#lmk what you think if you'd like! xoxo

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

Summary:

Studies show it takes water millions of years to cleave its way through solid rock. It takes Dorothy about the same time to finally break open. A sequel to 'i hope you do believe me / i've given you my heart'.

No, don't -- don't look at the word count. Don't mind it. It's fine!

For anyone that remembers that old ask game about the WIPs in my folder -- this is the one that was called 'karst'. The reason will hopefully become clear as you read it.

Just like its predecessor, this work was originally inspired by this post (thank you once again, friend!). If you read it, I hope you'll enjoy it! It gave me some trouble here and there, but all in all, it was a pleasure to write. Hugs and kisses to you all!

[tremendum]

heaven is a place on earth ; joel miller

02; stopping and stalling

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au (pre-outbreak, altered ages), Joel Miller x fem!nanny!reader. dedicated to the anon who suggested this trope.

↬   prologue  part one series masterlist main masterlist

↬     "after only a few weeks, your mind spits at you - only a few weeks, and you already fucked this up."

↬     warnings; tagged 18+ for eventual smut and mature themes. MDNI. age gap (reader is 22, joel is 35), fiscal anxieties, shitty ex, brief mention of marijuana use, some Tommy x reader, brief allusions to masturbation, fantasies, brief hand kink, brief scent kink (???lol), brief praise kink (use of term girl), car talk tbh im sorry... also light angst/anxiety i guess, fluff. reader is described as smaller than joel.

↬     heyyyyy guys! thanks for being patient, i had some writer's block but im finally back! i hope you like the next part of this series, lmk what u think/if theres anything you'd like to read w this trope. also im sorry i cant help that there is flirting with tommy too,,, i need them both expeditiously lol. xoxo love u all

series mixtape, song three; In Too Deep, Sum 41. 2000.

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"shit."

thighs burning, your shoes squish against the soaked pavement as you carry yourself as fast as possible down the sidewalk. "shit, shit, shit."

the rain that pours from the sky is unforgiving; your hair slides in a stringy mess against your neck as you try to calm your heartbeat, blurrily watching as the house grows larger in your wavering vision.

bottom lip quivering, you ignore the cold shiver that comes up your spine; why today? why, why today?

you're afraid to check your cellphone; hell, you haven't even thought to check it until now! shit. Joel's probably pissed.

you let out a pathetic groan, heart hammering as you ignore the time on your wristwatch: 8:21am. twenty-one minutes late.

fuck, you think. fuck fuck fuck.

you could have texted Joel - in fact, any rational person would have probably had that immediate thought after their car sputtered to a stop on the side of the road, smoke slinking from the side of their hood as the rain splattered aggressively on the windshield.

you should have texted him, let him know you'd be late - but then, you'd gone into your damn glovebox to check your AAA number and been reminded unpleasantly of what you've been working hard to forget; your ex's full name boasted across the registration for the car had sent you into a near frenzy. everything that's built up - the near-eviction, the breakup, the move, the rain, your car. all of it hit you at once.

there's no way you can afford to pay for a fixed engine (and shit, you don't even know if the engine is the problem) without insurance, and your dickhole ex has still not signed any of the paperwork for you to take the title of the car back. so. shit.

for over twenty minutes you've been trudging through the rain - you're soaked to the bone, fighting back tears, and already wondering if you'll be able to take back your full-time job at the library. 

after only a few weeks, your mind spits at you as you turn the corner up the driveway, only a few weeks and you already fucked this up. 

you have to shut your eyes harshly as the front door opens; whoever's on the other side must have been watching out the window for any sign of you - and here you are, washing up on the Miller's driveway like a batch of late season seaweed; a wet puppy, shaking and trying not to have a full breakdown, your eyes clenched shut. 

Joel's voice finds your ears as you finally make it onto the porch - a respite from the downpour, there's just a slight breeze that blows mists of rainwater over your cold form.

you feel like an idiot. you cannot afford to lose this job. you're a fool. 

Joel says your name in concern; a far cry from the anger you'd expected. "y'okay? what happened?”

you take a shaky breath, meeting his eyes - they're warm, honeyed in the darkened skies of the morning and it makes you feel so much worse. he must've slept in, too - odd, considering it's a Wednesday - he's wearing pajama flannels, a gray shirt, and his hair is fluffed out - curling up at the ends, the tips still damp from a shower. Tommy's work boots are gone from the front - he must've gone to work, Joel staying back to wait on your tardiness. fuck.

"I'm so sorry, Joel-" your throat closes up, blinking back the emotion that wavers in your voice. you feel stupid. "I'm so sorry I'm late-" you shake your head, praying to every god up above or below to make your lip stop wobbling so pathetically. 

but Joel doesn't hesitate to step aside, brows drawn low, "come in, you're soakin' wet." 

you bite your lip as you shuffle inside, barely registering the hovering palm on the small of your back as you awkwardly stand on their doormat, focusing your eyes blearily on the darkness of the house. 

the overcast storm throws the usually warm, sunny house into a bout of cool blues and grays - the drawings on the wall, the guitar in the corner reflecting the rolling clouds from the window panes. you suck a breath through your lungs and ignore the way it draws short - either you're very close to crying, or you really need to stop smoking so much weed. probably both. 

"did you walk all the way here?" Joel asks, brows furrowed in that kind look of concern, eyes flickering to the storm outside and back to you. "where's your car?" 

this brings a fresh bout of tears to your eyes and you look up towards the high vaulted ceiling of their foyer, shaking your head. 

"my car broke down, just off Park Street, and I can't-" you sigh, biting back the sting of tears, "I can't take it in, and it was pouring rain and I didn't want to ruin your day-" you are forced to take a sharp inhale, letting out stuttered breaths. you shake your head, hands rising to wipe what's surely the streaks of mascara that have gathered under your eyes, your clothes still sticking to you and hair dripping solemn pools onto Joel's hardwood. "I'm just so sorry that I'm late. I swear, it'll never happen again." 

something in his face becomes very soft - maybe it's the lighting, that casts a slight shadow from his nose, or the way his brows gather together in an upwards tick, but he shakes his head at it makes your heart pang. 

"didn't you see my text, darlin'?" he says softly, "we called off working today. 's too stormy to do construction." 

the name drips from his lips so casually you barely register it fully. your cheeks heat; you're not sure if it's more from his use of the term or from the slow realization washing you in a wave of embarrassment. darlin' - you're not unused to people using words like that, hell, you grew up here - but it's different coming from his mouth.

you ingore that thought; your hands shake slightly as you move to pull out your phone - your purse is soaked too, three shades darker than it usually is. the buttons on your cellphone are damp and your heart pangs when you wonder if it'll be ruined from water damage - but there it is, a text from Joel about forty minutes ago: 

Rain is coming down pretty hard today. You don't need to come over—Sarah and I can manage. Take the day off and relax, you deserve it.

Thanks. Joel

your throat closes tight: "oh," you squeak, biting your lip as the screen becomes blurry; relief floods through you just as embarrassment does - a fun cocktail in your veins that makes you smile weakly. "didn't-" you clear your throat, "didn't see that." 

only a split moment of silence in which the house withstands the assault of rain on its roof; Joel hums, "here, let me get you a towel.”

he disappears down the hall and you take the moment to breathe deep; letting the warmth of the house seep into you, your hands tremble with the emotional strain of humiliation that is coursing through you. what a fool. your heart beats hard in your throat, but there is a large relief when you understand that Joel does not seem keen on firing you for being 20 minutes late to the job he told you not to come in for. you curse yourself for not checking your text messages before leaving your apartment this morning.

Joel returns quickly, towel in hand; you take it and can only bring yourself to whisper your thanks into the empty foyer. 

“don’t worry about it." he says, shrugging one shoulder, "y'said your car's on Park Street- that's over a mile away, why didn’t you call me?”

you strain the water from your hair with the towel, clutching the scent of the warm fabric to you; it's not pink like the one's in Sarah's bathroom, and with a heat on your cheeks, you register it must be one of Joel's. shrugging, you shake your head. “I didn’t want to bother you - or, I guess I was just...distracted. my car… is sort of complicated.”

Joel’s brow furrows, “complicated?”

you hesitate - you don't want to come off to your current 'employer' as untrustworthy or reckless, but it's Joel - he's kind, understanding, if not a bit aloof at times; but you trust him. you swallow with a bitter chuckle, “the car’s title is still in my ex’s name. I can’t bring it to a shop without him, and I don’t know how to even check under the hood myself-”

your hand flies to your face to furiously wipe away the tears of humiliation that fall; great. just what you needed - to cry in front of him like a baby. 

“hey," a hand, warm and heavy, falls to your shoulder; your wet eyes trail to his figure, where he soothes over your shivering arm. you miss its presence as he pulls back away, "if you want, I’ll take a look at it when the rain stops.”

you shake your head, "I couldn't ask you to do that." 

"you're not askin' me, I'm offerin'." he insists; you meet his eyes to find generosity swirling in that honeyed brown; you smile up at him with a watery gaze, unsure how to thank him.

"you can stay here 'till then, or I can give you a ride back to your place in a bit when Tommy gets back. he had t'run to the job site to get our tools." 

you look up at him, craning your neck as you search his expression for any hint of irritation or anger - none. you flush as you wipe under your eyes again, “thank you, Joel. I'm sorry, again, for this..." you look down, gesturing vaguely to yourself,  "...mess." 

he holds your gaze for a moment, as the rain pours against the slats of the house and the panes of the windows, and shakes his head slightly. your stomach rolls over as you stand, still shaking with the nerves and cold, not breaking contact: something about his utter calm in the middle of your hurricane-mind has your face hot. 

Joel opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, a light on the stairwell flips on, and footsteps slide down the stairs, as if Sarah has taken to sliding down the carpet on the balls of her feet. you used to do something similar as a kid.

“dad?” Sarah mumbles, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she appears on the stairs; Joel takes a quick step back from you, the distance sudden and coaxing another rush of surprise to confusion over your cheeks - had he really been standing that close? you have no time to analyze the action before he's speaking to her. 

 “morning, sweetpea." he says, clearing his throat. Sarah's eyes meet yours and they widen slightly, padding over to you and saying your name softly, "are you okay?" she asks as she takes your hand gently. such a sweet girl.

you force a smile, weakened from the moment you'd just had, from the morning you've had; her eyes are so full of that same concern her father carries, though, and it warms your heart. you nod, “I’m alright, Sarah. just a little wet from the rain." you shift on the balls of your feet as your gaze flickers to Joel - he nods, looking back to his daughter, "well, how about we get you some breakfast?” he suggests. inadvertently you become aware of your own rumbling stomach, having come back to life after the realization that you aren't losing your job today. 

Sarah nods, her sleepy face breaking into a smile, “pancakes?”

Joel grins; it's as if the tension eases from the room as he nods back at her, “pancakes it is. 'm right behind you, sweetpea.”

Sarah traipses to the kitchen; you stay back awkwardly, watching as she disappears - Joel turns back to you, lifting a brow. "I can take a look at your car after the rain stops later this afternoon, or if y'want, I can take you home when Tommy's back?" he says, eyeing the keyhooks that remain empty by the front door; you shift on your feet, itching to flee, but itching to stay and embrace the warmth you've come to enjoy in this house. he continues with a small smirk, "-if you stay, I can't offer much besides some mediocre pancakes and some even more mediocre coffee." 

despite your humiliation and exhaustion, you can't help the short laugh at Joel's valiant attempt to lighten your mood; unfortunately his charm is undeniable, and you're reminded of what Michelle said to you those days ago: 

Joel is a nice man. just- don't get into trouble. 

you curb your smile, lifting a brow when you hear Sarah's voice call from the kitchen, yelling your name and dragging out the vowels. "-come help me with breakfast!"

you glance back to Joel, "if you really don't mind, then I'd like to stay," you say smally with a smile. "if I went home, I'd just lay around and mope. plus," you nod your chin towards the kitchen, "seems like you've been demoted from sous chef." you tease, finding a bit of yourself returning in the comfort of the sweet girl you nanny and her father. 

he grins back at you, shaking his head, "I don't doubt you'd make a better sous than me, darlin'-" he takes in your still soaking shirt, "but you should take a shower, I'm worried you'll catch a cold in those clothes."

Joel leads you upstairs, into the master bathroom.

you school yourself, keeping your eyes on his large frame, not daring to look around at his bedroom and all the different pieces of Joel you've yet to discover. you're used to Sarah's room, with pinks and blues and purples and action figures and textbooks - not this adult bedroom, with t-shirts and framed photos and a heavy scent of amber and cedarwood. 

he hands you a stack of clean clothes - a flannel and what seems to be a pair of sweatpants; you smile gratefully, ignoring the heat on your cheeks and in your chest; a feeling nestles in your heart, stuck halfway between humiliation and some kind of intimacy, neither of which feel right in this moment. 

you shake it off as he tells you to take your time, disappearing back down the hallway with a mutter about ensuring nobody set the kitchen on fire yet. 

you close and lock the bathroom door behind you, leaning against it for a moment to catch your breath.

the last hour has been a whirlwind: losing your car, almost losing your job, the humiliation of walking in the rain, showing up to work when you had the day off - all of it catches up to you. 

but instead of crying again, you let out a short huff, shaking your head. you'll be okay - smiling watery to yourself in the mirror, you puff your cheeks and blow the air out slowly. Joel won't fire you. you'll get help with the car. deeeep breath. 

the bathroom is small and intimate and you find it heats up very quickly as you run the shower; within forty seconds the mirror begins to fog and you're wrapped in a cocoon of warmth that eases the chill that's seeped into your bones. you peel off your wet clothes with still-shaking hands, slipping under the heat of the stream quickly. 

you stand, staring at the wall, for several minutes before snapping out of it; a thick scent has begun to leak its way into the steam of the shower, and you eye the culprit - an opened, unscrewed bottle of some kind of men's body wash. you blink with heated cheeks as you're suddenly assaulted with visions of Joel in this very shower; the thought sends your heart racing and you swallow thickly, not able to resist the temptation to lather it over your own body.  

the smell is that same amber scent, citrusy and male - you don't mind it as you let the suds slide off your skin, trying not to think about him. Joel. his kindness, his concern, his hands- you shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts; it's not right, you tell yourself.

just- don't get into trouble. 

it isn't right to think of him this way, especially when he's just being kind - especially when he's so much older, especially when you're the nanny for his daughter. 

but your hands linger on your skin, the scent of Joel's soap mingling with the steam, creating an intoxicating mix that makes your head spin; the soft weight of his hand soothing your shoulder, how it'd feel if he dragged those hands down - a pang of guilt and you quickly push the thought away, snapping back to the present. 

you slam off the showerhead, shaking your mind of your polluting thoughts. 

the towel Joel gave you earlier dries you off quickly, and you wipe away a small section of the mirror to see your reflection - you pull the clothes on he'd given you, cuffing the length of the pants, buttoning the warm flannel over yourself with a small smile. 

you don't let yourself wallow any longer; the smell of breakfast wafts up through the vents and into Joel's bedroom as you exit, a swirl of steam curling around you as you towel-dry your hair, recalling the comb that lives in Sarah's bathroom drawer. 

the warmth of the shower does wonders.

you pad down the stairs, only feeling vaguely odd wearing borrowed clothes, smiling as your stomach rolls in hunger - you feel much more composed. 

when you make it down, the dining table is set: four placemats, four plates, cups with orange juice, and three mugs of coffee. you raise a brow, "did I miss the fun?" you ask gently. 

Joel and Sarah are bustling around the kitchen, putting the final touch on breakfast - pancakes, fruit, the works. 

"-fun just arrived, actually." a voice from the hall makes your stomach flip, heat traveling up your neck. Tommy must've gotten home while you were showering. 

you roll your eyes good-naturedly as Tommy comes around the corner from the garage, nodding at you in greeting. "you look nice and cozy." he observes, eyes roving over your figure drowning in Joel's clothes. your lips press together, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach at his observation of your clothing. there is no implication - you're the nanny, it's all innocent, but the look he's giving you is not. as if he knows how Joel makes your heart thud and your mind fuzzy. 

"car broke down." you say quickly, sitting where Sarah directs you. Tommy hums, a look that could be read as skeptical, teasing, flickering across his face. Joel flips a final pancake in the pan, pacing over to slide it onto your plate gently. when he leans over you, he's close enough to ask quietly, "you feel better?"

it's soft, kind, as if he's cautious not to air out your previous breakdown to the others in the room. you're grateful. 

"yes. thank you." you say back, smiling genuinely at the man, eyes roving over the moustache which sits on his upper lip, the beard that's grown in and rises to meet his air-dried curls. he returns to work on another culinary project as Sarah places the fruit on the table and drags Tommy to sit down.

there's a bag that Joel is pouring a mixture into; some kind of meat inside, and you hum. Joel really is a very handsome man. "marinade?" you ask.

he looks over at you, nodding, "yeah, s'for the cookout this weekend." he sets the bowl down, sealing the bag. "you coming?" 

you smile tightly, nodding - any excuse to get outside, to see Joel, Sarah, Tommy, even Michelle and Dan. "should be," you say, anxiously looking over to where your car keys now hang next to Joel's near the front door - he must've hung them up for you while you were upstairs. Joel hums, "good." 

Sarah beams at you when everybody takes a seat. "dad said you get to stay with us until the rain stops." she says, poorly concealing her excitement with a grin. you smile back, nodding as you sip on the coffee poured for you. "yes, ma'am." you respond, stretching your legs out a bit under the table.  

"lucky us," Tommy says through a bite of pancake. you huff at his harmless flirting; you just miss the subtle glare Joel shoots his brother. oblivious, Sarah hums. "I hope it never stops raining!" 

it eventually does stop raining. 

it's a little before dinner; the air is fresh and damp, the grass that peculiar shade of green against the backdrop of those high thunderclouds that retreat after their previous downpour. with only a light breeze, the air is charged with some kind of electricity as you breathe in the the scent of petrichor it carries with it. 

"right," the voice says next to you.

Joel's arms are propped against your shitty car, his brows furrowed in focus. the engine still glistens with raindrops, and there's a small line of moisture that caught on the fabric of Joel's shirt from where he'd popped the hood of your car. 

"first things first. let's check the battery connections - sometimes they can get loose or corroded." he mutters, directing you with a long, thick finger over to your car battery; you nod, trying your best to pay attention. 

a finger traces along the seam of a smaller edge of the battery terminal, scarcely avoiding touching it. "see this white, powdery stuff?" he's looking at you; it takes you only a split second as you realize he's waiting for you to answer. you nod quickly, "y-yeah." 

he nods, "that’s corrosion. luckily it's not too bad here, but it can cause issues."

you hum, taking a mental note as you bite your lip - thankful that he's taking the time to actually explain what goes on in the inside of your car, seeing as you're next to hopeless.

he gestures again. "d'you know what this is?" he asks, and it's as if god has given you a freebie from your turmoil this morning; you nod, grinning slightly. "it's where you fill the brake fluid." you say in affirmation. "I have some extra in the trunk." you supplement, glad you're not a total idiot when it comes to the car. 

he nods, "been takin' care of that. good girl," he gestures to the side, "these here are spark plugs - good to keep an eye on, because they can get dirty or worn out and cause the car to have trouble starting. these also look alright, though."

you're barely listening, though; your ears are buzzing heartbeat thumping as you school the flush over your cheeks at such a casual praise - something he'd probably not even think twice of, because you're his daughter's babysitter, god damn it, but you can't help the stirring deep within you. 

good girl. jesus.

you press your lips together and force yourself to relax, to calm the fluttering in your stomach the heat in your lower abdomen. eventually, Joel reaches the fuel pump - "here we go. I think this might be the culprit." he turns to you, squinting against the late afternoon sun, "if the fuel pump isn't working properly, it can prevent the engine from getting the fuel it needs to run." 

he gestures for you to look and leans back a bit; leaning over to peer into the belly of your car, at all its metal guts and ominous sputterings, you suddenly catch a scent - a mix of your handlotion you'd applied on the ride over with Joel's soap from his shower stuck to your skin and wafting in the air, a pleasant smell.

your stomach flutters as you try to follow Joel's explanation, "'kay...how can you tell it's the fuel pump that's the problem?" you ask him, turning to squint up at him. 

"there's-" another gentle breeze, then, and Joel pauses; you stare back at him, unsure what's caught his attention, but then it's over quicker than it started. blinking at you, he clears his throat and nods, pointing to the part, "there’s a few ways, but mainly if your car cranked out while drivin', or if it starts an' then stalls, it's often a sign of a fuel pump problem." he taps it with two fingers, "this one looks pretty worn out."

you bite your lip, cursing your ignorance and the stupidity of your ex for insisting on taking care of the car jut to completely ignore it and take it for an oil change only every few blue moons. 

"can it be fixed?" you can't hide the anxiety in your voice. 

"course." Joel nods, closing the hood; you don't flinch at the sound, too worried by the engine. "'m not quite good enough to do it myself, but i've got a buddy down in town that can do it for ya for cheap." he smiles gently, "should only be a few hundred." 

your throat dries, stomach dropping. "c-couple hundred?" you hiss, pressing your lips together. "okay."

okay.

okay: you can take a few more shifts at the library, double up your days; that's fine, that's fine. you'll have to fix your car before your cellphone, but you'll be fine without texting for a while. maybe you could sell your portable CD player or some clothes for some cash. okay, shit. 

shit. 

you laugh mirthlessly, "I... I don't have that kind of money right now." you say awkwardly, "but at least I live close to the bus stop." you add, wondering how much a bus pass is. certainly less than that. 

"-listen, i'd be happy to help you out with it," Joel says, and your hackles raise in embarrassment, "-no, Joel, I can't ask that of you. you've already done so much." you say, looking down at yourself, still clad in his flannel and pants. 

he shrugs, as if it's no big deal. "could pay you advance. let me help you." 

you swallow thickly, biting your lip. "I feel bad, Joel. I already put you out." 

"hey," he says, turning to look at you - he leans slightly on the hood of your car, gaze burning into the side of your face. you flush, but meet his eyes. "don't worry about it. I can pay you ahead for your work to cover for it. all you've put me out on is a few pancakes, a cup of coffee, and my patience with my brother."

the mention of Tommy makes you flush with embarrassment, floundering, "oh. Joel, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" 

he shakes his head, with a grin - he was teasing you. "Tommy's always been a flirt. I trust you can handle your own." he adds, "but you let me know if he's too much, yeah?"

something about his tone makes you even more flustered, though, and you grin, shrugging. "yeah. you'll be the first to know." you say, wondering how many people he's had to say that to in his life. 

he says nothing to this, but you clear your throat, looking at him, "um...thank you for your help. this morning, with the car- all of it." you say, smiling awkwardly, "i've had a hard time adjusting to a lot of recent...life changes and..." you feel like you're oversharing, so you stop short, "just. you've all been very kind to me." you finish. "i'm so thankful for this job." 

Joel watches you, gaze flickering between your eyes for a few moments before he nods, "'course, darlin'. life can throw some curveballs, huh?" he nudges your shoulder and as you sway back you can't help the soft smile that grows, hiding it as you look away. darlin'.  

"you're doing great, though. Sarah and I, we're glad to have you." he affirms. you smile into the metal of your car hood.

"let’s get your car started now, yeah?" he asks. 

you're sat in the driver's seat.

Joel leans through the window to hold down the switch on your steering wheel as you turn the keys, the small Tamagotchi on your keychain knocking against your wrist as he instructs you to pump the gas pedal. 

after a few tries the engine sputters to life; you let out a stuttered sigh of relief, smiling and letting out one small clap. 

Joel smiles, "there she is," he taps the dash above your steering wheel with the flat of his large palm, leaning slightly. as he turns to lean out the window, his eyes meet yours - face to face, he's much closer than either of you anticipated.

you're struck with the proximity; for a moment, his face is inches from yours. 

and then the moment stretches out, your heart skipping a beat - you can see the few freckles that have grown over the bridge of his strong nose, the way his breath leaves his lips, the smile lines and faint dimple, his eyelashes lit from the sun behind you. 

Joel clears his throat, stepping back from the window with a tap to the roof of your car. you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"alright, you’re all set. just drive carefully, okay? let the engine run for a few minutes when you get home."

you nod, voice softer than you hoped it'd be, "I will. thanks again, Joel."

he nods in that way he always does, the same nod that you always see in Sarah. "be safe. see you tomorrow."

Joel leans against his truck as you peel away, off the side of the road and joining the sparse few cars on the road, the remaining rainwater slicking against tires in the distance. you swear you see him wave before he slips up into the cab of the truck, figure growing smaller in your rearview with each passing moment. 

you let the car run when you return to your apartment, biting your lip dumbly and staring down at your ruined phone, at the warped message that sits on your screen.

 

Call me if you need a ride in the morning- Sarah and I can pick you up. 

Have a good night. Joel

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there is no longer a taglist; follow @tremendumnotifs to be notified when i post.

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[elliespeach]

tear you apart part three | ellie williams

˗ˏˋ"you're a charmer, aren't you?" ´ˎ˗

pairing ellie wiliams x fem reader synopsis ellie owns her own vinyl store and the day you wander in changes both of your lives forever. she quickly becomes infatuated with you, desperate for your love that she believes is meant to be. when things in your life begin to spiral, ellie is there to catch you, but you'd never suspect she was the reason you fell in the first place. wordcount: 3.1k warnings: murder 😱 and stalking both cyber and in person, ellie is obsessive, manipulative, a gaslighter, a pervert lowkey, possessive and easily jealous, shes also so delusional like top tier delulu, shes based off joe goldberg so i mean put the pieces together. this is all from her perspective, most if not all of the inner monologue is ellie's thoughts about you, the italics is verbatim what she is thinking in that very moment if that makes sense. like joe, all of her actions are justified in her mind, and she doesn't see anything wrong with them. reader has a dysfunctional family. pls lmk if i am missing something! an: i cannot express enough how thankful i am for all the love for this story really it means so much. obsessive ellie nation rise once again, i come before you with this part and i hope it was worth the wait :) xoxo

watching you cry yourself to sleep on your couch made ellie’s heart throb. she wanted to be there for you, to hold you, to tell you everything was going to be okay, that she was going to make it all okay. but she knew better than to expect that you’d let her, after all, you still barely knew her. so how is it that she could lead you straight into her arms, where you belong? 

it was the next day, and although your state of mind was completely shattered by the events of the previous night, ellie was wide awake, ecstatic at her new idea on how to make you all better. she would hope that your encounter with her helped you, as much as it could but she couldn’t just rely on that, ellie had to take action. she never wanted to see you in tears over someone like that again. 

starting her day in the shop as normal, she filled orders, fixed a few finicky records and sold boring albums to boring souls who she wished was you. she spent the better part of the morning fantazizing about you wandering into her store yet again. needing help finding an album, or better yet just to talk to her. it hasnt even been more than twelve hours and she missed your voice already, replaying your conversation over and over in her head like her favorite movie. 

while the traffic in the store died down, ellie did more research on the newly found suzanna mavis. formally known as suzanna hardwick, she grew up in a cushy home, with preppy parents who supported every endenvour she seemed to possess. her facebook was littered with photos of shuana in every aspect of her life, along with her prized possession; a baby blue mercedes benz. but, there seemed to be someone missing, her husband of twenty five years was seemingly no where to be found on her social media. when ellie searched his name alone, mr. mavis seemed to have no social media at all. 

thats fine, ellie only needed suzanna. 

finding out where she worked required no effort at all as it was displayed clearly on her facebook profile. she was the assistant to some shareholder, blah blah boring. but the company name was one she recongized, their office building was just a few blocks down from her store. she passed it nearly everyday on her commute to see you. 

for ellie’s plan to work, she had to close the store early. it was barely noon when she found herself in the parking garage to suzanna’s building. there was a guard booth, but no guards and the garage itself was a ghost town of rich people cars. she spotted the blue mercedes, and her plan was in motion.. 

thanks to you so graciously and unknowingly, giving her suzanna’s personal cell phone number, she dialed and it only rang once, her preppy voice ringing in ellie’s ears. she almost felt her stomach whirling in anticipation, but the sensation quickly washed away into something more sinister. no. protective

“suzanna mavis speaking,” 

ellie paced back and forth near the elevator in the garage, “hey, mrs. mavis,” she rolled her eyes at her own voice, trying to sound not like herself, “i’m one of the guards down in the parking garage, looks like someone keyed your benz this morning.” 

ellie heard a loud sigh, then the distant sounds of heels clicking on the ground. “are you kidding me? you didn’t stop them?” 

ellie suppressed a sigh, “i was on lunch–” 

“your job is to guard our cars, if you can’t even do that–” her voice was shrill, and ellie’s patience was running low.

“ma’am, just come downstairs, the police need a statement.” 

ellie heard a few curses string from the phone before the call ended, she chuckled to herself before sliding her phone into her pocket. ellie slowly walked over to the blue mercedes, examining it up close. she crouched down, removing her small switchblade and flinging it open. she almost didn’t do it, it was unnecessary really. but the image of you so broken by her made ellie’s mouth twitch. how she had smiled at you while speaking about her husband, ignoring you, leading you on, preying on you. the switchblade moved as if it had it’s own mind, scratching the car from back to front in one swift movement. 

breathing out in relief, ellie heard the ding of the elevator behind her. 

she watched from behind a nearby car as suzanna stepped out of the elevator, a sour puss on her face as she made her way towards her car. she groaned when she saw the long, deep slice into the side of the car. ellie pulled up her handkerchief over her nose and while suzanna was busy inspecting her car, ellie pounced. 

she had a hand covering suzanna’s mouth, her switchblade pressed against her neck with the other. suzanna thrashed in her arms but ellie held her ground, “shh, shh!” ellie hissed in her ear, whisking her around and pinning her to her own car. “i’m not going to kill you, shut up–” 

ellie kept the switchblade at her throat, quickly looking around. with the coast clear, she slowly removed her hand from suzanna’s mouth. “take my money, please i don’t–” 

“i don’t want that either,” ellie looked suzanna up and down. her? you’re losing your mind over her? “i want you to speed up your big family move to california. leave tomorrow.” 

suzanna’s eye furrowed as if she was confused, “w-what?” 

“you’re moving to california at the end of the summer, are you not?” ellie’s paitence was growing thinner by the second, and the switchblade was pressed into her neck so deep any movement would draw blood. 

suzanna was shaking underneath ellie, and as she spoke her voice was weak, “what? my family was never moving to california, please i’ll give you anything!” 

shauna lied? why the hell would she lie about that?

“go anyway. leave the city.” leave you alone.

“i can’t just pick up my whole family and move to another state, we-we have a life here.” suzanna was trembling now, her voice shaking just as much as her legs.

well, if you won’t leave on your own. “i really didn’t want to have to kill you,” ellie said casually, almost annoyed. she moved quickly, snatching a clump of suzanna’s hair in her hand and whipping her around. ellie barely blinked as she slammed suzanna’s face into the baby blue mersedes. once. harder. twice. harder. three times. even harder. four times. as hard as physically possible. blood stained the blue on the car, and suzanna’s body fell to the ground as ellie let go. limp. dead. 

out of your life. 

– later that day 

ellie realized she had fucked up big time when she got back to the store.

the night she saved you, she shouldve given you her number. she had no way to check up on you, to make sure you were okay with the news to come. she would have to go back to her tried and true; “accidentally” running into you. before she could see online which bar you and your friends would overdrink at tonight, ellie found you standing outside her store. you came all this way to see me. 

“hi ellie,” you smiled brightly, illuminated by neon red sign on her store. you must not know yet. poor baby. 

“hey stranger,” ellie kept her voice calm, but she hoped that her bodys reaction to seeing you wasn’t visible. she could feel her face grow hot, and she did her best to hide it by keeping her back to you as she locked the stores door. she could smell your sweet perfume from here, and she cleared her throat before speaking again, turning to face you now that the redness in her face had diminished, “if you’re here for a vinyl, i’ll ring you up still–” 

“no, no, i came to see you.” you replied shyly, quickly glancing at your feet before meeting her gaze again with your soft eyes. while you had glanced away, ellie took you all in. she admired the dedication you put into your outfits, and she liked to believe you picked this one out just for her.

“oh?” was all ellie could say. she was busy imagining you standing in front of your mirror, trying on a thousand different outfits. ellie would’ve loved every single one of them regardless, as long as they are on you. she thought about you doing your makeup all pretty, how long that must take. detailing your face for hours, just for me. 

“yeah. i wanted to see if you’d like to get drinks with me tonight?” 

oh.

her eyes widened, never did she think that you’d ask her out. she wanted to be the one to wisk you away for a perfect date that you deserved. but ellie would settle for drinks for now, until she finally could take you on a real date. she composed herself, remaining casual. as casual as she could be. “yeah, i’d love that. we could go now, i’m done with the store for today.” 

“yeah, let’s go,” you flashed another smile at ellie, which she returned. it was like the universe was rewarding her for her good deed. you coming to see her, to ask her out. it seemed like everything was falling perfectly into place. now that suzanna was gone. 

ellie had been racking her brain all day about what suzanna had told her. that there was never any intention to move at all. that shauna had lied, for what? a reaction? why would she even want that kind of reaction out of you in the first place? 

what was shauna hiding?

“so, why’re you in new york? are you from here?” ellie inquired, for no other reason that to hear you talk. you’re here for your art.

“not from here, i moved here to hopefully make a name for myself as an artist. what about you?” ellie didn’t want to talk about herself, not when you were so lovely. but you were asking about her, and she couldn’t say no to you if she tried. 

“i moved here a few years ago,” ellie revealed, but immediately diverted the conversation back to you. “you’re an artist? well, now i have to see a piece of yours.” ellie’s looked through your instagram enough, she’s seen every one a million times already.

you laughed, looking away sheepishly. “i’m no picasso,” 

“no, but you’re you. so, they can’t be that bad, can they?” 

again, you blushed, giving ellie a shy smile. “you’re a charmer, aren’t you?” 

“i try, what can i say.” ellie shrugged, and you pointed out the bar to her.

she held the door open for you, the music already defenening her ears. it wasn’t a regular bar where you could sit and talk, it was a dancing bar. the bass in the speakers rumbled at her feet, sending shock waves up her spine. this wasn’t ellie’s crowd by a mile, but you looked back at her with the face of an angel and grabbed her hand softly to lead her towards the bar. ellie wasn’t going anywhere, not as long as you were here. 

reaching the bar, you asked for four green tea shots, two each. “yuck, green tea shots?” ellie teased, basically yelling over the music. this time ellie wasn’t worried if you wanted to over indulge, this time she could watch over you for real. and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake your friends made. 

you leaned into her so that you could speak into her ear, and ellie’s heart fluttered in her chest. you were close, very close. the top you were wearing exposed the entirety of your upper torso and she found it hard not to stare. “yes, green tea shots! keep up, ellie.” you laughed, pushing two of the shots to her that bartender left on the counter. 

ellie picked one of them up, holding it out for you to cheer to with your own, “i’ll do my best,” she responded, looking into your shimmering eyes. the things i do for you. you tapped her shot glass, and you both took down the shot with ease, although ellie’s grimaced face told you that she did not like shots, but she picked up the second one before you. 

her grimace didn’t go away with the second one, it actually went down worse for ellie. but it seemed her reaction made you laugh, and ellie was okay with the burning in her throat. before she could recover from the back to back shots, you took her hand again. the same electricity as before stirred inside of her at your touch and she barely noticed you brought her out to the middle of the dance floor, people on all sides dancing to the beat of the very loud music, that seemed to only get louder. 

but you started to sway your hips to the beat. 

and ellie’s breath caught in her throat. 

she realized way too late that she hadn’t eaten today, and those shots were already starting to make her head feel fuzzy. and now here you were in front of her, moving your body in ways that ellie had only dreamed of witnessing firsthand. literally. 

with the alcohol swiftly entering her system with every second that went by, she started to move to the music with you. only a minute went by before her hands were planted on your hips, unable to stop herself before doing so. though, you didn’t seem to mind, if anything it looked like you had closed the remaining gap between the two of you. not ellie.

with your bodies touching with every movement, and ellie’s hands on your hips, it became very intimate. very fast. ellie’s mind was no longer racing at the thought of you being this close to her, instead, it felt like it ignited something inside of her. between the sensual music blaring, the alcohol and most imporantly your chest brushing against ellie’s own every chance it got, she was losing control over herself. 

finally, ellie removed a hand from your hip, bringing it up to your cheek. she held it there for a second, looking into your eyes as she did. you stared back with the same intensity and ellie knew she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself. she watched as you glanced down to her lips, you saw the makings of a smirk before her lips were on yours. 

for a second, ellie thought she was going to wake up. that this had been a dream somehow, she’s had a similar one before with you in it, but when she felt your hands lightly tugging on her hair she knew she couldn’t be fake. ellie pulled you closer, the people around you both be damned, she just wanted more of you. her hands were now wrapped around you, resting on your lower back while your tongue slipped into her mouth. 

ellie groaned. which you shouldn’t have been able to hear, but you felt the vibration on your lips. ellie didn’t care anyway, not when your body was pressed against hers and she could feel very inch of you. 

ellie was no where near finished, but you had pulled away. the music was no longer muffled in her ears, and she was desperately clinging to the sensation you left on her lips. but your attention had been moved to your phone. 

“sorry, i could feel it buzzing non-stop in my pocket. my friend’s calling me, can we go outside?”

shit. shit. shit. shit. “yeah, no problem,” big problem. big big problem. 

ellie followed you outside, preparing herself for the worst. as the night air slapped ellie in the face, her thoughts became more clear. i kissed you. you kissed me back. 

you put the phone to your ear, and ellie made herself busy by pretending to look at her own phone, scrolling through her settings. 

“hey shauna, sorry i didn’t see your calls, i’m on a da– what?” your voice, that had been caring a rather happy tone turned cold, and undeniably shocked. 

“do they know who did it?” you asked, turning away from ellie and slowly pacing as you listened to whatever shuana was saying. you nodded your head a few times before speaking again, “do you want me to come over?” your voice started to shake, and for a second ellie regretted her decision. this will be good for you. in time you’ll realize she was no good for you. 

“okay…if you need anything, i mean anything shuana, please call me.” 

ellie looked up from her phone, an eyebrow raised slightly. “everything okay?” she chirped, sliding her phone into her pocket. you turned around, those beautiful shimmering eyes glistening with tears. “hey, whats wrong?” ellie moved closer, her tone soft and welcoming. 

“my best friends mom was just murdered,” you managed to choke out, and before you could say more, ellie’s arms were wrapped around you tightly. she knew you’d hurt for a while, and that was okay. she would be kind of weirded out if you weren’t, but with time she knew you’d be better. you’d both be better with each other. your face was buried in ellie’s neck with tears marking her shirt while she rubbed your back slowly. 

ellie was calming you the best she could, whispering a soft ‘it’ll be okay’ every few seconds that you remained in the crook of her neck. 

you spoke against her skin softly, your voice sounding weak and defeated, “can you walk me home, ellie? please?” 

“of course,” she kissed the top of your head, not letting you out of the hug until you pulled back. you locked your arms around hers, using her for support as she walked you home. 

ellie had to remind herself to ask you how to get there, after already taking one right turn by accident she was scared you’d question why. but obviously your mind was elsewhere. 

ellie knew her night with you was over, that she would remeince on your shared kiss for days to come until you felt well enough to see her again. to kiss me again. the walk was silent, not an uncomfortable silent but a shared understanding that the mood was low, and ellie was content just being with you, she didn’t need to talk. she was prepared to walk you all the way up to your door, and tell you to call her if you needed anything but when she stopped at the main door to your apartment, you looked back at her with doefully sad eyes. 

“can you stay with me?” 

can you stay with me. rang in her ears like a song. don’t smile. dont fucking smile.

“yeah, i’ll stay with you.” 

you brought her inside, and ellie looked around like she had never been here before. the apartment was dark, and you didn’t go to turn on any of the lights. instead, ellie followed you into your room, choosing to ignore the mess that was your apartment. she decided to focus on you, and when you sunk into your bed, ellie was next to you in a heart beat. 

she didn’t move to cuddle you, fearing she would be over stepping. im in your bed. and youre in it too. like a kid on christmas morning, but your soft crying brought her back down to reality. you shifted, bringing your body up against ellie’s for the second time tonight, resting your head on her shoulder with an arm draped over her. ellie wanted to hold her breath, scared you’d move at the slightest movement from her but you were leaning on her for comfort. her whole plan was to comfort you back to normal. 

her hand moved to your back, and the slow circles she rubbed lulled you to sleep. but ellie was still wide awake. 

————

tags <3 @aouiaa @kissmxcheek @spaceshipellie @strgrlxox @machetegirl109 @uraesthete @mousymaven @ucannotcompare @imahallucination11 @thatgiraffefromtlou @cjrights @sc0ttstre3ted @nicolicht @p1llowthoughtss @ellabsmasc

((sorry if you’ve seen this already and are getting tagged i totally forgot when i posted!!))

[answer2jeff]

not a lot, just forever.

carmen's opening up, but he wishes you'd do the same.

warnings: fluff + angst. fem!reader who is also a big reader (mostly poetry) and occasionally journals. unestablished relationship (friends to lovers, mutual pinning.) very touchy-feely. writing is overly detailed and so painfully poetic you might vomit.

word count : 2.4k

hey. i think i left my book at ur place. 11:15pm.

sorry, just got home. i can bring it over now 11:36pm.

oh yeah that'd be great! thank you. (sorry for the inconvenience) 11:38pm.

no worries 11:41pm.

lmk when ur here. xx 11:45pm.

Carmen had some idea of what that meant: xx. He knew what it meant when girls signed notes with xoxo in replacement of red kiss marks and strokes of long acrylic nails through their secret lovers hair—not that he ever received one, no. But your occasional visits practically felt just as intoxicating. If the order was x-o-x-o, and the worded statement being hugs-and-kisses, then xx must've been hugs, right? Two hugs. Like the one you shared the first time you met at Natalie's baby shower. He smelled like authentic Italian cologne with a hint of cigarette smoke diluted by dish soap and warm water. His grasp was hesitant, but ever-all-consuming once his shoulders relaxed. It was like metamorphosis. The way he wrapped his arms underneath while you tossed yours up around his neck, his gold chain feeling cold and hard against your skin, unlike the rest of him.

He was an under-hugger. He kept the ones he cared for unsuspectingly close to him. Such physical touch felt familiar. Maybe you'd just remembered stories and inside jokes about him through Natalie so well his tenderness and anxious nature was fitting to the idea of him you had in your head.

That was almost 6 months ago. And surprisingly, you'd become pretty good friends. Not that either of you really did friends at your age...but somehow it worked. You'd come to realize that he was so much kinder than anyone painted him out to be. And yet, you never really talked about yourselves.

Not in a way that really mattered, anyway.

The articles you'd written, the interviews you conducted with snobby assholes, the dozens of freelancing jobs with horrific schedules you had before, what you loved about writing and what you hated about the world around you—those were topics of discussion. Carmen's favorite restaurants he ever expanded his career with, the odd relationship he had with his sister that flipped like a rusty switch after highschool, candle scents he loved and bought over and over again despite their poor quality wicks, the first time he got drunk and how he swore he'd never let another drop of alcohol touch his tongue—those were normal methods of late night conversations.

But what about your dream to publish a novel? Or the memoir you read that completely changed your views on love as a whole. What about Carmen's uncle being his only friend his entire life? Oh, how he would've become a starving, broken artist if he ever believed he had enough talent for it. Hell, what about the girl you met in middle school who mysteriously moved away and shared all her secrets on the true meaning of life, death, and everything in between? Why didn't you ever talk about those things? Maybe it was too close, too personal. If he knew you too well, maybe he'd see you as you saw yourself.

Carmen had been thinking about those colored pencils you bought him for his birthday and can't get himself to tell you he uses them every day. Not just to illustrate his dishes...but you, sometimes. Your hair, your smile. He used that photo you begged him to snap of you staring out your window melodramatically with a bowl of pasta carbonara and a glass of bubbling champagne in front of you as reference. How could he ever show you the endless amount of pages containing the essence of your existence in that goddamn sketch book?

Questions. Questions. Questions.

Thoughts of potential ate away at your patience with every pacing step you took around your bedroom.

Answers. Answers. Answers.

—

"Do people even have deep conversations over pasta and wine anymore?" You trace the pad of your middle finger against the rim of your glass, your elbow propped up on the counter so your chin can rest in your hand.

Carmen draws his eyebrows together, the little crinkle in his forehead showing. You glance up at it and struggle to stifle a growing smile. He cocks his head before barring his bottom lip behind his teeth, picking at the skin with the tips of his fingers. That signature pose; where his left arm is crossed against his chest and his hand holds the elbow of his right arm. It's a habit you almost immediately picked up on. It told you time and time again that he was nervous.

Thinking. Contemplating.

"Is that, like—" he breaths a chuckle, but it comes out more as an accidental huff than anything. Smug bastard, he is. Especially when he drags his gold chain across his neck as it loops around the finger that once picked at the dry skin of his mouth.

"Your way of..asking me for a deep conversation over wine and pasta?"

Ah. He's called you out. The one thing he couldn't shake was his annoyance when you were so completely and utterly vague about your wants, your needs, your desires. Hell, Carmen Berzatto would wrap a lasso around the moon, or any planet you put your claim on, and drag it down so it could be yours and only yours. Only if it meant you'd stop feeling so complacent. You knew this. At least to some extent. His little favors buttered you up until you a mushy mess of adoration. What really scratched at your urges and your patience was how blissfully unaware he was of his show of affection toward you. Part of you feared that if you ever told him how much it caressed that bruised, fruit fly infested, rotted spot of your heart so gently it felt like a kiss, despite the sting, he'd stop.

"Y'know what? Yeah. I'm asking."

You shrug your shoulders and stare down at your nearly finished bowl of penne with vodka sauce. Stabbing a stack of pasta onto your fork and the clinking sound of the metal banging against the ceramic bowl seemed to fill the silence before Carmen finally spoke again, though with much hesitation.

"Okay," he barely whispers, nodding his head and fumbling to take a seat in the barstool underneath the counter. Sitting across from you gives him the constant justification to just look at you.

Starting off this session with a question was quite a kicker.

"Y'know Sade Zabala? Author of that book you brought back for me."

Carmen blinks slowly. He pretends to dig deep in his memory to identify the name, wondering if you'd ever mentioned her. But he fails, pulling his lips taught, so as to say 'I've got nothin.' The sound of your dramatic sigh and the 'tsk' sound of your lips separating makes his palms sweat.

"She's a wonderful writer. A poet. I mean, really, her book Coffee and Cigarettes was one of the most gut-wrenchingly beautiful and altruistic collections of.. of love, pain, rejuvenation—all of it."

If he was completely honest, he doesn't have a clear image of what those words meant. But it doesn't seem to matter what comes out of your mouth or how you phrase it. Your use of specific language fascinates him. There is nothing else he can do in this moment but nod and allow the corners of his lips to curl into a smile strong enough to make the apples of his cheeks go pink.

"I'll tell you one line of one of the greatest poems she had ever written in that book. In the humble opinion of yours truly, of course."

"Sure," he assures you. "Of course, of course."

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

Saliva pools in your mouth as you speak the quote, the taste of every vowel washing down your throat as if you dedicate them to Carmen himself. Which, in bare and naked truth, you do. The only thing you could ever ask of Carmen was to let himself tear himself open with the hope and belief that you would crawl into his fears and convert them into profound discoveries. And the trust that you would not stitch him up with your own hands, but rather clasp your fists around the circumference of his wrists as he carefully closes the wound his trajectory of life has created.

"Wow." Carmen's eyes go another centimeter wider, the language still processing in his mind. He interprets it over and over again.

"I know. And—" you set your fork down so you can have complete focus as you recite your following question, "I was just wondering what you'd say if someone told you that, y'know? What would you tell them?"

Vulnerability, he thinks. Fuck.

"I mean...fuck that's—that's a good question. Um.." he chews on the flesh of his bottom lip once again, looking above at the warm glow of the light that hangs over your island counter as if he'll find the answer up there.

"I don't even like the good stuff about me, so. I'm not sure how to, like, articulate that? Is that the word?"

Now the quickening pace has started.

"And what do you think the good stuff about you is?"

Probing questions like this are somewhat too-close-for-comfort inquiries for friends. But Carmen would be stupid to mind it. He relishes in it, actually. With much guilt. But it's tainted with the secret pleasure of being cared for by someone he so deeply valued the opinions and thoughts of.

Since the first day you met, Carmen knew he would never go to anyone else for some piece of mind. For some sanity. Or even just for someone to explain the method to his madness. You understood it—what he believed.

"I care a lot, I think. But that's not always practical. It hardly ever is now that I think about it."

"You do. You care so much." You soften your tone, hesitantly reaching for Carmen's tattooed hand that rests on the cold marble counter.

"Sometimes it freaks me out."

"Like, this whole thing, the—the restaurant, where my life is right now, it makes me crazy. But it also keeps me..."

"Human," you finish.

"Yeah, human."

Though it takes him a couple seconds for his digits to not second guess themselves, he gently takes your hand in his. The slow pace in which he intertwines his fingers with yours is enough to kill you.

"Can I tell you something?" Carmen asks.

"Anything."

"You take good care of me. Of everyone, really." . His thumb gently rubs your warm skin, the rough and calloused mounds over his fingerprints soothing you. A deep breath moves in and out from his lungs as he meets your eyes again. This time, he won't look away.

"It's like you were made to just be good."

You smile, but you're not convinced you're certain on what he means. "Thank you, Carm. But—good?"

"I don't know. You're warm. I'm—I'm not like that. I'm not warm."

This, this is where truths as bare as untraveled paws of loyal dogs that roamed the streets in search of security uncover themselves.

"What? Of course you are." You lean forward, feeling your heart pound so hard it could leap out of your body.

"I don't think I am."

To think—no, to know that Carmen Berzatto cannot share at least one feature of his layered soul he genuinely likes. God, that pains you. You could write a million sonnets listing every little thing you adored about your friend.

"Carmen, you—" you sigh, your head dropping for a fraction of a second. "You have such a big heart. You're not cold or...or out of reach, or anything like that, okay?"

Even with Carmen's tendency for rage and his tattoos that displayed yet another callback to his culinary career—his way of speaking: so gentle and unsupported, you're certain that he is something so much greater than just a chef. He took care of people too. His staff, his clientele, his family—of you. Whether it was home cooked meals when you were sick, or when you needed to complain about Natalie. Carmen listened. Not as her brother, but as your friend. You don't really remember when you started to regularly see each other during his leisure. Either at the restaurant, or a coffee shop next door to your complex, and eventually his living room.

"This is so fucking selfish, but—"

No, Carmen. You could never be selfish.

But you let him be hungry. You want him to be hungry. Starving for reassurance. Because you'll feed him until the empty space in his existence is filled.

"I just wish you'd look after yourself the way you take care of me. Like, fuck, hearing you look at yourself and point out all this shit that nobody notices—which I wish they fucking would—because I notice them and I still love those things about you is..."

Oh, what a beautiful mind you've always had. He'll always store all the love you can't have for yourself in his own heart. Your wit, your intelligence, your smile, even down to the way you have to readjust the grip of your fountain pen as you inscribe your thoughts into your journal

"Wrong." He completed his thought with just one word. "I don't like it. It makes me sad," he says again.

That breaks you. So much that a tear sure to be followed by many more wells up in your waterline. The glisten of the salty liquid in your eyes startles the wonderful man across you. You can see the immediate guilt in his face, his blue eyes filled with concern and regret. But you shake your head, holding onto his forearm as he raises his hand to your cheek to catch the falling tear. Fuck being friends. Fuck small talk. Fuck jokes and laughs and cigarettes and poor communication that just ended in silence.

This was here and now. There was no going back.

With that, you cupped Carmen's own cheek, leaning closer and closer to his lips before he desperately kissed you. His free hand anchored itself on your shoulder blade while yours crawled to the back of his head to burry itself in his golden curls. Your taste was everything. Salty with pasta with a sweet aftertaste that echoed from your fruity lip balm, followed by a final twinge of bitterness from your glass of red wine. He tasted of comfort, of acceptance, something you'd never felt against your tastebuds from the previous years of the dating pool. With every separation of your lips to swallow gasps of air, the further the two of you hovered over the counter in a needy attempt to get closer.

You didn't need answers. Not a lot from him either. Just him. Forever.

tags: @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria @diorrfairy

[yinorathedragontamer]

Hello to my fav dbd writerrr 🤫

I've been a little sick lately and mom put me on phone ban for now lmao(but I still get sneaky with it)

So while I have time I wanted to request a fic but this time with crystal and charles with a sick s/o (if I remember right you're okay with that poly stuff?🤔LMK ANYWAY) just a cozy fluff bc it's rlly needed rn 👎 take your time and thank you <3

(p.s how have you been!!)

— 🦋 anon xoxo

a/n: AWW I'M YOUR FAVORITE? <3 i've been doing pretty good, for me, test week starts next friday, which i'm absolutely not exited for, though i am going to a Rammstein concert soon, which is going to be a lot of fun! my throat has been sore for the whole week, its gotten to the point where if i open my mouth too wide it hurts in the back of my throat, which sucks, but i'll get over it. i hope you get well soon! you have my best wishes <3

Pairing: Crystal Palace x alive!reader x Charles Rowland

note: i wrote this with alive!reader because if i remember correctly, ghosts can't get sick! like, in the scene where Edwin and Charles [i believe in episode two] they had to find the right book, and they found it and it had pictures of what each paranormal parasite does, and Charles went "i think i'm gonna be sick" and Edwin replied with "you're a ghost Charles, you can't get sick" not me randomly remembering lore this is also written from a bit of a more personal experience when i'm sick, so i apologize if it isnt accurate FOR YOU. whenever i get sick i'm extremely sensitive to noise and light, so i end up practically cocooning myself in a blanket (which gets kicked off half a minute later bc its too hot) with the lights off and a barely audible show playing in the background. also, if you're vegetarian, please imagine a different soup.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"aw, you're burning up, do you want some soup?" Crystal asks quietly as she retracts her hand from your clammy forehead, trying to stay more quiet than usual in the hopes of not overwhelming you with sound. you merely nod, barely keeping your eyes open. "okay, wait here" Crystal gives you a small smile and kisses your forehead, before walking out of your room and closing the door.

you can hear her practically yelling at Charles to get in there and comfort you while she's out to get chicken soup

half a minute later, Charles walks in through the wall, walking over to your bedside.

"hey there, you alright?" he lowers his voice a little once he sees your discomfort with the initial volume.

"i feel like shit, probably look like it too..." you mumble, your voice hoarse.

"nah, you still look like an angel to me, love" he gives you his signature, charming smile.

you'd roll your eyes if it weren't for the booming headache.

he sighs softly, realizing just how bad you feel.

"are you burning up? i could cuddle with you if you want, you know, cuz us ghosts have a cooler temperature" he murmurs softly, and once you nod, he lifts the blanket carefully and climbs in next to you, your head on his chest and his arms around your waist.

within a few minutes, he can hear your breath going steady and calm, slowing down ever so slightly.

you have fallen asleep.

he smiles to himself, even more so when he look down at you, seeing how you're practically clinging onto him.

he stays as still as he can, despite not being able to sleep himself, he made you and Crystal a promise he's take care of both of you, no matter what. and he intends to keep it.

Crystal comes in a little later, with a hot bowl of chicken soup, a spoon, a cup of tea and some painkillers.

they share a look of understanding, and Charles carefully peppers your face in gentle kisses, featherlight yet enough to wake you up.

"goodmorning sunshine" he murmurs a little playfully, your groggy bedhead being picture perfect to him, absolutely gorgeous.

Crystal smiles sympathetically at you.

"i got you chicken soup, and a cup of tea, so you can take your painkillers" the moment the mention of the medicine falls off her tongue, you whine and shove your face right back into Charles' chest, making him chuckle.

"come on princess, you gotta take them, they'll make you feel better" he coos into your ear, slowly letting you go to get up, so you'll be able to sit up properly aswell.

reluctantly, you get up, tipping back the painkillers first, with a big gulp of tea, and you look at both of them.

your not-so-picture perfect lovers, meant to be just for you.

they both smile at you, and Crystal hands you your bowl of chicken soup.

once your finished with the soup, Crystal takes the now-empty bowl from you and walks out for a second to put them in the kitchen, unbeknownst to her though, Charles follows her.

she only notices once she feels his arms around her waist, and his chin on her shoulder.

"i wish we could do more for [name]" he mumbles.

"i know, me too" she whispers back, running a hand through his curls.

"lets go comfort our poor baby" she smile as she says it, turning around in his arms to take his hand and go back to your room.

[skrunksthatwunk]

ok so. kiwami 2. rooftop scene. the ending. it's a bit of a clusterfuck but i wanna talk about one detail, a problem they bring to your attention by Fucking. Talking About Her.

haruka is watching all of this unfold.

[this post is like 4.5k words long + pretty critical + has spoilers for kiwami and kiwami 2, and really minor/vague ones for a couple others. they're not that bad though, trust me (and i added a warning in the one place it is major)]

ALSO CONTENT WARNING i'm gonna talk about kiryu's passive suicidality a good amount in this one, so stay away from this if you think that might affect you negatively/you'd be better off skipping it. i'll also make a tl;dr (which i will highlight in red) at the very end if you really wanna know what my point is that will exclude those elements <3. i am also going to use a lot of choice-based language in regards to kiryu's contemplation of suicide because i think it's the lens through which the games treat the topic, but i personally don't find it a productive or realistic way to look at suicide or suicidal ideation at all. someone dying by suicide absolutely does not mean they don't care about their loved ones enough to fight on or whatever. i love you, and proceed with caution on this one.

(also i'm using the kiwamis as my point of reference because i uh. don't have a ps2? those are the games that i played, and though the differences are likely slight, i wanna be clear about that. also,, ignore the watermark on these screenshots,, i didn't notice them and i'm not retaking them. we're all gonna have to settle for youtube cutscene comps for now xoxo)

first, we have to talk about the ending of the first game.

[note: i am Really Really Confident kiryu has a conversation earlier in the game about his going to jail in nishiki's stead being him running away and choosing not to resist his two options (go to jail or let nishiki go to jail) and define his own path, fighting his way against fate to make it happen. part of why i'm so confident it exists is because it made such an impression on me at the time. it's pretty important to my interpretation of things but i also can't find it for the life of me, so uh. sorry ✌️ i really tried. this post's takes/analysis will be dependent on this scene existing, so keep that in mind. if anyone knows where to find the scene/screenshots of it, lmk and i'll add a follow-up with it]

kiwami stuff

so as she's dying, yumi tells haruka this:

that she may be dying (painfully, and right as she's getting everything she wanted), but she doesn't regret it, because at least she did something rather than running away from it all. that you shouldn't run away, ever.

shortly thereafter, when the police find kiryu and haruka, this exchange happens between him and date. here's the play by play:

date tells kiryu he can get him out of trouble with this, and that if he doesn't, he'll get life in prison; kiryu declines his help:

kiryu is so devastated (understandably) by the back to back losses of the three people closest to him that he resigns himself to life in prison, and the death-in-effect that would be. he would prefer to waste away rather than struggle through a life without them. prison was monotonous and isolating, but coming back after a decade was overwhelming, and coming back to everything being so warped and twisted, and then losing the corrupted scraps he had anyway, well. he wants to go back to sleep. he doesn't want to be in a world where everything's the same except he's on his own. better to return to safety, to die slowly in a hell he knows well than weather a new one where he has control and agency, and thus one where he has the ability to fail and to lose anything at any time. he explains to date that that loss is why he can accept his death:

date shakes him and asks him if there's really nothing left for him, no reason to keep living at all:

then echoes yumi's advice to haruka:

which makes an impression on kiryu:

date gives him a reason to live in the form of haruka, saying she'll be on her own again if he goes to jail. he hijacks kiryu's tragic protector complex to keep him alive, because she needs him, and because she's someone precious to him:

after the dust has cleared,

kiryu and date also have this exchange, where date tells him to stay away from the cops (and presumably arrest and a return to prison, the aforementioned fate akin to death), and kiryu cites haruka as his reason to stay away, one he holds to with no uncertainty (showing again that he's accepted date's logic, that his reason to keep living even when it's incredibly difficult is to care for the more vulnerable haruka). given the weight of the consequences, to me, it feels like date's telling him not to be alone with his thoughts or something. it's almost frightening:

so, what's our takeaway from kiwami?

kiryu lost everything and hit rock bottom, but he chose to fight, and to live life on his own terms, even when it got difficult. that's the narrative life lesson he had to learn to avoid repeating the events of 1995. he made that choice for haruka's sake. it's seen as growth.

and without him, haruka would've just returned to the orphanage (assuming she could make it back to sunflower at all) with no one who knew or understood what she had been through, no one to mourn with her, and no one to give her the attention, care, and protection she needs. kiryu knows what it's like to be an orphan with a limited parental figure who only checks in every so often (kazama, "aunt" yumi), and what someone will do for attention/affection from that person (via both himself and nishiki swearing up, climbing the ranks, etc. arguably haruka coming to kamurocho by herself to find "mizuki" is similar), and what it's like to lose them anyway (again, kazama, yumi). their situations parallel each others' somewhat, and that binds them further. and after losing everyone (which he blames himself for to some extent, as one can probably assume from this and 2, and something key to his arc in later games), he chooses to protect her. and this time, he won't fail. at least partially because failing would hurt him, too. he'd have nothing left again.

okay. now we get to kiwami 2.

if you forgot, the context is basically:

everybody's fighting on the roof of a building which i'm sure will not be a running theme or anything as the series goes on

there's a bomb that's about to go off and they don't know how to/can't defuse it

ryuji shot the twist villain to death, but took fatal hits to do so

sayama's like hey!! let's get out of here!!! and kiryu and ryuji are like nooo we have to settle this oughh it's punchin time and they stick her on an elevator and send her down so she doesn't have to watch

ryuji loses. sayama returns, they have a cute sibling heart to heart, and ryuji dies in her arms. sad

kiryu is in rough shape as well, and there's like 2 minutes left on the bomb's timer

here's the scene itself:

sayama tells kiryu they have to run, and kiryu says he can't. the gist is "let's run!" "you go without me" "i'm not leaving you!" "i'm in no condition to run" "i'll carry you then!!" sayama: *sees how fucked up kiryu is, realizes he's Going To Die Anyway* "ok, then i'm staying with you!" and then further bickering about that, before they give up and make out (as one does i guess)

date (he's here now) yells this at them from a helicopter:

before someone else in the helicopter tells date this:

we get this shot of haruka calling out to kiryu as the helicopter swerves away:

and kiryu and sayama have this exchange about haruka where they say they let her down, but that she'll understand:

then they hug and the bomb ticks to zero right when the credits hit. in post credits it's revealed that the twist villain defused the bomb when they weren't looking, betraying his co-villain for reasons i truthfully do not remember and am unwilling to look up. it's not about that right now.

so, how does this scene interact with the ending of the previous game?

the short answer is "badly <3" but here's the long answer:

it's about choices.

the thing about fiction is that anything you want to have happen, as a writer, can happen. it may not be effective, internally consistent, or logical, but you can write it regardless. audiences suspend their disbelief for the sake of engaging fully with your fiction, but everyone has a threshold past which they will stop being engaged in a story and either become uninvested or annoyed. writers usually have lines they're unwilling to cross as well. but in almost every story, there's at least a couple of places where they stretch reality a little to make the narrative they want happen. this is not a bad thing at all. that's how stories get told.

now, i'm gonna be real with you. i don't care about how feasible plots are like 95% of the time. it's not something i think about much, nor is it something i prioritize. i am a very character-centric media consumer, so if world building and/or plot are a bit stale or contrived, that doesn't really bother me much so long as i'm invested in the characters involved. some people can't stand plot holes or the ways musicals burst into song or whatever, and that's fine for them. but it's not something i tend to find that all that important.

this is all to say that i have a sorta affection for rgg's flavor of bullshit pulling. and it is a powerful flavor, maybe even an acquired taste, but i can and do rock with it so long as it doesn't damage the characters too much. this is why i'm not making a lengthy post howling into the void about joji kazama or the second joon-gi han or how many secret relatives there are. those things are silly and endearing and a clumsy yet heartfelt part of a series i care about very deeply. i'll joke about it, but i don't consider it much of a flaw. it's more like personality. flaws are texture, and they help a piece's identity. point is i am very, very willing and able to suspend my disbelief for these games in exchange for a good time, particularly via good characters.

(if you want another example of where i draw the line from within rgg, the answer's the YAKUZA 4 SPOILERS INCOMING rubber bullets twist, because i think 1) it's actively horrifically stupid (especially retconning a scene we SAW HAPPEN. WE SAW BLOOD ON EACH IMPACT, AND RUBBER BULLETS DON'T OFTEN BREAK SKIN THAT DEEPLY (THEIR DAMAGE IS MORE PERCUSSIVE THAN PENETRATIVE). THESE EVENTS HAPPEN IN THE SAME GAME YOU DON'T HAVE TO RETCON IT JUST REWRITE IT. OR DON'T SHOW THE HIT AT ALL SO THERE'S MORE PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY. DON'T DO THIS JUST TO HYPE UP YOUR SHITTY VILLAIN NO ONE CARES ABOUT. and 2) (a bit more importantly) i think it actively removes saejima's primary internal conflict for that game, that being his intense guilt over the 18 murders he thinks he committed, one i was invested and interested in. but this isn't a rubber bullets post.)

characters in this series walk off a lot of life threatening injuries. they survive miraculously, they escape in the nick of time, and they pull through in the end. kiryu still somehow hasn't killed anyone. almost every game in his saga ends with an "is kiryu gonna make it out this time?!?" shortly followed by a "yeah lol. lmao" postcredits reveal. kiryu fucking punches a marble statue into dust in the first game. having a story that asks you to suspend your disbelief so much and so often means that when a decision is made, it's not the writers saying, "well, this would have to happen so we are obligated/forced to write it happening" so much as "we wanted this to happen for some reason(s)," because you already know that they're not guided solely by logic. again, this is true of all writers, it's just amplified in stories like these because they've already given you so many hard mode suspension of disbelief moments (they've broken you in like leather, yeah? or like how obvious internet scams allow for self selection by being so obvious that only the most vulnerable people would fall for them. they curate an audience willing to play along with their bullshit flavor so they can tell a story that's more likely to satisfy that audience. in a good way, in a fun way! mass appeal is overrated). there is not much limit to what this series is willing to try and sell you.

so when ryuji takes lethal damage taking out the big bad, that's a choice. when he doesn't die immediately, that's a choice. when ryuji and kiryu send sayama away in the soon-to-be-forgotten elevator so they can settle this like men or whatever despite the literal actual bomb about to go off, that's a choice. when sayama comes back, that's a choice. when ryuji does die, that's a choice. when kiryu determines that he can't escape in time, that's a choice. when sayama is unwilling to leave him, that's a choice. when she says she'll carry him out and there's an elevator right fucking there and then she's like never mind i guess i won't anymore we're dying together right now kiryu like they're not gonna even try?? wouldn't distancing themselves from the blast give themselves a better shot, something that's super possible given the 2 minutes they have with that elevator??? sayama you met him like a week and a half ago why are you ready to die with him that's not a plot hole i just think that's kinda strange whatever anyway, that's a choice. when kiryu stops arguing with her so they can kiss (next to her brother's corpse), that's a choice. when date shows up, that's a choice. when the helicopter can't save them because the bomb was going to go off too soon, that's a choice. when they put haruka in that helicopter and take her away, let her only impact be reminding kiryu and sayama that they can't help her, that's a choice. when they spend their last moments talking as if they're already dead, then simply waiting, that's a choice.

they're all choices that the writers made for the characters, and we are asked to believe them for the sake of achieving the writers' vision, as with any story. the only problem is that the writers' vision here fucking blows.

i'm not saying it would be realistic for kiryu and sayama (and even ryuji) to make it out alive, but it wouldn't be out of character for the series in the slightest. kiryu is suddenly unable to power through here, and that's a choice. so, what is their vision?

put simply, i think they wanted a romantic last stand for kiryu and sayama, a tragic scene of doomed, devoted lovers. and i think they wanted an edge-of-your-seat fake out death. they wanted spectacle.

here's how some specific choices they made undermine all that shit we talked about earlier from the first game.

once again, kiryu is called by date to live, to pick himself up and keep going, no matter how impossible the odds are. he's even reminded by haruka's presence, his one anchor in keeping himself going. the growth he had in the parallel scene in the previous game is challenged, and he fails.

it's not enough this time. and that's a choice.

it's also one i can't think of a good reason for, and that's the real kicker.

characters can have developmental backslide just like people do, and if they're given good reason for it, it can be just as, if not far more compelling that purely linear growth (i am a chimera ant arc enjoyer, and that's all i'll say. sorry if you haven't seen hunter x hunter. uhh. i am also a zuko avatar enjoyer if that helps). but i can't think of anything that happened in that game that would cause this from a character perspective. if anything, kiryu should be less likely to do this intentionally. he's spent around a year raising haruka, and a year has passed since he lost his loved ones. at the very least, the pain should be more dull, though it is established through an early nightmare sequence that his ass is (justifiably) not over it yet. given that their deaths were the initial motivation for his willingness to rot forever, theoretically, he should be more motivated to stay alive than before now that he's got more investment and stability in his life outside of them, particularly when it comes to haruka, his reason for surviving. and if the ongoing nature of the trauma was the motivator for this, then they should've had it affect him more past that nightmare scene (it really serves more as a recap of the last game than anything else) so it didn't come out of nowhere. so the reminder of the lesson that saved his life and then guided it for at least a year afterwards, one that the whole resolution of the previous game relied on heavily falls flat for... some reason.

i think this is a good time to mention that, generally speaking, you don't write arbitrary choices into characters. sure, people in real life are often sporadic, but when analyzing fictional characters, every choice is filed into a portfolio of characterization that can and should be analyzed. going for pure realism can obfuscate their development, motivations, themes, etc. their choices and reactions may be unorthodox, but they must be internally consistent. this is very related to how i view plot contrivance as well. characters drive the plot, not the other way around. stories are about the ways characters affect their worlds/lives and vice versa, and they're the human face to the themes and ideas the writers are trying to explore and express. maybe my stance on this seems hypocritical. i don't know if it is. but to me, plot issues are usually a matter of engagement and investment, while character issues are a matter of substance.

i hope this doesn't feel patronizing explaining all of this, but i want you guys to know where i'm coming from in my analysis. starting at my base philosophy on writing is the easiest way to do that, i feel. defining the terms of the debate, and all that. anyway

and i mean, look. they survive because "it was defused the whole time we just didn't see it happen", so it's not like narrative tension or realism or whatever was THAT big of a priority overall. if it was gonna be a cop-out anyway, they should'nt have ruined kiryu's development too, yeah?. and sayama fucks off to america after this game anyway, so it's not like the doomed lovers thing had much payoff or meaning after this one (though you could argue that's more an issue with yakuza 3 than yk2, which has some merit to it). which means that they chose to sacrifice kiryu's prior development and internal logic for the sake of cheap tension for their finale that was both kinda illogical in and of itself (the elevator!! the elevator!!!) and a romantic climax that neither required nor really benefitted from this staging. (like. you coulda had them make out and then get saved by date, or kiss on the elevator in a "it's moving, but will we make it in time??" way or whatever. look i'm not saying those are great options either but they're SOMETHING okay. it would remove/reduce the amount of time wasted on characters sitting around with their thumbs up their asses for no reason in this finale).

instead the message of this finale is that, actually, sometimes it is impossible to change your circumstances and fight for your own way out of an awful situation. and what should you do about this unfortunate truth? uh. die! i guess. it's the exact opposite of the encouraging, optimistic message of the last game. zetsubou chou pride my ass.

note: i feel i should mention that when suicidality is brought up within the series (particularly in substories), it is always something someone has to overcome themselves through wanting it badly enough. they simply need the inspiration and the motivation to keep going. it's arguably treated as a moral obligation. frankly, the series is broadly very meritocratic (<- bad) when it comes to this topic (and others, but that's a Whole Other Thing. see akiyama's weird loan shark tests as well). sheer will and resolve is enough to conquer any problem, be it physical or mental/emotional, and it's irresponsible to act/feel otherwise. this is the logic the games operating under, and kiryu is often the mouthpiece for this bootstrap-pulling "tough love" sentiment. so when kiryu "chooses" to die, yet faces no emotional fallout from date, haruka, or anyone else, it feels very out of place. it's not just an odd choice; it's specifically, once again, an odd choice to make in context of the game/series/character it appears in.

kiryu's just like eh, haruka'll watch her only family die right as she gets some sense of tentative stability and lets her guard down after a devastating month the year prior (and a relatively dismal upbringing before that) that we trauma bonded over. sure, she likely came to view me as the one who would stay no matter what, who was too strong to be taken out, who she could always rely on, and so i know that dying would hurt her immensely, but she's smart enough to know it'd happen eventually. her eventual recovery means it's okay for me to do this (somehow, in a way it wasn't in the first game). it's an excuse within the narrative's logic, and one it is uncritical of simply because it's kiryu. he gets a pass.

and i think with the previously mentioned passive suicidality and general series-long mental health issues kiryu displays (i mean. yakuza 5's literally his depression arc), this could be retroactively seen as an interesting choice, like a piece in that particular narrative. i don't even dislike that viewing, especially in terms of fan approach. but (assuming this went down the same in yakuza 2), they likely didn't have that in mind. all they had then was the first game and the movie. and they took the first game's Entire Message and contradicted it for nothing but a scene they wanted to have happen because it'd be suspenseful and/or emotional (without actually doing the work to earn it). and they're not fans trying to analyze his character, they're the ones making choices for him. and they chose to massacre my boy. and if the subject of kiryu's mental health was a priority of theirs, why didn't they explore that? haruka and date's feelings on him not resisting and their words not being enough (whether that blame is justified by the narrative or not (it shouldn't be btw)), the uncomfortable drifting that resigning yourself to death and living afterwards anyway often brings, literally any conversation about it besides the minimal shit we get post credits of date being like "did you know about the bomb not having a fuse?" which like. bad answer either way (which is why they weren't straightforward about it, the cowards). you can't just be like "oh uh. idk he just gave up this time. yeah he was gonna die on purpose for some reason. good thing the bomb was fake lol" and then pack up and go home!! that's stupid!! any merit the idea of kiryu dying by suicide in this scene and in this way could have had from a character-based perspective loses its weight because 1. it didn't happen (for kinda stupid reasons), which makes it fall flat and 2. no one is really affected by the fact that it almost did, including him. they sacrificed his ass and replaced it with nothing, even when there could have been interesting outcomes to it.

so the narrative effectively chose to kill him by making the situation impossible, and this impossibility is ultimately arbitrary, given the series' usual approach to miraculous, illogical escapes. that, or the choice to stay was up to kiryu and sayama, one that 1. doesn't make sense and is actively regressive in context of kiryu's arc in the only other game in the series (as well as his whole saga in retrospect) and 2. one that contradicts how the series sees/treats resignation to death/death by suicide in all other contexts without being addressed, challenged, or condemned in ways it would in all other contexts. because they don't want you to think about it like that. they want you to think he (and the narrative) had no choice, that it made sense to do that. but it didn't. it doesn't.

and look, honestly? if i was bleeding out and had like 2 minutes to live, there's a non zero chance i'd say fuck it and kiss a girl too. i get it. but i am (and this is crucial) not a fucking yakuza character. and i'm certainly not kiryu kazuma.

tl;dr (basically just rephrasing the second to last main paragraph)

there are not sufficient character reasons for kiryu and sayama not trying to escape. additionally, because the narrative regularly facilitates even less likely escapes, it's not so constrained to logic and reality that it couldn't pull this one off. the choice to let their situation be impossible this one time was a cheap and arbitrary way of forcing a scene they thought would be cool and dramatic, and in doing so they chose to cannibalize a key emotional note of the previous finale (namely kiryu's mission to dedicate his life to protecting haruka) for hollow last minute stakes-upping in this one. it is then completely disregarded anyway. god damn.

[lavender-at-heart]

Dating Elvis 50s hc's

Pairing: Elvis [or Austing!elvis] x fem!reader

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff 💪😈, tiniest miniscule amount of angst at the very end.

Note: I might do one of these for each of Elvis' "eras", lmk if that's something your interested in. Also 50s elvis with his little stutter is the cutest thing alive. This kinda short too I really have to get better at making longer fics :/. Also yes you will have to deal with my Elvis obsession for a obscene amount of time.

Xoxo, CC ♡

The two of you met when he was hired by your dad to fix some wiring in your house

You had seen him around school before but had never spoken too him as he was some years older than you.

The whole time just thinking why the sweet baby faced boy with the voice of an angel was wasting his time with his current job.

You saw that he was the embodiment of pure charisma, heart and soul. You thought he could do anything he dreamed to, and you had been just dying for him to ask you out.

Everything about him seemed attractive, his voice, his hair, his way of living

Little did you know the black haired beauty had his eye on you too

Even though Elvis doesn't have a lot of money he assures you that he's worth your while and one day he's gonna get you everything you could ever dream of.

He asks you out, a nice pizza place in town- nothing fancy though

He picks you up at 6pm sharp and you two take his work truck to the place.

He showed up at your door looking as clean as a saints soul, holding a beautiful bouquet of multicolored tulips

"I-I didn't know what kind you liked. Tulips are my mommas favorite so I got them. Hope th-thats ok with you."

He'll save up every last penny to buy you something real nice , a nice red lipstick, beautiful card, a book you've been wanting, ect.

But more often then not his gifts are home made, packed full of love and meaning and/or not even material gifts but rather emotional.

After all it's the little things that count.

He'll go pick wildflowers for you during his lunch break and deliver them to you with a sweetly written note.

He always makes sure he looks his best, after all you only deserve the best. Hair always styled to perfection, shirts never having a single wrinkle, and shoes shined as often as they can be.

Sings you to sleep and makes breakfast in bed for you.

"Fresh cup of coffee for the sleepy head"

*head kisses*

Always opens the door for you, pulls out your chair, fixes your hair for you.

Gives you the biggest bear hugs and always loves to have you close.

At first he was so darn nervous around you always speaking with his stutter and afraid you wouldn't like him back.

You reassured him that you think he's the most beautiful soul you've ever met.

He'll take you to his favorite club after school to hear all his favorite singers.

You'll take him to drive in movies and kiss in his car (once he can afford to get one ofc)

You sometimes walk to his work and bring two packed lunches for you both. Can't go on having your man being hungry, or eating alone.

He'd be a little scared to show you his home, afraid you'd suddenly realize just how little money he's got and run for the hills[but that never happened ofc]

He introduced you to his mother and father, gleaming with pride as he showed them his new girlfriend.

Gladys loves you, at first she was a bit jealous of you for stealing her son away, but after seeing you encourage him to keep on dreaming her mind changed.

You also introduced him to your family, he was terribly nervous, but nothing could ever be too bad with you by his side.

When he starts trying to make a name for himself with singing, you make sure to buy every record, go to every gig, support him in any way you can.

When he goes touring for the first time you get very lonely, not used to him being so far away. Elvis calls you nearly every hour he can, he calls you more than his mother calls him.

You might drive to one of the states he's performing in and surprise him.

Always amazed at his voice and how aluring he seemed to be, you'd fall in love with him all over again.

Singing and dancing together is a must.

If you can't sing, he'll teach you.

If you can dance, he'll teach you.

Hell he might even teach you to play the guitar or the piano if he feels like it[bonus points if you already can]

He takes you to your prom and your obviously the prom king and queen 🙄🙄🙄

When he starts making some real money he'll be so happy to finally get you some really nice things.

Braging to all your friends that you date a movie star-

A new car, dresses, winter coat, puppy dog, kitten, record player, sewing machine, chess set- whatever you think you might want some day, you get it.

"Well what's mine is yours lil' darling"

You don't know how many times you've told him off for spending his hard earned money on you but he just can't seem to listen.

" just let me buy you these nice pearls mama, that's the last thing I promise."

Ofc that's the first of the soon to be massive pearl necklace collection

He invites you to move into Graceland, making sure you have your own rooms and spots just for you, or you and him.

He knows his feelings are serious, they run deeper than he could ever know

He's used to having a list full of phone numbers in his pocket, flirting back with anyone who did

But now the thought of flirting with someone else disgusts him

the pages with phone numbers have been forgotten in the trash somewhere

it's strange for him to never look at any other girl, it surprises you too.

But he only needs you and he doesn't understand why but he trusts his heart.

Oh and dont be mistaken, You are just as in love with him as he is with you~

When the news he must be sent off to Germany for two whole years reaches your ears you can barley think.

Elvis kisses away your tears and promises his swift return.

"One day- soon, I'-Im gonna m-marry, marry you. Just you wait and see."

Yes all you have to do is get through 2 lonely years and you'll be the happiest person to ever live again.

[hugheshugs]

hi babe! would u be willing to write something for op/ plus sized reader? xoxo

hihi, of course i can !! this is just a bit of a drabble about insecurities bc i didnt know what you wanted it to be about specifically, im sorry its so short but if you want me to write smthng more specific just lmk and i'll have that up for you :)

contains: body and minor weight talk, insecurities.

owen loved everything about you.

when he first met you, he was struck by your beauty. you were the most beautiful person he'd ever seen.

after you started dating, you grew a little insecure because of the amount of girls you knew were after him. you thought he could do better but he thought otherwise. you were the better he knew he needed.

a night of vulnerability on your end and reassurance from his led to the strongest relationship you'd ever been in.

he worshipped your body every day.

pressing kisses to your skin on places you tried to hide was something he could do all day.

"i love you so much. i love this body so much, okay? please don't ever think otherwise."

"i don't like it sometimes, owen."

"it's perfect. you're perfect."

he taught you to love your body as much as he did. nights with him turned into nights in heaven, he was everything you ever wanted and more.

[reveniemus]

kali's masterlist

belatedly realizing a rebloggable masterlist is a better idea than a page is kalicore.

anyways, hi, i'm kali, sometimes i write witcher things, i've started writing stranger things things. i am, in fact, always happy to take prompts (prompts i've rb'd here) and am willing to try any trope/prompt/ship once, but it might be a minute til i actually write bc muse is a fickle bitch an all that jazz. if you have any questions or concerns pls lmk and i'm happy to add tags to anything you think might be necessary xoxo

last update: 21 sep 2022

tag list under the cut - lmk if you want to be added/removed

WITCHER ONE SHOTS

hide the chemistry - geraskier, G, 787 - tumblr | ao3

keep the world at bay - geraskefer, E, 3k - tumblr | ao3

look up at the storm - geraskier lite, G, 1k - ao3

starts off like a pinprick - dad!ralt & teen!ciri, implied future!geraskier, G, 1k - tumblr | ao3

little victories feel big - dad!ralt & kid!ciri, G, 1k - tumblr | ao3

geraskier in angst major, no 1 - geraskier, T, 1k - tumblr | ao3

yenralt in yearning, act i - yenralt, T, 1k - tumblr | ao3

kaer morhen in wistful, no 1 - jaskier & ciri, G, 407 - tumblr | ao3

lambskier in comfort minor, no 1 - lambskier, G, 730 - tumblr | ao3

the noise i cannot shake - geraskefer, DD/E, 2k - tumblr | ao3

unwanted daughters - yennefer, T, 1k - tumblr | ao3

hear it howling - geralt/jaskier/eskel/lambert, DD/E, 2k - tumblr | ao3

i'll find an end - geraskier, M, 1k - tumblr | ao3

between every page, every chord - geraskier, T, 1k - tumblr | ao3

find you all unwoven - yenralt, T, 806 - tumblr | ao3

for all the strings you tune - jaskel, E, 2.9k - ao3

you'd swoon, you'd sigh - geraskier, E, 3k - ao3

engraved upon my heart - geraskier, G, 2k - ao3

the wind don't cower to powerful men - renfri, M, 819 - ao3

dance in the rain - jaskel, E, 4.6k - ao3

hands in empty pockets - geraskier, G, 325 - ao3

ghost of you - geraskier, T, 12k - ao3

DON'T LIE WITH YOUR EYES series (witcher)

geraskier in yearning, no 3 (alternatively, come back to you again) - geraskier, G, 2.5k - tumblr | ao3

geraskier in angst major, no 2 - geraskier, T, 3k - tumblr | ao3

RAISED BY WOLVES AND VOICES series (witcher)

wolves in angst minor - duny/pavetta, gen, T, 896 - tumblr | ao3

bard in a sharp - dettlaff/jaskier, T, 981 - tumblr | ao3

wolves in autumn - gen, G, 636 - tumblr | ao3

bards in a flat - jasker & dandelion, G, 873 - tumblr | ao3

geraskefer in exposition - geraskier, G, 862 - tumblr | ao3

devour what's truly yours - geraskier, DD/E, 1k - tumblr | ao3

NOT SHY OF A SPARK series (stranger things)

lookin' for a downtown man - pre-steddie, G, 3.5k - ao3

even if the earth starts shakin' - post-s4, steddie, T, 15k - ao3

TAG LIST

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @officerjennie, @calamarisnapfish, @kuripon, @jaskierswolf, @deeplywornletters, @wanderlust-t, @alllthequeenshorses

KO-FI | DD:DNE CONTENT

[longassr1de]

Sweetness

Pairing: Jeno × fem!reader

Genre: smut!!, established relationship, domestic??

Word count: ~2k

Summary: What better way to beat the summer heat than with a sweet treat?

⚠️ Warnings: pretty much another pwp, 00 liner smut, food play, ice play(?), fingering, rough and unprotected sex, oral (both male and female receiving), pet names (moreso relationship-wise though), look..very curious things happen with popsicles okay?, not yet proofread.

A/N: lmk if I missed any warnings or any typos and such! I haven't written in so long or thought up anything this filthy to the point that I even surprised myself with this one.. so much for easier the 00 line content onto this blog. Whoops! Anyway I hope you guys enjoy! xoxo (oh also im currently on mobile so i'll add the read later in a bit, i apologize in advance!!)

It all started out with Jeno being a tease on a hot, hot summer evening. Sure, it was terribly humid out, but the way he kept sucking at the colorful popsicle even when it began to melt down to his slender fingers had you feeling wet heat in a much more personal sense. He held eye contact with you as his lips pulled away from the frozen treat, sinful eyes making it a point to devour the way you intook just a little extra air when he licked at the sticky mess upon his palm.

"Care for a taste?" Jeno offered, his deep voice filled with mirth. That's all it really took for you quickly stride across the room to join him where he'd been sat at the sofa. He tossed the remainder of the popsicle atop its wrapper on the coffee table, instead pulling you into his lap as he pushed his tongue past your lips. You could still taste the cold sweetness on his tongue even as he sucked at yours, biting your bottom lip as his strong embrace loosens in favor of grabbing at your ass.

He thanks the heavens for your wardrobe selection today, your skirt making it so much easier to grind against your pretty little panties. If the wet spot forming on his pants was anything to go by, he'd guess you were just as needy as him if not moreso.

"On your back princess, I wanna try something." Jeno helps you take off your shirt as he lays you onto the leather, straddling over your hips before slowly making his way down to your breasts. He mumbles out praises for your body as his slowly warming mouth licks and sucks at your nipples. He separates from your body, drawing out a whine from your lips, when suddenly his now cold again mouth quickly works them to stiff peaks.

"You like that, baby?" You can only nod at his question, carelessly reaching for his hair, needing something to grab onto as he presses cold kisses across the expanse of your neck down your torso. "You're so sensitive for me, does a little cold make you this wet, hmm?" You blink up at your usually sweet boyfriend, only to find his gaze to be more hungry than playful.

"Answer me, baby? Or have I already fucked you stupid without even touching you?" The loud whine your body automatically let out as a response to his filthy words has you blushing frantically, only serving to further spur Jeno's near-sadistic behavior. "Aww, it's ok princess, there's no need to be embarrassed. You're gonna sound so pretty when you're cumming for me later, I just know it."

Before you know it, your skirt's flipped up to cover your abdomen, and it's near impossible to tear your gaze away from Jeno's fingers and how they seemingly glide across your wet lips. His tongue peeks out to lick at your clit before giving it a harsh suck, pulling back to bite at your thigh with a groan, and you just know he's left you with another blossoming mark. You always make it a point to complain about Jeno's marking habits, but he knew better; after all, he's caught you staring at them in the mirror before when you thought he wasn't home.

Frustrated that you had yet to be properly touched despite all your boyfriend's teasing, crinkling sound catches your attention, only to be met with the sight of Jeno sucking at that damned popsicle again. So much for hoping it was a condom so you'd finally be getting some. "Babe, pleeaaseee," you keen, wiggling your hips before biting at your swollen lower lip, trying to entice your boyfriend, "do something, anything."

"Anything?" But it's more of a statement than a question, as you soon find out. The remainder of your clothing is dragged off your body before the cool touch surprises you, but you're even more surprised to find Jeno fucking a brand new popsicle into your wetness. "Your pussy's gonna be so sticky and sweet for me, can't wait to watch you suck it off me," he all but groans at the mere thought of your heavenly lips sucking him off. The image of Jeno's colorful cum spilling out of you doesn't last long, as the freezing treat demands its presence be known, his tongue simultaneously going back to working at your clit.

Letting out a loud moan of his name, he looks up at you, squeezing you thigh with his free hand to draw your attention back to his face, intense eyes settling upon your teary ones. "Does it feel good, baby? Is it too cold?" You're touched that he's checking up on you, but it's really difficult to form words when his cold digits take over and fuck up into you with fervor.

"Don't stop, don't stop fuck Jeno please don't stop!" Just as you cry out for more, the man in question pulls away from you completely, leaving you high and dry just when it your orgasm was building up around his skilled fingers. Your eyes open to the sight of a shirtless Jeno with his pants and briefs pushed down just enough so that he can fuck up into his hand, giving himself just a hint of relief before moving on to the main event. Complaints die in your throat as you watch Jeno grasp both his leaking cock and the popsicle between his palms, rocking against the length of the sticky mess before once again pushing it into you a handful of times, ultimately discarding it off-handedly in the general direction of the coffee table it had been melting atop. "Think you're ready to take my cock now, princess? Wanna feel how well you take me," mumbling the latter against your lips, already having his tongue nearly down your throat as he aligns his tip, drawing out beautiful, desperate moans when he finally pushes in and sheathes himself inside your wetness to the hilt. You'd never even noticed when the rest of his clothes had gone missing, but you weren't complaining either.

"Fuck Jeno, how do you feel so hot yet so cold at the same time?" you shiver, simultaneously pulling closer and farther from his body, seeking the warmth from his chest while avoiding his freezing hands. He only chuckles at this, kissing further down your jaw before pausing to suck another mark, this time into your sensitive breast. Jeno's cold hands find purchase on your hips despite all your wriggling, bodies quickly warming up as the heat in the room rises on this passionate summer night. His hips work a strong rhythm into your own, pulling lewd melodies from the depths of your chest, raking your nails down his broad back in retaliation for making your things quake.

"Please tell me you're close, because I'm so turned on I can't guarantee I'll outlast you at this rate." The sheepish confession coming from a face that's anything but has you nearly combusting on the spot. His furrowed brows, parted, kiss-swollen lips and strangled groans all adding to your current heightened state of pleasure.

"Just a little more, Jeno I'm so so close. Feels so fucking good, just like tha-at," your eyes roll back as you're speaking and the cockiness that his features don immediately spell trouble. He's found your spot and he is whole heartedly planning to abuse this newfound knowledge. Both of your thighs are pushed up and pinned in place by your chest, his knees digging deeper into the leather; the glint in your boyfriend's dark eyes shining twice as bright in the now-evening glow, vision quickly blurring as his pace picks up considerably. His filthy praises besides your ear only helping your decent further into madness, bucking your hips into his as your nails dig into his shoulders for dear life.

"That's it, good girl, let go for me, come all over my dick, you can do it." As if by magic spell, your release floods your senses, a strangled cry of Jeno's name escaping your weak lips, babbling as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The colorful popsicle residue mixed with your own cum leaks out of you as Jeno pulls out of your warmth, and he stops for a moment to admire the art that would soon be once again ruined by raging hormones.

True to his filthy word, once you've recovered your still-horny lover is quick to lead your head between his legs, making sure you wouldn't forget the real sticky treat he'd made sure to save you a taste of. "Your mouth feels so good, so good, all for me, yeah?" he coos down at your form, blissed out as he enjoys the view.

It's his turn to be surprised however, when you pull off his cock to wink up at him, seductively murmuring for him to use you for his own release and fuck your throat. Not one that needs to be told twice, Jeno cups your cheeks as he holds you in place, slowly slipping into your mouth once again. He stops to make sure you're sure, asking if you're okay every time you whine or gag around him, not wanting to hurt you either.

Once you reassure him you're fine and start moving of your own accord, the loudest moan you've ever heard from Jeno to date spilling out, his head thrown back in sheer pleasure from the delicious sensation. You have all but a minute's worth of the upper hand before feline eyes are back on your own, silently asking for permission to begin moving his hips. Your silent response comes in the way your hands come up to his hips, ready to stop him if you needed to come up for air. A mere three thrusts in and Jeno is doubling over, sweet and filthy words coming out slurred as he's drunk off the feeling of your thigh throat around his length. "I'm so fucking close, oh my god," Jeno's ragged voice manages to rasp out, bucking wildly as you gag around his thick dick. "Gonna cum down your throat princess, yes or no?" He tugs at your hair to get your attention, briefly stilling his fidgeting hips. Your moan of an answer and the way you claw at his thighs to brace yourself being all the nonverbal cues he needs before he pulls out, sensitive tip all the way at your lips again, and you take in a deep breath just before he pushes back in so deep you feared you wouldn't be able to take it, the evidence of white, hot pleasure coating your throat in stripes.

Rather than the usual salty tang of Jeno's cum, the sweetness of the popsicle and taste of your own essence remaining the dominant taste on your tongue. You lick at your sticky lips as Jeno slowly pulls away from your mouth, hissing at how sensitive he is after such a powerful orgasm. He lays back before pulling you with him to lie over his chest, uncaring for the sweaty sheen adorning your bodies in favor of the peaceful embrace of your love. Many peppered kisses and high praises later, Jeno gently turns to press a lingering kiss atop your head, softly calling your name to beckon your gaze.

He breaks the silence by asking, "What do you say about trying whipped cream next time?"

"Sounds... sweet," you retort, much to Jeno's chagrin. At times like this he could easily see why his friends made fun of you two for your sense of humor. But for as much as he teased, he knew he would always be twice as in love with you as he ever claimed to be. And that.. was pretty sweet indeed.