 

Joel Miller is not used to real. 

Pressing a gentle thumb to the divot in your chin, you’re captivated by the way the condescension and hostility in his demeanor is gone as he slowly moves his fingers to cup the curve of your jaw. “Thank you,” He murmurs gratefully. “But now we need to go find Ellie.” A pause. “Are you ready to do what we need to do, if it gets bad?” 

He always asks you this. Right before he has to embrace the side of himself that scares you, that you’ve tried so hard to keep at bay, Joel warns you about it. 

  “Yeah. Yeah...” You pump the shotgun in response and press it against your hip. “Yeah, I am.” 

It’s uncanny how quickly you’ve learned how to slip into your masks. The mask of the gentle, compassionate woman that Joel had only just gotten to know disappears in the face of the violence he’s so accustomed to - shifting into something darker, more apathetic, more willing to do what needs to be done. 

Even for the sake of one life. 

You don’t even flinch when he starts torturing two of the men patrolling the neighborhood you’ve called home for the last few days. Not when the screaming starts. not when the blood pours. 

  “Now, the girl. Is she alive?” 

  “What girl? I don’t know no girl!” 

The poor idiot doesn’t start talking until Joel has driven his blade clear through his knee. According to his endless rambling, your kid sister has become the newest pet to someone named David. 

And that makes you see red. 

You don't blink twice when both bodies lay motionless on the ground. 

  “Hey Joel?” 

  “Yeah, sunshine.” 

  “When we find this David,” You drag your fingers across the expanse of his shoulders to rest them on the exposed skin of his neck. His pulse thrums steadily under your touch. “I’m going to be the one to put the bullet in his face.” 

***

The storm has died down to a newly fallen December snow. The temper has eased, and the anger has dissipated - only to be directed toward the people who are most deserving of it - into something that searches, that yearns, for something. 

Snow melts. Snow melts and reveals what lays beneath it. 

You’re just inside of the Salt Lake City limits when it happens. You’re the one who volunteered to take watch while Joel and Ellie slept. The three of you were nearly in the endgame now being so close to the Firefly hospital. Once your sister was taken there, the world would finally be saved. 

And you could finally settle. No more running, no more existing. 

Chewing absently on the inside of your cheek, you fiddle with the edge of your rifle from your lookout point over your camp. You’re almost too deep into your thoughts to hear him scream.

But he doesn’t just scream. Joel screams Sarah’s name, and everything becomes astonishingly clear as to why he has been the way he is. Ellie had told you about Tommy trying to slip Joel the last photo of him and his daughter before the outbreak. How he’d refused it. How he, to this day, remained adamant that his departed little girl would never be a topic of conversation. 

No one warns you about the loss of a child. 

  “Easy, Joel,” You warn, shouldering your rifle as you climb down from the tree to sit beside the bed. His shaking fingers are wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade. “There’s just a couple of hours until the sun comes up. You thirsty?” 

Dark eyes flicker to the next bedroll. Ellie is still sleeping. 

  “No,” He replies gruffly. “But thanks.” 

There’s a long moment of companionable silence that passes as you sit beside him, finally feeling courageous enough to spill your heart at his feet, “For all those months when we started this, I hated you. I hated you because you clearly hated me-” 

  “First off,” Joel interjects sharply. “Never been a time in which I hated you. Don’t know what gave you that assumption.” 

  “So if it wasn’t hate, then what was it? I’m not an expert at reading Joel Miller,” You shrug. “At least not yet.” 

The sun is just beginning to creep over the edges of the three line in front of you. The sky above is shifting from the deep black to a soft, gentle blue that will shift into the golds and oranges of dawn. 

You’re running out of time. 

Joel swallows the knot in his throat as he contemplates his answer. Giving the real answer means being real and vulnerable. He’s not sure if he’s ready for that yet. 

He’s not sure if he’s ready for that but with the open, earnest way you’re looking at him? He’ll get there eventually. 

  “Sarah was my daughter,” Joel says quietly. He can’t look at you. If he looks at you while he says this he will come apart at the seams. “She died at the start of the epidemic. Longer that goes by, more I’m almost.. grateful.” The words are sour on his tongue. It sounds so wrong. “She was too good for a world like this one. Too pure. Any kind of innocence I had was gone a long time ago. I was made for this kind of life,” His eyes slowly shift to meet yours. You haven’t taken your gaze off of his face once. “You and Ellie weren’t.” 

You smile. “That’s sweet, Joel. Really. But you could not know-” 

  “I do know. I know because you have something that doesn’t exist anymore.’’

You tip your head to the side in confusion. “Which is?” 

  “Goodness. Compassion. You’re real,” Joel pauses, running his tongue along his teeth. “That’s why it looked like I hated you. I hated you because I was afraid of how real you are. How gentle you are.” 

  “Why would that be something you’d fear?” You ask softly. 

  “Because I don’t deserve that kind of thing, Sunshine. Goodness? Compassion? All the soft things that died with my little girl?” He shakes his head. “Those aren’t something you give to someone like me.” 

You’d noticed over the last couple of months that every time you touched Joel, he recoiled like he had been burned. You’d seen that before too. It was the look often accompanied by the quiet desire to seek more of something you’d been deprived of: The look of a touch starved man. 

It was why you’d been more deliberate in starting slow. Cheek touches, chin touches, gentle fingers raking through his hair to scrape across his scalp and kisses to bloodied knuckles on the nights things were bad. 

If he wanted real, if he wanted peace, you were more then willing to give it to him. 

  “I had a son,” You whisper. This is not something you are ready to divulge to Ellie. Not yet. “He was born around the same time she was, though she never knew it,” Something akin to realization flickers through his eyes before he’s opening his mouth to apologize, most likely, but you hush him with a raised hand as you continue. “He died before he ever turned one.” 

You didn’t want to continue. It was still too fresh. Too raw. He would’ve been fifteen soon. 

Joel took your hand into his own and spread your fingers apart, dragging the tips of his own fingers across the back of each of yours before lifting them to his lips to kiss all your fingertips. 

  “They have a word for someone who’s lost a spouse. What do you call someone who lost a child?” 

And there it is, that quiet understanding you share that makes you ache to pull back what remains of his walls and finally reveal the man who lay underneath. 

You hum thoughtfully as you then lean forward to just barely graze your lips against his cheek. 

That’s also the same time Ellie decides to wake up. She sees the way your silhouettes cast across the grass as the rays of early morning light emerge from over the trees. She sees the way Joel leans into you like he’s seeking something, and she sees the way scarlet dusts your cheeks when you finally pull away. 

Hm.

Seems like you’ve finally found what you’re looking for. 

*** 

Everything finally feels right. You’ve finally started down a path that ends with Joel realizing that you love him, with Joel realizing that he’s deserving, and with you hopefully realizing that he’s been reciprocating for quite some time. 

The three of you are at the hospital in Salt Lake after being caught in the flood. You’re the one who took the most damage. Battered and bruised, Joel is left to watch helplessly from your bedside as you sleep. He’d only just woken up himself in the same state. 

Marlene comes in much, much later to tell you what’s going on with Ellie. What the real cure is, what it will do to her. 

And suddenly, again, everything comes screeching to a halt. 

This is the story of how, despite everything between you and Joel going right, everything begins to go wrong and you’re left with a decision that will inevitably cost you your sister. 

All of those lives, for the sake of one.... is it worth it? 

Haven’t I given enough? 

part two??? :D 

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 8/13/2024

i think i'm going to take a break from scifi written by men for a bit

listening

Ahmed Malek's Les Vacances de L'inspecteur Tahar, from the 1972 film of the same name.

if i can be really really real for a minute here the only thing i've listened to more than twice this week is GUESS by charli xcx but i don't want to have the same tuesdaysong twice in a row. this would make for an annoying end of year playlist.

i got an ad for a collected set of Ahmed Malek's Algerian jazz music on instagram. a session musician in Algiers, he made his name as a soundtrack composer with this comedic detective movie and was in demand for the rest of his life-- he's still really beloved in the African jazz scene, his works are super collectible, and his daughter gifted all his masters to a tiny record company so they could rerelease and preserve them.

it sounds exactly how you think a 70s cop movie should sound. impeccable example of the genre. instantly evocative. i wonder if it influenced the wider cop drama soundscape or if it's just an early example?

-

reading

many books disappointed me a great deal this week.

thank you philip.

the only comic i did like was Marauders (2019-2022), trying to get a little bit more into the xmen since my bestie has decided we're watching all their movies. this is really fun bc i knew who kitty pryde was, and she's a privateer captain who looks beat to shit the whole book. extremely fun and gay and swashbuckling, i placed holds for the other volumes already.

the two rogue and gambit books assumed i knew more about those characters than i already did, and had a heavy reliance on flashbacks and references to other issues.

the magic order was insufferable and did not stick its landing. made me worry about the characters and then feel really fucking stupid for worrying about the characters. i don't know why i keep trying mark millar books and thinking i will like them.

HOTELITOR had a very fun concept (mech hotel), but was a little more middle-grade than i was expecting, even from a teen book. very calarts visual style. very power of friendship will undo an evil corporation, which, i wish.

this little mermaid manga was not for me. and that's fine. most manga isn't for me.

we have to take a brief detour into how i store my books (poorly). these big middle shelves hold an unsorted mass, mostly of stuff i'm not sure i want to keep. i'm trying to be more thoughtful about which books i keep bc realistically i do not reread very often (if at all) and i am running out of space. as much as i love weird little scifi and fantasy paperbacks it would be cool if they all fit on one shelf.

here are four books i rapidly cycled through this weekend that are going to be donated.

Michael Moorcock's The Black Corridor, 1969, about a man slowly going insane in a spaceship fleeing a politically violent Earth with his friends and relations in cryosleep. not a very beloved Moorcock book among the Moorcock fans. this has a heavy focus on the rise of British fascism and i'm not now, nor will i ever be, in the mood for this. a shame bc this slim hardcover has proportions that were very nice to hold.

Thomas Burnett Swan's Where is the Bird of Fire?, 1970, three not quite short stories but not quite novellas about mythical creatures at the founding of Rome, Xerxes the Great's empire, and Britain near the fall of Rome. states very clearly exactly what it is on the tin and delivers it, unfortunately i don’t like any of the flavors on offer. every single one of these has the half-coy kind of sex scene common in historical fiction, where in order to represent the past accurately and with full verisimilitude we Must convey that they fucked nasty and had fun doing it. many times. unfortunately a middle aged man wrote these and our erotic sensibilities are Very far apart.

Glen Cook's Cold Copper Tears, 1988, a noirish urban fantasy. there are fourteen books in this series so clearly people like them. i found a lot of the Noir Similes a little tortured. "but kay isn't that the point--" yes but these annoyed me. also there's a rape joke i didn't enjoy on the fourth fucking page. i have very few hard outs in fiction and one of them is on-screen or on-page sexual assault or rape jokes in chapter one. i am slightly less likely to drop a book if it has rape jokes in chapters that are not the first but like. it’s still almost a flat line at 100%.

and the only one i got two-thirds of the way through, and which i partially liveblogged here,

Eric Kotani and John Maddox Robert's Between the Stars, 1988, the third in their Island Worlds series. it stands alone fairly well, which is impressive.

this book is good at differentiating a very large, very clannish cast, which is a hard thing to do in a political opera. people are often differentiated by little physical movement quirks, which a spy later uses to identify someone. it’s a lovely bit of business and definitely the authors’ strong points.

also props for two of the most capable people, an ill-liked matriarch/scientific genius and a femme fatale Russian, for being two of the most interesting characters with the most screen time, both on their own and in other character’s thoughts. unfortunately, with such a large cast and so many factions, the action is often split and meandering. racist in the very specific orientalist way cyberpunk eighties fiction often is, but uncommonly, they remembered Turkey existed and included in the orientalism?

severely suffered from a second act where it tripped over its own feet a lot instead of continued forward motion, quite honestly i got bored and tired of being hit over the head with various points. a very whedonesque quality of needing to comment on the political implication of something the instant after it happens.

this is not a subtle book, and it smacks less of an urgency to get a point across in as few words as possible and more an uncertainty in the authors of getting their point across at all. this is confusing to me bc this was their fourth book together and the third in this series. have some more confidence in your writing abilities. like, if you've already established your baddie as a fascist torturer who literally owns slaves and plans on taking over earth, you don't need to have him also say "Hitler was much-maligned" at a dinner party he's holding in a room full of hunting trophies where the only things on the table are red wine and whole game birds. you've more than established him as evil. the whole book is like this. it's exhausting.

not a book for me! many such cases!

-

watching

my brother was really singing the praises of vampire hunter d's animation and i was like, postapoc roaming vampire bounty hunter? say less! im already getting in!

i watched the 1980s version with some bemusement until he was like "why did you watch that and not the 2000 version." well that would have been so cool of you to be more specific, my boy!!! vampire hunter d (1985, dir. Toyoo Ashida) was still fun but clearly had way less of a budget than Vampire Hunter D Bloodlust (2000, dir. Yoshiaki Kawajiri)

i enjoyed bloodlust a little more bc it had a postapoc style i enjoyed a little more: showed me big manta rays that hide under the sand, big ruined radio dishes, and lots of beautifully ruined skyscrapers and fucked up highway overpasses. every time you see me post about a BIG!!! FUCKING!!! DISH!!! you should hear this schoolchildren "YAAAAAY!" sample from Jet Set Radio

-

playing

nothing much to report, a lot of grindy genshin impact shit as i try to clear all my map markers before the new nation drops at the end of the month.

-

making

the girls have three litter boxes available to them (laundry room/spare bathroom/utility closet), all in the correct and recommended locations, all with good sightlines and escape routes and all out of the main hustle and bustle of the apartment, all open top, all with the same kind of litter and the same kind of litter mat. they only use the one in my laundry room. since phil has had free roam of the house she has not used the one in the office bathroom. i asked my vet about this and sent her pictures to make sure i was doing everything right and the diagnosis was "yeah that's a little weird of them". can we spread the wear and tear out a little more, girls? so i don't have to deep clean the same litterbox every week?

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Lost Boys

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Superfam

Summary: After Jonathan Lane Kent wipes himself from existence by canceling his own timeline, he finds himself stuck in the afterlife where he meets Jason Todd. He still wonders about the life un-lived on Earth, and how his parents would've felt about him.

Jason Todd, who is making the most of being dead, struggles with the reality of what he's left behind. He has one wish and one wish only: to send his family one final message.

Chapters: 5/?

Characters: Jonathan Lane Kent (Laney), Jason Todd, Catherine Todd, Boston Brand, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, John Constantine, Raven, Talia al Ghul, Ra's al Ghul, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake

Relationships: Platonic JayLaney

Additional Tags: Angst, Platonic Relationships, Magical Jason Todd, Resurrected Jason Todd, Queerplatonic Relationships, Canon Divergent AU, POV Multiple

Chapter Five: Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood (Laney's POV)

Do people in heaven get sick? I wished more and more with every passing day that there was Google or an encyclopedia of sorts for the afterlife. Jason started getting headaches a few weeks after the dance. He tried to hide it from Catherine and me, but we could see it in his eyes. Jason was fading.

After the dance, we sometimes flew over the ocean at the beach, and we'd do cannonballs into the water from the sky. Somedays, all we'd do was laugh and play like children. Other times, we'd sit in the meadow and tell each other all the things we'd say and do if we could live all over again. I told Jason about how I grew up, and he told me all about the things he swore he'd never speak of out loud. He told me about his birth father, about what happened to him after his parents died. He told me things no one knew.

By the time he'd gotten really sick, we were in the meadow watching the clouds. Jason didn't want us to see it, but he couldn't hide it anymore. All we could do was pretend not to see it. "I see a little dog where you saw your turtle," I whispered as I pointed to the sky.

"Now, how do you see a dog there?" Jason asked as he started giggling. "That's obviously a turtle. Lookit. See the shell?"

"Jason, no, he's like one of those short dogs with the wolf ears," I argued, "See, because those little wisps right there, those are his ears."

"We're pointing to two different—." He stopped speaking and sat up. I turned and looked at him, and he looked paler than usual. "Sorry, what was I—. We're pointing at two different clouds, Lane." He took a deep breath and came back to me.

I touched his cheek with the back of my hand, and he took my hand away. "You okay?" I asked. Jason nodded. "I still think it's a dog."

"A corgi? You see a corgi up there?" Jason asked. I nodded. "I guess I could see it... Think my ma's still out on her date?" Jason stood up and stretched out his arms.

I sat on the ground and looked up at him. "Yeah... Are you okay with her dating Boston?" I questioned. "I mean, he's really not that—."

"I know he's not that bad... I mean, I actually think I might like Boston for Ma. He makes her laugh, and he's good to her. He might be the first guy that was ever good to her," Jason replied as he pulled me to my feet. "If Ma's happy, I'm alright."

"Yeah, and you gotta admit he's kind of cool too... I mean, he gets to travel back and forth—."

"Laney, come on. Even if we could go back, I don't wanna leave my ma," Jason interrupted. I nodded.

"Jason?" I called as I walked on my hands just like he taught me. "Can I say that I love Catherine? Is that weird?"

Jason raised his brow and playfully tripped me up with his foot. "How do you mean it? Because if you mean it like that, we might have problems, Lane," Jason joked.

I stood up and pushed him with my shoulder. "No, not like that! I love her like—. I dunno, like how you love her... I think," I explained.

Jason offered to carry me home on his back. I rode on his back, and he let me rest my chin on top of his head. "Jason, were you this strong when you were alive?" I teased. Jason chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah. I may not be the biggest guy around, but I trained hard. I coulda carried you if I wanted to," Jason replied, "Besides, you're Superman's kid. Of course, you'd be taller than me."

We didn't make it all the way home. He stopped to rest, and he stumbled on the way to sit down. "What's wrong?" I asked. Jason shook his head. "Let me carry you the rest of the way," I offered, and he held up his hand.

"I'm fine, just—. I'll catch up with you," Jason whispered. I wouldn't leave him, so I picked him up and carried him home. By the time we got home, he was fast asleep. I set him down on the couch and waited for Catherine to come back. We never slept, so it was so strange to see him unconscious.

He came out of it for a moment, and he chewed me out for carrying him home, but I didn't care. I knew he didn't mean any harm. He stormed out of the cottage, and I let him have his space. I regret that I didn't follow him.

Catherine and Boston came back around sundown, and by then, I was hysterical. "Catherine, I don't know where he went, but he was sick, and I—."

"What do you mean he was sick?" Boston interrupted me. "He can't get sick anymore." Catherine rushed out of the cottage, and Boston nudged me. "He can't—."

"He is! He's sick, and he's fading in and out. It's like he's a—..." I trailed off, and Boston asked me to take him to the places where I hung out with Jason. He wasn't there, so we circled back around to the cottage. Catherine was inconsolable.

"He's nowhere to be f—." She swallowed hard. "I can't find him," she sobbed, and Boston touched her arm and waited for her to collect herself.

"I'll find him," Boston promised her, and I stopped him before he could go anywhere.

"I gotta go with you. If Jason's anywhere on Earth, I can find him. If he's there, I can find him. Please," I pleaded. Boston looked at Catherine, and she nodded. Boston sighed and nodded.

Boston placed a steady hand on my shoulder, and he told me to remain calm. He was going to take me back to the world of the living as a ghost, and I was going to find my best friend.

[lightgriffinsect]

OH MY GOD FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE WHO HATES COUGAR’S CONTENT

before he started making those weird shipping videos I actually liked his fnf comic dub but then he started making content farm shipping videos at first I didn’t mind until the thumbnails for the videos started becoming really suggestive

and yes I know fnf is not a kid friendly game but it got really annoying and gross that every tabi video is just him being harassed by that tall girl (I forgot her name) and most of the videos were giving toxic couples vibes like seriously why is tabi always getting paired with a bunch of female characters like what is this a love triangle anime????😭😭😭

it doesn’t help the fact that cougar's voice B3 boyfriend from the B3 remixed mod so with this shit going on it can cause the dev team to kick him off (I hope they does because honestly his voice doesn’t fit B3 boyfriend) and find a new va 

and now he’s making farm content videos of the smiling critters from poppy playtime by making them hot furry characters LIKE DUDE THOSE ARE CHILDREN TOYS WHY ARE YOU SEXUALIZING!???!?!?!?!?!

So yeah I hope someone can tabi away from this man

the tall girl you're referring to is Nikusa, the kinda-sorta villain(?) of FNF Entity. she's an awesome character who also doesn't deserve the crap Cougar put her through.

speaking of which, EXACTLY???? I never liked cougar's dubs at all tbh; even comics that I personally had read beforehand, which had no hints of romance or shipping whatsoever, became so uncomfortably sexual and harem-y the moment Cougar got permission to dub them. i imagine there were artists who didn't want their work cast in this light at all, and I just feel horrible for them. it's really gross.

and honestly??? FNF being a mature game has NOTHING to do with the overly sexual thumbnails and blatant disrespect of Homskiy's and other creators' wishes for their characters. that doesn't make it okay at all. it doesn't matter how family friendly an IP is, if it's popular, people who only value views WILL come up with the most disgusting clickbait garbage as long as it gets them attention. content farms will oversexualize the most innocent of child-friendly characters in order to get views. FNF being for older audiences doesn't make it better.

cougar's channel has become nothing more than one of these farms. he just happens to be using a former friend's beloved character as a mascot, which only makes it worse.

it reminds me of the downfall of Gametoons and EnchantedMob, ngl. they used to make awesome videos with genuine effort and well-thought out plotlines. now their content is in a similar state. it's disgusting. the fact that cougar has let his standards devolve to this is abhorrent.

every artist has boundaries when it comes to fanart of their work. for such a renowned person in the FNF fandom, with such a large platform, to NOT make sure he isn't crossing those boundaries, and in fact actively disrespect them, sets a terrible precedent for future "big" mod devs to follow.

cougar absolutely cannot get away with this. too many other people in this fandom have, but this is something everyone has borne witness to. it is 2024, and we're sick of seeing this. we want every scrap of what we have left.

i honestly hope the remaining mod devs are doing alright. i haven't talked about them much but their experience working on Vs. Ex is no less valid. it's sickening that cougar took advantage of minors to finish all the work on their own so he could slack off. again, an ADULT could not be bothered to handle anything of the mod development, so he left it all to the rest of the team that he was leading, most of whom were MINORS.

cougar must be held accountable for his blatant disregard for Homskiy's boundaries, breaking his trust and using his beloved character against him. no one should forget how he exploited his underage co-devs to dump all the stress of finishing the mod on them.

Tabi's character is beloved to not only Homskiy and the other devs who actually worked on the mod, not only the Entity creators, but to all of us. everyone in the FNF fandom who has gone out of their way to make art for Tabi, everyone who has cared enough to even praise this art, to seek it out, we know this character's worth. we are the ones who value him.

the same goes for Nikusa, and Ayana, and every other character that he's reduced to shipping fodder and suggestive thumbnail art. I just hope outsiders and people who only know them through cougar's "dubs" will understand the same.

[nofacednerd]

Okay now that my excitement over the new season has worn off a little, here’s some season 4 thoughts

Starting out with the stuff I do really like:

- Hughie’s storyline is genuinely so heart wrenching for me. I’m one of those freaks that stayed up watching the new episodes until 6 in the morning and let me tell you, I was VASTLY unprepared to get hit with the childhood divorce trauma at 5 AM. Having him workshop an angry response to his mom was so real of him 😭 excited to see where it goes this season

- BUTCHER! The second they brought in Kessler (who is definitely a real human being that Butcher is seeing only coincidentally when he’s alone and knows a weird amount about him and what’s going on) I thought the rest of the season was going to be Butcher being worse and worse until we go down the route of the comics. Genuinely surprised and kind of delighted that he’s turned a bit of a sympathetic edge this season. I kind of hope we see him and Hughie more, especially after the whole ‘you remind me of my dead little brother’ thing last season.

- Speaking of last season, it seems like they’ve been trying to roll back on some of the problems I had with season 3 (eh. Kind of at least). Butcher apologizing to Ryan for his outburst, Annie and Hughie still being in a pretty good place with their relationship, Hughie talking about regretting the V, ect ect

- Also so glad they remembered that Hughie is actually really good with technology. Usually they only remember it maybe once early on in the season, but they consistently referenced him being the tech guy of the group (though I wish we could have seen Hughie showing Kimiko how to hack into the CIA database 😭 why are the writers so afraid of them having scenes together)

- ALSO so glad they remembered that Hughie and Neuman were really close before her betrayal in season 3!!!!! I hope they have more scenes together later on. I think Neuman, despite everything, still does care about him since she tried to convince Homelander not to kill him

- Sage is really interesting to me tbh, probably one of the few new characters that I’m actually enjoying. Like girl what is your deal

Okay now the bad stuff :/

- I’m kind of annoyed that they’re continuing the trend of sidelining Hughie in favor of focusing more on Butcher vs Homelander, especially because Hughie started as the protagonist of the show. I get that his storyline right now isn’t the most ‘plot relevant’ but it feels like he barely has done anything but be a supporting character in most scenes for Annie or MM to play off of

- Everything feels so…. Disconnected? One of my bigger issues with season 3 was that they pushed Kimiko and Frenchie away from the plot to focus on a more personal story for Frenchie, so their whole deal that season just kind of felt… forgettable? This season is like that but with EVERYONE which concerns me. Shows with the protagonists having their own plot lines that come together in the end work, but The Boys just has too many characters and too few episodes to explore those plot lines meaningfully so that they get wrapped up in a satisfying way. Idk I guess we’ll see

- Speaking of, the show has too many characters. This is a consistent problem each season, where they introduce new characters that kind of take the spotlight over the other ones. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. My biggest problem this season though is Colin. They introduced him off-screen and made him and Frenchie start flirting I guess off-screen. Same with Kiara and Annie. Then when the season started, the show told us to care about these new characters without actually showing us why we should care about them beyond “he’s Frenchie’s boyfriend!!” It’s kind of frustrating?

- This is more minor, but MM is kind of pissing me off :( it’s kind of another case of ‘oh btw all these characters had character development off screen during the time gap between seasons’ that they did during season 3. It’s the same issue I had with Hughie during that season too, he just kind of feels out of character…?

- why do I feel bad for an octopus. Ambrosius girl you can do so much better than the Deep

[hellparkri]

Kevin Stoley

-They are just bad dreams, nothing more. Just fall asleep at once, Kevin, you're almost eighteen, you're going to school and you have a girlfriend, you've got to grow up-...

 These were his sister's words to reassure him after a nightmare. Kevin was a weird guy, but weird in a good way, Kevin was very interested in science fiction and comics. His room reflected this very well: From posters of  giant Star Treks that filled the entire ceiling of his room, to a complete collection of Star Wars lightsabers. If you needed someone to tell you about a universe that involved a minimum of spaceships, whether it was any comic, book, movie or video game, chances are Kevin Stoley had you covered. This perhaps doesn't sound so bad; But Kevin's sister: Esther, I knew Kevin was a bit of a person... "Sensitive", Kevin used to present constant nightmares with monsters from video games and movies, this would not have any problem if Kevin was still in his childhood, but the problem that his sister had was that her brother was seventeen years old, this was just almost sad, and although Esther was always happy to comfort her brother,  Even she was starting to get irritated from getting up at one in the morning every night to tell her brother that the stain wasn't real and that she wasn't going to kill him.

"I know, but you really have to treat me like a little boy because of that?"

-Listen, just try to fall asleep today without getting up, OK? I have an online exam tomorrow and I should be **super** rested. Esther smiled at her brother one last time and kissed his forehead.

-Argh! Esther, you know I don't like this, it's embarrassing and I'm too old for you to kiss me. Kevin complained while frowning a little. His sister still treated him as if he were ten years old. Although well, he was the one who asked her for help when she woke up from a bad dream

-Kevin, first of all I remind you that I still have to come to comfort you almost every night, second: You shouldn't act like that with those who give you love. His sister asked as she looked at him with that smile that his brother had seen so much before falling asleep.

-Well, obviously not... Maybe because she's not my sister! Kevin shouted in a friendly tone and somewhat sorry for having to wake up his little sister practically every night.

"Look, Kevin, you shouldn't feel ashamed that your sister shows you care, if she didn't, she wouldn't come to wish you goodnight. Besides, who knows if this will be the last time I'll see you, who knows and I'll die in my sleep. we should not be like this with anyone, much less your old reliable little sister! Esther made jazz hands while spreading a big smile on her cheeks. Kevin, on the other hand, just smiled and hugged his sister, that smile of Esther's had now stuck to him too, and he couldn't help but just hug his sister for a while.

"Esther, I promise I won't wake you up today, you always worry about me, it's the least I can do..." Kevin was about to shed a tear when his sister stroked his hair and said:

"Oh, Kevin, you don't need to, just for today, will you?" Someday I'm not going to be there for you, and I hope Red is there to take care of you, I don't know. I only ask you to give it a try tonight. His sister winked at him confidently and left his brother's room, but not before turning off the light in the room and closing the door.

The hours passed; Kevin was already asleep in a light sleep, barely four hours had passed since he had gone to sleep. It was two in the morning, that day it rained incessantly for hours and hours, from morning until almost sunset, it was really an extraordinary event, at first he was relieved not to have school, but "as happened to almost all the children in the town and its surroundings" he realized that the signal was unstable and the light was even worse,  It was almost a miracle that their computer or TV had not short-circuited so many times that they were victims of sudden blackouts. That rain was an event that the whole town would remember for several years to come... And even more, he suffered the tragedy of not being able to play any of his video games for long and agonizing hours, he was truly sure that he had suffered more than everyone in the village combined.

But that didn't matter anymore; The rain had ended a few hours before he went to sleep and all he could hear now was only the loud barking of a dog that seemed to be trying to scare something away. Those loud screams were enough to wake Kevin, who had been sleeping too light for as long as he could remember, so anything no matter how insignificant it seemed was almost certain to wake him up.

"Hell, is it that no one is capable of going to calm their dog?" Kevin said quietly as he rubbed his eyes somewhat irritated. After a few minutes of trying to go back to sleep Kevin noticed that he was simply not able to do it anymore, but it did not seem strange to him nor was it like that in general, once something woke him up it was almost impossible for him to go back to sleep without someone asking him. That was mainly the reason why his sister always had to come and make him sleep. "Or at least that's what was always said in his mind."

Kevin got up: He was short in stature, his hair was straight but extremely soft, his face had some acne marks and he had to wear glasses because of his myopia. He wasn't the most attractive guy, but that didn't matter to him, Kevin used to be quite friendly with everyone around him and "even though he never wanted to admit it" he always thought of others and others thought of him. This had given him quite a few friendships and he was generally appreciated by everyone around him. Kevin put on his glasses and walked to the window of his room and silently admired the stars for a while; With his hands he began to draw the face of his beloved Red MacArthur in the air. She thought for a while what she would think of him if she found out that he still needed someone to comfort him before sleeping, that was the most precious secret Kevin Stoley had, because if someone found out, well... I only knew that at least I would be the laughingstock of the school for five painful months. He quickly shook his head and forgot about that thought, still in his pajamas he decided to go out to his backyard and walk around a little until he got sleepy. But even worse was that she felt that her sister was lying to her, she felt as if she only wanted him to grow up and stop waking her up every blessed night just because a dog barked too loudly or because she dreamed that a monster was devouring him alive. That was indeed the most troubled in his mind. The teasing was temporary, but feeling like a martyr to someone you love was truly the painful thing.

Again he tried to forget those intrusive thoughts and went down in silence so as not to wake anyone up to his backyard. He felt something strange in that place, the screams of that dog had stopped, there was not a single hint of sound in the whole place... Kevin felt a déjà bu, it seemed as if he had already experienced this before; In a dream from many years ago, perhaps. He could not remember for sure what it was that bothered him so much, he felt that he was going to die soon, that there was something extremely wrong in that tranquility of the night, he simply felt... false.

His thoughts short-circuited when he heard something go up near his house, he turned to his right corner; from where the sound had originated and he saw a person climb the fence. He stepped back a little frightened, but it seemed as if the person who had just crossed the fence of his home was not very uneasy or scared.

"Tally-ho, Kevin!"

"What, who the hell are you!?" - Kevin slowly backed away as he watched as the person approached him. It looked like it had some strange fake "wings" and "horns" on its back and forehead as it tried to hide its teeth with a short smile.

"Oh, don't you really remember my name?" Oh Kevin, look how much you've grown! Are you still with Red? Or even better, do you happen to know where Damien is?" said the intruder as he approached with a big smile; His teeth being somewhat long and even somewhat sharp, his clothes were too clean and shiny, but he noticed that there was a little bit of what seemed to be a strange black liquid in one of its corners.

"D-Damien!?" Eh-listen~ j-just get out of here! I-I'm going to call the police if you don't leave~-

"Oh Kevin, would you really do that with your old friend Pip?" I doubt it, now be a good boy and tell me if you've seen Damien anywhere, he's been spending a lot of time on earth and I'm starting to worry already!" Pip started to walk nonchalantly towards Kevin, staring at him, penetrating into Kevin's soul with is purple eyes, even when the boy with glasses tried to scream, Phillip was just getting closer and faster towards him,  until finally stopping for a second; Kevin watched as Pip's expression for the first time denoted some anger and frustration.

-Kevin Kevin Kevin... Do you really not remember my name mhm? Okay, I get it, I was never the most popular or the most loved. That doesn't make me angry... What makes me angry is that you don't want to cooperate..." Pip quickly approached Kevin; Who, helplessly, looked at a great and sharp smile, the blond one formed on his face; his teeth opening massively until revealing that in his mouth there were only rows after rows of sharp teeth, Kevin heard how the jaw tore and stretched to inhuman reaches; Phillip's skin stretched and revealed Phillip's red-hot skin, you could even see Phillip's throbbing veins, the two long horned ones began to slowly expand on Pip's forehead as he laughed maniacally in an increasingly distorted and heartbreaking voice, two long tongues that looked as if they belonged to a snake peeked out before Kevin's helpless gaze; Who only tried to struggle in vain and scream for help.

It was a great and agonizing scream that woke Esther up: it seemed that it came from her backyard, but first she went to check her brother's room as a precaution. "He's not there..." she said to herself in her mind. But Esther didn't feel real panic, the fences in her neighborhood were not very long and this meant that rodents and other wild animals often scurried around the yards, Kevin was already quite afraid of animals such as raccoons and mice, so knowing his brother he had probably only met one of these animals and got a good scare... and, hearing no more screams, he assumed that Kevin had calmed down and probably only admired the nightscape.

She calmly went downstairs and turned on the lights in the living room, but her expression changed completely when she saw what appeared to be a monster on top of her brother's inert body.

That demon looked at her with blood in her mouth for a few seconds; Their pupils were extremely small and luminous: of which a mixture of purple and red light was visible through them. Esther screamed and rushed to save her brother, Pip on the other hand fled the scene quickly. But that was the least that could matter to Esther at that moment, she went to see if her precious brother was still alive, but a quick inspection of what was left of his face and torso was enough to confirm that nothing could be done to save him.

[augustheart]

doom patrol finale review

character-by-character breakdown:

vic's ending is definitely the best. i love this for him and i think it's the natural progression of his character in this show especially considering little moments like his relationship with baby doll--he's so good with kids of all ages and this is definitely where he would've ended up... maybe not regardless of what happened after he became cyborg, but i think this was definitely an "all roads lead to compassionate mentorship making a difference home" ending for him. i also think he and derrick should get married but that's secondary.

larry's ending is second best for me. to be clear i have no idea what the fuck they're gonna do now but i am very happy for him. we should all wish to be endgame with sendhil ramamurthy.

i really, really wish i liked k's ending but because tv-verse casey is so Nothing i don't care for it. i have complex feelings about the original morrison plot point the underground's coexistence in this way is based on but i think the show handled it fine. but i'm glad they're happy and i think them going by K is nice because it's a reflection of the fact that k-5's chosen name in the underground is k-5, not kay challis. they can't identify with that name because of trauma, but they can reclaim the girl. i may be talking myself into liking it more just by writing this. but i still wish tv casey was actually a character/anything like her comic book counterpart. she doesn't even get to have her own paragraph here.

i think i like cliff's ending. i don't like that it presents being with clara in florida as home when i don't think that's been the case at all throughout the show, but i do think i like it other than that. especially as someone who has been a fan of this character in the comics for years and wants him to be able to finally rest after outlasting so many in his life. i also find divorce having so thoroughly infected cliff's family to be hilarious. only clara and mel escaped the divorce curse.

laura's ending is good. no notes.

rita's ending is so, so close to being good. i actually really like it. she was the first with niles and she's the first to leave without him. but i don't care about agent ! in the slightest. sorry. he just doesn't mean anything to me. but i do think her getting her happy ending is good. i wish larry brought something of hers with him when he left, though. they love(d) each other so dearly until the end even when they were annoying the shit out of each other.

dorothy not being in the finale at all and only being mentioned once is very weird. where's my baby girl!

in terms of other things:

i think they should've wrapped up the actual plot of the season in the last episode so this one just could've been a homecoming finale, because as it is it felt rushed and weird. (i have similar criticism of the stargirl finale, but i give that a little more wiggle room because at least the climax happened. like. onscreen?)

clint mansell's score still goes beyond crazy because he's never composed something that doesn't fuck supremely imo

i am inherently prejudiced against stories that are like "and then they all went their separate ways but remembered their wacky found family fondly" at the end but i think the way they did it here was probably the best they could've done if they wanted to go that route.

i think my season ranking is 1, 4a, 3a, 4b, 3b, 2? maybe? as you can see those middle two are kinda wishy-washy, but i do still really like (...for the most part) the beginning of this season and of season three.

i have more thoughts but i'm having trouble formulating them. if anyone wants a more detailed look at something i left out then feel free to ask.

[claypigeonpottery]

Heyyyyy~ I'm just... So in love with all the work you do, they're all so precious and beautiful I'm in tears. Thank you so for what you do, can't wait to buy something you made soon :D

If it's okei, can you please tell the story of how you got into this and how did you progress from being babie artist to now growing artist and how long you've been doing this for? What's your top 3 fav works you've done? Did you eat good food today, if not please dooo. Thenks

thank you! that's very sweet x3 I'm excited to get more stuff fired and up on Etsy, hopefully before the end of June

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choose three favourites of my work? oh, that is a difficult question.

one thing I really didn't like about my art when I was younger was that it was all very static. it was people sitting or standing, it was still life paintings. one of the things I'm really proud of in my work now is the sense of capturing a moment instead of someone posing, and/or giving a sense of movement

these two are just the opposite of static and I love them for that

and then there's this mug. the design is great, the details are great and I had so much fun carving it. it was honestly just delightful and I wish I'd kept it. I don't say that very often.

all sold

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I'm putting the rest of this under a cut because I'm going to ramble

I started drawing because I was making silly comics about me and my friends in grade school and through high school (I assigned them all fursonas because I was a really cool 15 year old lol)

I got a little more serious about art in high school, but I never thought it'd be something I'd make money at.

when I was... in my early twenties? maybe 19 still? ah, memory issues, I went through a nine month art program, the 'Urban Canvas' project run by SCYAP (saskatoon community youth arts programming). the program is meant to support young artists, especially those with mental health or addiction issues. and it meant I got paid to draw and paint and create weird shit for 40 hours a week, for nine months. and then some (seven? eight?) years later I got to go through the program again which... honestly I'm so grateful I got to do that. (and SCYAP still supports me, they give me a table at their craft show every year and helped me with my first solo gallery show)

these are some of the pieces I made during my time at SCYAP:

and two very rare pictures of me, posing with two of my master studies. the left from when I was 20ish, and the right when I was... 27ish? (man I'm still proud of that Gentileschi copy)

.

it was after SCYAP when I started thinking that I could actually make money as an artist. so I painted more than a dozen murals, drew a 20-some page full colour comic, painted pet portraits, and sold my own paintings. commissions were more reliable than selling my own work for a long time lol

as for how I got into pottery, my mental health uh... haha. it took a nosedive about six years ago and during some of the worst of it, I was severely agoraphobic. my mom, who has always supported my art, offered to take me to pottery classes with her, in an attempt to get me leaving the house at least once a week. it did help (along with a lot of other things) and once I started exploring the surface decoration side of pottery, things really clicked for me

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tangent: one of the things that really drove me to progress as an artist was having something driving my work. whether it was preparing for a gallery show or making a bunch of holiday cards or making piles of fan art because I was obsessed. every time I made something, anything, I improved. so when I had a goal that made me create more, I improved faster.

my unsolicited advice: make that weird fan art. it's good for your art. (I was really into tf2 lol)

.

I've tried tons of different mediums and I think it was a great way to help my style evolve.

when you're making art with a new medium, it might take awhile before you're making your own personal work. I, at least, find that I usually have to do some studies of other peoples' art and just try some basic creations before I do anything more personal. but once I'm ready to do MY stuff, I have a new repertoire to pull from. I wouldn't be the potter I am if I didn't have the experiences I got from other mediums

like acrylics (I did a lot of self portraits >.>)

paper flower making

watercolour

collage

cake decorating

(also oil paints, pastels, 3D wire art, crochet, linocut, stone carving, sewing, set painting and quilting. also my spouse and I like to make crafts together, like cutting-construction-paper, gluing-pompoms-and-googly-eyes crafts, because it's just fun to make stuff together)

I'm sure pottery isn't the last medium I'm gonna try. I'll probably get obsessed with carving tiny wooden figurines or making wax sculptures at some point. who knows!

.

and now I'm in my mid-thirties, making art pretty much every day. I've been doing this since I was a teenager, so almost twenty years now.

I never imagined I'd be satisfied with my own art, that I could look at most of my pieces and not see how I could have done it better, but hey, here I am.

.

wow that was rambly. the ADHD really comes out when I'm writing lol. and I did eat real food today! before having some freezies

thanks so much for your ask, hopefully I satisfied your curiosity

[queer-fag]

Deadpool vs Wolverine thoughts

- lots of Easter eggs like too many to count honestly definitely requires a well rounded media knowledge even outside of marvel

- fucking incredible soundtrack. Great nostalgic choices that really made the film imo

- Chris Evan’s cameo as Johnny flame? Hilarious

- overall plot very fast and loose and really more there just to have a reason to put the two together

- is definitely crack

- like this absolutely could just be considered a crack universe because the one choice that ruined any type of canon was having Laura? The kid from Logan there in the void because Logan was sooo serious and talking about it was fine and bringing a different version (primed for “funnier”) is a great choice but wtf was she just there for other than a lil tear jerk moment idk unnecessary

- all serious moments lowkey unnecessary felt very off in comparison to the rest bc the rest was crack lol

- only part of the multiple Deadpool thing I liked was its uzi time baby

- fuck that gross dog forever but Logan just holding it to walk across truly hilarious

- love blade ? And the elektra call back but still those movies were so.. like serious (tho very camp) that it’s kind of weird to place these characters

- but the one liner to blade about animal king made it ok for me lol

- Stanley steamer cameo Stan Lee check very creative

- Cassandra… idk how to feel just a plug in villain but she had the opportunity to be so so so good I think I felt like she was underutilized

- as usual the worst part of marvel movies is their admittance that they know what’s wrong and don’t care but hey I literally saw it in theaters so it’s cyclical and 50% pass for being written and produced by Ryan

- I wish they put spawn in it. Idk man no reason at all I have no idea how the comics interact if at all but w the other cameos I think that’s probably the most overlooked marvel movie

- mad max mention check check check

- the tva as a continued narrative I dislike which is ironic bcccc —->

- Loki mention! Meta but whatever

- it was really funny I will give it props yes one liners but good ones !

- bloopers from all versions of X-men etc as ending reel solid!!! Very good

- fight scenes.. the opening was the best and the others were fine…

- they should have kisses there was the PERFECT moment and they didn’t

- I think this was a fun Wolverine actually I like how much he swore and was as nasty as Deadpool

- 7/10 final rating which is a b if you’re in Canada (reference Ryan reynolds)

[theknightmarket]

This is like the most random concept to probably ever come to me so out of the blue, you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but also I feel like if anyone could make something interesting out of this it'd be you. (love your fics btw<3)

So like, Illinois, with his whole knock-off Indiana Jones bullshit, with an s/o who's similarly akin to James Bond...….yeah idk either, man- You can come up with whatever action movie plot, or maybe just some domestic fluff with comically abrupt fight scenes sprinkled in cus that's just how chaotic I imagine their life would be. It's entirely up to you. I am very tired rn.

“Berlin, 1996.”

In which Illinois and his partner – in more than one sense – relive their meeting.

TW: cursing, blood, drug use, general mature themes

Pages: 12 – Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

The distant sizzle of waffle batter on a pan was the first thing you recognised when you woke in your bed. The smell of coffee wafting from the same place was the second, and the third, while a strange sensation to anyone else, was comforting to you. Your dog lapping at your hand that dangled over the side of the bed had you shaking yourself from the fuzzy grip of sleep. It was going to be a long and laborious process considering the amount of work you’d had for the last week, but this was finally a day that you could spend doing whatever you wished – which, right now, looked a lot like following the sweet scent of breakfast into the kitchen.

Moriarty led the way, the beautiful puppy, although actually a six-year-old Belgian Malinois, whom you had adopted a few years back. He had never liked many of your friends, and you trusted his nose enough to follow his advice. Sure, it might have seemed weird to take social cues from a canine, but he hadn’t steered you wrong yet. Whether it was a Russian spy you’d accidentally offered coffee to, or the smuggler who moved in down the road, Moriarty told you when people were off, and that just happened to be most of those you came in contact with. You’d long since given up making connections when the tenth potential acquaintance had turned out to be the head of some mafia you’d never even heard of. 

And then imagine your surprise when you finally brought home someone he liked. 

And your further surprise when he stayed the night, and then the morning, and then a week, and then a month, a year, and so on, until you should have been asking him for rent. All the while, Moriarty hadn’t made a peep, leaving you to your devices with this new and, for lack of a better term, strange fellow.

“Morning, gorgeous!” 

Speak of the devil and he may appear. 

That ‘devil’, affectionate, of course, was none other than the infamous Illinois Jones. A man chased by many, found by few, and held onto by only the luckiest of the lot. You were one of these people, aware that you had him in the palm of your hand, and you thanked him routinely in the morning with a kiss on the cheek for staying. 

The clock on the oven flashed a sharp 08:41, an unusual time for Illi to be awake at, but you weren’t complaining. Your job was stressful; you were sure that any doctor would tell you to quit immediately with how often your blood pressure spiked, so you treasured these couple of moments when you were given a break. Your partner had an on-and-off relationship with missions, the things he preferred to call adventures, but he had a likewise relationship with the agency itself. He had a habit of running off to foreign lands without permission, looking for trouble and finding it, too. You wouldn’t mind it, had it not been for your unfortunate love of the man that drew you after him, like a dog on a leash. In the meantime, a good rest was well deserved, now that you were back in the comfort of your own home after an unexpected visit to Guyana. 

Plus, he looked damn good in boxers and an apron. 

You lazily wrapped your arms around his waist, unintentionally distracting him from the food he was preparing, and muttered into his neck, “G’morning.”

“If you want breakfast, you’re gonna have to let me cook, babe,” he laughed, though that didn’t stop him from leaning back into you. 

Your only response was a muffled groan. It wasn’t your fault that you were so touchy-feely today. Work took up most of the daylight, and upkeep stole the rest away. The only time you really got together was in the late hours of the night when twilight would draw a sheet of privacy over the two of you and leave you alone. The stars would dance together, fireflies entertained themselves and you could just be together. Forgive yourself if you wanted to savor the minutes. 

Alas, you couldn’t stay at Illinois’ side forever. You’d have to come out of hiding eventually, and now was as good a time as any, so you drowsily shuffled towards the front door. The rusted latches groaned with a mere press of your hand, swinging open with an inching pace. Immediately, a gust of dry air trampled past your face, and the faint smell of dust had you sighing more than breathing. It was a classic Louisiana morning, something you haven’t experienced in a long time – not for a lack of breaks. No, although your recent schedule has been clogged, this quant place was a safe house paid for by the agency, meaning it wasn’t only yours to begin with. It was difficult to get used to using the same amenities that a stranger had just a few days ago, in a room that had a tagline of ‘safe’, but you got over it. It just meant that sanitizing every surface was the chore of the first day. 

Illinois didn’t have those reservations; the second that he stepped out of the truck, he declared it home, and went on the search for a good cave. He only agreed to come over camping in the wilderness because of the free food. Or, at least, that’s what he said. There was a small part of you that was sure it was because he didn’t want to be alone, you having no chance to agree on tents – and there was a big part of him that knew you were right. 

You laughed to yourself, pulling a porch chair into the orange sunlight. Being a safe house, it was surrounded by the thickest stretch of trees in the state and, even further, lakes and rivers that made it looked untouched by human hands. The second day had been spent exploring nature together. Illinois tugged you by your hand through bushes, over boulders, underneath a couple fallen trees, all the way to the perimeter of the land. From atop a small cliff, you could see the start of urbanization, but it was sheltered by a haze of smog and lights. The city stayed alight until well into midnight and beyond, like a dying campfire, only to be fed at the crack of dawn. 

A similar flicker of a flame shot into the air in front of you. 

The metal of your lighter was calming, the grooves of the ingrained letters basing you in the present. ‘Berlin, 1996’ was written in small italic near the lever, making it unlikely for you to ever resist the temptation of running your fingers over the markings. It made you smile and, from time to time, had the added benefit of you putting the lighter back in your pocket. This was not one of those times, but a grin did spread over your lips, nonetheless. 

The flicker met the end of a cigarette, which you promptly pulled towards your mouth when it took the flame. Illinois didn’t like the fact that you smoked, he always said how he wanted to be fit in his 90s, but you weren’t cheering for him when he jumped 20 feet down for the fun of it either. The compromise you came to was that both of you would continue to indulge the devils on your shoulders and could laugh at the other’s funeral if they died first. 

In all honesty, it was not a situation that you liked to be in. The constant, looming cloud of loss scared you more than any danger the agency put you in ever could. Nights spent waiting for Illinois to come home, the fear that time would go by, and the sun would rise and set again, and the door wouldn’t open… it was damn-near paralyzing. The only thing that kept you going, ironically enough, was that same man. At least, if you went on the same jobs that he did, you could keep an eye on him. You would know what kind of danger he was in, and you had the chance to stop it. The question was: would you be fast enough?

You took another drag of your cigarette.

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.” The porch crackled as Illinois stepped onto the wooden planks. “It’s not good for you.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

A light-hearted chuckle brushed against your ear, accompanied by the click of his boots and humming of cicadas. The deep sound stopped when he swung another chair next to yours. As he came into view, you saw he had replaced his apron with a simple, loose shirt that fell from him like a woman who had fainted in distress. To catch Illinois in a shirt that actually fit him would be to kill the king – impossible and, according to him, a crime punishable by death. 

“You know,” he spoke up, “you don’t look like the rumors.”

Your head unconsciously twisted to the side, so that you could see Illinois only slightly better. His own gaze was fixated in the distant spread of trees. Questions as to what he was starting at batted against you, but you settled on making a curious noise, instead. 

“When we first met, I thought you’d lied to me. I’d heard all these stories about a suave, collected, expert of a heartbreaker, and then…”

“They were proved incorrect?”

He took in a steady breath. “No. They were proved, uh, very correct. Actually, after hearing about you, I kinda,” he coughed, as though that would transfer his thoughts directly to you and take away the need to say the words, “made some assumptions that were not as correct.” 

Illinois prided himself on being right most of the time – and expressed himself as being right all of the time. However, this was one of the only things that he would admit he was wrong about, this being you. The image he had conjured of you was snide and snobby, only in it for themself and with the biggest case of holier-than-thou syndrome he’d ever thought of. Those stories of you driving fancy cars had pushed him into a corner, trapped by a cage of disgust and partial envy. Then, the rumors of how many people you had seduced worked their magic, followed by a notorious habit of smoking and drinking, which designated you, though he perished the thought now, a scumbag. 

But when he’d actually met you…

“And I’m, uh, glad they weren’t.” 

He swung an arm around your chair, drew rough fingers across your collarbone and directed your jaw into facing him. The light breeze shifted your hair like a lover’s touch, and the yellow sun decorated you like a bespoke artwork. Something he’d steal from a museum if he had to, but, no, he had you sitting right in front of him, with the quirk of an eyebrow and a small smile on your lips. He was lucky, he knew that, and he thanked his lucky stars every time he woke up next to you in sparkling mornings, every time your hands brushed when he pulled you up from a ledge, every time your eyes met from across a ballroom. 

The first time that happened was still something he treasured more than any bespoke jewel or painting. 

“Let’s get this business started.”

The night was young, the guests were pleasantly tipsy, and you were perched at one of the centre tables, next to three attractive models and the focus of your attention. 

At this moment, you and your company were in the Berlin Operetta House, a classic establishment with smoke and liquor running through its veins. You had joined in – for lack of anything better to do while biding your time – and had been seated with these four the last two hours. The women you had no information on, except for what you had observed in the time given, most of which boiled down to being pretty faces for the big guy sitting across from you. 

Earnest Whimson, dramatic irony demanding repentance of his parents as he was anything but earnest. He’d made his living on buying and selling anything he could get him tobacco-stained hands on, be it stolen goods, illegal drugs, or people themselves. It was a desolate trade, rotten but protected by the wallets of the people at the top. In those cases, there was only one person the authorities would routinely turn to. 

You. 

The authorities, the uncorrupted minorities, would plead with your agency for help, and you were the first person on the list. Call it luck or honed skill, you didn’t care. What you did care about was getting the job done in a quick and efficient manner. These places weren’t good to stay in for more than a day, lest you want to gain a certain reputation in all of the sectors. Thus, speed was top billing this night. That, and types like Whimson made it hard to keep your cover with the way he was talking. 

Luckily for you, nine o’clock was rearing its head, the lights were dimming and only a few people were left still chatting over their expensive dining. All eyes were directed towards the stage with fervor, those who didn’t know what was happening watching in piqued interest and those who did waiting with bated breath for the real show to begin.

You did know what was happening, you were indeed waiting, but your breaths were slow and steady, like a smooth rock in a brook. The plan was simple; starting at nine, you’d watch Whimson, make friendly banter with him while he bid on whatever items caught his eye. When he inevitably would call out a ludicrous amount of money for a bejeweled crown or statue and the night comes to a close, you’d excuse yourself and make your way to where that thing was located, wait for Whimson, and kindly dispatch the man before anyone could catch wind of what happened. The money he had taken out the few hours before would go to any witnesses, and you’d get back home in time for a smoke and martini.

Simple. 

Except your life had to be hard, didn’t it? You couldn’t just have a plan and stick to it, without something going wrong. Why? You didn’t know. If it had to do with karma or just bad luck, you didn’t know. A pity, really, when it would have made it so much easier to fix it if you did. It almost made you laugh, the thought of what a normal, easy mission was like. 

And the things that went wrong never stayed the same. In one instance, you’d find your getaway driver with a bullet through his skull – in another, your target was informed of your mission and managed to get away – sometimes, it was just raining. 

Right now, the thing that went wrong was something that had never happened before. 

That thing being the infamous Illinois Jones. 

Not even half an hour into the auction, and yet this man, adorned in an open, off-white shirt and multiple belts, was leaping onto the wooden slats. Your jaw would have been on the ground had it not been for the table, if not for his bravado, then for his stupidity. The artifact Whimson had bid on – go figure, a bejeweled crown – slotted nicely into his hand as he snatched it from its marble pedestal, shocking the woman presenting it into stumbling back. A wink was sent her way, she ran off, and Illinois turned to the audience. 

You listened as he spoke. You sat quietly, pretending that you were shocked, when, in reality, you were seething. The boiling of your blood was louder than the whispering of the bidders, and you found yourself restraining the urge to run up there and slap him for ruining your mission. Questions preoccupied your mind while he lectured the guests about the importance of culture and integrity. Why him - why now?! He wasn’t even a part of the agency, he shouldn’t have known about this bid, and yet there he was, like a smug reaper coming to steal your soul into hell. Did he even know you were there? Did it matter to him?

You only noticed Illinois had stopped talking when he swiveled on the heel of his boot, presumably struck a pose, and then stalked off the stage. Everyone was in such a shock that they didn’t stop him, at least, not at first. After a few seconds had passed for people to gain their composures, that was the cue for havoc to befall the room. Illinois had single-handedly converted an organization of logical, fat cats into a daycare for screaming toddlers; suited men pushed themselves away from tables and darted down the hallways, bodyguards unequipped their guns and set about searching for the adventurer, while some of the wives, understandably, stayed to sip on white wine. You would very much join them if it weren’t for Whimson leaning over to his personal bouncer to whisper in his ear. 

“Get the street rat.”

You sighed and took a final swig of your drink. Illinois was a menace, sure, but you weren’t willing to let him die for his ignorance. The agency may have applauded you as you returned, but you had maintained something of a moral compass during your work, so you liked to think you wouldn’t let him die like this. As you said, the man was infamous, and infamous people would not find their ends at the hands of a capitalist bastard’s lapdogs. 

The clink of your glass against the wooden table did not draw Whimson’s attention, but, if it had, he might have been able to avoid the bullet that wedged itself into his skull. You had aimed for his temple, and you were a brilliant shot. The smoke of your pistol camouflaged itself into the ceiling’s belt of fog. Cigarettes, similar to the one you now pulled out from a pocket to light. This job was not only stressful, it was stress. No mission could be easy, no day could go according to plan, and no panicked mob of refined guests could leave the building in an orderly fashion. People swarmed to the exits at the sound of the gunshot, tripping over one another and abandoning their guests to, presumably, your slaughter. 

You took a drag of your cigarette, pressed it between your lips, and gathered the suit jacket that had been on the back of your chair. Movements slow and deliberate, it was a wonder how the guard dogs Whimson had sent to Illinois hadn’t turned around yet to catch you. Good for you, but stupid on their part. Nevertheless, you were out of the manic tide of bidders before they could even realise their owner was slumped against the mahogany, brain matter splayed on his dress shirt. 

The sound of clicking dress shoes amidst the cacophony of panic sent leftover guests into hiding, with the thought that anyone that calm in the sea of chaos was in control of the situation, and that anyone who wouldn’t do anything to stop it was not to be messed with. This gave you the perfect path towards your new target. Calling out Illinois’ name was unnecessary, given you could already hear distant shots echoing down the hallways. 

And when you came to the end, asking where those gunshots were meant to hit was also unnecessary. 

The wall behind Illinois was pepped with holes, like a coral beach, while Whimson’s bodyguards looked relatively unharmed. From your position, it looked like Illinois was doing everything he could to dodge the bullets, and nothing to actually fight back. Putting your cigarette out on a recently polished cabinet, you delved into the fray. 

The first man down was yours, with an ornamental vase smashed against his skull, the kind of ones only used for grasping at when someone’s strangling you, but they still worked well to knock him out. Next down was his friend, who charged at you with intent to kill, but a shard of the broken porcelain stuck in his throat sent him to the ground. Blood trickled from the cut like a damaged water fountain, but none of the others paid him mind. Really, how would they ever survive without comradery?

You didn’t know, because they wouldn’t; Illinois, in tandem with your bloodier style, brought a table leg down onto another of the staff, the frail wood cracking the second it touched his head. The man whirled around with fury in his eyes, but those soon rolled back with the force of a punch to his face. You watched on, subtly impressed, though now was no time to ogle. Instead, you could do so after these people had been dispatched. 

Strikes to the lower abdomens, blunt-force trauma to their foreheads, and what you hoped were lethal cracks of bone kept everyone wanting to live away from the corridor. You brought one dress shoe down on a woman’s fingers, sighed at the pitiful crunch that was muffled by her scream, and then stood up to assess the situation. One, two, three- four, two were on top of each other, and the one that Illinois was currently bashing against the wall. That made five at the scene.

Six, if you were to include the one that popped a bullet past your thigh. Lousy shot, they barely grazed the clothing, though it was a shame; that outfit had been one of your favorites. 

Swiping a hand to your gun, you whirled around to see a particularly bulky bastard rounding the corner you’d come from. Illinois jumped to your side to look at the arrivals and took notice of your weapon in quick fashion. If only he had more trouble with brutalizing that last one, you might have hit the bullseye.

But a pressure on your wrist distracted you enough to miss. With your target swiveling to look at the newly cracked mirror and one end of the corridor swarmed by suited staff members, your night was only getting worse, and you lamented as such while Illinois dragged you down to the only available exit. 

Your job required a lot of running – more than the average desk job did, at least – and that was why your legs were able to work on autopilot despite the adrenaline working through your veins that pressured you to be aware of every little thing that crossed your mind. The shattered glass from dropped plates, the swinging of doors as the last party members escaped, the texture of Illinois’ hand that had steadily moved to wrap around your own fingers. He was decorated with callouses and rough patches, war wounds sustained in the battlefield of caves and climbing. They told a story, one that you could have read had you enough time, but, for now, you had to be satisfied with knowing his present – told to you, not by his skin, but by you also experiencing it at his side.

That involved the darting through doors, ducking under pipes, skirting around the staff members who hadn’t gotten the memo. You didn’t even have the chance to ask where Illinois was bringing you, too focused on not slamming straight into a wall. The steady sounds of boots marching behind you, of which you counted six or seven, propelled you forward, like striking a match against a line of gas. You barely felt conscious throughout the run; the rattle of Illinois’ pickup truck went over your head, and the jingle of a bar’s bell hardly registered until you were seated in one of the old bar seats where you came to, a drink in your hand and Illinois staring right at you. Well, not just staring right at you, but also spilling every bad pick-up line in his book. 

“I was wondering if you had an extra heart, because mine was just stolen.”

You had half a mind to put your martini down and walk out the door.

“I’m really glad I bought life insurance, because when I saw you, my heart stopped.”

Did he have life insurance?

“You must be a bank loan, because you’ve got my int—” 

“Why do you even want that thing, anyway?” you interrupted, vaguely gesturing to the crown peeking out of his satchel with your non-drink hand. 

“So, now you’re interested?” he chuckled, but only stopped long enough to order a whiskey before he commented, “The crown of Dos Partom, an old relic from the Mesopotamian era. No idea how it ended up in a bidding war, but, really, it belongs in a museum—” he shot a glance to the side, acting as though he hadn’t been watching you for the past ten minutes, “—that, and the company isn’t bad.”

So, he was the cocky type? You could’ve guessed that from the million stories about his personality, but it was a wonder to see it in action. Sure, you had a habit of using your charisma to get into places you shouldn’t have been, but this? What was he hoping to achieve? You’d already saved his ass from Whimson’s lackeys, and yet there he was, perched on the bar stool next to you, continuing his verbal assault of shoddy lines. Your eyes rolling and your annoyance growing, you twisted in your seat and removed a cigarette from your belt’s pocket. Normally, on mission days, you had five or six, a large step down from when you had days off, and yet this day was taking its toll on your stash. 

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.”

And so, too, was Illinois taking his toll on your patience. 

“It’s not good for you.” Regardless, you continued your strut to the backgarden of the bar. Lucky for you, despite the lateness, the weather had taken pity on you. A gentle breeze carved through the foliage and guided the smoke of your cigarette into the moonlit sky. The growl of cars and humming of lights brought you to lean against the white brick wall and take in the scenery. When you got a moment to yourself, appreciating where you were was the best you could do – because, who knows, you could be dead tomorrow. 

You took another drag, and then placed it on your bottom lip as you retrieved your phone. It was just a burner that you took on missions, but it had all the essentials, including the number of your assigned agency representative. The handlers, you called them. You didn’t know the name of yours, but you trusted them with everything about yourself; where you were, who you were with, what you were doing down to the shift of a foot. Right now, you were entrusting them with the simple name of your mission and the promise of it having been finished at your normal quality.

“Berlin, 1996,” you muttered as you typed the letters. 

“Keeping a diary there, sweetheart?” 

Could you catch a break? Apparently not, you assumed, as the sight of Illinois wrapped around the corner. His hat was off, held in one hand, and both your drinks in the other. You met his eyes, he stared back, and then you removed your glass. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“What do you want?”

Illinois pretended to be shocked, reeling back and pressing his hat to his chest. “Me? Want something? From you?” he gasped, a smirk overthrowing his lips only when you didn’t react. “Not at all.”

“Don’t play dumb, Jones,” you warned. 

“I appreciate that you think I play dumb.”

That teasing smile, the glistening eyes, you had to look away before you did anything drastic. Whether that was punching him or kissing him, you didn’t know, but you knew that looked off into the well-trimmed hedges halted the urge. “I know you’re not just a pretty face, what do you want?”

“And I’m pretty?” Another chuckle. “You don’t need to say all that to get me interested.” 

“Just—” you took a breath in, “—tell me what you want from me, and then we can part ways. Easy.”

“And what if I don’t want it to be easy?”

Someone inside the bar shouted that it was last call, but neither of you moved to grab your final drinks. Neither of you moved, at all. You stayed still, Illinois stayed still, and the only sound between you was the buzz of moths at the dangling light just a few inches away. Illinois was… he was something else, that was for sure. Either he was going to kill himself, or you were going to kill him yourself. No matter what, you wanted to be there for it. 

Reaching out, you pulled a thumb along his jawline and took a sip of your martini out of the other hand. Illinois was too stunned to speak, leaving you the chance to remove your hand, snatch his hat and shove it onto his head in one, fast motion. He made some sort of sound, one that you didn’t catch as you waltzed back into the bar.

Illinois, standing in the porchlight, laughed to himself and followed you inside – and then, in another year, five months and two days, he’d be doing the exact same thing, except, this time, with a golden band around both of your fingers. 

[As a Brit myself, and having seen neither James Bond nor Indiana Jones, this was a treat for me! Thank you for requesting! Also, as some of you may have noticed, I have currently closed my requests because exam season is coming up, but I should be back around the end of June. Thank you for sticking with me, and, again, thank you for requesting!]