#like all of these statements are insane to me no matter if the person is right or wrong

[scaredofmyocs]

"blank user/fan stop (impossibly insensitive thing) challenge" "you cant be a (mentally ill character) kinnie they (mentally ill social behavior) and your braindead if you cant understand why thats bad" "oh your forklift certified lets make out and run off into the sunset togetjer (evil and gay) and tax fraud"

SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[aphel1on]

Dungeon Lords and the Human Need for Connection

When I came across these panels again the other day, it got me thinking about dungeon lord parallels again.

...And I spiraled until I was writing my thesis statement about how All Four Dungeon Lords (Yes, Even Laios, Stop leaving him out of these discussions) Are Actually the Same.

Firstly (because on some level everything is about Thistle to me) I thought about how the lion could have very likely given Thistle a similar offer when his loved ones started losing their souls/rebelling/etc. And yet, there is no sign that Thistle ever accepted such an offer, nor any sign that he used magic to forcibly change people's opinions, the way Marcille briefly threatened the party with while she was dungeon lord:

Instead, he ended up with the fucking dining table that drives me insane. Which probably means that either Thistle rejected the offer, or the lion sensed it wouldn't go over well and didn't even try it.

Making replicas of people doesn't seem to be an uncommon part of granting the dungeon lord's wishes. In his time, Mithrun actually took the demon up on it:

(Not pictured; the infamous lamia-version of his love interest.)

What makes Mithrun different from Thistle and Marcille in this instance is that Thistle and Marcille both became dungeon lords for the sake of specific people. Both were motivated by the terror of losing their most important people, and both told themselves everything they did was for the sake of protecting those people.

Because they were motivated by genuine love, copies or mind manipulation were not palatable. I think Thistle even in the late stages of his madness probably would not find these to be acceptable solutions. No matter how twisted, possessive, and obsessive his love became under the dungeon's influence, it was still from the fear of losing those original, irreplaceable people that he was doing all this. Even as his relationship with Delgal and the other Melinis fell apart over the years... even as he was left with only their soulless bodies... he would still rather cling to whatever was left.

Perhaps on some level, Thistle recognized the same thing that kept Marcille from following through with her threats:

Even in the state of endlessly chasing their desires as dungeon lords, they couldn't feel truly okay accomplishing it that way.

For Mithrun, meanwhile, the people in his fantasy world were a means to an end. It was all-encompassing insecurity and the pain of not being wanted that led him to become dungeon lord. His desire was not fixated on any specific people - it was broad enough and desperate enough that anyone could fulfill it. The thing is, Mithrun prior to becoming dungeon lord was by all accounts well-liked. But his emotional walls were up so high that not a single one of his admirers could make him feel known and cared for. The kind of crushing perfectionism he exhibited in that stage of his life often comes with a silent and equally crushing imposter syndrome. No one actually knew him, because Mithrun didn't let them, even though every aspect of his personality then was a desperate plea to be seen and liked. I think the sad truth is that, by the time he became dungeon lord, Mithrun didn't truly believe that happiness was something that could be found in other people. (It's telling that his wish was for a world in which he had never been discarded; perhaps for a world in which he never felt the need to put up those masks.)

In this respect, Mithrun is actually more alike to Laios than he is to Thistle and Marcille.

Laios was told again and again by the world that it was wrong to be who he was - that he was unlikeable when he acted the way that came naturally to him. The lion didn't bother asking Laios about replicas; those would be meaningless to him. Like Mithrun, Laios had lost all hope of being liked for who he was, but took it one step further: Laios had lost hope that he could find happiness in the human world entirely. At that point, all he wanted was an escape. To leave the pain of the human world behind and become someone, something, different. All he really needed in order to be tempted into it was the assurance that his friends would be safe.

All four of these stories have a pretty obvious throughline when you think about it: the deep, intrinsic need for human connection and what happens to someone when that need cannot be met.

All four of them were starving for connection. All four of them experienced alienation and isolation that made them desperate enough to turn to the demon.

Marcille (a half-elf whose unstable aging left her without peers) and Thistle (raised as the only elf in a kingdom of humans) both formed intense attachments to the few people they did become close to, and went off the deep end from fear of losing them.

Mithrun and Laios were both rejected by others for aspects of themselves that were out of their control, and tried to cope by developing masks that left them unable to feel accepted by the people still in their lives.

...So it's fitting, then, that genuine human connection is also what saved all four of them in the end.

(Thistle is a little arguable here; I personally don't think he died, but even if you do believe he died at the end of the manga- Yaad being able to connect and empathize with him is what gave him peace and solace in his final moments.)

Dungeon Meshi is about alienation and connection as much as it is about food and cycles of life. (Or more like, these themes are masterfully intertwined - food is used to represent love and connection over and over again. But that's a whole essay in and of itself!)

[asapeveryday]

SHOCK FACTOR ★彡PART 5

Prev. Next.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Summary: a lot of media attention and some solo time isn’t enough to keep paige away from you.

A/n: one more chap after this then we done 😛

YOU WAKE UP with a pounding headache, not as engulfing as last night but still enough to induce a groan as you lift your head from your pillow.

The hotel-white pillowcase is smeared with residual makeup and your hair feels tangled and unruly. It was surprising how well you slept, seeing as multiple things had happened the night before that should’ve kept you up till morning. You look around to see the hotel room is empty, then check your phone for the time. It’s 1:34pm, you’ve slept into the afternoon.

Your phone is absolutely filled with notifications.

JUJU-KINS😘

U up?

Coach is lit tweaking rn

U bouta be getting media trained FOR LIFE

ELAINEY 🤞

hey

can we talk pls?

ur only in town for a couple more days

it’s not as bad as it seems i swear

i was drunk

COACH

Call me when you see this message.

I hope you already know what you’ve done wrong so I don’t have to waste my time.

You’re smarter than this!

Collapsing on your bed again, you bury yourself in the sheets. Being in Connecticut had just turned out to be a nightmare, you’ve barely interacted with your teammates, your friendship with Elaine was ruined, you’ve had the most confusing relationship with Paige and you’ve made a fool of yourself online.

You shoot a quick text to Juju as well as some other teammates who’ve checked up on you, being sure to ignore Elaine’s texts. You find yourself re-reading your messages with Paige, thankfully your drunk brain hadn’t texted anything too out of pocket, and though you clearly remember her typing after your last message she hadn’t responded since then.

Your call with Coach was the most dreaded of all, you truly respected and feared her, so sitting through an almost half-hour phone call about your responsibilities, failures, expectations and repercussions was awful.

In short, you were to be off of social media until back in state, live privileges were fully revoked, if you were to be found partying and clubbing you’d be in massive trouble, you had to issue a statement on Instagram and twitter (which was pre-written by some professional), and the next practice you participate in will be the worst practice you’ve ever experienced in the history of bad practices. Most probably an insane amount of sprints.

You release your statements on Instagram and Twitter, but before deleting the apps you check out Paige’s comments. She’d obviously received a similar order. Her Instagram story consisted of a black screen and a small box of text, simply entailing how spreading love and positivity while uplifting other players is an obligation she intends to follow from this point onwards.

Her twitter had two new tweets:

paigebueckers1 : Me and (Name) have had some truly special experiences in college basketball. She’s an amazing player who is only gonna go higher and get better as she grows. When I was a junior I was stuck in crutches hoping for the chance I have now. (Name) as a junior herself is absolutely killing it on the court and I for one will always be rooting for her, competitive comments online or not. Keep doin what you’re doin @yourusername !

paigebueckers1 : God is good! 🙏

Turning your phone off, the only thing you’re thinking is ‘you’re so full of shit.’

You wonder if she wrote that herself or if somebody wrote it for her and made it seem like it was her own typing. Regardless, it didn’t matter anymore. You’d had your experience with the Big East Champion, and it was enough for a lifetime.

The amount of content coming out regarding you and Paige was insanely overwhelming. Debates online regarding your skills, looks, personality and basically anything the public can grasp were rampant. You and Paige had been a bit of a scandal ever since she shaded you on that panel, and the media had been seriously following you two back and forth between the seemingly friendly interactions and more hostile ones.

Eventually you stumble upon something different. A video of you and Paige in the background of KK and Ice’s live that day in the coffee shop. You can see yourself fumbling with napkins, and Paige approaching. It’s almost entrancing to see everything play out from another perspective, to see how her face eases into a smile at your smartass comments, to relive your own amused emotion at her stare, to watch Paige speedily write her number on a napkin before the camera shifts and the live ends.

You’re unsure how to react to all of this. No matter how close or far you could get with Paige, would it ever amount to anything? To the slightest bit of trust? Her lips were almost on yours that evening in the street, but just an hour earlier she had lied to your face about knowing Elaine.

You recall what Elaine drunkenly spat out during your argument outside the bar.

“N’ I’ll tell you what. She’s going to play your ass and you’re never gonna get over it, cus that’s what she does.”

Was this spoken out of experience, or a mixture of jealousy and intoxication? Had Elaine once been that girl on the street, inches away?

You can’t help but think it wasn’t the case. Paige bit her tongue around you to stifle a laugh or to hold back a rebuttal to your teasing. When it came to Elaine, Paige bit her tongue in a different way. A loathing way. You couldn’t explain it.

Plus, Elaine had said herself that you were not Paige’s usual type. If she meant you and her were not alike, that was the truth. You and Paige had more of a history, more similar lifestyles and experiences, more. At least you assumed so.

Finally, you decide you’ve done enough thinking for the day. It was time to line up some plans, maybe meet up with the team for a couple hours and then hoop solo in the evening. Anything to distract from the situation.

-

The sound of a basketball against the blacktop, the hollow bounce that always found itself back to your hand. It’s sustenance to you, it’s breathing.

Storrs had been blessed with a hotter Sunday then usual, even in your shorts and t-shirt you were sweating, shooting hoops the same way you’ve been doing since you were a child.

The court was empty and outdoors, perfect for you to hold the ball for a moment and admire the scenery, the changing colours of the sky as afternoon fades to evening.

You hear the bounce of a ball again, but yours is secured in your hand.

“Hey.”

You’re not surprised to see her. The sink in your stomach as you meet her eyes in almost predictable.

“What are the chances.” You scoff. “Don’t you have like, the entire UConn gym to hoop?”

“I come to this court all the time.” Paige narrows her eyes. “It’s usually peaceful.”

“I figured.” You say curtly, turning your head to see the setting sun. It was very peaceful, even with the impending silence between you and the blonde.

“How drunk were you last night?” Paige asks.

You spin around to give her a look. “Drunk enough to get on live,” You scoff. “but sober enough to read a text and send it without regrets.”

At the mention of your short conversation with Paige over text, you can see her cringe. She obviously hadn’t been expecting you to find out about her relationship with your friend, let alone be so upfront with it.

“I never fucked her in my car…just so you know.” She finally manages to breath out.

You almost bark out a laugh at this. “You think I’m mad cus you fucked her?” You ask, walking towards Paige and lightly dribbling the ball. She simply stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

“Are you not?”

“Is the blonde fucking seeping into your head?” You snap, mentally celebrating as her lips forms a straight line. “If you don’t know, you better figure it out.”

Paige brings a hand to her face, rubbing her forehead as if it’s aching. Her eyes are wide and analyzing you, thinking of the best way to respond.

“Go on,” you tease her. “tell me why I’m mad.”

You’re close to her now, too close for comfort. You can see her smile lines, her plush lips, her silver chain glinting beneath the black long sleeve she’s wearing. The sleeves are rolled up, and you can’t help but noticed how veiny her arms are, how her long fingers are holding the basketball against her body.

Biting her lip, Paige finally responds. “You’re mad because I lied.”

“Smart girl.” You scoff, almost choking on your breath when her jaw clenches at your comment. “I’m mad cus you lied to my face. And cus you went on live and shit talked me again for no reason.”

You and her stare at each other for a long moment before she breaks a smile. “That was my bad.” She murmurs. “I was uh, Ion’ know. I was in sum kinda mood.”

“The mood to lie?” You raise your eyebrow. “Or the mood to be a bitch?”

“Don’t call me a bitch.” She scowls, and you’re reminded of the last time you called her that, at the end of your game against UConn.

“That’s what you are, Bueckers.” You say with a smile, eyeing her down and getting in her face just a little more. “Bitches lie, bitches make problems out of nothing.”

Her eye is fiercely trained on you, on the way your lips move as you degrade her. You can’t tell what she’s thinking in the slightest.

“(Name), I’m sorry.” She says softly.

Once again you two are staring in silence. The proximity is intoxicating, you can practically smell her clean clothes.

“Are you still fucking Elaine?”

“Hell no.” Paige shakes her head furiously. “That ended a while ago. We haven’t talked in like months.”

“She still has your location.” You grumble. “That’s how she knew I was with you at the restaurant.”

“Shit.” Paige groans, immediately pulling out her phone. “She interrupted us on purpose then? Psycho.”

You watch as she turns off her location for Elaine and blocks her before slipping her phone back in her pocket.

“We didn’t hookup for long.” Paige says, obviously feeling the need to explain herself. “Jus a couple times. I broke things off, she couldn’t accept how busy my schedule was.”

You shrug, not knowing what to say.

“Guess she couldn’t accept you and me either, huh?” Paige smirks, shooting you a ‘forgive me’ type look.

Ignoring the swell in your heart at the stupid comment, you just chuckle and shake your head.

“Do you wanna 1v1?” She asks almost sheepishly.

You think for a moment.

“You sure I’m on your level?”

Paige looks embarrassed for a moment, remembering what she said on her live. “Quit playin.” She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, show me what you got.”

-

You’d be lying if you were to say you knew the score.

Was she taking score? You and Paige were equally insanely competitive, but this wasn’t a true test of skill. This was a test of endurance. A test to see who would break first.

You knew this when her hand grazed your waist as she darted past you to the other end of the court, or when she stared you down, tongue between her lips as she blocked your shot. You retaliated yourself, letting your hand linger a bit too long as you helped her up from the ground after tripping her up, or whistling at her as she makes another three.

The heavy breathing, the piercing stares, the cold air as the sun disappeared. You were in a zone you’d never been in before, somehow equally focused on the game and the girl.

You manage to steal the ball from Paige in a swift moment, but suddenly she’s in front of you again. Her hands dart for the ball, attempting to smack it out of your hand. She almost manages to steal it back, but your grip tightens just at the right moment.

She’s stuck to you, her hands attempting to pry the ball out of your own. You can hear her breath, you can see the beaded sweat on her forehead, you can feel her blue eyes watching you, watching your chest widen and shrink with every inhale and exhale, watching your lips.

It’s a replay of the college game that started all of this.

You struggle for a moment longer before the tousle is not longer controlled, the ball slips between both of your sweaty hands. You and Paige both scramble to save it, but it bounces out of your grasps and away from the court.

Neither of you chase after it.

She’s still up close to you, face flushed from the game.

“What was the score?” She huffs, out of breath. Paige’s voice is raspy and tired. You feel something spark inside of you.

“No clue.”

Paige’s face breaks into a small smirk as her hands find your waist, uncertain and soft, just barely ghosting your frame. “That was my ball.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, your heart hammering at the feeling of her eyes exploring every part of you, lingering on your lips before she finally leans in.

Paige’s lips are rough against yours, but fit perfectly as if moulded for your own. She melts into you, her hands finally tightening around your body, her face tilting just right so she can finally taste you. It’s something you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. She kisses with a million emotions, with urgency, passion and the slightest bit of control. It’s electrical.

When you need to break the kiss to breath, you simply tug on her ponytail. You were not expecting the slight whimper as your lips part.

“M’ not done.” She mutters against you, catching her breath.

“I want you, P.” You whisper, looking up at her. Paige’s face immediately changes at this, lips tilting upward in an annoyingly charismatic way.

“I know you do, baby.” She murmurs. “Let me take you home.”

[happy74827]

Conflicted, Yet Certain

[Albert Wesker x Agent!Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Tension rises when you refuse to do what Wesker orders. The result? Well, it's nothing short of explosive {GIF Creds: @monsieurphantom}.

WC: 2611

Category: Spice/Lime, Insane Amount of Sexual Tension {TW: Choking, Slamming into Trees (lmao), Wesker being a lil bitch}.

I’m going to be so real with all of you rn. I’m not a complete stranger to Resident Evil; I know some things (most all relating to Leon and Ethan 😏), but in terms of Wesker… yeah, I dunno THAT much. I did lots and lots of Google research solely because I discovered him through an edit (I’m also aware of the Separate Ways DLC, too, don’t worry), and he’s cool asf. So, bada boom, this oneshot was born.

And I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I think I pretty much nailed him. Personality-wise, that is. And @yoursacredqueenmother, don’t you come for me. You knew this was going to happen.

So, with that out of the way, enjoy this fic that I spent way too much time on :)

『••✎••』

It was like a gush of wind. One minute, you were staring into the dark abyss of his shades, free to move, and the next, you were against a tree with a firm hand gripping your neck. No matter how many times you were reminded of his inhuman strength, it always caught you off guard.

"I asked you a question,"

Wesker was standing so close that your bodies were almost touching, his grip tightening every second that passed without a response. His free hand moved from his side to rest on the knife on his hip. Your eyes moved down to the weapon, and he let out a low, almost guttural, chuckle.

"What, are you afraid?"

He pressed the blade against your cheek. The cold steel made your skin burn, and you winced as it cut into your skin. He held it there, watching you struggle. You didn’t try to push him away or escape the pain, but you didn’t give him the answer he was looking for, either.

You looked up at him stiffly and gave him a look that was equal parts hate and disgust. He was always playing these games, pushing you, taunting you, testing you. You knew he wanted you to react, to show him that he had any effect on you.

He removed the knife from your face, and you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Wesker didn't remove his hand from your neck, though. Instead, he ran his glove-covered fingers across your cheek, wiping away the blood from the small cut he caused.

"I expected better of you," He paused, and you felt his nails dig into your skin, "And, more importantly, I expected my orders to be followed."

Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the unspoken threat in his words. You couldn’t stop the shudder that went through your body, and the scariest thing about the whole situation was that you weren’t sure if it was fear or arousal.

His grip on your neck loosened, and you relaxed, letting your head fall forward slightly. You knew that, at this point, Wesker was just waiting for an answer, and you had nothing left to lose by giving it to him.

"I won't do it."

"Excuse me?"

He tightened his grip on your neck and lifted your head up to look him in the eye. Your heart raced, and you could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

"I won't do it. You can't make me."

Wesker scoffed and took a step back, letting go of you completely. You took a deep breath and watched him intently, waiting for him to strike again.

He didn’t, surprisingly. He just stood there, looking at you. It was a real pain how he could see right through you, and all you had were his damn glasses.

"You can't make me," You repeated. It was shocking how much confidence you had in that statement, especially given that Wesker could break you in half if he wanted to, but despite everything, you were defiant.

He tilted his head, his lips curved into a smirk. His posture was casual, and, while you were still tense, his attitude was the complete opposite of what it was a few minutes ago.

"I think you'll find that I can."

There was no trace of the threatening, sadistic man you were so used to dealing with. Instead, he was calm, almost charming, but it didn't change the fact that you didn't trust him for a second.

He took a step towards you and then another. Before you could move, his hand was on the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

"You will do as I say because if you don't," He paused and leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Chris will be the one who has to deal with your mistakes."

It was a low blow, and, as much as you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, you knew he was right. There was no way you were going to put Chris in any kind of danger. Not now. Not ever.

Wesker chuckled. The sound was dark and full of amusement. He was enjoying the power he had over you, and you hated it.

"You'll do what I say, won't you?"

You didn't reply, but it didn't matter. You were both aware that he was right. He knew that, no matter what, you would follow his orders. He knew that if it came down to it, you would give up everything for the sake of protecting Chris.

You felt Wesker's hands loosen, and he stepped away, putting some distance between the two of you. He seemed pleased with your decision, his smirk growing wider as he watched you.

"Now, go and prove yourself useful, my dear," Wesker commanded, the amusement gone from his voice.

He turned his back to you and began to walk away, but you couldn’t leave it like that. You couldn't just stand there and watch him leave.

You rushed forward and grabbed his arm, an act that he fully expected and allowed but not one that was welcome. He spun around and grabbed your wrist, twisting it painfully. If he weren’t so precise in his movements, he would have broken it.

You didn’t bother tugging or fighting his grip. You just stood there and stared up at him, waiting for him to say something.

He didn't. Instead, he just looked down at you. It was a different kind of stare. Not one that was filled with amusement or anger but curiosity. He was curious about what you were doing. He was curious about what kind of game you were trying to play.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Wesker raised an eyebrow. You could almost hear the sarcasm in his voice when he spoke.

"Oh, I'm well aware."

He released your wrist, his touch lingering longer than necessary. You flexed your fingers and rubbed at the spot where he grabbed you, trying to ease the ache.

You weren't afraid of him, but that didn't mean that you weren't intimidated by him. It didn't mean that you weren't cautious. After all, he was stronger and faster than you, and his control was unmatched.

"Why don't you go run along to Redfield now, Agent," Wesker said, his tone almost teasing, "I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear of your obedience."

You didn't wait around to listen to any more of his taunts. Something took over, something that made you do something really, really stupid.

You walked straight up to him, no words spoken, no thoughts shared, just pure, unadulterated instinct. Inches away from him, you pushed yourself up onto the tips of your toes and smacked your palm against his cheek.

His head snapped to the side, his eyes most likely wide, and his mouth slightly parted. The slap didn't hurt, or at least, it didn't affect him physically, but it was enough to shock him. He didn't expect that.

He turned his gaze back to you, his jaw clenching and his fists balled up. His shoulders tensed, and you could see the annoyance written all over his face.

"Do it again."

Stern and cold, his voice was low and full of warning. A part of you told you to walk away, to get out of there while you still had the chance, but the other part of you refused.

Your hands trembled slightly, but you didn't back down. You’ve been holding it in for so long, so agonizingly long, and this was your chance to do something, to let go, even if it was just for a second.

For once, you didn't care about the consequences, or the punishment, or the fact that, at that moment, Wesker could very well kill you.

You slapped him again. Tried to, anyway. He was too fast, and before your hand could reach his face, he grabbed your wrist again. He pulled you forward, twisting your arm behind your back, and held you against him.

His other hand was on the back of your head, forcing it up so that you were looking him straight in the eyes. Except, again, you couldn’t. Not with those fucking sunglasses in the way.

He leaned down, his lips only a few inches from yours. You could feel his breath on your skin, warm and heavy, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Do it."

This time, there was no malice or mockery in his voice. No, he wasn't telling you to hit him. He was giving you permission.

Your heart was racing, and your legs felt weak. It was so much, and you weren't sure how much more you could take. You hated him, God, did you hate him.

But, at the same time, there was something about him that drew you in. Something that made your pulse quicken, and your stomach churn. Something that made your head spin and your palms sweat. Something that made you want him, even if you didn't want to admit it.

And, as much as you hated him, as much as you loathed him, you couldn't help but want him.

He was a monster. He was evil. He was everything you had spent years fighting against, but there was no denying the attraction you felt towards him.

The heat of his body was overwhelming, and the smell of him, a mix of leather and gunpowder, was intoxicating. His grip on your hair tightened, forcing you closer, and you were sure he could hear the way your breathing hitched.

"Come on, dear," He taunted, that mocking, sinister tone back in his voice, "Don’t tell me you're losing your nerve."

That was it. That was all it took. You didn’t know what came over you, but suddenly, your hand was on the back of his neck, and you were crashing your lips against his.

It was messy and rough, and there was so much anger, hate, and lust behind it. Wesker returned the kiss, his lips moving against yours, and he let go of your hair and the arm he had pinned behind your back.

His hands moved to your waist, gripping tightly, and you grabbed a fistful of his hair. He let out a low growl deep in his throat and pushed you backward.

The next thing you knew, your back was once again thrown against the nearest tree. It wasn’t as painful this time, mostly due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins and Wesker taking the initiative to move his arm to the back of your neck to soften the impact.

The bark was rough against your skin, and the scent of pine was strong, but none of it mattered. Not with the way his hands found your thighs, lifting them up to wrap around his waist.

Not with the way his teeth bit and nipped at your bottom lip, drawing blood. Not with the way his tongue soothed the wounds, tasting the coppery fluid.

Not with the way his hips rolled against yours, drawing out a moan from the back of your throat.

Wesker pulled away and trailed kisses along your jaw, moving to the side of your neck. You gasped and bucked your hips as his teeth scraped against the sensitive flesh.

He chuckled, the vibration of his voice against your skin making your head spin, and moved his hand from the back of your neck to hold the sides of your face.

He was so close. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the warmth of his body contrasting the cool air around you.

You wanted to reach up and rip those fucking sunglasses off his face to finally see what was hidden behind them. You wanted to look him in the eyes, to see what kind of expression was on his face.

You wanted to know if he felt the same way you did, the same fire, the same desire.

You wanted to know if he hated you as much as you hated him.

Instead, you ran your fingers through his hair, grabbing and tugging at it, causing him to growl against your neck. His lips were still on your skin, sucking and biting at the delicate flesh, and his hands were exploring every inch of you.

His hands roamed, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of his touch. Your head was clouded with desire, and you could barely focus.

It was all happening so fast. Too fast. Your body was on fire, and, for a moment, you forgot who you were with and what he had done. You forgot the pain and the suffering and the lives that had been lost.

You forgot it all, and, just for a moment, it felt good. It felt right. It felt like you were meant to be together in every way.

Wesker was no fool, and he certainly didn't miss the change in your breathing or the way your muscles relaxed under his touch. He could hear your heartbeat, the rhythmic thumping growing quicker and louder as his hands moved lower, and he could smell the scent of arousal in the air.

He pulled away and looked down at you, the corner of his lips twisted into a smug smirk. He could see the look in your eyes, the haze that was covering them. He could feel the heat of your skin and the way it prickled under his touch.

He knew what you were thinking and what you were feeling, and he could use it to his advantage.

"So, this is how to get through to you," He mused, his voice low and teasing, "Interesting."

And just like that, reality set back in.

Your eyes snapped open, and, as if you were being electrocuted, your body went rigid. Wesker took a step back and released you from his grasp, watching intently as you fell to the ground.

Your body was numb, and your head was spinning. You couldn't move, couldn't speak. You were frozen, unable to do anything but watch him.

"Well, well," He started, his eyes never leaving you, "Perhaps I was wrong about you."

He took another step back, putting more distance between the two of you. You looked up at him, your breath coming out in short, ragged gasps.

He tilted his head, his face showing a mixture of amusement and annoyance, and took another step back.

"Send my regards to Chris, won't you?"

Then, he was gone. Just like that, he disappeared, and you were left alone in the woods, struggling to understand what had just happened.

What had you done?

You didn't know, and, to be honest, you weren't sure you wanted to. All you knew was that you had fucked up big time.

You had let your guard down and shown him a weakness. You had given him the perfect opportunity to use you, and use you he did.

You stood there, your mind racing and your body aching. Your legs were weak, and your heart was pounding, and it took a while for your breathing to return to normal.

Goddamn it, what had you done?!

The question haunted you, and it continued to haunt you as you stumbled back towards the main street, where your car was parked.

You were completely and utterly fucked, and you had nobody to blame but yourself.

You got into your car and turned the ignition, the engine rumbling to life. You shifted into drive and pulled away; the only thing on your mind was how badly you needed a drink.

Or two.

Or three.

Damn it… What the hell had you done?

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

I have gotten so many messages from folks who see what's happening to Jews right now, how literally any statement from us that isn't straight up "death to Israel!" "tear it down!" "river to the sea!" etc. - no matter how tempered in other ways or critical of the Israeli government it is - anything even mildly supportive of the terrorism victims/their families in their grief and/or Israelis deserving to live is getting dog piled to an absurd degree. And yes, that primarily targets Jews (because we're the ones primarily speaking on it) but it definitely is also hitting anyone not Jewish who says this as well. Immediately, overnight, the left has made any position that respects everyone's human rights and allows Jews room to grieve our murdered and missing family and friends without telling us they deserved to die in terrible ways completely radioactive. Like literally even the most milquetoaste statement attracts numerous hysterical commentators. And because it's so toxic, people are afraid to speak up.

And I've now heard from a lot of gentiles that they had no idea how deep the rot of leftist antisemitism went, how they've been seeing this unfold with horror, and are afraid to speak up.

Here's what I'll say: those messages give me a lot of strength, because they help me remember that I'm not insane, that this is horrendous, and we are seeing in real time exactly who would have helped the Gestapo find us if they were sufficiently convinced that this is "decolonization." That yes, the backlash really *is* that bad. I hear that affirmation and I appreciate it, and I understand your fear, because it was mine too. I myself strongly considered at the beginning not saying anything about this until I could do so without being harassed. (I decided against that because I am physically incapable of shutting up when it pertains to my people, but I understand the sentiment.)

Here's the thing: this is never going to end - those people who take seriously the question "are Jews people?" are going to be the vocal minority unless and until we all speak out. Jews are 2% of the US population and 0.2% of the world's population - there are literally more self-identified Nazis in America than there are Jews. I would honestly be surprised if there weren't more horseshoe theory leftists in the world than Jews also.

That being the case, we really do need our allies to speak up with us. I think if we all spoke up at once, it might be enough to break the silence-taken-as-agreement and shame everyone but the avowed antisemites (rather than the thoughtless and opportunistic ones) back into keeping their antisemitism under wraps. Which does have the effect of bringing the mob under control. Jews have faced a ton of mob violence in the form of pogroms throughout our history and backlash to Jewish victimhood. (Tl;dr - "How dare you make me consider how I might have benefited from or been complicit in hurting Jews? This is actually the fault of the Jews." is a disturbingly common thought process.) (You may also be wondering what I mean by "opportunistic;" I can explain in another post if people are interested.)

I know it's scary. I am well aware that you might lose friends from this. I personally decided that if those "friends" valued Jewish lives so little, they were never my friends to begin with, but it's different for non-Jews. They may genuinely be your friends. I'm not demanding you do this for me or my community, but I am asking you to consider what your line is for your friends. And if you are able to talk to them, to ask them what makes this group different from all other groups in terms of deserving compassion and human rights, it may just help us to quiet the mob.

And, if nothing else, just privately reminding those of us who are speaking about it that we are grounded in reality and compassion helps combat the mass gaslighting going on.

[slavonicrhapsody]

speaking just about npcs: i wonder if people would be more nuanced about the hornsent if hornsent (guy) didn't try to kill the player in rauh even if you do everything right since a lot of souls players tend to take that personally (though i'll admit i also kind of wish that he got a more fitting end to his arc than a pretty meaningless death no matter what you do)

oh I’m sure people would have a much more positive opinion on Hornsent if his quest didn’t end in him being hostile towards the player no matter what; a lot of people play the game like a social sim and take it really personally when npcs are mean to them lol. which is fine, I’m not here to tell people how to enjoy the game, but it’s also really tiring to see so much negativity surrounding characters I like and to see their complexity reduced to “he’s mean” haha

tbh I really like Hornsent’s character arc though? when I did his quest it drove me INSANE that I couldn’t get him on my side no matter what, but I kind of LOVE that it was so unsatisfying?? from the moment the charm breaks, we were marked for death in his eyes simply because we’re one of Marika’s chosen, and he will never stop until all of Marika’s chosen are dead. it’s why he refuses more scorpion stew from us and keeps his distance throughout his entire quest… he can’t be our friend, because then he’ll like us and it will be that much harder to kill us when the time comes… he’s a character who can’t be saved because he’s committed himself to a violent quest for vengeance, which is a perfect microcosm of what I think is one of the dlc’s thesis statements — that violence only begets more violence.

[melobin]

behind the screen 𐙚 sungchan smau #35

✧ camgirl reader x roommate sungchan

✧ synopsis. in which sungchan discovers his favorite camgirl also happens to be his roommate

✧ wc. 2222

✧. warnings. written and smau. smut. live streaming, handjob, edging, praise, slight crying, sub!sungchan

behind the screen masterlist

you leaned back against your headboard as you watched people join your stream, your fingers tapping anxiously against your thigh as you watched the screen. your face looked back at you, body clothed with a delicately laced bra. nervous was an understatement, this wasn’t how you’d imagined you’d reveal your identity in the past but you had no choice, now your name was out there realistically there was nothing to hide.

you smiled as sungchan sat down beside you, his hand landing on your thigh. neither of you were dressed, he lacked a shirt and you lacked everything that wasn’t your under garments. you both knew how this stream was ending but for the meantime you had to focus on the important matter that stood in front of you. somi.

“shall we begin?” you smiled sweetly at the camera, trying to calm your nerves. you felt sungchan hand curl around your own, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of it, he soothed you non verbally and you were incredibly grateful, you weren’t sure if you would’ve been able to do it without him.

“i definitely don’t look professional enough to be discussing something so important”

“you look beautiful” sungchan lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it gently, he let his lips linger there for a moment before he placed it back down into your lap “i’d listen to anything you’d say whilst you’re dressed like that, like okay ma’am” his eyes dropped down to where your bra cupped your breasts tightly, you rolled your eyes, laughing a little before focusing on the stream in front of you.

“i don’t really want to go into all of it but i also don’t want to sit and allow someone to create a false image of me online. somi seems like she’s a little mad and honestly i’m not even sure what she’s that mad over, i’ve spent the last few months attempting to ignore all of her pointless jabs and unnecessary comments, but it’s harder to do that when she does it so publically. granted, my real name is y/n y/l/n and i did used to have a job under her fathers company but that’s about the only true thing she wrote in her statement. as far as i know i haven’t manipulated anyone especially sungchan”

“she’s an ungrateful bitch” you shook your head, pressing your lips together as you attempted to stop yourself from laughing at sungchan’s sudden comment.

“nothing ever happened between me and sungchan till a few weeks ago and i think that’s normal? at least to me it feels normal for friendships to change over time, especially if you see the person everyday. sungchan was the man who joined me on stream a few weeks ago too and he was the man who won the competition to meet me and that was honestly the most insane thing that had ever happened to be honest someone should have recorded my reaction to opening the door and seeing him standing there” you were rambling and sungchan found it cute, he found it even cuter that your rambling was about him.

“anyway, regarding the other person mentioned, jake, most of you know him due to his streams and before i met jake i had a lot of respect for him but once we met that all just fell down the drain. i didn’t want to have sex with jake and he seemed to not like that, the moment i told him i wasn’t interested he became harsh towards me, if anything he seemed bitter so in the end i just began to ignore him because i didn’t want to deal with someone like that” sungchan squeezed your hand again, sitting silently as he listened to you talk.

“i lost my job which i kind of expected to happen to be honest but it’s whatever, i have streaming which i really enjoy and i have sungchan who i also really enjoy so i think i won here” sungchan laughed again.

“i think i won” you turned your head to look at him, smiling brightly up at him as he grabbed your jaw with his hand, you smiled wider as he kissed you.

“i think that’s all i have to say” sungchan nodded, going to pull away before you pushed your fingers into his hair “now please fuck me”

“straight away?” he laughed, kissing you again. your hands found their way onto his chest before you pushed him away and smiled.

“you’re right, there was something i wanted to do”

“oh?” you turned back to the stream and smiled

“i want to try something new” your fingers trailed over the skin of his abs, nails lightly digging into them. you looked back at him, pressing an open mouthed kiss against his shoulder “do you wanna play with me channie?” you kissed his skin again, leaning up a little as you nipped at the skin under his ear “i promise i’ll be good to you”. the deep breath sungchan let out told you everything you needed to know, of course he’d let you do what you wanted to him. in his mind, you didn’t even have to ask.

“anything you want baby” he breathed out and you smiled, shifting your position on the bed so you were sitting on your knees next to him. the camera captured the scene perfectly, he sat with his legs out and his back against your headboard, his briefs being the only thing on his body as you knelt next to him, your undergarments clinging to your skin as you smiled sweetly to him and traced the lines of his abs with your nails.

you trailed them further down his skin, pressing the tips of your fingers under his briefs before pulling them out. sungchan watched you carefully, unsure of what you were planning to do but he let you do it, sitting back almost obediently as you touched him. his body shivered as he felt your nails rake over his nipple, gulping whilst looking down at you. the innocent smile on your face only made things harder for him.

you leaned forward and kissed at his skin, your parted lips allowing your saliva to leave a wet trail behind you as you moved along his chest. it felt hot against his skin yet he shivered again, unable to keep himself still at the feeling of you against him. sungchan gasped when he felt your tongue flick over his nipple, your hand clawing its way down his body and into his briefs one more, this time releasing his cock from their restraints and wrapping your hand around it. you pumped him slowly, gently running your thumb over his tip before bringing your hand back down to the base. sungchan’s head fell back against the headboard, his thighs tensed as your tongue flicked over his nipple again. he never would’ve pictured himself in such a vulnerable position but he loved every second of it, this side of you was so incredibly hot to him.

sungchan sighed as he felt your hand squeeze the base of his cock, you pressed one last kiss to his skin before lifting your head and looking down at his cock. he throbbed in your hand, groaning when you squeezed him again.

“your cock is so big, channie” there was a slight moan in your voice as you spoke to him, it caused sungchan to groan again “almost too big for my hand” he let out a deep, shaky breath, barely being able to listen to the crude words you were saying to him as you jerked him off. the way you spoke to him and the way you touched him overwhelmed sungchan immensely. he struggled to hold himself together as he felt his orgasm approaching far too fast.

yet, once he announced he was close, all of the feelings were stolen away from him and his senses were replaced by the sound of you laughing sweetly whilst looking up at him. he felt speechless, his mouth going dry when you placed your hand around his cock again, only this time your hand moved faster and your eyes stayed on his. his parted lips let out a sweet whine and his eyes stayed open as he looked down at you. sungchan felt as if he was a complete wreck, unable to keep himself together as you let go of his cock again. you were edging him.

“baby” he moaned out, hissing as you grabbed his cock again. your eyes trailed over the stream that was active on your laptop, his eyes shined under the light of the screen as he looked at you through it. you admired the comments, how envious they were of the boy sat next to you and how incredibly hot it was to watch you edge him the way hyou were.

“they love it, channie” he whimpered again as you squeezed his throbbing cock, it was slick with precum by now, it made it easy for you to drag your hand up and down it with ease, a wet sound echoing throughout the room with each pump of your hand.

when you looked back at him you could see the weakness in his eyes, a glossy layer covered them as he let out a shaky breath. sungchan was not prepared to have you act this way toward him, yet he had no time to process it as your hand moved on his cock again. each time you grabbed his cock it took less time for you to let go again, the constant teasing had his legs shaking and his stomach tensing. he could barely handle it, his body growing weaker with each quick pump of your hand. what drove him more insane was the little giggles you let out every time you let go of him, the fact you were so clearly enjoying it so much ruined him.

“are you going to let me cum?” sungchan’s voice was broken, it thrilled you to hear him so ruined and weak because of you, tears beginning to fill up in his eyes.

“i don’t know, do you deserve it?” sungchan nodded instantly, his lips beginning to swell due to him biting them endlessly. you hummed, smiling again before turning your head to the stream “does he deserve it? i don’t think he does” you shook your head, faking an innocent smile as you read the comments.

you leaned your head against sungchan’s shoulder, hand still wrapped tightly around his cock “seems like they feel bad for you channie” you turned your head, kissing his shoulder before looking up at him “it’s your lucky day” your hand sped up on his cock again, you watched him as a single tear slipped out his eye and fell down his flushed cheek. cooing at him, you smiled and kissed it away, not stopping your hand that was driving him over the edge of insanity.

“i can’t” he cursed after speaking, his head falling back against the headboard once against as he bucked his hips up into your hand, barely hanging on as you brought him closer. there was a fire burning inside of sungchan’s stomach, his skin burned as his orgasm threatened to break him.

“you can do it baby, i know you can” you kissed his skin again, bringing your other hand up to lace through the messy strands of his hair, soothing him as he let his orgasm take over. sungchan wasn’t sure how long you were edging him for but with the intensity of his orgasm, it felt like forever. his body grew slack, his abs tensing as his cum splurted all over them.

“you done so well for me channie” you praised him, your fingers still soothing him as you helped him through his orgasm, only stopping your hand once you knew he had nothing left in him. you giggled again at hi fucked out state, in awe of how pretty he looked on the verge of crying.

sungchan didn’t expect you to your end your stream after that, you hid your goodbyes, promising to go live again that week as an extra treat for your views. once it was off and your laptop had closed you settled next to him with a cloth, gently wiping the cum off of his body whilst kissing his skin. sungchan, in his own mind, was not submissive, but if you were going to take care of him like this every time he was then he was sure he was going to change his mind.

“how are you feeling?” he looked down at you, smiling in a daze at your question.

“incredible, you?” you giggled at his sleepy words, cuddling into his side and looking at his face.

“i feel great channie” he smiled before stopping, his fingers gently touching your cheek. there was a comfortable silence between the two of you but it also felt as if there were unspoken words floating in the air. you stayed like that for a while, just watching each other as the moonlight washed over your skin from your window, it was only when you broke your silence that sungchan let out what he wanted to say.

“are you oka-?”

“i love you”.

behind the screen tag list

tag list. @midmourn @svnghan @strayhowls @minnieslover @shortnstupid @palchokitty @ilovechanhee e @hikict @wccycc @revehosh @teddywook @hoonieq @glaieuls @kvstjwonnie @starrypen @thinkabt-vivi @kyusqult @nanascupid @professsionalsimp @beomgri @xenkimmie @dinosluver @jaehmarks @hellonikitty @wolfiecaro @snoopyana @rosesfortaro @zhangyixingxing1 @hrts4tyun @forrds @mamathefifth @wonbinkisser @alwayswook @boogyu @haohoonz @wheatrice e @cvpidxo @soobsfairy444 @nadrs @wonbinfiles @tsumusakusa @chichiuu @bbgmingyu @outrologist @lilriswife4life @https-yeonjun @emoseob @riizenextdoor @h3lluh @shiannprincess101 @ioveslgn @iselltulips @w0nslvr r @vernonburger r @boopdidoo @planethyuka @joshuawifey @dearmyouth @bludzk1llzyuzu @andb1ue @reenfluffmarshmallow @jnkthy @luh @au-ghosttype e

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged rant >:(

Demon Slayer fandom discourse

I want to start this by saying, I know that Demon Slayer isn't an explicitly queer manga/anime because Shōnen Jump, but I believe that Demon Slayer is for the queers and has lots of themes that we can identify with like love, acceptance, loss, guilt and strength.

Despite what these stupid, smelly, ignorant, power-scaling, non-ass-washing, Cheetos-dust-snorting, once-a-month-showering, dude-bros would have you believe, Demon Slayer isn't just another battle Shōnen anime/manga, it's a love story and about the perseverance of the human spirit and if that doesn't speak to the queer experience then I don't know what does.

Plus, I don't know how Gotogue-sensei is as a person, but I think the fact that she managed to make one of the kindest mcs in shōnen speaks volumes about her disposition. I don't think she would be one to reject queer fans identifying with her story so well.

In these recent times, it seems like everything is going to shit, the world is slowly regressing into the dark ages destroying decades of progress and trying to distract ourselves from all this by engaging with the fandoms we love is hard because everything seems to cater to cis, straight, white men.

To be honest, I created this blog mostly out of spite, but I also wanted to carve out a tiny space for myself where I can talk out of my ass and not have some decrepit reddit dude bro go all 'well, ackshually ☝🤓' on me, and I'm happy to have met so many like-minded people.

So, I've compiled a list of answers to the common types of nonsense drivel these fuckers post in response to shipping and queer discussions and theories about Demon Slayer. You can copy and paste whenever and wherever you encounter these black holes of ignorance and stupidity if you want.

In the Taisho era, there were no gay/queer people: This is one of the dumbest statements I've ever heard, and the fact that it's a really common response really shows how we've failed as a society. Queer people have existed for ages all over the world, Japan has an extensive queer history. Demon Slayer is based on samurai culture and samurai culture was really, really, really, really, really, really, really gay. Sure, it had rigid roles, but that doesn't make it any less queer. A quick Google search would go a long way to nourish that dried-out, shrivelled husk you call a brain. Go read a book you walking condom ad, your parents and education system have obviously failed you.

It's forcing sexuality into the story: We literally had a whole season dedicated to the mcs going to the 'entertainment district', we have a sexy man with three wives who talks about 'loving' them all equally, we have the abundant male fanservice, one of the mcs talks about women on the daily, we have a boy who eats demons and is horny shy around girls all the time, we have his brother who exposes his tits because he's proud of them, we have a demon who was essentially a sexual predator that targeted 16-year-old girls and ate them, the main villain shape-shifts into a woman to 'get' information as a Geisha, we have a girl who literally lusts after almost everyone she meets but yea no lets not force sexuality into it 🙄.

I don't care: Okay cool, but I value your opinion as much as I value the shit I took this morning.

It's who they are as a character that matters: Sexuality is a part of a person's character. Your sexuality defines your experiences, decisions, options and outlook on life. That's why you as a straight man can be so ignorant.

It's forced*(I really hate this one): Honestly, fuck you. Why is it that you only think something is forced when it doesn't revolve around you and your experiences? You guys are fine with tons of anime/manga that sexualize women and girls to an insane degree even when it doesn't make sense, but that doesn't stop you from consuming and glazing the hell out of the authors, but when we talk about including queer characters suddenly it's forced? Your existence is forced, and you can just eat shit.

I don't like it: Who the fuck do you think you are dictating how other people consume and interpret the media they consume? How about you go hump your smelly, cum-encrusted anime body pillow.

Men can be touchy/emotional with each other without it being gay, it's just our western standards: No it isn't the majority of shipping activities and works come from Japan, which wouldn't happen if it was just part of their culture. We're not stupid, we know men and boys can be friends without it being sexual, and we know when a friendship is just that, and then we know when two guys are straight up pining for one another.

It's not canon/the mangaka didn't explicitly state it: They can't because of Shōnen Jump, so a lot of them pass off information about a character through subtext, metaphors and allegories. They also don't have to, things don't have to outright stated or 'canon' for them to make sense and if you need them to be so for you to understand or enjoy the story then a moment of silence for your head since it's without a brain.

It's not common: Despite Shōnen Jump, there are lots of mainstream anime/manga that have queer characters: One Punch Man, Hunter x Hunter, Dr. Stone, Windbreaker, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Naruto, Gintama, Dragon Ball Z, My Hero Academia, Fairy Tail, One Piece, Attack on Titan, Tokyo Ghoul, Jujutsu Kaisen, Chainsaw Man, Blue Period and that's not to talk of the ones with queer subtext like I dunno ALL Sports anime/manga to ever exist!

Why do you look for LGBTQ in everything?: It might be hard for straights to understand but growing up queer and looking for a connection causes us to develop what we call a gaydar that helps us identify characteristics, mannerisms, features and vibes from a person that screams 'ONE OF US! ONE OF US!'. It's only natural, and our gaydar doesn't suddenly turn off when we're consuming media, especially when it's media that we love and hold dear to our hearts. It doesn't matter if the mangaka inserted these characteristics intentionally or not, that doesn't stop us from picking up on them, and why should it?

Shipping is stupid: So is power-scaling, but that doesn't stop you assholes from making thousands of posts, creating YouTube channels and sharing content about it and cramming it down our throats. It's even worse because it's from grown-ass men.

The characters have no chemistry/they hate each other: A lot of queer ships have more chemistry, history, interactions, personality and development than a lot of 'canon' straight couples. It's literally a trope in media that all a man and a woman need to be in a relationship is to be in close proximity to each other, then their relationship goes on to be drier than salted crackers in silicone packets scattered in the Sahara desert. Well, I guess you can't blame the creators, you write what you know after all.

I know this is a lot and I know how angry I sound right now, but I'm so sick and so tired of all these guys who are as useful to the human race as pieces of freshly shat out dog turds that have been thrown in the grass by the sidewalk in a hot summer afternoon, who can't see past their lice-infested neck beards trying to make something as colorful, interesting, joyful and queer as anime and the fandoms fit their own boring, stupid and misogynistic worldview.

In Conclusion, Demon Slayer is amazing, horny* and unbelievably queer.

*I'm talking about the male fanservice btw :)

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

no like really even without the timeline context of when it leaked Hand of God is so incredibly messed up like???? FOB's always been good at public indictments of the way they've been treated, that's like, a significant amount of their discography especially prehiatus and ESPECIALLY Cork Tree which does it very bitterly and sardonically but Hand of God feels like it takes it a step farther with "which is it, the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?" because like YES there is more than one way to interpret that and I'm cool with that but it's doing a massive disservice to FOB and to Pete's writing to skim over the point within the larger whole of the song that they are one and the same. the boy who writes the songs IS the one who's in them, that's been true for most of Fall Out Boy's career. they're SUPER vulnerable in their songwriting, even when it's sarcastic and tongue in cheek, there's always a piece of truth in it. they wrote an entire fricking song about Pete's suicide attempt. the boy who writes the songs has always been the one who's in them, this isn't mutually exclusive. and Hand of God is IMMENSELY self-referential. it's literally Pete writing about himself. "who's the girl, is this truth, or is he writing fiction?" were all questions asked repeatedly on their forums and in Q&As with Pete.

"I am the worst liar I know" coming from the song that is possibly the most raw, honest draft or demo from Cork Tree — which also contains lyrics such as "we're only liars, but we're the best" (tongue in cheek turnaround of criticisms against the band) and "you only hold me up like this because you don't know who I really am" and "if you say this makes you happy then I'm not the only one lying" and "it's just a matter of time until we're all found out" and "I'll keep singing this lie if you keep believing it" (in a song that was essentially the band's mission statement, for lack of a better term) and "the record won't stop skipping and the lies just won't stop slipping and besides my reputation's on the line" (in a song that Pete himself said was way too personal to play live and has also said was the first half of a story that Hum Hallelujah, which is explicitly about his suicide attempt, later completed) and "I went to sleep a poet and woke up a fraud" (Music or the Misery is on a different edition but the point still stands) and "I keep telling myself I'm not the desperate type" (in a song titled sarcastically after the medication Pete overdosed on) — is fricking insane. there's a completely unfiltered, untwisted-into-sarcasm honesty in Hand of God and even though it (rightfully, because it would have been Too Much) didn't make it onto the final album, it functions as as much of a thesis statement as Sophomore Slump does. it functions as as much of a confessional as Dark Alley. Hand of God is at the heart of Cork Tree, practically haunting it, and it isn't even on the album.

[ellieslaces]

CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. three

presenting: umbrella’s hunger games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: after spending your first few days drowning in Capitol grandeur, the training for the games begins. as you begin to prepare for the fight of your life in the arena, you realize that maybe the fight isn’t just for your life, but your dignity. the introduction to the other tributes makes you realize the reality of having to fight them, and possibly kill them. for what is the point of winning and living at the cost of others’ lives?

content warnings: harsh language; strong violence; slight misogyny; class discrimination; slight sexualization; heavy violence themes in this chapter

notes: this chapter contains heavy themes of violence; there are themes of sexualization of the reader by other Tributes and Capitol citizens; some more misogynistic themes; also, I am so sorry this took so long, life has been insane lately

chloe talks: um… hi. wow, it’s been a second. but, yeah, reader and Leon finally meet! the games start next chapter and so does the drama! enjoy! <3

word count: 4.91k

now playing: hypnotic ; zella day

can’t catch me now playlist

previous chapter ; next chapter

There was something overly malicious about this year’s pool of Tributes. The way even the youngest and smallest of the twenty four carried themselves emitted an energy that radiated that they wanted - no, needed - to win. Something about them all made you uneasy — even ones you knew stood absolutely no chance of winning.

And you wished you’d stayed in bed that morning as you stood beside Piers in the entryway of the Training Center. Despite the fact that everyone was just standing around due to the training not having officially begun yet, they all had a violent aura about them.

Your eyes scanned the room, gauging each Tribute. Trying to find ones who were set on being your opponent. However, you knew the other Career Tributes — such as the ones from Two and Three — would want to team up with you. And then betray you at the final moment. Your mind weighed your options as you and Piers walked toward where the group was standing. Until your eyes landed on the Tributes from Twelve.

This was the first time you’d seen either one of them in person. Things at the Tribute Parade had been far too hectic for you to try and see Leon Kennedy or his fellow female Tribute. But here they were. His blond hair stood out in the crowd — despite not being the only blond in the room. There was a certain feeling that seemed to emit from him. Not fear but more apprehension. And it drew you in like a magnet.

“Hey,” Piers mumbled to you as you’d paused in your tracks, eyes wide and set on Leon and Helena. “C’mon.”

You knew Piers was only trying to help you, trying to keep anyone from noticing your immediate attraction to the Tributes from Twelve. It could land you — and Piers — in deep shit in the arena. So, you snapped yourself out of your trance and followed him, standing at his side and trying not to look at Leon or Helena.

This proved difficult however, not giving your attention to memorize each minute detail of him because he was a manner of feet away from you. But, Piers was right. Focus was necessary and essential right now if you wanted to succeed.

The training leader — a man named Robert Kendo who was rumored to be a somewhat guarded and melancholic man who was harsh on Tributes since a few years ago a Victor had lost their mind and murdered his daughter — stepped forward, his eyes dark and set on everyone in the room.

“In a matter of weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead. One of you will be alive.” He started with a gruff voice, the rawness of his statement causing you to grimace. “All of that depends on how well you pay attention over the next three days, particularly to what I am about to say.”

Your brows pulled together at the roughness and seemingly overly honest tone of Kendo’s voice. He had no sympathy, no kindness. But, a part of you appreciated that, he wasn’t one to sugarcoat, and there wasn’t any way to make these events seem less than they were.

“First, no fighting with the other Tributes, you’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.” Kendo announced, his voice droning as if he was used to seeing people breaking this rule. “There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training.”

Individual training — something not many Tributes took enough of an advantage of, according to Claire. It was a chance to be trained in private by your mentor, they would give advice and teach you techniques of how to survive once in the arena. It was something you planned to take full advantage of.

“My advice is, don’t ignore the survival skills.” Kendo instructed, his voice becoming harder as he said this, as if it were a warning. “Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die of natural causes.”

Your eyes tracked over to Piers, seeing a grimace on his face. This wasn’t something you were expecting to be told. Yes, you knew it was true that most Tributes died of natural causes or their own stupidity in the arena. But, to have Kendo warn you, it made it more of a real threat.

“Ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.” His voice was warning, and the gruffness of his words made your eyes scan over through the faces of each Tribute.

Most of the careers didn’t care enough to pay attention to this bit of Kendo’s lecture, but you saw the wide eyes of a few of the kids from lesser Districts. This was the harsh reality of the games — not only the brutality and bloodlust of each Tribute fighting to get out alive, but the fact that the gamemakers craft each arena to be a killer as well.

But what Kendo hadn’t mentioned — and it was likely purposeful that he hadn’t — was the percentage of Tributes which would die by this year’s Mutts crafted for the arena. Every year, around ten percent of the Tributes died via Umbrella’s newest and gruesome creation of Mutts. There was no telling what they would be this year, just as the arena was a mystery.

While the entire prospect of the games, the arena in which you’d be dropped into, and the other Tribute’s you’d be pinned against scared you, the Mutts terrified you more. There was always something about the Mutts Umbrella created, something otherworldly, something gruesome and terrifying that made your skin crawl to simply think about them.

What horrors would you be subjected to? What creatures would chase you through the arena whilst you fought for your life against twenty-three other children, as fought off infection, and dehydration, and starvation? Why would it be fair to present such monsters to make the children who were already terrified more at risk for their life? It wasn’t, and that was what scared you more than twenty-three bloodthirsty people.

“Look at them, they’re itching to get their hands on weapons.” You mumbled as you stood at a screen, testing your knowledge of poisonous plants with Piers beside you.

“Weapons protect you.” He shrugged, watching with wonder as you got each prompt correct, never missing a plant that could kill despite a no lethal one looking the same.

“Knowledge protects as well as a sword, Piers.” You rolled your eyes, tapping the last plant with your finger and the program presented a picture of a S. You’d passed, all thanks to Claire’s training in wisdom.

“I know it’s tempting to use your combat in here,” you started, folding your arms over your chest as you turned to face Piers. “But, you need to brush up on your survival skills too. We don’t know what arena we’ll be put in.”

Piers let out a sigh, his eyes rolling as he stepped forward to the screen as you stepped back, motioning for his turn. His strong suit was far from survival skills. But, he acknowledged that he needed to know these things.

You gave a soft smile, seeing Piers get a few right before he got one wrong. “Just practice. I’ll see you at the apartment.”

Piers let out a grunt of acknowledgment as you smiled a bit before you walked away, leaving him fully concentrated on the task at hand. Your eyes scanned the training center, gauging where to go next. You knew you had an upper hand in this situation, you’d spent the better part of your life being trained by Chris and Claire. But, that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything for you to become better at.

Until you spotted the knife stand and the dummies. You smiled a bit — knives were your specialty. You didn’t know why, but you were best at knives versus any other weapon. Swords were too heavy, lances too long, axes too much work. Knives were small, easy, better for close encounters. Some could be thrown at a distance, and they were silent.

However, your smile dropped as you approached the knife stand, seeing a mop of dirty blond hair studying the knives. It did not take much for you to recognize who this was exactly. Your heart launched up into your throat, eyes going wide as you froze and frowned.

Oh this poor boy, he had no chance. At least, not with the way he was handling the knife in his hand and haphazardly swinging it at one of the dummies. You stood back for a moment before you walked over to the display of combat knives — really there were so many, combat knives, throwing knives, really any type you could even imagine — and picked one of a style you favored before your eyes tracked to the boy again.

“Your stance is wrong,” you spoke suddenly before you could even stop yourself.

The boy turned, the blue of his eyes causing a shock to run through you for a moment before his confused frown brought you back to the present. You stepped forward.

“Your feet are too close together. Someone could easily come at you and you’d fall backward.” You explained, coming to stand closer to him.

“More like this,” you pressed on, showing him how to properly stand with your own feet. Knees bent, feet a little more than shoulder width apart. “See?”

“Like this?” He finally spoke, mimicking your stance. His eyes found yours again, searching for encouragement or some sign that he’d done it right.

“Like that,” you nodded, raising your arms to guard yourself. “Your arm position is important too. Keep your right arm close to your side, and your left up to protect your face and chest.”

Leon slowly nodded, eyes tracking your stance before copying it himself. You stifled a smile as he did it wrong. You straightened, walking over and setting your own knife aside.

“Mm, more like this,” you mumbled, hands gently on his wrist as you guided his right arm closer to his side and then his left slightly more up. “Then sort of hunch your shoulders and lean forward. Good, that’s good.”

Leon’s eyes lit up a bit as you encouraged him. You took a step back, hands at your sides as you looked at him. His eyes followed your movement, brows pulled together. “Why’re you helping me?”

You shrugged, picking your own knife back up and resuming your stance in front of a dummy. “‘Cause you were gonna get yourself killed standing like that.”

“No, I mean why help me. We’re going to fight each other in the arena.” He reiterated, starting to stand straight.

“You deserve a chance.” You offered, before you shot him a look from the corner of your eye and he stopped moving, going back into the stance again. “You have a hammer grip on your knife right now, it’s best for blocking and chopping. It’s a strong grip.”

Leon frowned again, his eyes darting to how he was holding his own knife. It did not go amiss to you how his eyes - icy blue, yet holding a modem of warmth that made your soul want to melt - tracked over your every movement. Hell, it really was all you could think about, all you wanted to focus on.

"If you flip it over," you continued, flipping the knife in your hand in a quick, precise, and well practiced movement. "You have a reverse knife grip. Edge in or out, they both have advantages."

Leon's eyes lingered on your grip on the knife, flicking between it and his own to flip his knife over and mimic your grip. You nodded in encouragement. "Good, like that." Your eyes ticked to the dummy in front of you before you nodded back at Leon, motioning for him to step back. "Stand back a second."

He obeyed, straightening and taking a long stride backward. His eyes left your figure for only a moment to check behind him before latching onto you again. This was when you did something stupid. With your stance corrected and eyes narrowed on the dummy, you rolled out your neck before pressing the button on the stand beside you, the dummy on the stand jerking to life.

Mechanic dummies - costly and overly showy, but useful in training. This one was more ferocious than the ones you used in District One, its arm swinging at you with a blunt knife. You leaned back, dodging before leaping forward in a swift motion, slicing the edge of your knife against the mechanic arm.

The back and forth between you and the dummy did not last long, your moves instinctual and well practiced until the dummy shut down with your boot connecting to its side, as well as your knife lodged into its chest. You yanked out the knife with a grunt, standing straight. Your eyes went wide as you realized multiple of the Tributes had taken notice of your very stupid display of talent. You brushed it off though, remaining blase as you turned around to look at Leon.

The look on his face, the amazement in his eyes, it snatched the breath from your lungs. He made no effort to hide his shock - he looked absolutely mesmerized by the show you'd just put on. Social cues had never been your strong suit, so you just stood there, staring back at him.

"That was," Leon trailed off, almost as if he was unsure of whether or not he wanted to say the words that rested on the tip of his tongue. "Where'd you learn that?"

"My mentor." You shrugged, the words spilling out casually before you could stop them. Heat coursed through your cheeks as you saw the look on Leon's face. You knew you had advantages, being Chris and Claire's charge, having grown up being trained in things Leon only had a matter of days to learn.

"I could, um, teach you." You offered lamely, your words meek and awkward as you said it. Not the wisest offer, but you didn't really know what else to say. Leon shook his head.

"You don't have to do that." He responded, the words sounding harsher to you than he'd probably meant them. The warmth in your cheeks grew, from rejection and embarrassment now. You knew he was saying that because it was true, a nicer way of phrasing the harsh reality - you really didn't have anything to offer him. No amount of training from you or his mentor could save him. Could give him a better chance of survival.

“I don’t mind,” you pushed gently, your shoulders shrugging up as you tried to reassure the boy that it was not as big of a deal to you. But really, it was. Allies were made in the arena in haste. Allies were a falsehood here. No one actually cared about anyone else. In the end, it was an ally who betrayed, not an enemy.

“I know, I just,” Leon hesitated, his body langue taking back that guarded sort of look as he looked away from you. His voice was soft, hesitant, like he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Or make an enemy of you by pissing you off. “My mentor probably wouldn’t like that.”

Right. His mentor — Krauser. He really got the bad draw here. It was said Jack Krauser was ruthless as he was damaged. Both increasingly so. He’d experienced horrors in the games no one quite knew what to make of. In a way, you pitied Leon’s mentor. On the other hand, you hated him because he had a reputation for overexerting and overwhelming his Tributes to the breaking point.

You looked at the boy, studying his face for a moment as a sadness and sting of rejection seeped into your chest. It didn’t show though. No weaknesses, just as Claire taught you. “That is probably true. We are enemies, huh?”

Voice light and playful, you smiled at Leon. Your way of letting him know his rejection hadn’t angered you. It saddened you, however he didn’t need to know that. You placed the knife in your hand back on the stand, head tilted as you turned to smile at him again.

“Yeah, yeah we are.” Leon nodded, recovering startlingly fast with his own playful smile on his lips. A peace offering, a silent and mutual understanding of each other. You decided you liked his smile. Warm and friendly and it made your chest feel fuzzy. Your eyes dropped, hands folded behind your back.

“Good luck, twelve.” You mused, eyes looking back up at Leon with one last smile. The heel of your boot spun on the training floor, your footsteps thumping away from the knife stand. Leaving the boy of your greatest weakness and desires behind.

“Fuck, Chris! Ow!” You screeched, your brows pulled together as you twisted around suddenly, eyes narrowed and hot on your mentor as he walked into the apartment. His hand clapped on your shoulder harshly, a grin on his lips.

“Show off, aren’t we?” Chris grinned, his voice lilting as he came to sit across from you at the dinner table in the apartment. Claire shook her head — but her face betrayed her as she smiled as well. So, someone had spilled about your impromptu lesson to a certain Tribute.

Your eyes cut to Piers who sat to your left, his gaze avoiding yours. Little shit. You shook your head, fork moving around the delicate food on your plate. You offered a one shouldered shrug.

“I didn’t show off, I was just training.” You offered weakly, unbelievingly as you took a bite of the small pasta pearls on your plate. Your eyes tracked over the siblings who sat across from you. They shared a glance. Fucking Piers. Oh you’d kick his little tattle tale ass later.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Chris nodded, playfully agreeing with your claim as he cut into the meat on his plate. Capitol food was too much for you, too delicate and gourmet. You liked Claire’s simple, home cooking. Your mentor’s eyes looked up at you again, brows raised. “Any particular reason you showed off to one of Krauser’s Tributes?”

“No,” you answered a little too quickly. Great job, good way to hide it. You shrunk into yourself ever so slightly, but it was extremely noticeable to the pair of siblings who raised you. They shared yet another glance. That made you feel as if you needed to defend yourself further. “I just saw him. He was gonna get himself killed if he went into the arena with what he knew.”

“That’s the point.” Claire said, brows raised as her voice was soft, but holding a certain modicum of a reprimanding tone. It made you want to crawl into yourself.

“No, the point is an equal fight to the death. Not sending in someone who can’t hold their own to die execution style.” You retorted, though you kept your words casual with a shrug as if you didn’t feel as passionately as you did for the subject. For Leon Kennedy.

“Actually, sunshine, it is.” Chris rebutted, not without gentle display though. You bristled slightly at the nickname he’d bestowed on you when you were young. He sighed, setting his fork and knife down on the edge of the porcelain plates of which the Capitol chose to serve their extravagant food on.

“The whole point of the Games aren’t a reminder anymore. It’s not a power play, it’s not a political statement anymore. It’s entertainment.” Chris explained, his words cutting through the air and hitting you where it hurt with the weight of their truth. “And sending kids like the ones from Twelve in against kids like you and Piers, it’s just more entertaining that way.”

“I know,” you grumbled, slinking lower into the velvet cushioned dining chair you sat in, dominant hand using your fork to push around the food on your plate. All appetite was lost on you. You’d rather starve than consume the food provided by the people who plotted your death.

And the thing that really hurt about Chris’s words — he was right. He was fucking right. Kids like Leon Kennedy and Helena Harper didn’t stand a chance in that arena. No matter how much preparation, how much optimism. Even the training you offered, nothing gave them a chance. They either had to be very lucky, smart, or have help. And help was unlikely. Very few bet on kids from lesser Districts.

But, as you studied the food on your plate and conversation quickly faded from your dramatic display of kindness in the training room to talk of upcoming interviews, you realized something. Maybe kids like Leon didn’t need external betting on their side. You couldn’t bet, you were a tribute. Mentors and stylists couldn’t bet because it was an unfair advantage. But, you could bet in other ways. You could rig the Games from the inside.

And that fact was more dangerous than any weapon you could wield in that arena.

Despite what you had previously believed, individual training had not been what you woke up and craved for every morning prior to the Games. You loved your one-on-one time with Chris and Claire, yes. It was not just for bettering your skills and knowledge to survive the arena, but a way to see them and spend time with them before your possible demise.

However, it was not what you looked forward to most. It was the group training. Going to the Tribute Center every morning from ten to dinner at five in the evening. Every morning you’d find yourself waking up just after sunrise, tossing and turning until you got tired and bored of laying in the plush bed and would sit up. You’d scroll on the screen on the wall, looking through all the different scenery options, music lists, short films on the history of Panem and the Umbrella Corporation, highlight clips from past Games.

That is, until you’d actually get up and dressed at nine and trudge out into the main apartment. You’d join Chris, Claire, and Piers at the dining table and have breakfast. Something small but nutritious. Enough to keep you going until break at noon in the Tribute Center for a small lunch. Three meals a day — not something most Tributes were used to. Even you some days.

But, for some reason, you adored the group training. Going to the Tribute Center and taking your pick of what to focus on. The options were endless — programs to test your survival skills, crafting stations, gymnastic training, video lectors on hunting and gathering. And of course the all favored and overused weapon choices. There were plenty of weapons to use. Some even you were unfamiliar with.

There were many different types of swords, knives of a wide and endless variety, axes, machetes, spears, tridents, scythes, maces, clubs, sickles, pikes, and even melee’s you couldn’t name. Of course there were no guns. Firearms were one of the few banned subjects and weapons. There were no set rules save for the presence of firearms. And the possibility of cannibalism. Not a subject the Capitol favored. Or anyone really for that matter.

Maybe it was the fact that you could size up each member of your competition that made you love group training so much. Or the ability to spar with live dummies. Or just the simple fact that you got to observe the Tributes from Twelve from afar. Or up close, in your stupider moments.

Piers had taken to endlessly and mercilessly teasing you. He proclaimed the morning of your second training that you must be in love with Leon Kennedy. He claimed that you had heart shaped pupils any time Leon entered your field of vision. A rather dramatic take on things.

You didn’t think what you harbored for Leon was love. No, it couldn’t be because you didn’t know him. You’d exchanged a few words with him, one knife combat demonstration, and an awkward goodbye. Glances were shared across training mats, or smile exchanged at the end of the day. But that was as far as your interactions with him went. So, in your mind, Piers was dramatic.

Except he wasn’t. Claire saw it, the observant cunt. She noticed everything. Even though she wasn’t present for group training, she just knew. She had to be fucking telepathic or something. Anytime District Twelve, its Mentor, or its Tributes were mentioned and you were in earshot, your eyes lit up. You perked up in a way that only meant obsession and adoration. She picked up on your cues, the way you paid extra attention for any breadcrumb of information on the Tributes from the poorest District in the country. And it reached a boiling point the night before the Games.

In private training, you worked not only on combat and survival knowledge, but on how to ace the Tribute Interviews set to air the night before the Games. Your final day in the Capitol was spent with a three hour group training, a lunch break, and working one-on-one with Mentors until the interviews. Which meant upwards of five hours practicing interview questions of a personal variety.

You spent a few hours doing some final knife and combat training with Chris before he sat you down to talk about your strong social points. Something you didn’t think you possessed.

“You’re witty, sunshine. Play on it.” Chris encouraged over a small dinner. It was two hours before the interview. Your stylist team was almost ready to start picking at you until you were a glittery piece of meat.

“No m’not. Claire says my wit is mean.” You said, rebutting Chris’s claims around a mouthful of stew.

Thank God Claire wasn’t there to see the offensively dramatic eye roll Chris gave in response to your claim. “No, it’s not. It’s charming. Just, don’t call the interviewer a pompous asshole and you’ll be fine.”

Easier said than done. That had been the extent of Chris’s advice. Claire’s however, was much more detailed and bossy.

“Smile, a lot. They fucking love it when you smile. Act like this is the biggest opportunity of your life.” Claire instructed, sitting at the edge of your temporary bed, watching as you stood on a pedestal, arms wide out as your stylist team dressed you.

You were done up in another one of Ingrid’s designs. She really liked to play on the peacock theme. This time, it was a long, trailing gown composed of jewels and peacock feathers. It looked more like stained glass in the color palette of a peacock. You actually kind of liked it. Except for the obvious avant garde of it all.

“I don’t wanna smile. Smiling is supposed to be happy.” You bit back, your brows pulled together in a deep frown. For the thousandth time that hour, one of your stylists pressed a thumb between your brows, making you stop frowning and smoothing out the wrinkle. You sighed, they cared too damn much about creased makeup.

“Okay, I know. I know.” Claire nodded, doing damage control, hands held up in a calming manner. She stood, walking over and wordlessly shooing away the team. They all took a step back.

“It not fun, I know. But, act happy. You need sponsors. You need all the help you can get. These kids, they’re vicious this year. I need you to try.” Claire said, voice taking on a softer tone. So, it was dawning on her.

In less than twelve hours, you would be in an arena full of twenty three blood thirsty kids. All out to kill you and take the Victor’s Crown. All merciless. You’d be dropped into God knows what kind of place, filled with horrors you couldn’t even imagine. And it seemed Claire was finally realizing it.

“Just… smile. Be your witty self and fucking dazzle ‘em. Chris and I believe in you.” She smiled softly, her eyes tracking over your face. Her hand came up to cup your cheek. Claire, your ever-mothering Mentor. Your older sister for all intents and purposes. She loved you. And you loved her.

“Dazzle ‘em.” You nodded, smiling at her. You were quick to hug her, arms wrapping around her shoulders and her head tucked under your chin due to the height difference of your shoes and the platform you stood on.

For her, you’d try and dazzle them. Make them love you. Get sponsors. You’d survive. And you’d play your game right. You’d make sure the one who deserved to win would. At any cost.

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[cartierdreamx]

THE LAST SLICE

good morning my sweet babies! hope your weekend is going more than incredible, just a short, sweet one shot i thought of when i randomly have the urge to write, hope you enjoy!! J <333

Pairings: jenna ortega x fem! Reader

Warnings: angst (? like if you read in between the lines😭), swearing, it’s really just fluff LMFAO.

Summary: jenna wanted a sign. 

Words: 2k+

This fic includes no NSFW themes, but my blog does have a minors DNI rule! you are responsible for your own social media intake, which includes reading entertainment, which this fic falls under. thank you!

~~

“You gotta be faster than that, Ortega.” You tease, sticking your tongue out as you take the last pizza slice, Jenna’s hand narrowly missing the food she had craved the most the entire morning, she knew the crew was going to order pizza for everyone just after the ‘cut’ was called for lunch to commence. But pizza being pizza, it was a war to get to the slices, unfortunately you and Jenna would be one of the last ones to get to the buffet table having need to debrief with each other, the director, and the producer about the scene. Luckily today, debrief was quick and the cheese with carefully placed pepperoni all over creating little pools of grease called out something, your name.

“I’m gonna kill you, l/n.” A stern brunette darts her eyes up at your as you take a bite, a bite so comedically insane she was so sure you were mocking her, to be fair, you are. “Oh, I hate you.”

“Mhmhm, I call bluff, you’re not going to kill me,” you roll your eyes, taking yet another sweet bite, killing Jenna just a bit more, “and plus, you love me.”

“No, I don’t.” Jenna was quick to shut the statement down, mostly to change the subject because she didn’t want to give you two wins today. You knew she loves you, you love her too, except the only difference is, she only reciprocated platonic feelings. It was an accident, but sometimes the best things come from accidents, falling for her was an accident, not a mistake, well you hope it isn’t a mistake.

By now, you were used to the daily making out with random actors and actresses, most roles you booked had a love story in it and you were a main love interest every time, what can you say, your charms hypnotised the world.

But there was a certain charm that washed over you, her, Jenna’s gaze was something, her heart was everything. She was, she is, your everything. To this day, you steal every look you can and when she catches you, a soft blush always surfaced its way to your cheeks, which only made her laugh. You promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for America’s sweetheart but it’s a whole lot easier breaking self-promises, and you also promised yourself, no matter what your delusions would tell you, she doesn’t have feelings for you back.

“Mhmh, you held the kiss longer than you were supposed to.” You retort, teasing her and only slightly flirting with her, making sure she doesn’t read into it.

She scoffs and playfully punches your arm, “BUT YOU DIDN’T BREAK AWAY!”

You play a sly grin, making her giggle a bit, “I didn’t hear cut.” You shrug. And before she could come up with a quirky comeback, your moment was slightly ruined by the producer’s son who has been shadowing his dad for the past few weeks and unfortunately for you, he was quick to pine over Jenna, who wouldn’t? The world’s pining over her, you’re pining over her, it’s no surprise he is too.

It’s no lie he made you jealous, not that you wanted any of his features or his personality, actually you think his personality is quite cheesy, he made you jealous because in your eyes, in your mind, Jenna was pinning over him too, you wanted her to pine over you, wanted her to want you the way he does, the way you do.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but can I steal Jenna away for a second.” He asks, she smiles, see, it was that damn nature of his that made her smile, that damn nature of his that you curse, although it wasn’t fair for you to dislike the guy for this very reason, it was your nature to wallow in angst every time they were together.

“You could steal me anytime, Idrys.” She giggles, making you die inside even more. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, just smiling and nodding at him, giving him the ‘okay.’ As he whisks her away, your eye stays locked on them, mostly locked on Jenna, watching her every move, jealousy brewing from your stomach seeping its way to your heart.

The delectable pizza was just a cold mush to you now, nothing about it was desirable to you anymore, that sinking feeling got to you, you toss the rest of your slice in the bin, but what you saw next made you even more sick, your eyes relayed the sight of Idrys towering over Jenna whilst she looks up, laughing flashing him with those dreamy eyes of hers.

“I love my son, but Jenna can do so much better than him.” Turning around, you see your producer pursing his lips at you, “I’m serious, y/n, they have no chemistry.”

“They make a cute couple.”  

“Wow, for someone who has an Oscar, you are a terrible liar.” Placing his hands on your shoulder, centring you down.

“I wasn’t lying.”

“But you weren’t telling the truth, they make a cute couple because they’re both attractive, and that’s it, they share no fire, you and Jenna do.”

“I am a great actress.” You cheese, trying to lighten the mood and hopefully change the subject, but that was a horrible attempt as it only directed the attention of your director to you two, which he thought it’d be a great idea to welcome herself into the conversation.

“That you are, but no one could act the way you feel about her, the way she feels about you.” She starts, “what you two have is real, and I mean more than just your friendship, like don’t get me wrong, that shit is cute, but the raw chemistry and love you two share, that is unmatched, his son can only imagine having that with her.” She looks to her side, shaping an ‘O’ with her mouth, “no offence, man.”

“None taken, you’re one hundred percent right, and plus, EVERYONE saw that kiss, she held it longer than she was supposed to.” Solidifying her point. Those two acted like a married couple, they weren’t together, but you could’ve sworn their dynamic was unmatched, “go get the girl, y/n.” They say in unison, walking away together, only proving you right.

“Hey, sorry that took a while, what did they want?” Jenna’s voice getting louder as she steps closer to you, now looking at you with the same dreamy eyes, except it was different, jumping to conclusions those eyes screamed platonic. What your dumbass didn’t realise was that the look she gave you was different, she never looked at anyone the way she looks at you, her eyes were love sick, she was lovesick, for you.

“Oh, it’s no problem, and uh, they were just talking about my character development, how they want my character to grow.” Lying through your teeth, you just hope she couldn’t see through you the way the other two did.

“You didn’t like it? It’s okay if you don’t, you can speak to them, they love and respect you, like you’re their love child, cus everyone agrees they act like a married couple.” She says, in the sweetest, softest tone, you could melt, bend at your knees. “You seem upset, baby.” Baby.

You shake your head and with such slyness you lean on the table, making sure you don’t topple over at the sound of her nickname for you, you weren’t lying when you told yourself you would bend at your knees for her.

“Huh? OH, no, no, I’m not upset at all.” Another lie, “it’s just been a long week and I can’t wait to get home; the new season of Black Mirror is out.” You smile, baring all your teeth, now that one wasn’t a complete lie, it has been a long week and there is a new season that you can’t wait to binge.

“Hurgh, I thought you said we’d watch it together!” Jenna acts betrayal as she grasps her shirt near her heart region.

“Okayyyyy, come over tonight.” Rolling her eyes at her, making sure your invitation was finite and not a question, so she would have to come over.

“Oh, uh, actually, I would love to.” There’s a change in her tone.

“But…?”

“But I have a date tonight, with Idrys, it’s what we were talking about before. Watch it without me, I’ll catch up.” Oh. You regret inviting her, because maybe you’d only have to hear about the date after it happened. Oh, who are you kidding, she would’ve told you the second she got back and the voice in your head would be pestering you to dig at her, asking what their conversation was about, you were going to find out about the date in a heartbeat.

“Right, well that’s better than spending it with me on my couch, so have fun, he’s cute, and no doubt you’re going to look breathtaking tonight.” You try your hardest to not show the stabbing feeling that buries your heart right now.

“I’m glad you think so, pick me up at seven.” She cheeses, with such mischief behind her eyes.

“JENNAAAA.”

“Thank you, baby.”

How could you say no.

~~

As Jen enters your car, you can’t help but stare in awe, she looks ethereal, she is ethereal. She was wearing a black mini skirt that hugged her hips, accompanied by a sheer white button up that caressed her curves, thought the material was sheer, it wasn’t completely see through, and her hair was up in a slick, mid bun with her middle part showing.

There was no one in the world, the universe that made you feel the way she did, she was like basking in the warm Australian sun, like the skyline of a city at night time reflecting on your skin, where light was, she was there, she isn’t the light, she’s your light.

“You know, l/n, if you keep staring, I’ll miss my date.” Jenna teases, only making you blush and giggle, but the dimness of your car shadowed your face, making it hard for Jenna to see the blush, but what she did see was the spark in your eyes which calmed the sea of nervousness she was swimming in. Maybe you should keep staring.

As you start driving, you start fidgeting, Jenna noticed but she didn’t want to point it out, scared it’ll only push you away and make you dismissive. The tension in the car was strong, it could cut a boulder clean, and you couldn’t take that so you small talk her acting as if you were her uber driver and you don’t have a relationship with her.

“So, uh, you excited?”

“A bit, more nervous actually.”

“He should be nervous, he’s the one going on a date with THE Jenna Ortega.”

“Hmph, you flatter me.” You try. “Actually, he’s the one who has been nervous all week, he’s been asking me out every single day without fail for the past seven days.”

“And you kept rejecting him?”

“Something like that,” you also hope that the dim lights didn’t reveal your sly smirk painted on your face.

“Why did you?”

“I just wanted to see if something else would come along.”

“That is?”

“A sign.”

“A sign?”

“A sign for me to officially say no, I told him to give me a week, and on the last day, I caved and said yes.” Confusion starts to set in, you couldn’t tell if she wanted to even go on this date, you know, with the whole sign thingy, maybe she was just looking for a reason to say no but there wasn’t one conjured up in time.”

“I take it there wasn’t any?”

“Zilch. Maybe no sign meant I should say yes.”

“Unfortunate,” you mumble, maybe if a sign did show, you wouldn’t be caught in this situation.

“Indeed.” You didn’t think she heard you, but she did, unfortunately though, you didn’t hear her. “What was that?” You ask.

“Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud.”

“Right, well, we’re here, just let me park and help you out.” You park swiftly and with ease, despite needing to parallel park, with that same swiftness you hop out and open the car door for Jenna, extending your arm out for her.

“Always a gentleman.” She smiles.

“Gentlewoman,” you jokingly correct her, she lets out a small huff of laughter whilst her smile stays in place, “what’re you waiting for, Jen?”

“A sign, baby.” There it was again, baby.

“Go have fun, Jen.” You grab her hand once more and caress each knuckle.

She held her blink longer than usual, smiling as she does so, letting out a wistful sigh, and before she turns away and leaves, she tippy toes up, placing a soft, warm kiss on your cheek. Except it was so much closer to the edge of your mouth, you want to say it was a kiss?

~~

Once you settle back into your couch, snuggle up in your fluffy blanket, you can’t wait to hear the iconic tudum ahead of every Black Mirror episode, getting lost in the new season, hoping to clear your mind of Jenna and her date, the date now an hour in.

And even though she gave you permission to watch the new season without you, there was a guilt building in you every time you considered pressing play, so you listen and decide to save season six for another time, another time where Jenna was with you, resting her head on your shoulder.

Instead, you opt to rewatch your favourite episode instead, ‘San Junipero,’ but before the first interaction of the episode could start, you hear your doorbell ring, you pause the episode and go check it out.

Looking through your ring camera app, you see Jenna? You open the door in confusion and map the brunette up and down, making sure you weren’t hallucinating, you see her smiling softly at you holding a pizza box in her hand.

“Hi.” She smiles, only making you even more confused.

“Hello?” You start off, “what’re you doing here, your date?”

She breathes in deeply, hearing the oxygen enter her body, she exhales just as deeply, hearing the carbon dioxide, that was once oxygen, leave her body. “Well, I was on a date, enjoying delicious food, with a very cute and funny boy in front of me,” your heart drops, “but.” Your heart raises, and so does one of your eyebrows.

“But?”

“He wasn’t the one I wanted to be with, he’s great and all but he doesn’t occupy my heart, he’s just a friend, I explained it to him, and he was very sweet about it, he understood, actually he was the one who dropped me off here.”

“Well, who does occupy your heart?” Your naïve and oblivious self asks. Only making Jenna’s facial expression form a horror as a result of you not being able to connect the dots.

“YOU. YOU DO, Y/N, I love you.” You freeze, “you’re the one I want to be with, I love more than you could ever imagine.” And before you could react, you feel her lips on yours, like it was coming home, except this time, it was here to stay, and they were speaking the truth, no lies, no acting, no cut, just the truth.

“But the sign?” You break away.

“The sign was you, you idiot, I wanted to see if a miracle would happen, and you would ask me out.”

“OHHHHH.” Realisation hits you like a truck, “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am.” You pull her waist in, essentially pulling her inside your house, greeting her lips once more as she places the pizza on your table, dancing in motion together as if the two of you were among the stars.

“And before you try anything funny,” she pulls away, making you whimper a bit, “there’s twelve slices of pizza, six each so we both get a last slice.”

You smile, making you’re the corner of your lips connect to your eyes, essentially closing your eyes as a reaction.

“Last slice.”

~~

a/n: j! try to write at a normal time and fix your sleep schedule challenge <3 (it’s 6am)

taglist: @talialeih​ (uber eats me a pizza please, love.)

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xiv

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | chapter summary: The final chapter pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 9.2k (I love being insane) chapter warnings: SMUT (18+only) - unprotected sex. Insecurity/Jealousy. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, blood and injuries. Alcohol & Marijuana use. Fluff. Bisexual reader (happy pride ya'll!). As always please dm for more specifics. a/n: This could probs use another round of proofreading but it would've delayed this even longer sooooo.... Here we go! I feel pretty emo right now and I might make a more in-depth post about my thoughts at a later date bc I just finished writing this in a hot daze so I can't put all my thoughts coherently together. But I just wanna say thank you to everyone who supported and gave love to this story. This is by far the most popular fic I've ever written, and I don't really know how? Or what I did to deserve all the love but I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. Thank you for sticking with me through all the angst and delayed updates and everything. I'll never forget you and I'll never forget Joel x Reader!! Thank you so much, I hope the finale lives up to your expectations! ❤️

**I DO NOT HAVE A TAGLIST. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

I’m not the kind of man who tends to socialize I seem to lean on old familiar ways….

-May 16, 2024-

“Are you sure you’re okay if I leave you here alone?” 

Ethan’s voice jolts you out of a daze, and you blink your eyes open, realizing that you’d dozed off while sitting upright in a patio chair, the cheesy romance novel you’d been reading still lying open on your lap. Turning to look over your shoulder, you find him standing with one foot on the deck, and one foot still inside, cut in half by the sliding glass door.

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and nod. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

Ethan studies you carefully, like he’s not entirely convinced. He’s been hesitant to leave you alone unless it’s absolutely necessary – only stepping away from the house to go on patrol shifts and to bring home meals from the mess hall. Recovery has made you feel like a burden to him – to all your friends in the community, really. Everyone….well, almost everyone, has been supportive, but you’ve never been comfortable being openly vulnerable.

Unfortunately, it’s too hard to deny the pain that you’ve been in since the accident, the trouble you have getting around, the exhaustion that clings no matter how many long naps and twelve-hour nights of sleep you get. According to the doctors, being so tired is just part of recovery – rest is important, but the concoction of pain medication you’ve been prescribed only makes your drowsiness and confusion worse. It had been a big deal that tonight you’d mustered the energy to drag yourself outside to sit in the fresh air. 

“I’m fine,” you assure Ethan, once again. “Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not really a date,” he says, almost a little too quickly. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Right,” you say, matter-of-factly. “Do I know who this person is?”

Ethan looks at his feet. “You remember the day this shit happened?” he asks, gesturing towards you. “Before you left on patrol, the girl that said hi to me? It’s her. Her name is Alex.”

“Oh?” you tilt your head, give him a small smile. “She was cute. How’d you ask her out?”

“Well,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck. “I may have…uh, gotten some advice.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?” you’re able to muster up a small smile.

“I would’ve, I just…..” he shakes his head. “It seemed stupid…with everything you have going on.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say, feeling a wave of guilt. Even though he’s the one looking after you, you haven’t spoken to him much about anything going on in his life. In fact, you haven’t really spoken to anyone in a long time, beyond thank you’s and blanket statements like I’m doing better. You feel disconnected, and more lonely than ever. If you ever get enough energy to leave your house, you expect most of the people in the community to have forgotten you exist. “Who’d you ask?”

“Uhm….” Ethan runs a hand through his long dark hair, shifts his weight. “….I’ve been assigned on patrol with Joel Miller a lot lately….so….”

You almost laugh when he uses Joel’s full name. Joel has been such a huge part of your life – sometimes the hero, sometimes the villain – that you don’t need to hear his last name to know who Ethan’s talking about. You could know a thousand Joel’s, and he’d still be the first person that came to mind. But Joel is still a sore subject, and Ethan knows it, which is why you suspect he’s avoided telling you this in the first place. You feel your eyebrows knit together, only able to let out an unenthused. “Oh.”

“I just, you know….he’s a guy. And it sounds like you even liked him at one point so….he must know something, right?” 

“That was a long time ago,” you say quickly, regardless of the fact that he’s right.

It’s probably not fair to blame Joel for everything that has happened to you. You know this, deep down. But you’ve been so helpless and isolated since you’ve woken up in that hospital bed that you’re desperate to find someone to hold accountable. And Joel hadn’t visited you in the hospital once. By this point, he’s abandoned you so many times that your resentment feels justified, even if your current state is not directly his fault. Because it was you, after all, who had walked into the path of those men, too angry to think clearly, too weak to take them down alone. The only person you can blame is yourself, and you really don’t want to.

“Did he tell you to take her out on patrol, make her cry, and almost get her killed?”

Ethan clicks his tongue, looks down, almost ashamed. “No. He did not.”

“You should be careful with Joel,” you warn.

“I was…” Ethan says. “But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he’s actually alright.” 

“So you’re friends with him now,” you state, hoping he refutes. But instead, he looks up at you, frowns, and lifts his chin.

“What happened to you was horrible. It shouldn’t have happened. And yeah, maybe you think he’s the reason you almost died…. I don’t know the specifics so you can believe whatever you want. But I know that he’s the reason you’re still alive.” Ethan’s voice breaks, and you feel tears brimming your eyes before he continues. “He brought you back here, he donated his blood, he-”

“What?” you cut him off.

“What do you mean, what?” Ethan asks. “He was the only person there who had your blood type. You would’ve died if he didn’t. They didn’t tell you this?” 

“Whatever it took to make him feel less guilty, sounds like,” you say, dismissively.

Something hot burns in your veins, something that must have always been there since you woke up, but you’re only feeling it now. It’s unsettling, Joel being a part of you that way. Your lives had already seemed intertwined enough already. But now, he’s inescapable.

“Well, he stayed by your side every night while you were asleep. Fuck, I mean, he was probably there just as often as I was. He made sure I ate, and slept and showered and… and he never once asked for anything in return. He cares about you as much as I do, clearly, so I don’t think it’s wrong to think he’s a good guy….”

You must not care about me that much, you want to say, but you stop yourself. Because it’s not true, and you’d only be saying it to hurt him. You have nothing to defend yourself with, no way to convince him otherwise, and so you just stare at him until he shakes his head and slips back inside.

Ethan is stubborn, he always has been. And it’s a special kind of stubbornness, fueled by anger – so common in most of the young people you meet these days. You understand why they’re all like this. When you’re robbed of your childhood – you get stuck there….waiting….. Like someday you’ll have a chance to do it all over again, regardless of how obvious it is that you won’t. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-May 25, 2024-

Things get better, albeit slowly. You begin to wean off the pain medication, which makes you more alert. It’s still difficult to leave your house, but you can move around it more easily, and you don’t spend all your days sleeping. Luckily, you aren’t as stir-crazy as you’d been expecting. 

One afternoon, Ellie Williams shows up on your doorstep with a bag full of groceries. 

“Maria wanted me to bring these to you,” she says when you open the door. “She told me to tell you she’ll be over tomorrow, but she wanted me to give you these to tide you over.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you for bringing them to me,” you try to take the bag from her hands, but she steps back just a little, like she’s unsure if you should be carrying anything. You let your hands drop to your sides. “Would you like to come in?” 

Ellie hesitates for a split second, adjusting the bag in her arms, and then nods. “Sure.” 

Stepping to the side, you allow her into the home. Because of how warm it is outside, you’ve opened all the windows to let the breeze through. 

“Sorry for the mess,” you say, Ellie following you into the living room. There are stacks of books and pill bottles with instructions scattered on your countertop. You haven’t swept the floors in awhile and all the hard surfaces are covered in a thin layer of dust. It’s not really that bad, but you don’t have the energy or strength to be on your feet for long – let alone to clean the house. 

“I don’t mind,” Ellie says. “It’s not even that bad. I don’t know why older people worry about leaving your house messy and shit….no offense.”

“There was a time it used to matter,” you tell her. “And I see where you’re coming from, but my thing is – if you’re going to live somewhere, you should do what you can to make yourself feel comfortable.” 

Ellie purses her lips, as if you’ve made a good point but she doesn’t know how to answer. Instead, you continue. “Can I get you anything? Water?” 

“No, I’m okay,” she puts the bag on your kitchen counter.

“You can sit if you’d like,” you tell her. “I just need a moment to put these away.”

When you walk into your living room a few minutes later, she’s hovering near your record player, looking through the vinyls. The turntable was already in the house when you’d arrived years ago, but it was buried in the closet and broken. Ethan had managed to fix it after a little troubleshooting and scavenging for parts. Now, you both were always looking for records to bring home, and had amassed quite the eclectic collection – jazz, funk, hip-hop, and everything in between. 

“Wow,” Ellie says, running her fingers along the shelved records. “You found all these?”

“Some of them were already here. But yeah. Ethan and I are always on the lookout on patrol. I can play you something. What do you like?”

“Eighties, I think,” she says. “But…I also haven’t heard as much.” 

“Well here,” you thumb through the records, pull out a worn copy of Speaking In Tongues. “How about some Talking Heads?” 

You pass the record over to her, and she stares at you blankly. It’s only then that you realize — she’s never used a record player before. There’s a familiar pang of sadness before you show her how. 

“Are you feeling better?” Ellie eyes you wearily once the music starts, and you settle onto the couch, feeling a little worn out after being on your feet.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m older now, so it seems like healing takes a lot more time.”

Ellie nods, then bobs her head to the music a little. “This is better than most of the stuff Joel likes.” 

“Oh yeah,” you smirk, and instinctually, you recall his enthusiasm for all things old-school country. “I remember that,” you say softly.

With so much time on your hands lately, you’ve found yourself thinking of Joel a lot, reminiscing on the time you’d spent with him and Sarah. What Ethan had told you about him staying by your side was definitely making you reconsider your assessment of him, even if you were still hesitant. It was probably a trap to think you’d ever be able to feel those things with him again, but if remembering them brought you comfort, you weren’t going to resist it. 

“You’re more than welcome to come over to listen anytime,” you offer, and she nods excitedly. 

Ellie stays for longer than you expect. You talk a fair bit. She tells you about what she’s learning in school – but mostly how ‘fucking useless’ it is. She wanders around your living room and pokes through your stuff without asking, but you don’t think to stop her – you just answer her questions and let her be curious.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, and she excuses herself to go home, insisting that Joel will ‘fucking kill her’ if she’s out too late. Even though you’re exhausted after entertaining her for a few hours, you find it feels nice. Being on house arrest, essentially, had left your starved for connection outside Maria and Ethan.

You see her out the door before returning to your refrigerator to look for something to eat. Ethan will be back from patrol any minute, so it may be nice to make him something even if you have almost no energy.

But when there’s another knock on your front door, you’re shocked to see who you find staring on your porch. 

Joel.

You almost forget to speak at the sight of him. It’s been weeks since your accident and he might as well have moved away from Jackson since you hadn’t seen him at all. 

“Hey,” you say, tentatively, taking him in. He seems preoccupied – cheeks flushed, hair rumpled, and out of breath, like he had run all the way to get here.

“Have you seen Ellie?” he asks, not even greeting you in return. “I’ve looked everywhere and I-

“You just missed her,” you cut him off, not because you’re trying to dismiss him, but because he's clearly distressed. “I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way over.”

Joel sighs, eyes closing in relief. “Thank God.” For a second, you glimpse the frazzled and overworked father you used to know. “She stayed out too late, had me worried sick.” 

“She’s fine,” you say. “Although she did say you might kill her if she didn’t get home soon.” 

Joel gives you an almost imperceptible smile, but seems mostly irritated by Ellie’s suggestion. “I would do no such thing.” He shakes his head and takes two steps backwards. “Thank you. Didn’t mean to be a bother.” 

Your mind floats to a memory of Joel on your front porch, late getting home from work and looking for Sarah, and you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness and longing for a simpler time, a surge of affection. 

Joel is halfway down your front porch steps when you speak again. “You aren’t bothering me.”

He pauses, turns to look over his shoulder. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, and you step outside, letting the door fall shut behind you and remaining huddled against the siding, and he turns to face you fully, sighing. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, actually….” 

“Oh…really?” you can’t keep the surprise from your voice, and he notices.

“Yeah,” Joel rubs his fingers together, a nervous habit of his you know all too well. “Yeah. I- well, I wanted to apologize to you.”

You’re so startled by the words you can’t answer right away. But the split second of hesitation causes Joel to continue, looking to fill the empty space. 

“I’ve been waiting to find the right thing to say….but it doesn’t seem like that’ll ever happen. I’m not even sure I know where to start.” 

“Oh,” is all you can manage, still taken aback. The only thing that doesn’t surprise you about his admission is the sincerity. You could say a lot of things about Joel, but he isn’t a liar. He always tells the truth. Maybe it’s why he pulled away from you to begin with. It’s easier than the alternative – spending time with you, which would force him to be honest. For how much you’ve changed, you’d probably do the same. 

But the thing with Joel is that you’re exhausted. You’re tired of the back and forth, of the push and pull, of the constant struggle to hold your care over each other's head, hoping the other will break first. Maybe this is a fresh start. 

You step closer to him, and you see him study the way you move. Of course, you’re trying to look strong, but he can surely sense the weakness. He’d always been good at that, better than any of the others. Your hand comes to rest on the porch railing for support. 

But…..

There’s that voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you this is a mistake. The one that reminds of the pain you’ve often earned through vulnerability. It likes to think it’s served you, protected you, and it has. But it’s not always right.

“I suppose I owe you an apology, too,” you say. “At the very least I should thank you for what you did.”

Joel shakes his head, dismissively, but looks to where your hand rests on the porch railing, looks back up to you as he reaches out. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

His hand clasps over yours, and to anyone else, this might be nothing. It’s so innocent, unassuming. But the effect it has on you is palpable. He squeezes once, and you flip your hand over, squeezing his back, giving him a gentle smile. “I am too.” 

Joel’s eyes fill with a warmth you haven’t seen in twenty years, and your stomach flutters, your heart races. A part of yourself that you’d considered long dead seems to rouse.“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I told Ellie we’d go to the mess hall together,” Joel says. “Otherwise I would.”

You blink once, and Joel sees it, immediately continuing on. “But maybe Ellie and I can come another time, join you and Ethan?”

“Yeah. He’d like that,” you say. “That might be nice.” ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-June 20, 2024-

You think that at the end of a long winter, bears must hate coming out of hibernation. 

It must suck. They spend months sleeping, doing almost nothing, and then suddenly they’re forced to function again – to hunt, to eat, to roam, to survive and socialize. You imagine there has to be a learning curve, a desire to crawl back into their den and never leave again. 

Or maybe you could be wrong, and they love it. And you’re just a wimp who hates feeling uncomfortable.

All you know is that you’re huddled in the back corner of the Tipsy Bison, nursing a whiskey – and it’s the last place you want to be. 

You’re overwhelmed. 

And despite the fact that you regularly used to attend community events, it’s been so long since you've been out in Jackson that you feel like you don’t belong. To some extent, you’ve always felt this – too hardened by the outside world to fully assimilate, especially when the town throws dances. But in the past, you at least attempted to convince yourself otherwise. 

Two weeks back, the doctors had cleared you to go about your daily activities as normal  – within reason, of course – but you hadn’t exactly jumped at the opportunity. Tonight, Ethan had accused you of becoming ‘antisocial’ and ‘reclusive’. You had agreed to attend – but only to beat those allegations. So far, you are definitely not. 

You scan the crowd, taking in the people spinning around the dance floor. Some of the women are wearing dresses. You can’t help but feel a little envious of how easily they’re able to perform femininity, which is something you’d given up on a while ago. It hadn’t exactly served you before arriving in Jackson, and you predict it would be humiliating to start trying now. After all the things you’d experienced, you were left marred with scars and wrinkles, stretch marks and loose skin. Since then, you’ve remained loyal to the combination of men’s denim and tank tops with flannel-button downs overtop. 

It doesn’t always stop the men in the community from descending like vultures. You might be the last pick – there are plenty others who are younger and prettier – but you’re still an option. Bea, your old partner, had always theorized that some men were particularly drawn to sapphic women, that it was ‘the ultimate challenge’. Maybe there is some truth to her theory, but you like men….sometimes. So there is always a part of you that yearns for their validation, for as many times as you tell yourself you don’t want it. But it never feels good to get it after you’ve watched them exhaust all their other options.

It’s pathetic, but it makes you think of Joel. He and Ellie had been over to yours and Ethans last week for a nice dinner, and you had tried to gauge whether there was any romantic connection between you still. Occasionally, you’d caught him looking at you with a wistful smile, but he could have been lost in thought. It’s not like you needed that from him or anything, but it might be useful information. After all this time, Joel is still so handsome, and probably has an impressive selection of potential partners here in Jackson – women of all ages. You hope he’s not here tonight – you can’t see much besides the dance floor at this point – because the thought of him cozied up to anyone here, combined with the acrid taste of the drink in your hand, makes you want to gag. 

You take another look around the room. Eugene, your partner in crime – quite literally – is walking towards you, which helps quell your spiraling mind . If you talk to him, say hello to Tommy and Maria, maybe Ethan will see the effort you’re making and you can sneak out without having to deal with anyone. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s worth a shot. The sooner you can get home tonight, the better.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel can’t stop staring. 

He knows it’s impolite. He knows that he’s not being subtle. He knows that if any other person in this bar followed his eyeline, they’d pick up on what he was doing in an instant. But every minute he doesn’t get called out for it, he becomes more and more emboldened. 

It’s the first dance he’s ever been to in Jackson, and the only reason he’s here is to placate Ellie and Tommy. But even they have abandoned him in favor of better companions – his brother is deep in conversation with Maria, sitting across from him in a booth, and Ellie is out on the dance floor dancing with one of her new friends, Dina.

Joel just can’t help himself. He still feels guilty for what he’s done, but he can’t shake the feeling of a soft hand clasped within his own – the first time he’d felt any semblance of hope since arriving here. Tommy and Maria had already slyly let him know about all the women who were interested, but he couldn’t bring himself to entertain their advances. There’s only one he wants, and she won’t even look in his direction.

When he’d first noticed you, you were whispering with Eugene on the opposite side of the dance floor. According to Tommy, you spend a fair bit of your time with the old man, which Joel initially thought to mean that you had some sort of entanglement. At first, Joel thought that couldn’t be possible. But you were deep in focus as you listened to Eugene’s words, nodding and leaning in closer and closer, and Joel thinks Tommy might be right. He wants to understand what you see in this man – tall and unkempt, covered in tattoos with long, graying hair and a beard to match. But Joel catches himself in his judgment, he’s probably just as unappealing – not just because of how he’s aged, but because of how horrible he’s been to you in general. 

The next time Joel sees you, you’re at the bar, chatting with a man who Maria had introduced him to not long ago, a resident who is new in town. Joel had been too busy focusing on the fact that he’d been in Jackson long enough to not be its newest resident that he couldn’t remember his name. He wishes he had, so he could keep tabs on him. Of course, he can’t blame the man for being drawn to you – Joel knows very well that you’re hard to miss in a crowd. 

Still, Joel bristles when you both step away from the bar, and the man’s hand lands just above your sacrum. He actually finds himself tensing up, resisting the urge to intervene, because it’d likely only make you angry. Plus, maybe you are interested. That question is answered quickly when you reach behind your to clasp the man's hand and place it back at his side. Where it belongs, he thinks.

“Joel!”

He snaps his attention to what’s in front of him – interrupted, and probably for good measure, lest he get himself too worked up. Ethan approaches with a girl his age, her arm linked through his. Joel stands to greet them. 

The terse understanding between himself and Ethan while you were still in the hospital had somehow turned into a friendship, especially after they’d begun getting paired up on patrol. Ethan reaches out for Joel’s hand to dap him up, slinging an arm briefly over his shoulder.

“How’s it going, kid?” 

“Good, good,” Ethan nods, pulling back, and gestures to the girl next to him. “Joel, this is Alex.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Ethan’s told me all about you.” 

“Really?” Joel asks, feeling a little bewildered. 

“Only good things,” Alex says quickly, as if she senses his apprehension. Ethan puts his arm around her waist. Joel recalls a few weeks back when he’d asked for advice on how to ask out a girl. Joel hadn’t pried at the time, but now he seems to understand, and is surprised by the swell of pride he feels. “Ethan says you’re a fucking badass,”she giggles after she swears.

Joel looks over at Ethan. “I don’t know about that.” 

He shrugs, changes the subject. “Since when do you come to these things?” Ethan asks.

“Ellie dragged me out,” Joel answers.

“I did the same with my aunt,” Ethan chuckles. “But now I can’t find her, and I’m pretty sure she’s escaped.”

“Oh, is she here?” Joel plays dumb, like he hasn’t been aware of exactly where you have been all night. “I haven’t seen her.”

“I think she was with Eugene earlier,” Alex has to stand on her toes to speak into Ethan’s ear. Joel watches Ethan’s nose wrinkle. 

“Do you know Eugene at all?” Ethan turns to Joel. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on there, but she won’t say anything.” 

Joel wishes that he had more information. “Tommy says they seem close.”

“I know that,” Ethan says. “I wish she would just be honest with me. It’s not like I would be mad. Whatever,” he shakes his head. “We can talk about it another time. I just want to find her so I can introduce her to Alex.”

“We should say hi to Tommy and Maria first,” Alex says, and Ethan nods in agreement before saying goodbye to him. Joel claps a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he moves past him, and Alex gives him a shy smile in acknowledgement. 

Focusing back on the crowd, Joel realizes that you’ve vanished in the short span of his last interaction. Maybe you’d rejected that guy, and then he’d retaliated. Maybe you’d gone home with Eugene. Joel shakes his hand. It’s none of his business. He doesn’t need to get involved. It’s not his job to look after you, regardless of how much better he feels when he does. Old instincts. He can’t help himself.

He settles on watching Ellie and Dina spin each other around on the dance floor. Eventually, Tommy and Maria, then Ethan and Alex all trickle out of the booth to go get another round or head to dance. Joel stands to release the booth to someone who actually needs it – and is left in the corner, nursing a nearly empty beer that’s now flat and warm. He looks towards his family and friends, but for some reason, he still feels alone. 

Joel isn’t sure how long he stands sulking, but he starts when someone approaches from behind.

“Having fun?”

You’re a pace or two back, one thumb hooked through a belt loop, a whiskey in your opposite hand. Joel looks back at the crowd a moment, then at the ground. “No.” 

“Neither am I,” you commiserate, stepping alongside him. 

Joel considers offering that Ethan was looking for you, but selfishly does not want to give you a reason to leave, so he stays quiet. You observe the dance floor like he is, smiling slightly at the sight of Ethan and Alex dancing. The flannel you’re wearing over a gray tank hangs loosely off one shoulder, and Joel wants to reach out and touch the exposed skin. You take your last sip of whiskey, bring a finger to swipe under your bottom lip, and Joel wishes he knew what you might taste like right now. He scolds himself for fantasizing.

You don’t speak either, and you stand in silence for a while, until you eventually pop your hip, shifting closer to him. Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re already standing so close that your arm gets pressed up against his. Neither of you acknowledge the contact, but Joel is acutely aware of how your skin burns hot against his own. He feels comforted by the affection, even if it’s unintentional.

“Want to leave?” Joel asks, and can hardly believe that the words came out of his mouth, even if he wanted them to. 

You look over at him, not bothering to hide your surprise, but your expression evens out quickly, and you give him a single nod. “Yeah.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel’s still not convinced this is real. It feels too much like a dream, the weather outside is so pleasantly warm it feels like he’s floating as you walk down the street. He had never expected you to agree to leave with him, and now he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say.

The greater distance you put between yourselves and the bar, the quieter the town is. Most of Jackson’s residents are at the dance, save for the guards at the front gate and the handful of people that had been mingling just outside.

He heads in the general direction of the neighborhood, even though he lives on a different street. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” you wonder out loud, and you sound a little incredulous, like you’re equally as shocked to find yourself beside him. The question carries a bit more weight than it would have coming from anyone else.

Joel contemplates. He’s not sure what he wants from you – there are a lot of things, actually – but he doesn’t know if he really deserves any of them. For now, your companionship is more than enough.

“You’re welcome to come back to mine,” he offers.  “But if you’re looking to keep drinking, all the booze is back at the bar.”

“I’m good.” You shake your head like you’re uninterested, but look over at him with a sparkle in your eye. “I have something better….” 

You reach into the pocket of your flannel and produce a rolled joint between two fingers, looking over your shoulder. “Those dances are usually terrible, so I always come prepared.” 

Joel can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, and the sheepish grin he gets in return makes his cheeks feel warm. “Where’d you even get that?”

“You’ve never been on patrol with Eugene, have you?” you ask. “He has a place just out of town where he grows it. I’ve been helping him since we first got paired up, and in exchange, I get to sample the supply.”  

Of course. Joel would’ve never imagined that was the reason you were so close with Eugene, but it suddenly makes incredible sense. He shakes his head in a combination of relief and amusement. “You really haven’t changed.” 

“Oh, I’m sure I have,” you answer, smiling to yourself and looking at the ground. “But of course I haven’t shaken all my bad habits.”

“That’s not true,” Joel mutters.

“Well, you haven’t changed either, for as much as you’ve tried to convince me,” you nudge him gently, offering him the joint. “What do you think?” 

Joel plucks it from between your fingers and puts it between his lips. “I think I have a lighter at home.”

“Sounds perfect.” 

In the front hallway of his house, you slip out of your tennis shoes, shuffling behind him in your socks, pausing occasionally to study some of the doodles that Ellie had drawn and hung on the walls – it wasn’t exactly a priority to decorate these days, but they certainly livened up the place. He knows how much Ellie likes you, despite the fact that she doesn’t gush, but the odd comment here and there says as much. Joel remembers how difficult it had been to keep Sarah away, and Ellie now is no different. He doesn’t seem to be able to help himself, either. 

You sit next to Joel on his wicker couch, curling your feet up under you as he lights the joint and study him while he takes the first few puffs. He does it without thinking. That’s how soft Jackson has made him. Normally, he’d be too stressed about being out of his wits. But he can’t see how hypervigilance has served him since settling down. He feels safe here, and somehow especially because he’s with you. 

When he passes the joint your way, you look at him wistfully. “Old times,” you say with a grin. 

Joel nods as he exhales, coughing. “Old times.” 

“Oh yeah,” you say, as if you just remembered something. “You can’t tell Ethan about this. He doesn’t know, and he will give me shit about it. I need him to take me seriously.” 

Joel shakes his head. “Well, you know, it sounds like he and Tommy both think you and Eugene are together.”

“What?” your head jerks forward in shock, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, no. Do people think that?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel wants to mention how he had seen you whispering to each other at the bar earlier, but then realizes it’d give a bit too much away. “That’s what they think.”

“Well....historically speaking I might’ve liked older men…. but not that old.”

Joel purses his lips. “You’ve lived here awhile, huh?” When you nod, he continues. “Has no one caught your eye?” 

“Uhm….not really. But….” you trail off, looking into Joel’s backyard. “To be completely honest, I  don't think about that much these days. I guess I feel like I have a lot to be grateful for. I don’t want to push it.”

Joel understands, and nods pensively.

“What about you?” you ask. 

“I guess I feel the same.”

That causes you to smile a little bit, look over at him. “I bet you already know this. But the women here would line up down the block for you.”

Joel can’t help but roll his eyes, though he wonders if you would, too. Even if you did like him, that didn’t seem like your style. 

“I’m serious. I’ve heard the things they whisper behind your back. All their fantasies about you are pretty creative...”

“Fantasies?” He grimaces. He imagines none of them know anything about who he really is. You’re the closest thing, and all he’s done is hurt you. “I’m sure you were quick to set them straight.” 

“I don’t say anything,” you say, then continue on, a little quieter, looking at him from under your lashes. “I like to keep you to myself.” 

Joel isn’t sure how to respond to that. You have every right to tell all of them that you were once together, and all the ways he’s hurt you since. Yet for some reason, you’ve chosen to protect him. 

“So….all this time….” you wonder. “You had to have been with other people, right?”

Joel doesn’t think to hold back. “I had a partner for a long time. Tess. First, it was all business, I helped her smuggle things in and out of the Boston QZ…and then, I don’t know….we got along, we trusted each other and…” Joel trails off, hoping you’d put together the rest before he has to go into too much detail. “She was real fuckin’ tough. Scared me a little at first. You would’ve liked her.”

“Well, we already have one thing in common. What happened?”

“She’s the whole reason I ended up out here….with Ellie,” Joel explains. “But I lost her a little over a year ago.”

He hopes you don’t ask how. Maybe someday he’d be willing to go into detail, but talking about it generally is hard enough as it is. But fortunately, you seem to pick up on his hesitance. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you say softly.

He shakes his head. “I was an asshole. To her. I should've....after Sarah died I didn’t want to get attached, so I kept her at arms length and I... I wished I hadn’t in the end. It only made things worse.”

“Yeah,” you nod, look down. “I’ve made that mistake before.”

Joel doesn’t want to linger any longer on the memory. “What about you? Were you with anyone?”

“Uhm, yeah,” you fidget, looking uncomfortable. “I had a partner….for like ten years."

Ten years? He had been with Tess for more, but something about that information feels jarring. He’s shocked Tommy never told him this. Did Tommy even know? Suddenly, it dawns on Joel everything that could’ve happened to you since you’ve been apart. Entire lifetimes. And he’d said such horrible things when you’d fought. He remembers your face when he’d told you that you didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. Maybe you had. He’d been so cruel and inconsiderate just because he was uncomfortable. 

His throat feels tight, almost scared to learn anymore. “What…what was his name?”

“Well, Bea….was her name.” 

Joel is sure he doesn't hide the shock well. “Sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I did either. Well, I sort of did, but I was too young I think when I first realized to make any sense of it, but…. I met her and…yeah,” then, you smirk. “I mean, I went to an all-girls school and I had a really bad relationship with my dad so…it definitely makes sense. ” 

Joel considers this, smiles along with you. “But anyways. Her and I met shortly after my brother died and it was kind of the same. We kept each other alive, things developed from there. We ended up getting involved with this group who lived in the middle of nowhere. That’s a whole other story, but…” you wave your hand. “I loved her, and I lost her right before Ethan and I got here.” 

Joel sees all the pain in your eyes, and wishes he could say something to take it all away. He knows he can’t. You look back out into the woods in his backyard, take a deep breath, and reach back towards the joint that you had put out not long before, lighting it again. Joel gets the sense that both of you had done the most amount of sharing possible for the time being. 

“Look at us,” you take another drag before passing it over. “Old times.”

“Old times,” he repeats, a smile working its way onto his face. 

“This used to be my favorite thing to do with you.” 

“It was nice,” Joel agrees….hesitates before continuing. “But I can think of some things I liked better.” He gives you a knowing look, and you roll your eyes, laughing easily at his joke. It feels so good to make you laugh, to see you smile. Why had he spent so much time resisting?

“Touche.” 

What happens next spills out of Joel so quickly he doesn’t think to stop it. “I tried to look for you….after all this happened. I didn’t have Sarah anymore, and I thought maybe….I don’t know. It was the only thing that kept me going for a while.”

“I did too,” you confess. “But…I was with Vincent and Ethan, and I felt like I couldn’t leave them alone for something that might just be…. I always hoped you both made it. And I’m so sorry she’s gone. I really did love her.” 

“I know you did,” Joel reaches out to take your hand. “I know. And I shouldn’t have said those things I did. I’m still not sure why you’ve been so patient with me.”

“Hmm,” you shift so that you’re closer to him. “You waited around for me back then. It’s only fair that I’d wait around for you now. I want you in my life. I don’t care what that looks like. But it’s too hard to forget about a person that you loved.” 

Joel wants as much from you as you’re willing to give, and he can’t tear his gaze away from you. But he wants you to see him, all of him, before he takes it. 

“I’ve let a lot of people down. I’ve done a lot of h-horrible things,” his voice cracks, and tears well in his eyes. 

“I have, too, you know? Those things still live with me. But I think what matters is who we are now,” you reach out, fingertips brushing the scar on his temple, and Joel swears that even if you don’t know the story behind it, you can see right through him. “And I know who you are.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.” 

“You won’t,” you say. “No more than anyone else has. And if it makes you feel better…when people hurt me, I’ve gotten pretty good at hurting them back.” 

“If I do, I’d hope you would.”

“I will. I promise,” your thumb strokes his cheek, marveling at him. “I would suggest a blood oath or something but….I heard we kind of already did that…”

He’s given you every warning, every barrier, and you’re still here. He can’t believe it, and he doesn’t think he can hold back any longer. “Come here.”

He kisses you. He wishes that he could be slow and tender and gentle like he used to be – and certainly he’s still capable, but he realizes that he’s been depriving himself of something he wanted for so long, and can’t seem to control himself. 

Your hands land on the side of his face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Maybe you’re somewhat taken aback by his urgency, you hum against his lips, but you don’t resist at all. Joel maneuvers you so you’re straddling his thighs, and he grips your hips, your ass, coasts his hands up your side. Your lips part in a moan, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

For a while, he stays there, savors the taste of you, whiskey and smoke still lingering on your lips. His hands cup your jaw, feel your body, grip and squeeze and stroke and you let him, continue to let him. He tries everything, wondering if you’ll tell him to stop, if you’ll decide you’ve had too much, but you don’t. Then again, he should know by now that you’re a woman who knows what she wants. He just finds it’s hard to believe that he’s the thing you want.

You break away from him, just a little, and Joel presses his nose to your neck, kisses your pulse point. 

“Should we go upstairs?” your voice is raspy and breathless. “Will Ellie be home soon?” 

“Probably not for a while. We can be quick.”

“Hopefully not too quick,” you raise your eyebrows. Joel can’t help but laugh a little. He relishes in the way your hands rake up and down his arms, exploring him, touching him. Of course he wants you, but even just this would be enough. He’d be content with less, he hadn’t realized how starved of affection he’d been.

You’re able to pry yourselves off one another to make it up the stairs, and Joel guides you with a hand to the small of your back. When you get to his bedroom, he opens the door, but stops you before you go inside. 

“Hold on,” Joel mutters, winding one arm around your waist, the other behind your knee.

“Joel, what-no, you’ll–” he pulls you into his arms. 

“Do you really think I’m not strong enough?”

“I didn’t say that,” you chuckle as he carries you over the threshold and into the bedroom, breath puffing against him before he lays you down on the bed. 

When he hovers over you, your fingers wind into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. He savors every sweet sigh he’s able to pull from you, hands cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips. You’re so pliant and open beneath his body, it makes it easier to not feel guilty about what he’s doing. He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty, you’ve said as much, but it might take some time before the feeling will die completely. Hopefully, he has enough time with you to see it off completely.

Clothes are removed quickly, intentionally, as you both bare more and more of yourself to each other. And while he wishes he could’ve been there to see the ways in which your body has changed, you’re still as beautiful as ever. 

Joel, however, is hesitant to give himself away completely. When you tug at the hem of his shirt, he hesitates. 

“I don’t know if-” he pauses. “If you want to see all that.”

“Joel,” you stare at him knowingly, kneeling across from him as he stands at the edge of the bed. “I do.” 

So he releases your hand, and lets you pull it over his head. Carefully, you study him, his body littered with scars. He knows he’s not as in shape as you remember. These days, he hardly can look at himself in the mirror after a shower. He expects you to be disgusted, or at least see it flit across your face before you compose yourself, but you don’t. Your fingertips drag through the smattering of hair on his chest and down his torso, tracing several prominent scars – each one with a story – but you linger on the one at his abdomen, frowning. 

He sees the question on your face, but you don’t ask it. Instead, you return to press yourself against him. “I’m so glad you’re still here….”

You kiss him, then, and Joel can only kiss you back. 

Joel isn’t the only one with battle scars. Some of them he feels are his fault, but you seem less self-concious about them, which gives him a surprising amount of confidence. Maybe it’s just a reality of what happens when you make it this long. 

When you’re finally bare beneath him, he admires how you look, stretched out and waiting, chest heaving and shivering with anticipation. He slides his hand between your legs – feels you already wet and warm, sinking two fingers inside. Your walls flutter around the intrusion, back arcing off the bed when you sigh out his name. Joel.

He’d forgotten how nice it felt to hear that. 

Joel is already thinking about what he’d like to do to you next time. He’d be more careful, more patient. He’d bury his face between your thighs to see if you tasted as good as he remembers, he’d let your fingers curl into his hair. But right now you both seem desperate for the same thing. 

He pumps his cock a few times with his hand, he can’t remember the last time he’d been this hard – the last time he’s wanted anyone this badly. Even with Tess, it had always felt like the both of them were hurrying to scratch an itch, her eyes would wander like she was thinking of other people, and maybe he was, too. 

Joel lines himself up with your slick cunt, teases you a little, and you roll your body down to meet him, gasping when his blunt head slides in – just a little. 

He can’t hold back. You practically suck him in, so tight and hot around him he finds it immediately overwhelming, but he doesn’t even think to pull out. Only when he’s fully seated inside you, and given you a chance to adjust, does he start to move. 

It’s euphoric. You’re both older now, more mature, but he still remembers all the things you liked, even if it takes a moment for him to find the spot inside you that makes you cry out, legs wrapping around his hips. 

Unlike before, you don’t bother trying to hide from him. You kiss him, hold him, touch him, look him in the eyes, tell him how good he feels – you don’t hold back. Joel relishes every word you say, clings to the praise and gives it back. Your lashes flutter when he tells you how pretty you look.

He can think of nothing else other than bringing you pleasure, can tell you’re getting close when you begin to rut against him, and he reaches down to let the pads of his fingers slide over your clit.

When you come, you whine his name, lock your lips with his own and he swallows your moans. The feeling of you so impossibly tight and wet and pulsing and squeezing him so tightly has him following closely after. 

His head is still buried in the crook of your neck when you speak again. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

The second Joel pulls out, he starts missing how close he felt to you. But you fix that by rolling over onto your stomach, curling up at his side, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach. 

“Joel. Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

He’s far from it. But he’s starting to think if you say it enough, maybe he’ll start to believe it. He turns his head to kiss you gently, slowly. “So are you.” 

“We can do this again, right?” you ask. 

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we can.”

“Good,” you settle back against him, and very slowly, he dozes off with you right beside him. He doesn’t want to sleep alone again, and luckily, he doesn’t have to. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-December 4th, 2026-

When you return home from patrol, you find Joel in his living room – boots off and socked feet propped on the arm of the couch. You don’t notice his eyes are closed, that he’s asleep, until you get closer, see the book he’d been reading resting on his chest as he snores lightly. You can’t help but feel for him – he’s probably exhausted from constant patrols, so he must be tired. 

But mostly, you’re just overwhelmed by the love you feel for him, catching him in a quiet moment of vulnerability. Hesitantly, you reach out and squeeze his foot. It’s gentle and tender enough that he blinks his eyes open and looks around, taking in his surroundings, rather than jolting awake like he often does. When he sees you on the opposite end of the couch, he melts back into the pillow he’s propped against. 

“Hey, stud,” you lean against the arm of the couch. 

“Hey,” Joel answers, voice still gruff with sleep. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just got in.”

“Hmm,” Joel closes his eyes again, folds his hands across his stomach.

“You’re wearing the glasses I got you,” you point out. They’re simple. Rectangular black frames. You’d found them on patrol, and brought them home after Joel had been complaining that he could barely see when he read before bed. But he’d tried them on and insisted he hated the way they looked, so you’d ended up using them most of the time.

“They do work,” he grumbles, like he’s ashamed to admit it. “But I still think they look stupid.”

“You look like a sexy librarian,” Joel rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s suppressing a grin. There’s always a bit of defiance about him, he can’t fully admit how you get him so flustered even after you’ve spent so much time together. You press your thumb into the arch of his foot and he groans. “That feel good?” you ask. 

“Yes.”

“Whatcha reading?” You gesture towards the book. 

“Some book about the moon landing,” Joel lifts it off of his chest, where it lay face down and open, looks at the back cover. “For Ellie.”

“How sweet.”

“It’s a little dry,” he deadpans. “But she likes this stuff.” 

You shift your massage to his other foot. Joel stretches, his arms lifting above his head, the shirt he’s wearing rides up just so, so you see a sliver of his lower belly before it disappears again, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

“Are you tired?” you ask. 

“Always,” he says through a yawn. 

“Me too,” you yawn along with him, since they’re contagious. He pulls the glasses from their perch on the bridge of his nose and shuts the book, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him. You take your hands off his feet and he sits up a little straighter, holding out his hand. 

“Come ‘ere,” he says, and you do. 

He grunts as you settle into his arms, head nestled against his chest, sprawling out almost on top of him, the only way you both can fit like this on the couch.

“You’re so warm,” you say softly, letting him wrap his arms around you. 

“You’re cold. Your hands are freezing,” he holds them in his own.

“It’s cold out.”

“Don’t know why you left today.”

“Obligations. Patrol.”

“Fuck that.”

You laugh into his chest, pausing for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I think we might be boring.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, we don’t really leave the house. We spend all day reading. And we’re old.”

“We’re not that old.”

“But we’re getting up there.”

“Sure, but…” Joel trails off. 

“Everything’s so quiet, so calm.”

“I think that’s what most people would describe as content.” 

“Are you content?” you ask, lifting your head to look him in the eyes. 

“I’m happy,” he says softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. “Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then don’t worry about the rest.”

“Okay,” you settle back against your husband's chest, feel his lips brush your forehead.

His fingers search absentmindedly for the ring on your finger he’d found while clearing out a pawn shop not too long ago. The one he wore looked nothing like your own. But the marriage had been long overdue, and neither of you cared what the rings actually looked like. 

Nowadays, you split your time between his place with Ellie, and your own with Ethan, but end up in his bed every night. At this point, you don’t think you could sleep without him. 

Years ago, another lifetime, you’d had a conversation underneath a sky full of stars. You’d told him that for you, good things had never lasted. Joel had made a promise. 

This will.

It took time. There was a lot of pain. But in the end, he had told you the truth.

-

-

-

[mysticpenguincreation]

okay. im going to post again and break my own promise because i also want to address another side of the argument.

people saying how they can’t watch part 2 now because luke manipulated the fans and they feel that the magic is ruined.

remember. we are talking about real people here. they are not the fictional characters they play on screen. let’s go over this one by one, i LOVE making numbered lists for arguments:

1. Luke and Nicola provided us with a fabulous tour. They owe us NOTHING.

It’s US who should be greatfull to them for doing hard work. A long press tour with that amount of promotion must have been absolutely exhausting no matter how much you love your job.

2. Luke isn’t obliged to fall in love with Nic and date Nic.

3. Nic isn’t obliged to fall in love with Luke and date Luke.

4. MULTIPLE times they addressed the fact that they are good friends. People were giddy making gifs saying “no, ur lying”.

Now imagine someone coming up to you and saying “You’re in love with me”. You answer “No i’m not”. They tell you “Nah, you’re lying”. It’s all in good fun until it grows into a straight up disrespectful delusion.

5. The personal life of actors shouldn’t affect how you feel about fictional characters. ESPECIALLY if they did not a fucking thing wrong. I wish really creepy and predotary people in the industry got at least half of the shit Luke is going through right now because Luke dared to have a fucking relationship. Or a relationship not with Nic.

6. We should be thankful to Nic and Luke for being kind, professional and respectful. We should be in love with their beautiful friendship, and not push either of them to cater to desires of fans who cannot, will not, do not want to distinguish between show and real fucking life. They have no obligation to you to start dating because their onscreen counterparts did and you liked it.

7. Again, I do not want to speculate. I have no idea if it was their decision or if it was PR. If they were encouraged to hide their relationship during promotion (imagine waiting this fucking long), or if they were encouraged to show that they’re together right after the show dropped. I do not know AND IT DOES NOT MATTER. Even the idea of restraining your personal life due to PR is sad and makes me sick. I hope they’re just going with the flow, staying true to themselves and are being HAPPY.

“Was it a wrong PR decision?” does not fucking matter because it should be their fucking decision to begin with. The fact that PR is created for this exact reason - to do damage control when people lose their shit over something normal is bind-boggling. It is insane that we came to this fucking point in human history.

8. The phrase “Luke’s hard launch” disgusts me. Fans are talking about Antonia like she’s an object and not a real person. JUST STOP!

9. Try to be fucking kind and touch the fucking grass once in a while. Grass is lovely - take Penelope’s advice.

Seeing this makes me think that the comments are coming from two groups of people:

1. Toxic stan’s who want Nic with Luke and can’t grasp the idea that they are not their characters. “Luke is a lot like Colin” from interviews does not fucking equal “Luke is in love with Nic”. Following this delulu logic he should have fallen for Claudia then because they said multiple times that Claudia is a lot like Pen and Nic is a lot like Eloise. There is no fucking connection in these statements. Fucking none.

2. People who loved the idea of Luke being single because it allows them to fantasize about Luke falling in love with them. It’s okay, we’ve all had celebrity crushes, but when it gets to the point of you throwing hate at the person, it becomes creepy and unhealthy.

To all the haters and “sympathizers” - get some help and get your shit together.

[morlock-holmes]

Okay, so as the typical ignorant American, I have four thoughts about Russia's war against Ukraine that I think are pretty plausible:

Vladamir Putin is a dictator, and having him bring a previously democratic country under his rule through war would be an unequivocal loss for any kind of left-wing or, for that matter, morally permissible politics at all;

If we wish to prevent that outcome, arms shipments to Ukraine are obviously and directly connected to that goal, i.e. the more military strength Ukraine has, the better they will be at fighting off Russian military aggression and ending the war on terms favorable to them;

Both the Ukrainian government and individual Ukrainians have strong reasons to be skeptical of the Russian government and any overtures from Russia. Given the nature of this current assault, people will ask, "If Russia gains something from any peace agreement, what stops them from spending a few years nursing their wounds, improving their position, and then invading again, eventually killing Ukraine with the death of 1,000 cuts?" Avoiding such a situation seems like a sensible and in fact crucial goal for Ukraine.

Notwithstanding the above, I don't really see how you have any end to this war that isn't some kind of negotiated peace, because what on earth is the alternative? Ukraine conquering or extracting an unconditional surrender from Russia seems basically impossible to me.

I'm a very ignorant, simple man, perhaps one of these points is wrongheaded somehow.

But I will say that they strike me as a fairly reasonable set of statements that a sensible person might at least start with as their assumptions.

So it's very strange and frankly disconcerting to me how much English language rhetoric I've run across which treats one or more of those points as not only wrong, but as so insanely, obviously, crazily wrong that the person practically rends their garments in despair at the thought that anybody could possibly believe such obvious hogwash.

I've seen people treat each of those four points as so obviously wrong that they aren't even worth rebutting, which I really can't wrap my head around.

I mean one or more might be wrong but surely none of them are totally insane?

[fleetingvow]

‘ BITTER SOLITUDE .

Wednesday Addams x Female Reader.

SYNOPSIS. wednesday has always loved being alone. she enjoyed the company of solitude and the opportunity for something haunted in the eerie silence, but somehow your presence was missing. did she do something wrong? ( 4.33k words )

WARNINGS. angst, usage of profanities, this is unproofread. spoiler to those who haven’t watched it yet. english is not the author’s first language. the timeline is a bit off. confession under the rain.

NOTE. written in third person’s omniscient point of view.

TABLE OF CONTENTS. you can find my masterlist by clicking this link. my requests are open, so feel free to send in anything you want me to write.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗦 𝗢𝗙 the typewriter halted. Enid had gone somewhere Wednesday didn’t care enough to acknowledge, resulting in the silence of the room that only whispered words of insanity inside her head — silent insanity. She turned her head to spot Thing settled on her dark bed, reading a travelogue magazine he found from Enid’s drawer, turning its pages tediously.

“Are you sure you gave her the note?” Wednesday monotonously questioned as Thing only answered a ‘yes’ with a tap of his finger on the sheets. Her eyes darted on the typewriter again, contemplating whether to use it or leave it alone for a while in order to wait for y/n with full concentration.

But she knew y/n’s presence won’t grace the room no matter how much anyone — most especially, Thing, would pine for it. She narrowed her dark eyes and tightened her jaw as she settled in her train of thoughts.

She used to like this state of living. She was alone or with Thing, but there was silence. The only thing that would bounce back to her ears was the sound of the typewriter clicking and Thing’s magazine pages turning. She loved solitude — lived for it, or perhaps the young Addams would even die for it, because of how much it was a rare luxury for her in Nevermore, but ever since she laid her eyes on a specific girl and her foot set in the divided room, she had grown used to the constant whines of invites to go outside and do some extracurricular activities that Wednesday either found too easy, boring, or stupid.

Y/N often complained about the homeworks they would get stacked with. She would normally curse at the teacher who gave it without a care in the world whether Wednesday heard or not. She felt comfortable enough to express her unnecessary emotions, as Addams would describe it, in the room with the half colourful and half devoid of hues window. She would wreak havoc and play games with Thing, gossip with him, and have a therapy session with him.

Wednesday was used to it, but she never wanted to admit it. Of course she didn’t. Because somehow, y/n had become part of the solitude that Wednesday found convenient even though she wouldn’t admit it aloud or even at all.

She argued that her presence was unlike any other that she found aggravating. That Wednesday didn’t have to put any effort in order to satisfy y/n’s needs in the established — friendship? Were they friends?

“Thing, why isn’t she here?” She asked again through gritted teeth, only gaining an ‘I don’t know’ from her companion.

No, she wasn’t her friend.

But if she wasn’t, why did her absence affect her so? Wednesday found it unsettling, and so unlike her dark cold self. Her eyes peeking through her eyelashes only narrowed even more, and much to her disgust, she wanted to do something about it.

Thing interrupted and made a few gestures, tapping, swinging, and folding his fingers to the girl who got more and more upset as she followed through with what he said.

“I sometimes wish that I don’t understand what you’re telling me,” she replied. “And it’s impossible that she would get upset over my silence. I’m always cold and silent. She should know that she signed up for it before being my . . . acquaintance.” Even without a certain tone in her statement, Thing could sense the venom in her voice. Y/N’s absence did tick Wednesday off.

He gestured, but before he could finish, she spoke again, “Finish that sentence, and I will pull out your nails and skin your fingers alive one at a time.”

Thing knew he crossed a line there. Why else would she threaten his nails?

The wooden floor suddenly creaked as Wednesday stood up from her chair, the typewriter long-forgotten in her wake to venture outside the room with a plan to confront her missing acquaintance.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༉‧₊˚.

Wednesday knew where to usually find y/n, but much to her dismay, she wasn’t in Weathervane. Tyler hadn’t seen her either. The young Addams found him quite stubborn yet persuasive, but she had to decline his offer of coffee. She had pressing matters to tend to.

Y/N wasn’t with Enid. She wasn’t with Yoko and Divina either, nor Bianca. She wasn’t seen by Xavier the whole day, and her roommate mentioned her rush to go out of the room earlier in the fine Saturday morning.

This was suspicious to Wednesday. Y/N was always with either of them in Weathervane, the library, the field, or Xavier’s haven for his art. Where could she be? She shouldn’t be out and about when there’s a monster on the loose, ready to cut someone’s throat.

“You really don’t want her to see you?” Xavier questioned.

“No. I’m surprised she’s even out there looking for me,” Y/N replied, stroking the hued brush on the canvas. “But then again, it’s Wednesday. She’s probably only looking for me because she needs something.”

“She still thinks I’m the monster, honestly.”

“Well, you do have a lot of drawings of the monster for someone who isn’t it, but I guess I should trust you. Maybe more than I should trust Wednesday from now on.”

Xavier turned to her, eyebrows furrowing in bewilderment. He took the towel near his latest work and wiped his fingers, “I’m curious.”

“What?”

“What did Wednesday do to you? Why did you say all those things you said earlier?”

She shrugged and continued to smudge the blank paint on the canvas. She hated that the colour reminded her of the certain goth girl that made her feel things she shouldn’t be, but could she ever help it? Wednesday was a friend, but the circumstances now said otherwise.

“I won’t tell her.”

“Even if you did, would she care?” She asked bitterly without turning to Xavier, only paying attention to the work she was aimlessly doing.

“Y/N.”

“She didn’t do anything bad. It’s just — ”

“She didn’t do anything, did she?”

Y/N scoffed and stopped her work, looking up at the canvas with a sigh of defeat, “That’s exactly what she did.” She turned to him and set the brush aside, sardonically letting out a chuckle, “Ironic, yes?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Was she not that obvious enough? Y/N thought she’d done her best to make anyone notice her actions when she was around Wednesday. She wanted them to know so that they could help her with her because she knew she didn’t have the guts to ask them directly, ‘Hey, can you help me with Wednesday?’ Because she found it pathetic. Wednesday obviously wanted someone who could speak their mind and have similarities with her interests, and if she found y/n to be so pathetic enough to ask, what was the chance that the young Addams would even look at her in a different light?

“Y/N, I really can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s going on. Wednesday’s already a puzzle. I’m not sure if I can solve her and you at the same time. She’s not doing anything which is upsetting you because? Maybe my brain’s just a little rusty, but could you elabor — ”

Taking deep breaths in and out weren’t enough. She had to be straightforward with saying what she truly meant with her careful words, “God, Xavier! I want her to notice me!”

“But she does notice you, y/n.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I do. Trust me, I do.”

She shook her head, took the cobbler apron off and hung it on the frame of the canvas, not caring whether the paint had dried off or not. “Thank you for letting me in here and rant to you, Xavier.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I think I just need a little moment to be alone now,” she mumbled and smiled. Xavier thought y/n had always been good at smiling at everything. If witchcraft was told to be her greatest gift, it was not. Smiling was.

But now he wasn’t sure.

Y/N thought her smiling at everything was a curse. It made her bottle what was truly in her chest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༉‧₊˚.

It was as if the day wanted to make everything harder for her as she found herself on Enid’s bed, lying quietly on her stomach with Thing on her side, turning the pages of the lotion options on the brochure y/n gave and promised to buy for him if he ever chose one. It seemed hard to be away from Wednesday, but she was about to accomplish her task of ignoring her completely when Enid decided it was nice to invite her to her room only to ditch her as a part of an elaborate plan.

Jokes on her, y/n knew what she was doing. When she said she wanted help, she didn’t mean now. She was too clouded with anger and teenage angst that she wasn’t in the mood to confront the busy as ever Wednesday Addams.

“Where were you?” Wednesday suddenly asked, not stopping from typing words into the typewriter.

“Xavier’s.”

“He said he did not see you the whole day.”

“And what does that make him?” The girl next to Thing inquired, her voice ice and cold. If Wednesday’s cold shoulder existed, y/n’s was much colder than an atlantic iceberg: She tried to shake it off, but she knew her well. She knew something was wrong, and it had to do with her.

“A liar, no less.”

“A friend.”

Wednesday didn’t respond any longer. It was futile to try to ease the tension in the room, and she had to not care or she would let her get in the way of her clear thinking. She was nearing the edge of the monster mystery in the woods, and she was sure it was Xavier, but there was no specific evidence. Her fingers typed aggressively again on the metal contraption, thinking about what they must have been discussing in his shed, what image they painted on the canvas, what disgusting expression on their faces they used while being near each other.

“Something’s on your mind,” Y/N suddenly stated. “Thing, could you go and ask Enid to come here?” She whispered to the pale hand as it crawled outside the room, leaving her and Wednesday alone.

There was no answer from the raven-haired girl. Now she was giving her the cold shoulder. Y/N has had enough thinking it was her fault. She sighed and stood up from the colourful bed, putting on the pair of black loafers she owned for when she went to class. Turning to the door to leave, Wednesday suddenly spoke.

“Everyone was worried.”

Y/N turned her head to her direction. She was still writing. She didn’t know exactly how to feel after the sudden statement. Should she be happy? Why did she feel slightly relieved? Could it mean that Wednesday cared for her? Maybe Xavier was right. Maybe she did get noticed by the certain girl. She wanted to smile, she wanted to ask, she wanted to keep asking more and more. This was her now. Living off a three worded sentence that came out of the Addams’ black painted lips.

“Were you?” Y/N questioned.

She did not respond again. It became a habit of Wednesday, but this one took a little longer than usual. Y/N did not budge from the door, though. She wanted an answer from her. At this point, she was desperate for a sign of anything, giving meanings to simple things only to confuse herself again.

Could Wednesday be holding herself back from giving her a transparent response?

“No.”

Y/N’s hopeful thoughts suddenly shut down as a bad flip on her heart created a shattering pound, dropping the beating chamber on the knots of her tied stomach. Her eyes slightly blinked in disappointment, licking her dry lips to provide moisture as she defeatedly glanced at the girl who had her back facing her.

“Wednesday, did you ever see me as a friend or anything more than just someone you’d talk to on certain occasions just because you needed something at all?”

The clicks stopped just as the door slammed shut behind Y/N, leaving Wednesday to sit on a conundrum of what she’d done wrong and what mistakes she’s been making.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༉‧₊˚.

SUNDAY. Wednesday didn’t like the Sunday activities that Nevermore had planned for its students. She hated it more when she didn’t spot y/n amongst the crowd in the field. She wanted to say she didn’t notice her absence, but she deemed herself too busy to worry about the little things.

She did catch a glimpse of her on the clear afternoon in the path of Xavier’s shade. She wanted to gauge out her own eyes and vomit acid on them.

After her question the previous night, she hasn’t been able to get a clear grip of her mind to write her novel.

Y/N was an absolute distraction that she was glad to finally get rid of.

MONDAY. Wednesday thought she was over it, but the temporary absence of the girl in her mind was cut short when her sharp eyes spotted her in the corridor, her signature extras on her style standing out as she walked alongside her roommate who rambled things y/n found funny enough to laugh at.

Much to her dismay, her shoulder brushed past hers, causing both of them to stop and look back at each other.

The young Addams didn’t know which was the twist of a curved knife: Was it the fact that she was wearing pastel nail polish or her? Was it the fact that y/n looked at where she was going again and recovered too quickly? She didn’t know anymore whether the question referred to the encounter or some other things, but it was making her blood boil.

TUESDAY. That night, Wednesday enjoyed the midnight breeze and performed one of her cello solos in front of the silver moon and the mist in the sky accompanied by the over-observant stars. She wanted to scream, but she never screamed. She didn’t like shouting or being vocally loud. So, the only outlet? Music. She wanted it to be more grim, angrier, louder, and better. She didn’t care who or what heard. She was getting sick of the thoughts inside her head that she wanted to drown it all out by focusing on one thing.

However, no matter what she did, nothing seemed to cure it. Every twist of the tunes on the cello only reminded her of y/n's laughter from the distance, her eyes crinkling as she listened to the stories of someone else, meddling in their business. Y/N shouldn’t care about the peanut butter that her roommate got on her shirt — she shouldn’t even care about anyone at all. Why should she? How could she? The tune got more aggressive, making the hairs of her body stand, feeling the rhythm of her disdain.

Her face wouldn’t get out of her head. The more she wanted it out, the more it became vibrant and clearer, more stubborn to push away. Just like Y/N in the span of days and weeks that she knew her. She had always been there, not leaving her side. Wednesday never acknowledged her or anyone so much, and she knew it put people off, but not her. Not until —

Wednesday frowned.

Not until that day y/n asked — no, practically begged her to come to Weathervane because she said she had something important to say.

The music ended. Thing sat on the stand and made a gesture. The girl knew what he was asking about. Now it was clear for Wednesday. She had never been oblivious, but the fact that she never acknowledged anything that had to do with y/n when she was constantly pining for her already made her much of a fool than she thought. That’s why she asked her the question a few nights before.

Y/N was under the impression that Wednesday never cared, or that she failed to see her.

Which, if she was frankly speaking, she did fail yet foolishly at that. Wednesday wanted her own space, her own time, her own pace. Y/N wanted an action, and she knew she couldn’t give her that. Their differences were setting each of them aside, away from each other, but now that it was clear, Wednesday knew exactly what to do.

Even if she found it most humanly pathetic.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༉‧₊˚.

WEDNESDAY. Surely the afternoon rain was not the right weather for archery, but y/n needed the comfort of the serrated edges of the arrows whipping past the air. The rain was just a bonus. Her thumb brushed past her ear as she blinked, concentrating on the dead centre of the target. Before she let the nock go, she felt a presence almost as dead as her grandmother on her side.

“I didn’t know rain and violence enticed you.”

Startled, y/n turned her head to look at the origin of the voice, letting go of her shot as it hit the centre with a sound. She sighed and gave her a warning look before she spoke, “It’s about to get more violent if you don’t step aside, Wednesday.”

“You’re getting better at your threats.” Wednesday plainly stated, earning a scoff from the girl who held the arrow on her side. “Hello, Y/N. Your archery is impressive.”

Did she do it right? Did she give a nice compliment? Will she take it well? Wednesday would owe Thing if it worked, but she’ll decapitate a piece of his finger if it didn’t. She didn’t know if she was in the right mind or was y/n looking more goddess-like under the stormy clouds.

Her hair was wet with rain falling down on her face. Still, her eyes sparked a feeling in Wednesday’s chest, something that got right up her throat that she swallowed immediately to refrain. She looked at her up and down, noticing how the lustrous shine of the weather made her seem like she was the weather.

“Get to the point, Addams. If you’re kissing my ass for a favour, it’s not going to work.”

Y/N wasn’t making it easy for her. She was going off what Thing told her she would say, and it was making the whole situation difficult to surpass. What should she say now? If she went out with the truth, how pathetic would she look?

Wednesday defied feelings.

But could she now? Especially when it was the truth, and Y/N was staring right at her face, flushing a certain disgusting colour on her cheeks that she hated and swore never to let on her skin. The deathly cold temperature of her body was running hot from the look she was giving her. Her Uncle Fester was surely away, but she felt electric sensations stabbing her insides. As much as she loved stabbing, she would like it better if she was the one holding the knife.

“You’re wasting my time — ”

“I did notice you, even from the very beginning that the page of my life in Nevermore turned. That was until I got preoccupied by what was hiding in the forest, seeking its next victim. I feared that I will destroy this school to ruins, hurt the people I do not care about, and the people I tolerate.” Wednesday suddenly started. She walked closer to the girl who ruled the archery grounds and continued, “I admit I lost sight of you since then. Hence why I’m here. To apologise to you for my irresponsibility.”

The lack of emotion in her voice would have ruined the whole speech, but for y/n, it was the lack of something else. She was expecting her to tell her more, rather than just a simple sentiment that left her hanging whether Wednesday reciprocated her feelings or not. However, she understood completely that no matter how many days, weeks, months, and years that she planned to ignore the certain Addams, she would never manage to have her see her in the way she wanted. A ‘no’ is a ‘no’ after all, even if it was delivered indirectly and unpolished.

Y/N nodded and turned to the target halfway when Wednesday spoke again, noticing the deprivation of enlightenment in the speech she gave. The girl in the darker uniform sighed and looked down, unable to meet the eyes of the girl before her as she questioned, “The day you told me you had something important to say, what was it?”

“Does it matter? You didn’t care enough to show up and know.”

That caused a slight intoxicating heartache that made her come to her senses and feel the searing gaze of the girl. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to join you, but now that I realise the gravity of the matter, I wish to know what you wanted to say.”

“You have an idea as to what it was.” Y/N was tougher to crack this time around.

“But I want your enlightenment, y/n.” But Wednesday was more stubborn than she ought to be.

“You really won’t leave me alone for shit, won’t you?”

“Not unless you tell me.”

Y/N’s furrowed eyebrows only met again closely. She threw the bow down to the ground and marched past Wednesday, not wanting to tell her what it was or it will make her look pathetic again. If she told her, she wouldn’t be able to help herself. How would it look when a deep-feeling person cried in front of someone who didn’t give a fuck about anything?

“Y/N.”

“Wednesday, you’ve done enough damage and I’m trying to stay the fuck away from you and steer clear out of your way but you keep appearing with your stupid braids!” She exclaimed exasperatedly. “You just see me when you need me for something. You don’t notice me like you said you have. You never looked at me in the perspective that could show more of what I could be! You never see more than someone to satisfy your convenience, and if I’m just that, just a speck of dust on your shoe, just leave me be, okay?”

That was it. Wednesday never saw her this angry before, but the displeasure of emotion it brought felt well-deserved to herself. After all, she was the reason for it.

“Because I’m tired of throwing myself to someone— you, and not see it being given an answer to. If you wanted me to stop, you could have said so, but no. You never truly noticed, did you?” Y/N’s voice cracked, and there she knew, she had to keep it brief before she started embarrassing herself before Wednesday. The girl who never cried ever since she reaised it never did anything. “That day I invited you to Weathervane, I intended it to be something more than friends would do. I wanted to tell you how I felt around you, because you were a part of everything I did ever since I started showing up in your dorm every single day and saw so much of you from afar. The mood I get from you affects the whole day ahead. I was fascinated about how you knew so much yet also knew so little. You never truly realised how perfect you are in every single aspect, and even the tainted side, I embraced it all, because that was how willing I was to devote myself to you. I knew I wouldn’t have a shot because even if I knew how you’d take a three-minute break from writing or which type of drink you’d usually order, I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know if you liked people like me. Fuck, do you even like girls at all? I don’t know, because do you even want me to know y—”

Wednesday has had enough of her angry outburst slash teenage angst confession under the rain slash rant, because now that the letters of each words have reached her ears and processed in her head, and her heart pounded in sync with the cello solo constantly playing in the back of her mind, she felt impatient with waiting for the end of Y/N’s dramatic confession.

Impatient that she couldn’t wait another second to march forward, aggressively pull her by the collar and crash her lips against hers, taking the girl by surprise as Wednesday pulled away shortly after before mumbling, “You always talked too much.”

“Wait, does that mean—?”

Wednesday wanted to roll her eyes, but her emotionless stare at Y/N’s face already gave the answer the girl was looking for, as well as another surprising kiss that warmed their bodies in the cold misty weather, hearing one another’s hearts go wild inside their chests like birds begging to be freed into the wild.

Wednesday hated teenage angst, but now maybe there was a part of it she tolerated.

Suddenly, a squawk from the distance was heard, followed by a crow falling right next to them, causing the two to pull away and look.

Y/N could have sworn Wednesday smiled, but she was quick to recover from the plague of crescent lips.

“In case you were wondering, that was a sign of approval from my dead ancestors.” The young Addams informed.

She wasn’t sure why y/n didn’t scream or take what she said before back and say she regretted it all, but Wednesday liked the circumstance as it was.

It was just her and y/n, the dead crow on the archery field, and the peculiar teenage outcast angst under the cliché rain.

“If you tell the others any vivid details about this, I will kill you, calcify your heart and keep it in my drawer.”

“I’d like to see you try, Mary Shelley.”

[sugarpasteltmnt]

You write unhinged Leo so well, and I really like how you write him. I was wondering if you had tips on unhinged characters 😂, or do you just get inspro from existing characters 👀

aksdakjsdh thank you so much ;w;

And honestly???? I’m not totally sure how to give tips— but I love, love, love unhinged characters in media, so I’ll use them as examples

(long rant below lol)

I’ve always been a big fan of silly, ‘crazy’ characters in animated movies and cartoons. I grew up on Batman the Animated Series and the original Teen Titans, which were full of silly, fun tragic characters.

Don’t get me wrong, i love a good edge-lord— but as a tot i thought the colorful, theatrical, insane bad guys were more fun to watch than the big scary serious ones (ESPECIALLY if they had a good villain song. A+ good shit)

(From left to right: Ratigan from Great Mouse Detective, Joker from Batman the Animated Series, Mumbo Jumbo from Teen Titans, Martin from Secret of Nimh 2, Bill Cypher from Gravity Falls, and Spinel from the Steven Universe movie)

And not just bad guys!! There are a ton of unhinged good/neutral characters that i absolutely adore.

(From left to right: King Bumi from ATLA, Clara from Welcome to Demon School Iruma-kun, and, of course, our silly 2018 turtle boys)

((There are many more characters in both categories, but I’ll slide these examples in here for now))

My personal brand of “Unhinged” or “Crazy” characters definitely leans on comedy. That’s what i enjoy seeing and reading! I personally like it because it can help keep a story fresh and interesting. There’s an element of surprise and unpredictability with what a character might do, and i love that!!

I also really enjoy a touch of feral behavior in my unhinged characters. The lack of clarity and the danger that imposes can be a very fun tool to use, no matter the character’s moral compass. (I’m feral for feral behavior lol)

And impulses. Whether a character has a few screws loose or is generally a goober, they like to act on impulses. This often goes hand-in-hand with comedy, and that’s something I enjoy!! We get a lot of moments like that in Rise, and that was one of my favorite parts of that TMNT iteration.

But as far as writing goes, it’s been tricky for me. All of the characters I grew up or love have been visual— trying to find a good balance for reading has been a puzzle I’ve been figuring out as I go.

I read a lot manga (lol nerd) and comics, and I love how thoughts/dialog are depicted. Especially the really dramatic or impactful moments. (I’d add examples but I’m already at the Tumblr image limit LAME)

As strange as it sounds, I try to capture that “impactful visual” style in my writing. If I had ANY advice on writing unhinged characters, pay attention to pacing—

Short. Fast. A calculating thought. Perhaps a run on sentence that lacks punctuation to represent the rushing and disorganized thought process. A question? An answer with little thought. Is this moment amusing; describe how. Is it upsetting; describe how. Are the thoughts starting to scatter? M aybe s o…

Big moment statement.

Action or plan of next big move. Flow should never seem too uniform. Even in normal writing. Don’t be afraid of accentuating— but don’t overdo it. Remember, unhinged characters are impulsive. Have fun with that.

Just as a quick and dirty summary— when it comes to unhinged characters, I like to use comedy, feral behavior, and acting on impulses. I also like to keep it as visually appealing as possible for characters to give the eyes a little treat after reading walls of text. I like to use fun text formatting to help with the fun too (But don’t overdo it! Don’t make it feel like a chore to read) (<- says the girl who goes into way too much details sometimes lmao whoops)

But ultimately— have FUN!!! Unhinged characters are fun, so make sure you have fun writing/drawing/creating them!!