#never kill yourself when you have points to make and arguments to win

[belbobiggins]

Certain people get so butt-hurt when you tell them that you think Sans has 1 HP. Yes, I do in fact know that his canon HP has never been confirmed, but I also know how to use context clues and deductive reasoning

Let's think about what we DO know. In battle, Sans' ATK and DEF are both set as 1. If we were to say that he had 1 ATK 1 DEF 300 HP, that sounds weird, unnatural, and just generally unlikely. By setting his HP to 1, it matches up with his ATK and DEF.

And I know what you're thinking: "Oh, but that doesn't confirm anything! That's not cano—" and to that I say ssshhhhh. Shut up and do your research. If context clues aren't proof enough for you, then you should know that in the game files, Sans' HP is set to 1. Now, using Mettaton NEO's stats in the files and such as an example, we could say that not everything in the files should be taken as canon. And that's true. However, I think it's silly to think that Sans' file HP being set as 1 doesn't line up with his canon ATK and DEF.

But here's a NEW argument... Sans' HP would actually be 11/1, NOT 1/1. When you play Undertale, the bunny clerk at the hotel tells the player that by sleeping, you can gain 10 HP to your current health. So naturally, as someone who's ALWAYS sleeping, this rule would apply to Sans as well. An extra 10 would be added to his 1, making his HP 11/1.

This would also disprove the idea that Sans could die by merely stubbing his toe or getting a single scratch. As shown in Undyne's house, if you choose to punch her even as weakly as possible, it still does 1 damage. Naturally, stubbing your toe would at least do 1 damage also, or maybe 2 at most. So by having 11/1 HP, Sans could thankfully avoid nearly dying if a strong gust of wind pushes him over. Because there is no way in Hell this man has never taken ANY damage.

THIS is my argument for why Sandstone Undertable has 1 HP (11/1 HP to be specific) and why you should take no bullshit from anyone who tries to tell you otherwise

[seasidefallenangel]

“those stupid things are going to kill you.”

“then i’m going to die happy.”

rin scowls as he watches you hang upside down on the couch, stuffing your face with sour gummy worms. you’re not sure why he always does this every time you have an unhealthy snack, but you pay him no mind regardless. he’s the insane athlete, not you.

this song and dance is familiar to you, so you easily tug the bag away when he swiftly tries to reach for it and pry it from your grasp. a displeased huff leaves him and he grumbles, “i don’t know why you insist on putting that shit in your body.”

it’s clear he’s only like this because he cares about you and your health, but he also doesn’t understand you don’t need such strict restrictions on your diet the way he does. a love language for sure, but one that gets a bit lost in translation.

“my wiggly friends would never betray me, rinnie. one bag every so often is fine,” you say while slurping a worm like a noodle, making him grimace from the noise. sensing the conversation will go nowhere he simply grabs his soccer ball from his bag and heads outside to get some practice shots in.

he’s also positive you don’t see the small smile on his face when you call out for him to have fun and that you love him.

“i swear i bought more of them…” you mumble to yourself, rummaging through the snack cabinet in your shared kitchen.

(snacks that are almost exclusively bought by you apart from rin’s protein bars that have the taste and texture of cement. eugh.)

unsuccessful in your endeavors, you instead head up to the bedroom to ask rin if he did something with them. you don’t think he’d do something like throw them away behind your back out of pure respect for your choices as an adult, but he could’ve accidentally moved things without realizing.

you push open the door, asking, “rin, have you seen my -” his head whips around with wide eyes full of guilt as he haphazardly throws something across the room. from his mouth hangs a solitary string, red and blue and filled to the brim with sugar.

sour gummy worms. your sour gummy worms.

a shit eating grin is already on your face as he groans and tries to defend himself. he doesn’t really have an argument though, not when it was so obvious he was indulging in the very thing he ridiculed you for.

“i don’t fucking - i just wanted to see if they were worth killing yourself over,” he mutters through gritted teeth. there’s no point to even trying, rin quickly realizes as you close in on him.

you lose your mind laughing at him while his ears turn pink. he scoots over with a sigh so you can flop onto the bed, singing out, “rin loves gummy worrrrms!”

it’s so unbelievably annoying, but he finds that he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke for a brief moment if it means seeing you so filled with joy.

plus, you’re too distracted to notice him grab another pack from his side table and shove a few more into his mouth. a win-win situation, he thinks.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

↝ series masterlist | masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | twisted into the miller brothers web, you find yourself deeply entangled in a complicated situation between the two and hell bent on self-preservation, you discover that running isn't always the best choice.

author's note | i was going to get this out before the end of the year if it was the last thing i did. i have never been so fully engulfed in a fic like this. it's just a little mini series, but i could talk about this shit for hours. thank you to everyone who's listened to my incoherent rambling and especially @gracieheartspedro who nailed down this ending when i was struggling so hard to decide. if you enjoy this silly story as much as me, ily.

content warning | 18+ smut, this is heavily joel miller x reader leaning, cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, death, joel's territorial <3, lots of unprotected sex going on 'round here, oral (f receiving), pain kink go hard, blood kink and consumption, biting kink, literal love as consumption, restraints, description of wounds from said bites, scarring, omitting a few tags for spoilers but please remember you are responsible for the work you consume, if you are ever feeling uncomfortable, do not continue reading. this is dark fic. that's the only warning i'm giving.

word count —13k, BITTER (part one)

“Killin’ is a viable option.”

Tommy groans, hand rubbing over his face as he leans against the kitchen counter, “They aren’t backwoods folk, Joel. You know that, we gotta be smart.”

“All they gotta do is get the law involved,” Joel points out, “fancy lawyers—“

“We’re selling to half that department,” Tommy argues, a long moment of silence before he adds, “and if you’d stop interrupting I’d tell you I already spoke to ‘em. Said I’d run it by you first before we set anything in stone.”

The big brother seal of approval.

You watch along curiously, stuck in the chair that Joel had a hand gripped around, sandwiched between them both as they volleyed arguments back and forth like they were fighting gladiators shoved in the colosseum—may the best man win.

“I still think we should just kill ‘em,” Joel chirps with finality, glancing briefly over your dumbstruck look, frozen somewhere between fear and shock, their voices fading in and out like muffled conversation, “make sure no one’ll come askin�� questions. Easy. You ain’t never had an issue with it before.”

The letter was still clutched in Tommy’s hand, a list of vague threats and accusations—the weird occurrences around the Miller property, the strange behavior of Tommy’s older brother, the smell. There wasn’t hard evidence, but they weren’t wrong either. A few minutes grazing the property and a look in the barn would confirm anyone’s suspicions—which, speaking of…

“Are you going to kill me now?”

 It was a brave thing to interject with, given Joel’s current hostility around the situation with their nosey neighbors and you, like a pest making a mess of his home. But, instead it was him. His mind—a foreign feeling that he didn’t like or intent to allow to wreak havoc much longer.

He’d kill you if he had to, if that was what it took.

Unsurprisingly, they both ignore you.

“Let me talk to ‘em tomorrow, Joel,” Tommy barters, “see if I can smooth things over.”

“Ya ain’t smoothin’ shit over, we know how this goes—you lose your temper and then we have a mess. Just take care of the fucking problem like I suggested.”

You knew the house, it was the only one within walking distance. Far off, covered by a line of trees and eclectic decor—you never thought much of it, under the impression that everyone in this town was as demented as the Miller brothers, most of the suspicions confirmed as the brothers continued to argue. 

It was an open secret—deranged and fucked-up, but there was full, completely loyalty.

If you had gone digging enough, you would have found out yourself. But, Joel wanted you to know. It takes a killer to know a killer—the wood of the chair cracks behind you as his grip tightens.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you,” Tommy comforts suddenly, a quick glance over of your injuries, “not intentionally, at least—”

“She fell,” Joel explains, a half-truth, “made a damn mess and wasted the scraps for the pigs—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns, returning his gaze to you, “You’ve been good to us, better than most. We can trust each other, alright? Ain’t no reason to think otherwise.”

He was sickeningly sweet, laying it on so thick you see right through the facade. He was upset, rightfully so, but you weren’t sure how much of it was directed at Joel and how much of it was directed at you.

“When did I surpass being a meal?” You turn your attention toward Tommy, flicking your eyes up briefly at Joel, “Was it before or after you fucked me?”

You expect it to be newfound information to Joel, but he doesn’t react in the slightest. He almost smirks, actually. A sudden, miniscule response that you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t so on edge.

“Now, darlin’—”

“Cut the shit, Tommy,” You retort, “When did it happen?”

“Still a chance, if you’re feelin’ persistent,” Joel taunts.

Tommy shoots Joel a dangerous glare before his face softens.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Tommy replies though you find it hard to believe him, “M’not sayin’ we’ve been this kind to everyone, but with you—s’different. Right, Joel?”

“Well, she does like the taste,” He grins viciously, a showing of teeth that sends your body into a full chill, “ate it right up, loved it.”

Your eyes shoot daggers in his direction and he shrugs, his tongue shoved into his cheek as he moves to stand, turning in a circle on his heels as he leans against the nearest surface.

“I mean it, you’re safe with us,” Tommy assures, “out there—we can’t protect you. And if you think we’re the monsters, you’re in for a rude awakenin’, baby.”

“Don’t,” You chuffle, a short laugh through your nose, “I’ll—I’ll stay, but this,” You wave your finger between him and you, before it circles the group, a discoordinated trio, “I don’t trust either of you and don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything, actually.”

Your anger was justified and Tommy didn’t try to argue, only sinking back in his chair with an ‘I told you so’ look on Joel’s face. Luckily, they leave you to gather yourself, ignoring the subtle sting from the wounds on your legs and your spiraling thoughts—you could wait until nightfall.

That was it—wait long enough until it was dark and they were both asleep and make a run for the only sane people in the nearest vicinity. They could help you and help take the two brothers down in the process, it was a fair victory for the opposing party and your only saving grace.

–

They retire to their rooms eventually, the insistent chirp of crickets keeping you awake, standing on sore legs as you move around the dark room and pulling on a warm pair of clothes to trek against the nighttime winds. 

You were careful, prying open doors with a quiet effort and allowing the softest steps against the old floorboard as you reached the door, immediately met with the deadbolt lock and an even heftier lock to keep you trapped–or to Tommy, safe. The house was silent aside from the sounds of nature, the occasional howling wind blowing through but you looked around, searching for another path—you had already made it this far, you weren’t going to go scrambling back.

If anything, the backdoor would have the same locks and your eyes scan the windows, closed shut but not inescapable. If either of them decided to wake, they would surely know. 

There was no time to deliberate or weigh the consequences, hurrying toward the living room window that led toward the yard, pulling it up with forceful but cautious precision, ripping at the screen.

It isn’t an easy feat, not nearly the path you would have chose, but you fell to the ground with a deft slump, careful of your fresh bandages and gravel under your hands as you land, wincing as you stand but peering inside of the house cautiously, determining if you needed to make a run for it.

Silence meets you. Dead silence.

The eerie feeling in the distance creeps in, eyeing the house over your shoulder that is still lowly lit but quite the walk, you turn on your heels and make the long walk there, wondering if darting off down the road would be simpler, continuing until you came upon another sign of civilization or normality, anything to save you.

As you grow closer, the muffled melodic tunes coming from the house start to drown out your stream of thoughts, the bass booming from the driveway as you grow closer. You careful approach the steps to their door, pressing a finger into the doorbell as it chimes throughout the house—the music lowers in an instant, quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, the door ripping open with a forceful gust of air, meet with the fierce scowl of an older gentleman.

It was hard to describe him, but there was so much going on—a peek at the inner house decor that screamed for a touch of neutralness, a mix of beaded necklaces hanging around his neck over a stretched out tank, barefoot as he approached you on the mat at his door.

It only dawns on you now that you hadn’t prepared anything—you were drawing a complete blank.

“You better start talking,” He speaks, a grittiness to his voice that stills you at your core, “botherin’ us in the middle of the night—”

“You’re right,” You blurt out, shaking your head slightly as you realize how abrasive it was, taking a breath before you speak slower, “about Joel and Tommy, you’re right. They’re bad people.”

His expression turns steely, jaw tightening as he straightens his back in an intimidating manner. You couldn’t mistake the whiff of alcohol on his breath, his drifting eyes down the length of your body, slowly realizing that this might have been a mistake.

Self-preservation had always come first, even if you didn’t think the Miller’s were the worst possible people you could have come across, they were unfortunate targets in the moment. 

“They—they are killing,” You point vaguely in the direction of the house, “it’s—the smell, it’s the bodies. They’re murders, you have to help me,” It comes out in a panic and you stutter as the confession rolls off your tongue, his expression only growing dark as time passes.

Fuck, he didn’t believe you. Of course—who would? 

Hey, you’ve got a couple cannibals for neighbors—let’s deal with them.

It was never that easy.

“You don’t think I know?” He responds, stepping into your space to send you stumbling backwards, but his arms lock around your biceps and keep you upright, but not for the reason he should, feeling the sting of pain as he squeezes down hard.

You gasp at the suddenness of it, “N—no, no! You have to believe me!”

“I’ve seen you helpin’ them,” He nods vaguely, “Think I’m gonna believe this shit? Where are they, huh?” The spit from his vicious reaction and volume sprays against your face as he shoves you to the ground, your arms skidding against the cement as you scramble backwards, trying to flee his quickly approaching figure, “They use you as bait?”

He’s over you before you have a chance to roll out of the way, your forearm presses up against his neck as he leers, glancing around for any sign of the brothers—silently praying that he was right in the moment, but you knew there was no one to help. Just you. Just him.

He forces you onto your stomach as your face was smashed into the rock path along the driveway, “Well, good—they can watch,” It makes your blood run cold, sensing the exact implication of his words as you calmly and slyly wrap your fingers around a palm sized rock, curling it in your fist as he leans back on his legs, twisting in his grip and bashing the rock blindly at his face, a grunt releasing from him as you make contact with his skull, falling to the ground with a dead weight as you scramble away breathless.

You stare at the sight, a man near death on his lawn before the whistle fades in—low and melodic as it approaches with the sound of heavy boots and speaking before you can react.

“Well, look at that,” Joel looks on in admiration, a small suspicion of amusement in his tone as he steps onto the lawn and peers over you, hand extended out blindly for help as he cautiously steps around the pooling blood of the now dead man, “little messier than I like, but you got the job done.”

If looks could kill—you’re seething, staring up at Joel with narrowed eyes as you take his hand and stand.

“I’ll give you some credit,” Joel continues, “You’re resourceful but predictable—suppose you can’t trust anyone in this town anymore, can you?”

He’s cocky about it, which pisses you off more. Undoubtedly, he was probably watching you the entire time, waiting in the shadows, undetectable. He’s mastered his craft, he killed people for a living. It wasn’t a mystery how he knew or expected your retaliation. But, his reaction is jarring.

“C’mon, up,” He yanks at your hand and helps you upright, instinctually brushing the clumps of grass and dirt out of your hair with a pinched expression as your eyes slowly drag toward the motion, unmoving out of…not fear. It was something indescribable, flinching at the heat of his hands as his eyes gradually rose toward the upstairs window.

“You know what happens next, right?” Joel asks, kicking at the dead body to roll him on his back, staring down at the lifeless corpse.

You didn’t need the whole speech—murder me now, please. Spare me the misery.

“Alright, alright,” Joel sighs, almost like he’s carrying on a conversation with himself—and with your silence, he was. But, he senses your fear, “well—you can’t just murder one and not the other, you little killer. You’re gonna take care of the other one, too.”

“Joel—I—” The adrenaline rush was waning, the bile in your stomach swimming and swirling.

His face hardens in an instant, forcing his hand over your mouth with a stern shake of his head as your eyes grow wide, “Ain’t time for excuses.  You made this mess—you’re gonna finish it.”

You blink slowly, searching for any sign of a bluff. It never comes, in fact, his grip only grows tighter until you answer, shakily nodding your head.

“Go on,” He urges, “I’m right behind you.”

He’d have a front row seat this time instead of waiting in the wings. 

Joel wanted a full taste.

–

The wife is tucked into bed when you finally find her, barricaded in her sheets and sleeping soundly despite the loud, blaring music when you first approach the house—you figured it was a regular occurrence, but you don’t linger on the thought long. 

You hold onto the thought of the husband and his unwillingness to hear you out, how they seemed to already have you figured out, wrapped up in the Miller’s web and just another willing accomplice, repeating the same careful steps from earlier that had clearly failed you as Joel breathed over your shoulder.

It needed to be quick—not entirely painless, but clean.

The vase to the left of her head seemed like an emergency option, the woman splayed out on her back as you searched around, knowing that you didn’t have long with Joel’s looming presence. You chew at your bottom lip as you reach carefully for the pillow beside her head and slowly press it over her face, a few seconds of calm before you find yourself in a predicament.

Climbing over her lap, you mount and press the weight of your palms into the pillow, face scrunched in concentration as the woman flails and shakes against the movement, grunting meekly as your hand slips against the scratch of her nails, glaring at Joel for a silent plea of help, realizing that she was putting up far more of a fight then either of you expected.

He waits until the last possible second, an unreadable expression on his face before he’s flipping the switchblade out of his pocket and piercing it through her clavicle, the blood squirting on your chest and face, rearing back instinctually as you gasp, her body falling lifeless in an instant.

“I can appreciate the effort,” Joel comments, wiping the blade off on the sleeve of your shirt before he pockets it again, “how’d that feel?”

You don’t realize your heart is racing until he asks the question—it was a similar feeling to a drug-induced high, slightly floaty and off-balance, your mind hazy as you blink, the stench of iron filling your senses and that strange look on Joel’s face returns.

You understand it then—lust, another subtle hint as he licks at his bottom lip out of reflex.

Joel would lick you clean if you let him.

You clear your throat and speak quietly, “What—what do we do?”

“Well, we gotta transfer ‘em to the house,” Joel explains, “So, you’ll stay here and wait—not run, that clear?”

You nod mindlessly, towering over your second dead body of the night.

You were far too deep now.

You don’t move—not really. You sink to the sheets beside the woman’s body but you listen dutifully, ears perking up at the roar of an approaching truck and door slamming followed by footsteps before Joel reappears again, seemingly breathing out a sigh of subtle relief as he spots you.

He’d never admit it, but you can see it.

It take a while, but eventually you carry both bodies into the bed of the truck and cover them with tarp, questioning Joel on what happens with the house, the evidence, everything that could essentially criminalize both of you—

“That’s above my paygrade, honey,” You’re not amiss to the change in his voice, his expression more relaxed as he shifts the truck into gear, “the sheriff handles all that for us.”

“And…the sheriff…he—”

Joel chuckles, “It’s everyone. Not just a group of us. We aren’t just sellin’ to townsfolk, either. It’s overseas, across the country. Shit is high risk, high reward. Why do you think I followed you tonight?”

So, he did follow you—he’d known the entire time.

“I saw the idea pop into your head earlier while Tommy and I were arguin’. Like I said, predictable. I’m not sayin’ you didn’t have a fair reaction, I get it. But, we can keep you safe.”

You cross your arms over your chest silently, skin and face caked with blood.

“But will you?” You retort, “Can I really trust you both?”

As the truck pulls in near the barn, the ignition falls silent.

“I want to,” Joel admits, “natural ability like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

A natural-born killer, he means.

“You feelin’ guilty right now?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised.

You shake your head quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Joel works silently to unload the bodies and load them in the barn as you sit quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the barn door as he drags tarp covered corpses inside with a brute strength unlike his brother, somehow spotless throughout the entire ordeal.

“I’ll move the truck in the morning,” Joel tells you as he pulls your door open, a hand waiting in assistance as you climb out on unsteady feet, the ache of your wounds coming back in waves as reality sets in.

“It is morning,” You retort, earning a huff of annoyance from Joel.

“You know what the fuck I meant,” He responds, his thumb flicking at a flake of dried blood on your collarbone as you stand in front of him, “Tommy’ll get pissy if you wash the blood off in the main bathroom—I’ll let you use mine.”

Your face contorts in a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Or I can hose you down out here, your choice.”

–

The house is as quiet as you left it, guided silently with the touch of Joel’s hand between your shoulder blades as you traversed the dark house—and you aren’t sure what you were expecting as you enter Joel’s bedroom, but it wasn’t this.

It was lived-in, personal; full of books and random trinkets, pictures lining the top of his dresser and walls—his family, you can only assume. A few pictures of kids that you surmise are Joel and Tommy, you avoid Joel’s gaze as you look around aimlessly, clearing your throat as you approach the bathroom, hearing the light flick on beside your head.

It was clean, at least. A dark colored shower curtain hiding the tub away from view and his bathroom amenities only slightly astray, probably from previous use that night. 

You turn to him with a quizzical expression, his expression matching.

“What? Somethin’ wrong?” He asks.

“It’s just—it’s…clean. It doesn’t—it doesn’t fit you, I guess.”

“I’m just a dirty old man to you, ain’t I?”

It’s a joke, but his delivery falls flat.

“I’m confused, I guess.” You tell him honestly, “Look at me—” A vague gesture at your own disheveled state, dirt and blood smeared on your face as he tilts his head against the doorframe.

“I am,” The deep timber to his voice strikes you at your core, a casual but unsuspecting answer, “I cleaned up for the night, wasn’t plannin’ on getting dirty again.”

“But, you’re always dirty.”

His job required that—but Joel was meticulous about his routine after he was done for the day. Dinner, a thorough shower, sometimes another if he was feeling particularly bothered, and the quiet of the calm house to lull him to sleep.

Unfortunately, that routine has been disrupted since you arrived. 

Like an infestation, you’d taken over.

Joel ignores you with a half-assed shrug and flicks a dried speck of blood from your nose.

“Go on,” He demands, “I’ll grab you some clothes and fresh bandages.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and nod as you gently swat his hand away, avoiding his gaze as you press the door closed enough that it doesn’t lock, but allows you the privacy to undress.

It feels good to clean the blood and grime away, scrubbing at your body until it burns, bathing in the distinct smell of Joel’s body wash, a faint hint of it always wafting off of him despite his usually dirtied state.

You can hear him moving quietly beyond the curtain, his shadow passing a few times as you’re expecting him to fold against the urge to peek his head beyond the curtain—something, anything.

You hated the forced gentlemanly facade. 

Once you’re out of the shower and dressed in clothes Joel had picked out, a matching set and a fresh pair of underwear that had you glancing sideways at him as his fingers peeked around the bathroom door with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages in his hands.

He kneels quietly with a concentrated expression, mirroring his actions from before. Wincing through the sting of pain as he cleans and dresses your wounds, catching his glances as the noises slip beyond your lips—an inconspicuous check-in, wordless.

You can’t help but fuck with him now, defenses down.

His eyes follow the way your hand smooths over the waistband of your shorts, your thumb slipping beyond the thick band as you lean against the mirror, watching as he taped down the gauze, “Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t it?”

“What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“The whole—bet you can’t guess what color underwear I’m wearing joke,” You play quietly with the waistband, fingers twirling in the drawstrings below your navel as your thighs spread against his guidance, his hand sliding down to your ankle to raise your leg higher in an effort to secure the bandage, “I see you wanted them to match,” You jest at him lightly, noticing the way his eyes immediately lock onto the apex of your thighs.

He brushes it off, a roll of his eyes as he finishes up his job, carefully piling up the trash on the floor as you slowly slide off the bathroom counter, leaving his head level with your waist. 

Had you asked yourself if you wanted to be this close to him twelve hours ago, the answer would have been different, but the downright pathetic look on his face as his eyes drag up your body and eventually land on your face are a powerful spell.

Slowly, your hands drift into his hair—surprisingly soft as the curls sway with your movement, gripping the hair tight and pushing his head back in the process, a low rumble in his throat at the action.

“Do you like that?” You inquire, his eyes darkening at the question as he sets his sight on something he wants—a primal gaze, almost like a warning.

“You tryin’ to make my brother jealous?” He asks, “Think I should tell him about your plan to rat us out—how it didn’t work and now you’re tryin’ this—”

“I can’t leave now,” You admit, still not fully settled with the idea but deep down you knew, “I—I do feel safe, you know. With you—”

You exhale shakily as his lips press against the sliver of skin beneath your shirt, just below your navel as his eyes fall shut, his tongue following the path as he presses surprisingly gentle kisses into the skin before his fingers are curling over the band of your shorts.

“Don’t trust me, though—do you?” Joel asks snarkily, eyes peeking open slightly as your lips part in a soft gasp as he pulls the clothing down your hips, peeling the underwear down with it.

One hand drags up your calf, calloused hands against soft skin as he pulls one knee over his shoulder and shoves your shirt upwards, giving him an obscured view of your cunt, lips spreading open with the movement and glistening with slick despite how much you tried to loathe him—there was a racing in your heart that differed from Tommy, like you know you shouldn’t be doing this but your body was demanding otherwise.

You shake your head lazily as it drops back, slumping against the medicine cabinet as he drags a finger through your folds, toying with your clit in small movements, silent as he drinks in every small sound you make, your opposite hand digging into the counter of the sink as his fingers dig into your thigh, opening your eyes as he presses his lips to your cunt, right against the mound and into the short, coarse patch of hair before he’s spreading his tongue out flat against you and licking a slow, tortuous line up the seam.

“Trust–trust is earned,” You reply breathily, “It, fuck—it takes time.”

Joel hums a response of approval as his nose nudges against your clit, tongue dipping inside of your hole as he stared up at you, even at this angle you could see the smug smirk on his face as he drank you in—Joel was still a frightful man, enough unknown that you found yourself wondering if the choices you were making were correct, if somehow this would cost you your life in the end.

But, then he’s pulling away, dragging his finger up the seam of your pussy as he stands, unbuckling his belt quietly as you strip your shirt away, not needing to be told or guided, his tanned skin flushed a subtle red as he unbuttons and parts his flannel, adjusting his jeans and underwear down just far enough under his balls that they sit snug against the fabric, his cock intimidatingly large against his even larger hands.

So much with Joel is unspoken, his intensity held in his gaze. Even from your first meeting, there was a look—and even now, he’s got that look. Like he’s trying to decipher you.

He flattens one hand against the bathroom counter as you spread your legs to accommodate him, his other hand grabbing at your ass to pull you near the edge before he’s running his hand down his shaft, the foreskin swallowing up the red, angered tip of his cock before he’s pulling back and rubbing his cock through your folds, gathering the wetness there and pressing inside with a pinched expression on your face, your breath catching as your hand twists into his shirt.

“That hurt?” He asks, his voice taking on a softer tone.

You nod fervently, “Yeah—yeah, it’s—you’re…pretty big,”

You weren’t trying to actively compare the brothers, but the thought passes in your mind and Joel notices the thoughtful look on your face, huffing out a laugh under his breath.

“Good,” That it hurts—he wanted you to feel it tomorrow, that it would be a constant reminder.

He’s a natural masochist, but he wasn’t about not enjoying sex. So, while he savors the soft hiss of pain at first, the dig of your nails into his chest, eventually you relax and turn to curling yourself around him, legs tight around his hips and your arms slung over his shoulders as he presses his forehead into your own and fucks you with a slow, powerful force of thrusts that make the walls shake—surely it would wake his brother, maybe that was what he wanted.

His mouth parted slightly, panting out hot against your skin as he glares at you—into you, through you, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he follows your trailing gaze, the precipice of your pleasure clawing over the edge of their metaphorical walls.

“Yeah, s’right there—isn’t it?” He taunts, a half smirk on his face as he watches you.

Always watching you.

You nod again, feeling the hand that was squeezing at your thigh digging into your skin as he used it for leverage, thrusting into you while he guided your hips toward him, using your body like he had full control over it. His other hand finds your breasts, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he’s rubbing his thumb over the quickly hardening bud, a shiver running down your spine.

There was nowhere to hide with Joel, all imperfections on display as your head lulls back against the mirror, eyes opening to find him matching your expression—somewhat sated but nearing the edge of his own release, he nudges his chin up and speaks, “S’this what gets you off?”

Your brow furrows as you tilt your head, his hand trading your breast for the hand twisted into his shirt, guiding it toward your clit as he gives you a silent order, your fingers circling the sensitive nub.

“Fuckin’ both of us—s’gonna be a hell of an issue when he finds out, you know.”

“Is this what you like—huh, talking about while you fuck?” You counter, “Your brother?”

His jaw shakes slightly as he gaze dips, admiring the way your cunt swallowed him up, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that was working at your clit, toes curling as your knees squeezed into his hips, that heat building in your core.

“I can talk about how he eats pussy better than you,” It’s teasing, an effort to get a rise out of him, “or do you—you wanna hear how he whimpers when he fucks me because he’s so pathetic? Is th—is that what you want?” His hips stuttered with your words, “He’s so much sweeter, you know? S’all soft and kind—”

Nothing like Joel.

His hand seems to loosen at the mention, but you shake your head.

“Oh, don’t ease up now, honey—I never said I liked it.”

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but you didn’t want to hear it, shoving your opposite hand over his mouth as you both spill over the edge, the ache of loss finding you as he pulls out, thick ropes of come panting your stomach as you clench around the emptiness, his teeth digging into the palm of your hand as he groans with his release.

“I’ll handle Tommy,” Joel promises as you both dress, cleaning yourself up as he buttons his shirt, “It’ll be easier coming from me.”

“You don’t have to lie, he should know—”

“I’m not,” He responds quickly, looking up at you through his downturned gaze, “like you said—trust is earned. You’ll earn it.”

How was a mystery—but what other choice did you have?

-

You learn very quickly that Joel was intentional in you earning his trust—not so much Tommy. He wasn’t surprised by your attempt to escape, but the marring of their neighbors—yours too, now—he was slightly disappointed. Hoping that he could spare you the gruesome side of things, that keeping you within the house and under his watch would help save your innocence about the entire ordeal.

But, he quickly finds out that isn’t the case.

And you find out how steady their diet of human meat was, a fridge stocked full of various cuts and textures, unsuspecting to the eye but you knew—and truthfully, the sickness dissipates after a month of eating that way. Tommy will occasionally skip a day or two, sometimes even a week.

Whereas Joel, he’s fully accepted his ways.

“How does it work?” You ask curiously, night has crept in and left both you and Joel, who you’ve gradually drifted toward lately, aware of Tommy’s lingering touches and fighting that feeling of betrayal on both ends—Tommy never seemed to mind you favoring Joel, even indirectly. However, Joel was territorial, overwhelmingly so. You wished you disliked it, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“How’s what work?” He asks, legs spread wide on the couch as take a seat beside him, legs curled under your body and the fire crackling beside you, his hair wet from a recent shower and his shirt sticking to his skin, “Tommy’s job?”

You nod quietly, chewing on a piece of dried meat, akin to jerky. 

You’ve willingly succumbed to the lifestyle over the past few weeks, partly to blame on Joel, but mostly out of your own morbid curiosity, finding that it wasn’t all that bad as the nauseous and general sickness fell dormant. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Joel answers bluntly, but honest, “He’s got some kinda system going, I do my job—cuttin’ things up, mindin’ my business. I just know it makes us damn good money.”

You wouldn’t be able to tell outside of their house, but they kept things well within the interior—they owned nice things, you assumed they were out of debt and had money saved back, but they lived beneath their means as much as possible. 

Joel liked a quiet life, you could tell. 

“I could help out more, you know.”

Outside of your general duties and decent pay—it felt lacking, like you could be doing more.

Neither of the brothers kept you chained or trapped, that much was obvious. And you didn’t feel the lingering threat of something to come, the need to run—the feeling of security was something you had searched out for a while and oddly, they provided that. 

In some sick, fucked up way, you felt protected. 

“Stock is runnin’ low,” Joel debates, his thumb circling the beer bottle between his legs, while his other trails along his bottom lip in thought, “I got an idea, dunno if Tommy’s gonna like it.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” You reply, “He cowers like a puppy when it comes to you.”

It was essentially a lure and catch situation—Joel never strayed too far, always on the outskirts while you found the next willing victim, it was always you approaching them, never the opposite. You were in full control and under very specific orders. 

Never people in town, always the stragglers. The more meek and unsuspecting the better, but it varied—after a couple months, Joel doesn’t even bother to stick around, sitting in his truck while you finish up the job.

And you’ve learned over time just how different Tommy and Joel are—Tommy prefers seclusion in the extremist of ways, more subdued with his affection when Joel was around and didn’t argue with him in your presence, almost like he was attempting to shield you.

Joel is out late in the barn when Tommy crowds you in the kitchen, a curious and longing stare out the window at the closed barn door, his tell-tale throat clearing as his hands wrap around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as you sip gingerly at the glass of water in your hands.

“M’glad you feel safe here,” Tommy murmurs into your skin, a soft peppering of kisses along your spine as he moves the material of your shirt out of the way, his fingers slipping beyond the thick waistband of your pants, shoving them down wordlessly, “ready for bed?”

“Not yet,” You admit, letting the silence linger before you speak again, “Can I ask you something—and I’m just curious, I swear.”

Tommy makes a noise of approval. 

“What happened to my car?” A laugh bubbles up at the thought and Tommy laughs too.

“I mighta sold it for scraps when you agreed to stayin’ with us long term. I was meaning to tell you, but you never asked…so I figured…”

Who cares, right? Truly, it was a piece of shit anyways.

You laugh softly at his advances as they grow more needy, your arm curling behind you to flex your fingers in his outgrown hair, “I want you to fuck me here,” You admit, his eyes peeking open as he leans over your shoulder to look at you, a salacious smile on your face as you lean back, rubbing your ass against his cock, growing hard underneath the confines of his sweats, before you turn to face him, “like this—right here.”

Fortunately, it takes very little convincing. He’s impatient in his movements, only getting both of your pants down before he’s pushing the head of his cock inside of you, a welcomed but comfortable stretch before his cock is fully seated inside of you, walls squeezing down tight as he buries his face into your clothed chest, your hands cradling his head as he rocks into you at a gentle pace.

“God, I’m never gonna get tired’f this,” Tommy groans weakly, a hand gripping tight at your hip as he quickens his thrusts, one hand falling back on the counter to support the forceful angle of his movements, laughing breathlessly at his comment, his head rises to look at you with complete and full admiration, “I’m serious, baby.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly divulges into an open-mouthed exploration as you trade sounds, feeling Tommy teeter closer to the edge of his own orgasm as his fingers drift against your clit, always assuring that you were taken care of first—it doesn’t take long, hands gripping the curtain above the sink as your whine loudly against his ministrations. 

Tommy is too distracted to hear the quiet creak of the door, but you’re not. The lights are off, only granting you a silhouette of Joel, but you know—he’s smirking to himself, closing the door behind him quietly as he freezes for a moment, seemingly locking eyes with your sated expression, your orgasm hitting you just as he passes down the hall, his face coming into view for a brief moment.

It was pathetic, how quickly your mind drifted to him even while his brother was buried inside of you, your grip on the curtain tightens, pulling the rod from the wall and sending it clanging down against the sink as it startles you back to reality, feeling Tommy’s hips stutter before he’s pulling out and you sink to the ground instinctively, lips wrapping around his cock as he releases the warmth of his cum against your tongue, a heady but tolerable taste that slides down your throat with ease. 

Joel is already gone by the time you rise to your feet, redressing quietly as Tommy examines the broken curtain with a subdued chuckle, tossing the few pieces of sheetrock in the trash.

“Sorry,” You wince, looking at him apologetically.

Tommy grins, his thumb rubbing down the center of your chin in a comforting way as he shrugs, waving it off, “Easy fix.”

The difference between the two is simple to spot after a while—Joel’s leniency with things comes to a head as Tommy’s rigidness battles for dominance. He doesn’t make it a habit to put his foot down often, but he was already increasingly hesitant as you started luring people back to the farm—while thankful, it was dangerous. You were good at it, without fail, but something was bound to implode.

–

“She’s earned it, you know,” Joel fights for you, the usual recluse encourages a night-out—a real one, no work, just pure enjoyment, “Ain’t much trouble to get into there.”

The bar, he means. With how often you frequented it now, it was like a second home.

You were coming up on your sixth month mark of living with the Millers, finding the stragglers came in like a cycle, every few weeks, and the town was due for more.

Tommy squints cautiously, turning in the desk chair as the heel of his boot scuffs against the flooring, “An hour—only an hour, don’t need you stickin’ out like a sore thumb.”

Joel, he means. He rolls his eyes in response, dressed more casual than you’ve ever seen him. It was a simple pair of jeans and a dark-colored shirt, but it made him seem normal.

It was unsettling.

“Don’t worry,” Joel smirks, “No one’ll touch her.”

Except him, you think.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious to your odd affection toward Joel, but he wasn’t privy to every detail. He didn’t know how often you snuck into Joel’s bed at night, sometimes after being on his own before that, the devouring looks and purposeful touches that always happened behind his back.

Joel knows you find comfort in Tommy, but there was something missing.

Something lacking.

Tommy eventually relents and you arrive at the bar a half hour later, Joel in tow.

And it is mostly uneventful, drinking amongst the other patrons with the loud rumble of music drowning out far away voices—Joel was stoic, like a bodyguard over your shoulder as he seemed to people watch, like he often did.

“You’re doing it again,” You tell him, peering up at him from your seat as he glances down, his glass pressing to his lips, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the occasional townsperson, seemingly shocked to see him. 

“No I’m not,” He argues, tapping his finger against your lips before he’s guiding the glass to your lips, a wordless order to silence yourself, “Drink, enjoy it—or all that beggin’ was for nothin’.”

Eventually, Joel lets you wander.

Even if it was to dance lazily a few feet away, practically begging him to join you with your hand outstretched, a constant scowl on his face as he refused. But, eventually someone takes that offer for him, obstructing his view with a grin—an older gentleman with wiry hair and rotted teeth.

There’s a few moments of uncomfortable movement before you’re making an excuse to flee toward Joel who snickers at your discomfort, a hand wrapping at your waist to pull you between his legs as the man, persistent as you suspected, approaches beside you.

“Tommy finally let his dog out of the house?” He asks over you, staring Joel down.

Joel chuckles at that, subdued as his hand tightens against your waist, hiding your own giggle behind a sip of beer.

“C’mon, sweetheart—I’ll show you a better time than this guy. Wouldn’t know how to care for a nice piece of ass like that—him or his damn brother.”

Joel stands then, without warning as he towers over the man and you as he forces you into the seat, “Get the fuck out of here,” It was the only warning he was offering, but it strikes fear through the man without fail, sending him scurrying off for the moment.

“Tommy’s gonna kill you when he finds out about that,” You comment as Joel approaches at your back, maneuvering you out of the seat to settle between his legs again, his large palm settling against your stomach as he pulls you against him, spotting the man again from across the room, staring you both down with hardened eyes.

“What he doesn't know won’t hurt him,” Joel argues, the surprising press of his lips against your neck as you jump at the touch, calmed by his reassuring words, “Gonna scare him off, alright?”

“How—” You’re cut off on a gasp as his hand travels up your shirt, squeezing at your breast as his teeth dig into your skin, mouth hung open as you stumble back against him, eyes fluttering closed at the stinging pinch of Joel’s teeth, hard enough that you fear it breaking through the skin

Surely, it does. 

As Joel raises his head and catches sight of the man’s widened eyes, he scurries off. He’s not amiss to your reaction to the bite, fingers clawing into his skin, moaning at the action. Really, he should’ve expected it.

“Turn around,” He orders, spinning you on your feet before you can react on your own, catching sight of your dilated pupils as you stare at him wondrously, a smile growing on your face as his impatience grows.

He ignores your wandering hands that crawl up his arms, gripping onto his large biceps before he’s hauling you out of the bar without a word, arm twisted behind your back as you tumble on your feet toward his truck parked in the far back of the parking lot, far away from the roar of music.

“Did I do something—oh,” You squeak, jumping back at the creak of the drivers’ side door as he sandwiches you between the seat and him, “wrong—Joel, did I—”

You’re stuttering but he isn’t answering and you begin to crawl to your side of the seat before he’s stopping you in your tracks, feet pressing against the step bar of the truck while the upper half of your body curls against the seat—and Joel, with his large and threatening presence, towers.

He works at the belt in your jeans, turning your head over your shoulder as he rips the leather from the loops of your pants, “Put your hands on the steering wheel,” He orders and you follow suit, watching as he quietly tightened the belt around your hands and through the steering wheel, rendering you immobile from the waist up.

“Wait—right here? But, there’s people—”

Never stopped you before,” He comments and your face heats at the mention, having never brought up the instance with you and Tommy until now, “I’m not a fan of waiting and I’m not against takin’ you in front of my brother—rather not, but…”

“You like having me to yourself,” You finish for him, a hum of acknowledgement following. 

Joel yanks at your jeans until they fall to your ankles, pulling them off alongside your shoes and underwear as he tosses them over your head and into the passenger seat, sinking to his knees without a word as he parts your legs, licking into your with warning as you gasp, your hands yanking against the leather belt.

He squeezes your ass in his hands, spreading you open as he dips his tongue inside of you, forcing you up on your toes as you curse into the seat of his truck, forehead pressing into the fabric as your hands are stretched over your head. 

He’s got an idea…a lingering suspicion as he trails his lips along the inside of your legs, never quite kissing or lingering, just a slow drag before he’s digging his teeth into your skin, a sharp pain that makes your pussy clench, his eyes locked on the action as he bites down. 

Instinctively, you yank against the binds, the urgency growing as he bites down more, picking various places along your legs until he decides to bite into the fleshy cheek of your ass, purposefully breaking the skin—the tiniest drop of blood pooling at the surface before he licks it away. 

He repeats the process, trading between bites and licking at your cunt until your orgasm catches you by surprise, panting against the seat as you catch your breath with his satisfied presence looming behind. 

Quietly, he rustles with his belt and slides into you without a word until he’s got his hand tucked up under your chin, wrapped around your throat as he presses you against the seat with his chest, turning your head to the side to catch your already fucked-out expression, more turned on from the biting than the fact that his dick was finally inside of you.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Joel remarks, watching the smile spread across your face, “You like it when I bite you? The pain?”

You shake your head with a soft hum, “S’nice, but I like you marking your territory.” You watch his face morph into something indecipherable as you laugh, “Got you really riled up in there, didn’t it?”

“Gotta let them know to lead you back to me if you go runnin’ off again,” Joel taunts, grunting against the shell of your ear as your walls squeeze down when the head of his cock nudges at a particular spot inside of you that steals your breath away, “Yeah—that? That right there?”

You nod weakly, wishing you could touch him—claw at his skin, grab on and take hold, but you were left helpless. Though, somehow it was more comforting this way. Joel was increasingly careful of the authority you tried to hold over him, never allowing you to have the upper hand—and you didn’t mind it.

Again, it was the stark difference between he and Tommy, who’d be willing to bend to your will if you asked, eager to please you, but with Joel, it was kismet. He always knew what you were thinking before you even spoke about it.

And as the ache in your wrist grows into full discomfort he releases them without a word of acknowledgement, lips parted with bated breath as you turn until your back is pressing into the seat, legs wrapping around his waist as he hoists you up with his brute strength, releasing a loud moan of expressive pleasure as you surge forward, pressing your lips against his before he can object, licking into his mouth with profound eagerness as his nails dig into the skin at your hips, his balls tightening with an impending release as he returns the wet, sloppy exchange of lips.

It stalls him for a moment, the sensual pace of your lips pulling his focus up, your tongue twirling around his own before they trail to his lips, your lips dragging down his chin, along his jaw, before you’re biting against where his jugular would be hiding under his skin, not nearly hard enough to cause any damage but enough to have his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering.

“Don’t—don’t pull out,” You tell him through a murmur, running your tongue along the mark in a soothing gesture, catching his gaze as he looks at you, “What? Are you scared, Joel?”

Not scared—Joel wasn’t sure he could emulate that emotion anymore, but it was far too personal for his liking, even with the few partners he’s had in his life he’s never crested beyond that, purposeful in his abhorrence distaste of kids or the possibility of, but you have him completely under your spell and he shakes his head.

“S’just you—wouldn’t want it to be anyone but you.” You assure him, his expression softening as your thumb trails along his bottom lip, eyes locked on his own as his thrusts stuttering through his own orgasm, face pinching at his brow, your breathy moans guiding him through as he pumps your pussy full, feel the warmth seep down as he eventually pulls out, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs.

“Get in the car,” Joel instructs as he tries to catch his breath.

His silence on the ride home is deafening.

–

Joel is more stoic and pensive over the following weeks—spring is always harder on the business, or so he says, and selling overseas picks up quicker, it wasn’t something they could explain but it was a constant trend; high demand, high reward. It was quite stressful, really.

So stressful that eventually things are beginning to run thin and you become the source of stress relief for both of them—in different ways, but nonetheless.

Tommy would rather cuddle up with you on the couch while you lull him to sleep with your magic fingers, dragging through his hair—it was gentle caresses and quiet conversation that he found comfort in, but Joel was always unpredictable.

Sometimes it was just sharing a meal—his weird obsession with feeding you; providing, in a way? You couldn’t make sense of it, but it never made you feel uncomfortable.

“Have you ever gotten a bad batch?”

“We’re careful,” Joel reminds you, “It’s why we test all of ‘em before we go through the process.”

“Is that why you sent me?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

You stare at him blankly, waiting.

“Yeah—we had to make sure you’re clean.”

“But now?” You push, your tongue pressing against the underside of the fork as he brings it to your lips.

“I trust you,” Joel admits, “You’ve kept up your end of the deal.”

It was conversations like this that led to Joel’s affinity toward you, a drunken night several weeks later leading you both outside after Tommy had already fallen asleep, walking backwards as your fists curled into Joel’s shirt as his hand cupped your head, licking into your mouth as he unintentionally led you toward the barn door, both of you separating as your back hit the creaking wood.

You pull apart, peering curiously over your shoulder and attempting to look through the cracks, awaiting Joel’s reprimand that never comes. 

“You wanna see inside?” He asks curiously.

“You’re fucking with me—”

“It’s a yes or no, darlin’.”

“Yes—yesyes, I do.” You spit out quickly, curiosity getting the best of you as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and snakes it into the lock, unlocking and prying the door open, met with full and complete darkness as he leads you inside, his chest close at your back.

He reaches blindly for the lights out of memory and you’re engulfed in the blaring lights of a spotless room—almost like a medical office with the array of equipment lining the walls and the long embedded tables, something reminiscent of what you would see at a mortuary for draining bodies and embalming, probably to help with the mess.

You sniff slightly, curious about the lack of smell as the door closes.

“That’s partly the animals, but we dispose of some of the shit the pigs can’t eat out behind the barn.”

“Like what?” You stare at him incredulously, eyes wide.

“Clothes, shoes—s’why we have the barrels burning every couple weeks when the stench gets too bad.” He spots your itch to explore, that glistening curiosity in your eyes as you relax at his answer, “Go on, look ‘round.”

You’re not ignorant to the absence of bodies—it was confusing to see a place so clean come from a man who always left work looking like he had brought half of it home with him.

There’s an array of knives and confusing cutting devices that you trail your fingers along, a bonesaw lying against the table lining the shelves, a stack of papers with faces and names, various info that you took a glancing look at, attempting to avoid the idea of putting names to faces and treating the people as anything other than product—it was how Joel lived, as disconnected and separate from the ideas possible.

“Usually it’s messier in here,” Joel admits, your lips parting in a surprised gasp as he presses his lips to your neck, “—we can fix that, though.”

“Joel Miller,” You respond in a scandalized tone, “what exactly are you implying?”

“I’ve got a room upstairs,” Your eyes flick up, spotting the loft overhead—that would explain the long nights when you wouldn’t see him at all, his comfort with being more openly affectionate outside of sex has grown slowly, turning your head to face his over your shoulder as his gaze trails up in another silent question, “unless you’ve got another idea—m’just dyin’ to get inside of you, honey.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip in faux thought, already knowing your answer as you were brimming with excitement, resisting the urge to drag him after you.

“Yeah?” You tease, his lips pressing against your soft, kissing you soundly.

“Yeah,” He responds against your mouth, a rare moment of calm, a sweet exchange before he’s chasing after you with a swift slap to your ass.

–

It was essentially an extension of his bedroom, cozy and homey, you find yourself stretching out on the rug rather than the couch, watching as he carefully kneeled to the floor, cursing his achy knees as you giggle, spreading your legs open to invite him in.

“The things you do for me,” You joke, slowly unbutton his flannel as he yanks you towards him, knees falling against his hips as his palms grip either side of your, his thumbs rubbing against the soft skin underneath your shirt, “careful—I might think you love me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Joel replies easily, stripping your shirt over your head as your breasts bounce free, removing your jeans with the same impatience before he’s immediately latching his lips onto your breasts and lazily trading off, biting teasingly into the skin as he looks up to gauge your reaction.

If Tommy notices Joel’s evidence that he leaves, he never says anything. Perhaps it was unspoken, maybe they’ve talked it out—it was information you weren’t privy to, but you didn’t question it. He could smell his brother all over you and he was dying to rid you of it, baring his teeth as he bit into the flesh of your breast, a satisfied hum coming from you in response.

“Do you want that?” Joel asks again, “To be loved—ain’t somethin’ you’ve felt much, is it?”

Quietly, you shake your head.

“Well, you’ve got my brother by the balls,” He chuckles knowingly, “I’m sure he’d marry you if you asked—I ain’t good with words, but I can show you—”

Curious, you watch as he stands, grabbing a sharpened knife off the end table before he’s returning to you, “Somethin’ my parents passed down to me—never used, just like lookin’ at it.”

“We’re not about to Romeo and Juliet ourselves, are we?” You joke lightly, half-serious.

Joel grins wide at that, a full belly laugh following as he slices his palm with a squint of pain before he’s allowing the blood to pool in his hand as beckons you forward with a finger. You rise on your palms and stare curiously before he’s directing his hand to your mouth, lips parting wordlessly as the deep crimson hits your tongue, eyes falling shut as you sucked at the wound.

You were so accustomed to the rich, irony taste that it isn’t even a surprise, moaning as the blood slides down your throat and his fingers curl, squeezing more blood out for you to consume before he’s sliding his hand over your mouth and down your chin, stopping against your chest as he smears it with blood, one-handed as he shrugs his flannel off and rips his shirt over his head, tearing the fabric apart in strips like butter, not a sign of struggle.

He ties the fabric around his wound before he’s wordlessly handing you the knife.

“My hand?” You ask curiously.

“S’up to you,” He admits—the wordless blood trade vowing his affection toward you.

It was something far deeper than love, you think. Devotion. Loyalty. 

“Wherever?” Your eyebrow raises as Joel seems to clock the moment the idea comes into your head, trailing the blade along the inside of your thigh, up your stomach, along your breasts.

Eventually the tip of the blade finds a spot against your inner thigh, Joel’s hand careful adjusting your placing as he speaks, “Careful, there’s an artery there,” Further down, you brave the initial sting and slice through the skin, watching as the blood rose to the surface and Joel quickly descends, knife clattering to the floor as he sucks the flesh between his lips, his tongue lapping against your skin.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. So intense you could descend into madness as Joel eagerly lapped up the blood, even as he pulled away going back for a second time, a third, rising with blood stained lips and the crimson liquid pooling on his tongue as he pulls you toward him, mixing the taste of his blood with your own as he kisses you, a messy exchange of fluids as you claw at his skin, rising to your knees to match him.

Silently, you work at his jeans, unbuttoning and pulling them down his lips alongside his underwear—Joel works them the rest of the way before you’re pulling the hand supporting him over you out from under him, straddling him into the rug as your cunt sat directly over his cock, feeling him grow harder underneath you, a sight to behold with blood dripping down the corner of his mouth.

“I want more,” You tell him honestly, his cock twitching at the words, reaching for the knife laying beside his head, “Can I have more?”

Joel nods wordlessly, slightly breathless.

It was a trading battle of surface wounds, just enough to spill blood but nothing deep enough to cause any damage—surely looking insane as you straddled him with a smile, blood-stained lips yearning for more. Joel has a drunken haze to his expression, committing the sight to memory as he squeezes at your hips, rutting his cock between your soaked folds.

“Enough,” He says softly, barely above a mumble as he tosses the knife aside, rolling you underneath him before he’s sliding home inside of you, a hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped at your knee, pulling it high over his hip, near his chest as he thrusts into you, a controlled but needy pace that was followed by low, pitiful groans of pleasure.

You’d broken this man.

His head was buried in your neck, your hand trailing down his back as you squeeze into the flesh of his ass, the fingers off your opposite hand carding through his hair, pulling gently at his curls.

“Got so much of me inside you now,” He breathes into your skin, “fuck—I’d eat your right up, baby.”

Despite his obvious lifestyle, your laugh is careless and light.

“Greedy,” You note, “I’ve already given you a taste and you’re asking for more?”

He doesn’t respond, not really. His hips are sharp, forceful as his cock spears itself inside of you, rubbing against the sensitive spot inside of you, eyes fluttering shut as it overwhelms you.

“Take a bite,” You encourage him, “f’that’s what you want.”

A real one.

Enough to scar, to leave a permanent mark and reminder of him.

One, two—you didn’t care.

His teeth drag over your breasts, tongue trailing around your hardened nipple before he’s biting into the skin at the top of you breasts, a gasp ripping from your throat as your walls flutter around him, tightening at the pain that slowly transfers to pleasure, glancing down at the small gash and trail of teeth marks in your skin. 

He’s admiring, finger running over the wound before he’s rising on his knees, continuing the thrusts of his hips but slowing as he reaches for your hand, pulling you upright again.

“You–do you want me to?” You ask cautiously, feeling the blood from your wound trail down your chest, “Are you sure?”

“Ain’t never been sure ‘bout nothin’,” Joel admits, “but—this…yeah, I want it.”

It shouldn’t make you hesitate, but it doesn’t. He isn’t emotional or forceful—it was like a plea, disguised behind his facade of stoicness. He needed this devotion just as bad as you. He needed someone to put his own trust into.

When your teeth dig into his side, he hisses, his right hand cradling your head as the other curls tightly into a fist, your face pinching up as you bite beyond the first layer of flesh and taste the liquid against your tongue.

He pulls you away eventually, looking down at you with a newfound expression.

This was love—not the lust you were used to seeing.

The rest of the evening is quiet, his pace gentler before he brings you to a slow orgasm, coming inside of you nearly seconds after with a soft moan, persistent that the wounds needed to be cleaned immediately after a few moments of rest.

He tapes it away with a gentle care after cleaning and applying an ointment to fight away any possible infection, snorting at how fatherly it all seemed, even helping you situation your top back on.

“At least we spared the rug,” You break the silence, “guess you aren’t as messy as I thought.”

“Oh, I can be,” He assures you, noticing the scabbed up bit of your lip that had become victim when he’d bit into your, biting down to silence yourself. Just a small movement and the wound reopens, completely unintentional but he sucks the blood away from your bottom lip in a soothing gesture before he kisses you soundly.

You only hoped the bliss would last.

–

Eventually, the implosion comes. But, instead of gradual—it was all at once.

Tommy’s birthday was supposed to be a quiet affair, something at home, between the three of you, not having time to celebrate during the week on his actual birthday like you had planned—but eventually Tommy finds himself antsy and Joel senses your annoyance as he keeps finding excuses to slip away or cancel. He encourages Tommy to go off on his own, leaving you both sprawled out on his bed after a rousing round of sex that leaves you both sweaty and breathless, resting your arm against his chest as you stare at him, “What’s up with him lately?”

“He’s good at acting, isn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a reason he keeps to the books, you know—why I do my job alone.”

Your eyebrow raises in a silent effort to urge him to continue.

“When I’m angry, you’ll know—” That much was obvious, having been on the receiving end plenty, but Tommy—it was unnatural to see anything but his kind, bright smile.

“He’s my brother—but there’s plenty of shit you haven’t seen yet. And I think it’s unfair that he’s actin’ like things are normal, like he can keep that act up, but something’s gotta give—”

“So what, is he like…a psychopath or something?”

Joel’s silence is telling, jumping up from your spot as you settle on your knees.

“He’s a fucking psychopath?”

“No—no,” Joel excuses, your face contorting into a mix of confusion and amusement.

“You took a long time to answer that.”

“He has episodes—periods of time where he ain’t himself. I can’t explain it and my parents refused to take him to the doctor—you know, backwoods folk and all. If we had a problem we toughed it out.”

“So, he’s got anger issues?”

Joel shakes his head, lips pursed into a tight line.

“He’s killed a couple people—by accident.  Least, that’s what he calls it. Tried killing me a few times, too. I’ve always been good at talking him off that ledge, thankfully. M’not trying to turn you against him but I’ve grown up around him, I know how to handle it.”

It was a lot of information to consume at once, still naked in Joel’s sheets as you adjust to sit more comfortably, a small peek at the scar near his ribcage as the sheets shift down.

“He’s lucky we do what we do—he’d probably be in jail otherwise, I’m just telling you because—“

“If it came down to me and him, you’d choose him.”

Joel pauses, his face softened as his lips downturn.

“It’s okay,” You shrug, “Let’s just hope it never comes to that.”

Truthfully, Joel wasn’t sure anymore.

After years with Tommy, he’d grown tired. It was exhausting, fighting between the battling personalities that lived within his brother.

“C’mere,” He beckons, your nose scrunching up as you grin, fitting your face between his waiting hands as he pulls you back over him, kissing you slowly.

A gentle calm before the storm.

–

The arguing is what wakes you first, not the roar of the truck, voices trailing toward the barn.

The bed is empty too, not a single remnant of Joel in sight.

But, you hear him. Loud, angry.

By the time you’re outside the barn is already closed, illuminated by the light inside as you pry the heavy door open, several underdressed with only a shirt to cover the underwear clinging tight to your skin, bare feet digging into the dirt as your feet scuff against the cement and the door falls shut behind you.

“She doesn’t need to know, Joel!” Tommy’s voice cracks, a slight slur to his speech.

He’s drunk, clearly.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tommy—one night and you pull this shit? It’s exactly why dad had a tight leash on your ass for so many years—”

“Need to know what?” You ask suddenly, breaking through the tension as your head peeks around the corner, both of their heads whipping toward you, Joel moving subtly to block the body that you spot on the table, eyes widening. 

It had always been something you and Joel had managed together—Tommy had never shown an interest, didn’t seem to care, but this…

“I’m just tryin’ to carry my weight ‘round here—is that why you like him more?” Tommy asks suddenly, his eyes glazed over and dark as you step forward.

“I invite you into our home—give you a place to stay. I—I stuck up for you when he wanted to throw you out and you chose him? My own fuckin’ brother?”

“He’s drunk,” Joel states blankly, almost dismissive of his rant.

“No—no, let’s show it off, Joel.”

Tommy comes at you with a knife, slicing it down the middle of your shirt as you struggle against him, ripping the fabric away and showing off the healing scar on your chest.

“What happened to no attachments, Joel? No baggage?”

As Joel moves toward Tommy to remove the knife, he lunges at Joel and pushes him out of the way, leaving you with a clear view of the woman laying on the table, an eerie resemblance to yourself as your eyes widen, stepping toward the table as you glance over the body—unmoving, still. She was already too far gone, with no signs of what Tommy had actually done to her.

Your head snaps up at the brawling brothers, screaming for the attention to break through their rage, Joel burying his knee into Tommy’s back to subdue him.

“Why her?” You ask him—Tommy, looking directly at him as you point to the lifeless body.

“Get the fuck off me—” He argues through gritted teeth, attempting to shake his brother off him.

“Why—her?” You stress again, walking forward to crouch in front of him, uncaring of how your body was bared to him in your vulnerability.

“Thought I could give Joel his own version of you to play with—but she wasn’t cooperating. That what you wanna hear? I had you first—motherfucker won’t let me have a single thing to myself.”

“Let him up,” You instruct Joel, backing away slightly.

As Tommy stands, you approach him, his face tight and unrecognizable. 

He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a stench of something else that made the bile in your stomach rise, “I never chose, you both had me. You would continue to have me, but this—Tommy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ lecture me, not you,” He bites.

You stare at him with a growing sadness, “You’re drunk—really, really drunk. You’re gonna sleep this off and you’ll regret everything you’re saying right now, I know it. I know you.”

Something seems to snap in Tommy—attempting to rip away from Joel as you scramble toward the floor.

Tommy gets a solid right hook in, something that, if any normal person would have delivered would have left Joel unphased, but Tommy had his advantages, similar in size and stature to Joel, it was barely a fight as Joel dropped to the ground, hitting hard enough that both of you freeze, a slow ring of blood pooling from his head as your chest clinches in a mix of anger and resentment, but your body flinging into flight mode, fleeing while Tommy has distracted by the possibility that he killed his own brother.

Unfamiliar with the place you scramble to hide, unsure if running off would help after your last try, squeezing into a closet buried in the back corner behind a pile of yard tools and mowers, watching as Tommy dropped to the ground.

You could hear him mumbling to himself—a mix of self-assuring words and back and forth conversation, as if someone was responding to every word he offered.

“He���s dead—yeah I killed him,” He mumbles, “if I—if I chop him up, chop her up. Fuck,” His head whips over his shoulder, realizing you were gone, “gotta find her—but Joel, deal with him first.”

Your eyes widen at the firsthand witnessing of exactly what Joel had admitted to you—like some kind of bad omen of what was to come, you sunk down into the darkness and hide yourself away, watching as Tommy roamed around for tools, not a moment of hesitation as he intended to follow through on his plans with Joel’s lifeless body awaiting it’s demise.

It feels wrong, tossing a bone saw aside carelessly as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, flailing tools around wildly, a knife clattering so far away that it lands near your feet, small enough to wrap your fist around as you grab it quietly, awaiting Tommy’s approach to Joel.

Sometimes takes over, not entirely yourself as you crawl from the spot you were hidden in and lunge at Tommy, planting the knife between his shoulder blades as pressed the blade against his own brother’s neck, his blood curdling scream ripping through the barn as he dropped to his knees.

“You bitch,” He groans, shouting out in pain as you remove the knife and sink into his spine, a few seconds of struggle before he slumps to the ground, his eyes dragging toward your shaking frame, bloodied hands rubbing your hair away from your face as you stare down at Tommy’s face, his lips parting as he gasped for air but instead find blood dripping from his mouth.

You drop to your knees, the air stolen from your own lungs but for different reasons.

Both of them dead, within a matter of minutes and it was all your fault.

“Fuck, fuck–” You cry, slamming your fist into cement, but quickly startled by the rousing beside Tommy, almost blaming it on a break in your psyche before Joel is mumbling your name, pressing his fingers into his temple as blood coats his fingers, a sizeable gash on the side of his head as he sits, slowly picking apart the sight before him.

“Oh, honey—what did you do?” Joel asks, glancing down at Tommy’s lifeless body and up at you—surprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of anger.

“He thought—he thought you were dead, he had a knife at your throat,” You rambled in a panic, “He kept saying he was going to chop you up—chop me up. I don’t know, I fucking panicked.”

Joel remains wordless, staring into the deep abyss of blood pooling on the floor.

“I’m so—I’m sorry. I’m,” The emotion is like a tidal wave, “Joel—I panicked. I swear—”

Joel grimaces against the sharp sting of pain as he reaches for your face, his blood covered hand pressing against your face, fingertips wrapping around the back of your head as he forces you to lock eyes with him.

“Look at me,” He demands, waiting until your eyes lock on him, “This is the part where you promise—and I mean promise, that you won’t fuckin’ run off.”

“No—never. Never, not,” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the thick tears, “Never again, Joel. I promise.”

“We handle this together,” He explains, “I’ll protect you but you have to say it.”

“Anything,” You nod, leaning forward on your hands to move closer to him.

“Say you’re loyal to me—that you’ll listen and do whatever I ask, without question.”

“I am—I am. Joel, I’m loyal to you. I love—I love you. I need you to know that.”

Joel sighs, head bowing.

“I would have chosen you over him. I couldn’t admit that to myself earlier, but I’m telling you now. Tommy’s always been a manipulator, I tried warnin’ you. Months ago.”

You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.

“I won’t run. I promise, Joel.” You assure him, because with Joel you felt that protection.

A silence falls before you speak again.

“What happens now?”

“You follow my lead, that’s all I need.”

[monolotus]

Why Seventeen would stop an argument

So, arguments in a relationship are healthy, and your boyfriends knows how to handle discussions after so many years with his bandmates. But, why would they stop the discussion or end their bickering?

SCOUPS: To cuddle aggressively

“You can´t go to sleep angry at eachother" Most people could, your boyfriend tho? He would rather die.

It really doesn’t matter what you two fought about. It doesn´t matter if you two were in the edge or just discussing an online debate- he will make you cuddle him at night.

“Seungcheol, i´m still mad about you killing me in LOL and laughing it off with Wonwoo" Oh, too bad, because he will make you the little spoon and kiss your face multiple times.

One time he didn’t cuddle you after a small fight, and when he turned to look at you, he saw your puppy eyes. "are you that mad?" you asked, and his heart broke. "i thought you didn´t like cuddling after a fight"

After that, he never lets you go to sleep without his arms around you.

JEONGHAN: He is just too soft for the atmosphere

You know how he doesn´t fight with Scoups because he just doesn´t create the atmosphere to create a fight?

It´s the same thing with you.

Yes, maybe he did arrive two nights in a row too late to your house. But he is quick to apologize, promising to spend the whole weekend glued to your side (and actually doing so)

Yes, maybe he did reschedule your date to go hang out with his friends, but he shows up in your favorite outfit of his, handing in a bag of clothing for you for the night.

But, when the fight does eventually break out, he doesn’t yell nor raise his voice. He tries to understand where you’re coming from, and explains his point of view.

He will do his best to meet you in the middle of the solution.

JOSHUA: To offer a sarcastic apology and instantly regret it.

That big mouth of his…

You were craving fried chicken, and you had told him.

And, he knew that in his way to your house after his schedule he would pass a restaurant that sells fried chicken… it’s self explanatory, right?

“I’m sooo sorry I didn’t read your mind, M'lady… wait come back.”

So, when that big mouth of his tries to be sarcastic about your cravings, and he sees you rolling your eyes and going on your phone, he knows he talked too much.

He rushes towards you, ready to order the whole chicken store for you.

You really tried to hold in your laughter, but it’s so hard when he is being sarcastic towards himself.

And, oh well, that big mouth of his does say really cute things to make it up to you.

JUN: Because he suddenly feels bad for the neighbors hearing all the tea with no context.

It was a stupid online debate thing.

It really, really was.

But your boyfriend is a hot headed, and you are too witty with your words.

And you two end up raising your voices to make yourself heard over the other´s voice.

The problem? your apartment has, well, apartments walls.

And when you two hear a loud laugh after your boyfriend makes a really bad point, he remembers how thin the walls are.

“wait, are they going to think i’m in the wrong?”

“i need to calm down. i can’t have your neighbors thinking you’re dating a dumb ass”

HOSHI: Because he got too passionate and forgot to breathe properly

he’s rushing trying to find the right words.

he’s rushing as his brain works faster than his tongue.

the problem? he only has two lungs.

“𝑤ℎ𝑦 ᶜᵃⁿ´ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 ˡⁱˢᵗᵉⁿˀ"

you couldn’t breath properly, he really ran out of breath… from just talking.

he laughed it off before hiding his face behind his hands.

Good to say, you won that one round.

in the next one, this was obviously brought up. And also at the next get together with his friends

WONWOO: Because he can’t multitask and the microwave just beeped.

He really wants to win this argument, he does.

But, the microwave keeps beating, and his attention keeps on going to the little rectangle.

“That was the most passive-aggressive BEEP I’ve ever heard. I have to check on it.”

He was so frustrated as he walked to the kitchten, especially after listening to your loud laugh.

is not his fault tho? He has to put his whole brain to win this argument, but he keeps being distracted.

WOOZI: Because your sad face made him laugh by accident.

It was a serious conversation.

Jihoon was trying his best to not sound too serious or mean.

He even kept a guide on his notes app to not loose track

But then, he looked up.

“Stop. Why do you look like a guilty cartoon dog?”

Your eyes were bigger than usual, and they weren´t really filled with tears, but the light was hitting enough for them to shine

Ah, the award winning writer can´t follow his notes when it comes to you.

MINGHAO: To tell you that your outfit is lacking, even if you’re being annoying

He had had a rough morning, rushed to the afternoon where he was supposed to take you to dinner with his friends.

The thing is, you totally forgot (to your defense, he had told you a week before, and he forgot to remind you!)

So, being rushed to get ready in thirty minutes was putting you on the edge.

You grabbed the first thing you saw that could make a decent outfit.

Your boyfriend was still going off about your lateness, and you could tell he was having a blast by getting to not be the one being late.

“You’re wrong, but also... god, you´re wearing that shirt?”

As much as he would love to see your face when you step out and realise the dumb graphic tshirt you´re wearing, he likes you too much to let you do that.

And, also, he wanted to get nice pictures of you that night.

MINGYU: To take a “sad but hot” selfie.

You had said some pretty... serious? things about the relationship last night

What you wanted and what you needed to change in the way you two communicate, and spent time. Just to name a few.

After that, you left Mingyu´s apartment, leaving him alone to think about what he had said, and what you said.

So, imagine your surprise when you went to check his finsta... and saw a thirst trap?

Sending a "why do you look like you cried?" with the picture to his chat, he was quick to explain himself

“I’m not crying, I’m creating content" was his explaination.

SEOKMIN: To dramatically walk away but come back for their charger

He hates arguments.

For real, he would take all the blame just to not have any bad tension between you two.

Yes, he does understand that healthy relations come from awkard conversations.

Yes, he also hates seeing you upset mid-conversation.

He learned to give you space after a pretty ugly talk, not without letting you know "subtly" that he is not mad.

This time, you had asked him to leave you alone. Just for a couple of minutes, to put your thoughts back in order.

Scrolling on your phone, you could see your boyfriend hestitating to enter the room. Once he did, he tried to be as quick as possible

“I’m leaving. But first I need my charger."

You smiled, how could you not love him?

SEUNGKWAN: To dramatically fake faint and make it your problem

"Oh, so you hate me now?" is the most common phrase to hear whenever you and Seungkwan start bickering.

And, when he hits that line, you got two options: yes or no.

With the "No", he is going to pout, saying he feels hated.

It´s so weird whenever the bickering ends up in "Yes, i do hate you"

But Seungkwan is so quick with his answer-

“I can’t take this anymore...” Followed by collapsing on your direction.

VERNON: To send a meme that proves his point

Dating somebody that just apologizes as soon as the fight breaks in, is so boring.

You two were playing fight, and when an awkard elbow hitted you on the ribs, you were quick to pretend to be mad.

So, you two ended on differents sides of the couch, trying oh so hard to pretend to be mad.

You could see his fingers texting somebody, and as you looked down on your phone, you saw it:

“Check your phone. That meme? That’s you.”

DINO: Because he forgot if he had already moisturized and now needs to restart his whole skincare routine

You were railed-up. going off about what had happened at your class that day. Your boyfriend listened attentively, while starting to clean his face.

As you were explaining how childish your classmate was being, he reminded you you were also not taking the high way.

So, when you become red in the face and start going on him having to take your side, he nods. The thing is, you can see in his face he is trying really hard to think about something, you could even see the gears turn in his head.

" Babe, what are you thinking about? Is not that hard to take the side of the love of your life!"

“I can’t argue dry-faced. Give me a sec.”

more / asks & requests are open!

[enemiestolovershoe]

Hiii glad youre feeling better. I would love an angsty enemies to lovers with Noah Sebastian!

Maybe they finally confess their love accidentally during an argument after one too many drinks while on tour.

Unintentional Rivalry

Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

Enemies to Lovers / Band AU

Summary: Y/N has worked with Bad Omens for three years, never getting along with Noah. But one reckless, alcohol-fueled night changes everything.

Words: 5,6k

Warnings: Use of y/n, not proofread, alcohol, shouting and fighting, crying, making out, the other band members watch everything, lmk if i forgot something.

3 years ago

You hadn’t always been a die-hard Bad Omens fan. In fact, your journey to working for the band was purely by chance, the kind of thing that made you believe in fate—or sheer dumb luck. Three years ago, you were just another person looking for a way into the music industry, taking odd jobs here and there. Your friend had been a tour manager for another band when she called you up in a frenzy one day.

"Hey, you’re good with merch stuff, right? Like, sales and all that?"

You’d laughed because you were good—numbers, organization, talking to fans, you nailed it every time. That day, your friend explained how Bad Omens was looking for someone reliable to run their merch stand for the remainder of their tour, and they were desperate. You said yes because why not? A job’s a job.

You showed up the next day, met the crew, and got right to work. It didn’t take long for you to impress Nick Folio, Nicholas Ruffilo, and Jolly. They liked you right off the bat. Folio, always the outgoing one, made a point of befriending you first.

“Hey, merch girl!” he’d shouted from across the venue that first week, a big grin plastered on his face. “You’re killing it over there—fans are going nuts. You’re like the merch stand whisperer.”

You’d snorted at the nickname but accepted the praise. Folio was easy to talk to, always joking around and offering snacks between sets. Ruffilo, on the other hand, was the chill one, the guy who offered you tips on how to organize displays better, like he genuinely cared. And then there was Jolly—quiet but warm, the kind of guy who didn’t talk much but could communicate a thousand words with just a look.

Before long, you weren’t just a “random hire.” You were part of the family.

Everyone… except Noah Sebastian.

From the first day you met him, there had been tension. He’d given you a once-over when you’d arrived, dark eyes full of skepticism, and muttered something like, “Hope you can keep up.”

You were nothing if not stubborn, so you’d bitten back: “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

That exchange had set the tone for your relationship. Noah always seemed cold, distant, like you’d somehow offended him by existing. You, in turn, found yourself getting increasingly defensive whenever he was around, snapping at his sarcastic comments or rolling your eyes whenever he brushed past you like you were in his way.

But it didn’t matter. You weren’t there to win Noah over; you were there to do your job. And you were good at it.

Present Day

The night after a packed show in some city you’d already forgotten the name of, Folio approached you as you packed up the merch stand.

“You done?” he asked, leaning against the wall with an easy grin, his arms crossed.

“Almost,” you replied, folding up the last few shirts and tossing them into a bin. “Why? Need something?”

“Yeah, you to stop being a hermit,” Folio joked. “We’re hitting up a bar. You should come.”

You glanced at him skeptically. “A bar? After that show? Don’t you guys want to sleep for a week?”

“Nah, it’s not that serious. Just some drinks, some billiards, maybe a little karaoke if I can convince Ruffilo,” Folio said, nudging you with his elbow. “Come on. You work your ass off—come have fun for once.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but smiled. It was hard to say no to Folio, especially when he pulled the whole “you deserve it” card.

“Fine,” you relented, pointing a finger at him. “But if you get me drunk, you’re carrying me back to the bus.”

Folio laughed. “Deal. I’ll even princess-carry you if you want.”

When you walked into the bar with the guys, the atmosphere was lively but not overwhelming. Music played softly in the background, and groups of people were scattered across booths and tables. Folio immediately headed toward the bar, dragging you with him to order drinks, while Jolly and Nicholas found a pool table in the corner.

You settled on a simple drink and found yourself relaxing as you took it all in. It was nice to unwind after weeks of nonstop travel and work.

“Hey, you’re smiling,” Folio teased, nudging your shoulder. “I knew you’d have fun.”

“Calm down. I’ve been here for five minutes,” you shot back, but you were grinning.

A voice cut through your small exchange like a blade: “I’m shocked she even agreed to come out.”

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Noah.

You spun on your heel, drink in hand, and fixed him with a glare. He stood a few feet away, dressed in black like always, his dark hair messy and falling into his face. He had that same unreadable look in his eyes, the one that always seemed to irritate you.

“Why wouldn’t I come out?” you challenged, raising a brow. “It’s not like I’m the one who locks himself in the bus after every show.”

Noah smirked, a slow, lazy curve of his lips that only made you want to throw your drink at him. “Yeah? Didn’t think you could stand to be around me that long.”

You scoffed. “Trust me, you’re not that special.”

Folio groaned, stepping between you both with his hands up like a referee. “Okay, okay, can you two not start?” he sighed. “We’re here to have fun, remember?”

You crossed your arms but stayed quiet, shooting Noah one last glare before turning back to the bar.

Noah, however, didn’t walk away. He ordered a drink for himself and leaned against the bar a few feet away from you, like he was challenging you with his very presence.

You ignored him, choosing instead to focus on Folio’s rambling story about something dumb Nicholas had done earlier that day. You tried to act like Noah wasn’t there, but you could feel him. It was like the air shifted whenever he was close—tense, electric, and utterly irritating.

What the hell was his problem with you anyway?

And why did it bother you so much?

The night wore on, and despite Noah’s presence, you found yourself enjoying the evening. Jolly destroyed Nicholas at pool while Folio attempted (and failed) to get someone to join him for karaoke. You stayed near the bar, chatting with Nicholas when he wandered over, the two of you laughing over a drink.

It wasn’t until you turned to grab your jacket that you noticed Noah watching you from across the room. His gaze was unreadable, intense in a way that made you pause for half a second. But before you could react, he looked away, like nothing had happened.

You shook it off.

Noah Sebastian was the last person you needed to worry about.

Or so you told yourself.

You didn’t mean to overdo it. You weren’t even a heavy drinker most of the time. But something about tonight made you want to let loose, to forget about the stress of work, the tension with Noah, and the constant grind of being on the road. Folio was laughing at your flushed cheeks as you waved down the bartender for a another round.

“Whoa there, champ,” Folio teased, nudging you. “Didn’t you say I’d have to carry you back if you got drunk?”

“Still applies,” you shot back with a grin, your words already a little looser than usual. “Better start working out, Folio.”

Nicholas laughed from across the booth, raising his drink in mock salute. “She’s gonna drink us under the table, man. Watch out.”

“I can handle it,” you declared, taking another sip, the alcohol warming your veins. For once, you felt light, unbothered. The tension you usually carried in your shoulders started to melt away.

Even Noah’s occasional glances from the other end of the VIP booth didn’t bother you—at first.

But as the drinks kept coming, and the conversations around the table grew louder, you found yourself growing more aware of him. Every time he said something, you heard it. Every time he shifted in his seat, you noticed. And every time his low laugh rumbled through the air, you hated the way it tugged at your attention.

Why did he always have to be there?

“Alright,” Folio announced, clapping his hands together. “I’m getting another drink. Who’s in?”

“Pass,” Jolly said, leaning back in the booth with a small smile. “I’m too old for this.”

“Ruffilo?”

“Already got one.” Nicholas raised his glass, grinning.

Folio turned to you expectantly. “What about you, heavyweight?”

“Let’s do it,” you said, standing with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.

You followed Folio to the bar, and while you waited for the bartender, you felt a presence beside you.

Of course.

Noah leaned casually against the bar, his dark eyes flicking to you as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Didn’t think you were the type to cut loose,” he remarked, his tone dripping with that familiar sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, already feeling your patience thinning. “Didn’t think you were the type to talk to me unless you had to.”

Noah smirked. “Just making an observation.”

“Don’t,” you shot back, turning your attention to the bartender.

But Noah didn’t leave. He stayed there, sipping his drink and watching you with that infuriating, unreadable expression.

“You sure you can handle all those drinks?” he asked after a moment.

You turned to him, your irritation bubbling to the surface. “What is your problem, Noah? Seriously. Do you get some kind of thrill out of bothering me?”

“My problem?” he repeated, his smirk fading. “You think I’m the problem here?”

“Yes, I do,” you snapped. “From day one, you’ve been cold, rude, and completely insufferable. I don’t know what your issue is with me, but I’m done pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

Noah’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. “You think I’m rude? You waltzed in here three years ago like you owned the place, acting like you knew everything, like you deserved to be here.”

“Because I worked my ass off to be here,” you countered, your voice rising. “Unlike you, I wasn’t handed everything on a silver platter.”

Noah’s face twisted, and for a moment, you thought he might actually yell at you. But instead, he leaned in closer, his voice low and cutting. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. And trust me, if anyone didn’t deserve to be here, it’s you.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his words hitting harder than you expected. But instead of backing down, you laughed bitterly, the alcohol fueling your courage.

“Wow. You’re such an asshole, Noah,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t know what I ever did to you, but—”

“Maybe it’s not what you did,” Noah interrupted, his voice sharper now. “Maybe it’s what you are. A fake. A wannabe. Someone who only got this job because their friend pulled strings.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade.

“What did you just say?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“You heard me,” Noah said, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been riding everyone else’s coattails since the day you got here. You don’t belong in this world, and you never will.”

“That’s enough,” Folio cut in, stepping between you two with a frown. “What the hell is going on?”

But you barely heard him.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to hold it together.

“Don’t I?” Noah shot back. “I know enough. I know about your little reputation before you got here. How you burned through jobs like they were nothing. How you—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, your vision blurring as tears threatened to fall. “You don’t know what I went through. You don’t know why—”

“Hey!” Nicholas’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. “That’s enough, both of you.”

But it was too late. The damage was done.

You couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over as you turned away, shoving past Noah and the others to get out of the booth. You didn’t care where you went—you just needed to get away.

“Shit,” Folio muttered, standing up to follow you. But Nicholas stopped him, shaking his head.

“Let her go,” Nicholas said quietly. Then he turned to Noah, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

Noah didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring after you, his glass forgotten on the table.

The cold air slapped you in the face as you shoved the bar door open, your breath hitching with sobs you couldn’t hold back. Tears streamed down your face, hot against the chill of the night. You stumbled toward the lot, the alcohol finally taking hold and making your vision blur.

But none of that compared to the embarrassment. The anger. The pain.

You knew they’d heard it. You’d seen their faces when you glanced back—Nick’s brow furrowed, Folio looking ready to intervene, Jolly frozen in disbelief. And Noah? He just kept throwing verbal jabs like they weren’t all sitting right there in the booth, listening.

Your chest tightened as you stumbled to the far edge of the lot, far enough away that you couldn’t hear the muffled music leaking out of the bar anymore. You sank onto the cold pavement, wrapping your arms around yourself as the tears came harder, shaking your entire body.

“You don’t belong here. You never will.”

His words echoed in your mind, sharper than any blade. You’d worked so hard to earn your place, and yet, in one drunken argument, Noah had reduced you to nothing. And the rest of the band had heard every. Single. Word.

Your stomach twisted painfully. They probably agreed with him. Maybe they’d always thought you didn’t belong and just never said it out loud.

You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to stop the onslaught of thoughts, but it was no use. You were too far gone—hurt, humiliated, and drowning in the aftermath of the fight.

The bar door opened again, spilling voices into the quiet night.

“She came this way,” Folio’s voice was loud, clear.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Nicholas‘ tone was softer but laced with concern.

“She’s not okay, Nick,” Jolly said simply. “How could she be after that?”

You bit your lip hard, willing yourself to stay silent as their voices grew closer.

And then, “There she is!”

Folio was the first to reach you, crouching in front of you with a mix of relief and worry on his face. “Hey, Y/N. What are you doing out here? You’re freezing.”

You looked away, trying to wipe at your face. “Go back inside,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he said firmly, his brows drawing together. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I think we all know what happened,” Nick cut in as he and Jolly caught up, standing a few feet away. “The real question is, why the hell did Noah go that far?”

At the sound of Noah’s name, your chest tightened all over again, and fresh tears welled up in your eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Y/N,” Folio said softly, “you don’t have to protect him. We heard everything.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned your face away. “Exactly,” you said bitterly, your voice breaking. “You heard it. All of it. So just… save the lecture. I know what you’re going to say.”

Nick frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“That I don’t belong here,” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “That he’s right. That I shouldn’t have been here in the first place—”

“Whoa, whoa, stop,” Folio interrupted, his voice sharp. “You seriously think we feel that way?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” you shot back, your voice cracking. “He clearly does. And maybe he’s right! Maybe I’m just some fraud who got lucky. Maybe—”

“Y/N, stop,” Jolly said, his calm voice cutting through your spiral. “You’re not a fraud. And Noah’s wrong—completely, absolutely wrong.”

You blinked up at him, your vision blurred with tears. “Then why does he hate me so much?”

Folio ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Honestly? I don’t think he hates you. I think he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to handle his feelings.”

“Feelings?” you repeated bitterly, shaking your head. “What feelings? He’s made it perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with me.”

Nick crouched beside Folio, his expression softening. “Noah’s not as tough as he pretends to be. That doesn’t excuse what he said, but… he’s a mess. Always has been.”

Before you could respond, the bar door opened again, and you froze.

Noah.

He walked out slowly, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his shoulders tense. He glanced toward the group, his dark eyes locking with yours for a moment before flicking away.

“Oh, look,” Folio muttered, his tone sharp. “The man of the hour.”

Noah hesitated, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, but Nick beat him to it.

“Do you even realize what you just did?” Nick snapped, standing and crossing his arms.

“I—”

“No, let me finish,” Nick interrupted, his voice growing louder. “She’s been nothing but good to us—good to you—and you sit there and tear her apart in front of everyone? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Noah’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

Jolly shook his head. “We all heard it, Noah. Every word. And you’re lucky she hasn’t told you to fuck off for good.”

“I didn’t mean…” Noah started, but the words faltered. He glanced at you again, his gaze softening. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

You scoffed, standing up on shaky legs. “Well, congratulations, because you did. And I’m done.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice trembling but steady. “I’m done trying to prove myself to you. If you hate me so much, fine. But don’t pretend you’re sorry now, because I don’t buy it.“ Your legs wouldn’t move, and honestly, you didn’t want them to. Instead, you stood rooted to the spot, staring at the cracked pavement beneath your boots. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you fought to control the tears that kept coming, your breath shuddering in the cold.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. No one spoke, and no one moved, though you could feel their eyes on you—Folio’s concerned, Nick’s fuming, Jolly’s quietly calculating. And then there was Noah.

You didn’t have to look to know he was still standing there, just a few feet away. You could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze pressing against you. But you didn’t dare lift your head, didn’t dare let him see how broken you felt.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of music coming from the bar, and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

And then, softly, there was the sound of footsteps.

You tensed as they got closer, the familiar weight of a jacket settling on your shoulders. You looked up, startled, as Noah stood in front of you, his face unreadable in the dim light.

“Here,” he said quietly. “You’re freezing.”

You stared at him, confused. His tone wasn’t harsh or dismissive like it had been earlier. If anything, he sounded… apologetic.

“Why do you care?” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Noah didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the gap between you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The world seemed to still as he held you, his warmth cutting through the cold that had seeped into your bones. His touch was firm yet careful, as if he was afraid you’d push him away.

The rest of the band froze, their expressions ranging from shock to confusion.

“Uh…” Folio broke the silence, his voice trailing off as he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Nick.

But no one said anything else. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” Noah murmured against your hair, his voice so low that only you could hear it. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was drunk and stupid, and I—” He stopped, exhaling shakily. “I fucked up.”

You blinked, your tears still falling but slower now. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process this sudden shift in him.

“You… you can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be fine,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I know,” he said quickly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His hands rested lightly on your arms, his dark gaze softer than you’d ever seen it. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I needed you to know that I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was regret.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice trembling. “Why did you say it?”

Noah swallowed hard, his eyes flicking away for a moment before returning to yours. “Because I’m an idiot,” he admitted. “Because I don’t know how to deal with… with you. You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart pounding in your chest. “Noah…”

“I’m not saying it’s an excuse,” he added quickly. “Because it’s not. I was wrong, and I hurt you, and I hate that I hurt you. But I’m trying to fix it. Please… let me try.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions.

Behind you, Nick cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Uh, not to interrupt or anything, but… what the hell is going on right now?”

Folio elbowed him hard, muttering, “Shut up, dude.”

Jolly just raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene unfold.

You glanced over your shoulder at the band, feeling their eyes on you, and suddenly the weight of the moment hit you all over again. “I… I don’t know if I can do this right now,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at Noah.

For a moment, his face fell, but he nodded, taking a step back. “That’s okay,” he said softly, his voice laced with a quiet resignation. “I get it. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.”

You stood there, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what to say, what to think. But when he stepped back, the warmth of his presence suddenly fading, something inside you snapped.

Before you could stop yourself, you surged forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him. Your head buried into his chest as you held on, your fingers clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing grounding you.

Noah stiffened for half a second before his arms came around you again, even tighter this time. He cradled you against him, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he held you.

“I don’t understand you,” you whispered into his chest, your words muffled but raw. “One second you hate me, the next… this. I don’t know what to do.”

Noah pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his hands still resting on your back. His gaze was soft now, all the sharp edges gone, replaced with something warm and vulnerable. “I’ve never hated you,” he said quietly. “Not for a second.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “That’s not what it felt like.”

“I know,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “And that’s on me. I… I didn’t know how to deal with how I felt about you, so I pushed you away. I thought if I kept my distance, if I made it seem like I didn’t care, it would go away. But it didn’t. It never did.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t just care about you,” Noah said, his voice soft but steady. “I—God, this is so fucking hard to say.” He let out a shaky laugh, his hands tightening slightly on your back. “I’m in love with you, Y/N. I have been for a long time.”

The world seemed to stop at his words, your breath catching in your throat.

“When you joined the tour, I told myself it was just a crush. That it’d go away,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. “But it didn’t. Every time I saw you laughing with Nick, or working your ass off at the merch stand, or just… being you, it only got worse. And it scared the hell out of me.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “So you… what? Decided to treat me like shit instead?”

Noah winced, his face crumpling. “I know. I’m an idiot. A coward. I thought it’d be easier to push you away than to risk feeling something I couldn’t control. But I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion in his eyes—it broke down the walls you’d built to protect yourself.

“Noah,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Why didn’t you just… tell me?”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Because I thought you hated me. I mean, I gave you every reason to. Hell, I deserved it. But I couldn’t stop myself. I kept thinking if I just pushed hard enough, I’d convince myself that I didn’t care. That it didn’t matter.”

“But it did,” you whispered, the weight of his confession settling over you.

“It always mattered,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And I know I’ve ruined this, that you probably don’t feel the same way, but I had to tell you. I had to try. Because the thought of losing you for good? It’s worse than anything else I’ve ever felt.”

Your chest tightened as his words sank in, every bit of anger and confusion dissolving under the weight of his sincerity.

“I thought you hated me,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “This whole time, I thought you hated me.”

Noah’s face crumpled further, his eyes glistening. “I could never hate you, Y/N. Not even if I tried. And believe me, I tried.”

A watery laugh escaped you, and you shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks again. “You’re so fucking stupid,” you said, but there was no venom in your voice—only a soft disbelief.

“I know,” he said, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “The stupidest.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you fading away. And then, slowly, you reached up, your hands resting on his chest. “You’re an idiot,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But… I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Noah’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he searched your face for any hint of doubt. “You… you mean that?”

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I mean it. And I hate how long it took for us to get here, but… yeah. I love you, Noah.”

He let out a shaky laugh, his forehead dropping to yours. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“Well, now you know,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tears still lingering in your eyes.

Noah smiled, too, his hands cradling your face gently. “I’m going to make it up to you,” he said firmly. “For all of it. For everything I said, everything I did. I’m going to make sure you never feel like you don’t belong again. You belong, Y/N. With the band. With me. Always.”

Your chest swelled at his words, and for the first time that night, the cold didn’t feel so overwhelming.

“Don’t screw it up,” you whispered, your lips twitching into a teasing smile.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice soft but steady. “Not ever again.” The world narrowed to just the two of you. The warmth of Noah’s hands cupping your face, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch—it was like nothing else mattered. But as you stood there, the quiet around you began to sink in.

You weren’t alone.

Slowly, you glanced over Noah’s shoulder, and sure enough, the band was still there. Nick stood with his arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in confusion. Folio had a barely-contained grin stretching across his face, while Jolly’s stoic expression betrayed just the slightest hint of amusement.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” Nick said, breaking the silence with his usual dry humor. “Do you guys need a private moment, or should we start charging admission for this?”

“Shut up, Nick,” Noah shot back, though his tone lacked its usual bite. His hands dropped from your face, but he didn’t move away, his body still angled protectively toward you.

“I mean, don’t stop on our account,” Folio chimed in, a wide grin plastered across his face. “This is better than any soap opera I’ve ever seen.”

Your cheeks burned, and you ducked your head, biting back an embarrassed laugh. But before you could say anything, Noah’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours with a firmness that made your heart skip.

“Alright, enough,” Noah said, his voice firm but not harsh. “This is between me and Y/N.”

“Sure it is,” Nick said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment. “But in case you forgot, we’ve been standing here for, oh, I don’t know, the entire time.”

Jolly finally spoke up, his voice calm but tinged with humor. “So… does this mean the rivalry is officially over?”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking some of the tension. “I guess you could say that,” you said, glancing up at Noah.

“Yeah,” Noah agreed, his eyes soft as they met yours. “No more rivalry.”

Nick groaned, throwing his hands up. “Great. Just great. Now what am I supposed to make fun of during the tour?”

“Don’t worry, Nick,” Folio said with a laugh. “I’m sure they’ll give us plenty of new material.”

Before you could respond, Noah leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it made your heart ache.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’m going to make this work. You and me. No more bullshit.”

You nodded, your chest tightening. “Me too,” you whispered.

Noah smiled, the kind of smile that made your knees feel weak, and then, without any warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

At first, it was soft, sweet, and tentative, as if he was still testing the waters. But the moment your hands found their way to his jacket, tugging him closer, it deepened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew more intense, more urgent.

The world faded again, the sounds of the bar and the cold night air melting into the background. All you could feel was him—his warmth, his strength, the way his lips moved against yours like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell is happening right now?” Nick’s voice cut through the haze, dragging you both back to reality.

You pulled away, breathless, your face flushing as you turned to see the band staring at you like they’d just witnessed something out of a rom-com.

“This is happening,” Noah said firmly, his arm still around you as he shot Nick a look. “So get used to it.”

Folio laughed, clapping his hands together. “I can’t believe this. I mean, I can, but still. This is wild.”

Jolly just nodded, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “About time,” he said simply.

Nick groaned again, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. I’m going to need a minute to process this.”

“You’ll live,” Noah said, rolling his eyes before looking back down at you. His expression softened instantly, the intensity from before replaced with a quiet, almost shy tenderness. “You okay?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low. “Because I’m not letting this go. Not now, not ever.”

Folio pretended to gag, earning a glare from Noah and a laugh from you.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Nick said, already heading toward the bus. “Let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops on us for public indecency.”

As the band started to walk off, Noah turned back to you, his hand still intertwined with yours. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice soft but serious.

You squeezed his hand, meeting his gaze with a newfound confidence. “I’m sure,” you said. “No more running. No more pretending.”

Noah’s smile was radiant, and for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Together.

[etz-ashashiyot]

You know how sometimes arguing a point is losing?

Like if you engage the argument at all you are inherently putting up for debate things that should never be up for debate and the argument itself is degrading?

You see this with interpersonal gaslighting:

A gaslighter doesn’t simply need to be right. They also need for you to believe that they are right. In stage one, you know that they’re being ridiculous, but you argue anyways. You argue for hours, without resolution. You argue over things that shouldn’t be up for debate  – your feelings, your opinions, your experience of the world. You argue because you need to be right, you need to be understood, or you need to get their approval. In stage one, you still believe yourself, but you also unwittingly put that belief up for debate. In stage two, you consider your gaslighter’s point of view first and try desperately to get them to see your point of view as well. You continue to engage because you’re afraid of what their perspective of you says about you. Winning the argument now has one objective :  proving that you’re still good, kind, and worthwhile. In stage three, when you’re hurt, you first ask, “What’s wrong with me?” You consider their point of view as normal. You start to lose your ability to make your own judgements. You become consumed with understanding them and seeing their perspective. You live with and obsess over every criticism, trying to solve it.

[Source]

But you also see this on a broader societal level, with people asking unfathomably awful questions about minority groups, such as:

[Source]

It should go without saying, but no group of people should be forced to explain that yes, they really are real people, dickheads. The question doesn't deserve an answer; it deserves at best a disgusted eyeroll + "Are you a Nazi?" and at worst a punch to the face.

There is also the related phenomenon of the "when did you stop beating your wife?" type questions. The question is framed as a yes or no question, but the real answer for the innocent is: "I've never beaten my wife and never would." But even that answer still dignifies the question with a real response and puts the idea in the mind of the listener that hey maybe that's a real possibility and this guy is lying because of course he wouldn't just admit that. Now I don't know what to believe, but I'm skeptical.

Even if he answers, doubt has been cast on his character and many people (maybe even most people) neither have the attention span to listen to his full counter argument and supporting evidence nor are invested enough in strangers' lives to take the time to dig for facts on their own. Critically, it comes from a good impulse that shouldn't be repressed or taken too far in the opposite direction; namely, that we want to believe survivors and make it socially acceptable to speak out about abuse.

This leaves us with the uncomfortable reality that balancing believing survivors and whistle-blowers against not automatically believing allegations that very well may be false and/or in bad faith is a very tricky balancing act indeed. Because of this, people tend to struggle with taking survivors seriously and with presuming innocence until guilt has actually been proven, both. And as for the latter, this is at least partially due to the same psychological factors underlying the Don't Think of an Elephant problem.

Why am I discussing this?

See the thing is that these types of discourse have all been used, heavily, against the Jewish community, especially since Oct 7th, but really going back hundreds of years.

If you want to be our ally, you need to be on guard for how people use this rhetoric to accuse Jews of absolutely batshit cookoo bananas allegations (like being lizard people or having horns, or secretly running the world, or killing Christian babies to use their blood in our matzah, etc. etc.) and get away with it. Now obviously if so many people weren't already racist towards Jews as a people and had a vested interest in maintaining their supercessionist cultural worldview from Christianity and Islam, it would be a lot harder for this to work. Alas, the past 2000 years has created a bit of a snowballing effect.

This culminates in the effect described so well by Sartre:

Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.

— Jean-Paul Sartre

Right now, Jews are facing extreme levels of these types of rhetorical abuse, and are receiving very little help in the way of pushback.

We have to stop trying to explain ourselves and start just naming these tactics instead.

[snorkimimi]

Hi! Have what I think different Haikyuu character's (giving) love languages would be! <33

Tadashi Y ༊*·˚ Yamaguchi is nothing if not sweet. He cares so, so deeply for you and even if it's in nervous mumbles, written notes he scrapped many times to get just right, birthday cards he stayed up till sunrise to write, hugs where he buries his head in your shoulder and lets out the lightest, kindest, 'I love yous'. He thinks of a million ways to convey that he loves you but the way his heart tells him to most is to say it. Say how much he adores you, to say how beautiful he thinks you are, to say how dearly he loves you, to say how special you truly are to him. That you deserve the world, and how he will try everything in his power for you to see that in yourself. ♡

Tetsuro K ༊*·˚ Oh how every second spent with you is forever special to him. He doesn't mind what the two of you are doing, weather it's something fun and adventuress, a warm spring vacation to the beach where you both fight in the waves before going to a dinner with a view of the coast, helping you study for the subjects and concepts that you struggle with, the times you hit him on his shoulder, curse him out after he killed you in Minecraft and ignored him for the next hour, the mornings you both chat with light smiles on your face with your coffee walking through town talking about silly or serious matter, or the night you were both cuddling by the fire in the winter, soft music in the background as you both listen to the calming sound of each other's heartbeats and breaths, when he looks at you and asks for you to be his wife. He treasures every second spent with you and wants to be with you for the rest of his life. ♡

Kiyoomi S ༊*·˚ If you two were in love, you couldn't look around your room without seeing something he'd gotten for you. If you point it out to him he'll give a small hum and tilt of the head before insisting it's no big deal. But when he looks around your home and sees the plushies he got you every valentines' day, your favorite perfume that he surprised you with after he saw you look at it through the shop window, a blanket of his he brought but refused to take back when you were stressed, all of the hoodies he never asked for back whenever he saw you in them, the most beautiful bracelet he gifted you the day he asked for you to be his, he knows every gift is a small piece of his heart he wanted nothing more than to give it to you, and you know it too. ♡

Keiji A ༊*·˚ Akaashi is the definition of a gentleman. At his every chance he always makes sure to walk you back to your car or to your home safely, when you both are getting ready to go out to a nice dinner he'll always be on one knee ready to put on your heels for you, with a gentle hand on your back he guides you back on track for whenever you get distracted (Oh how wonderfully endearing he finds it), you come back to a tidied apartment whenever you mentioned just how stressful your week had been on you, and he gives you the sweetest kiss on the cheek when you thank him, flowers hidden behind his back waiting at your door whenever you both got into an argument or small fight because never for a moment does he want you to think you're not important to him, that he doesn't care or think about you, because he does more than anything. Your life becomes so much easier with his little acts of service. ♡

Atsumu M ༊*·˚ Atsumu is known for being quite physical/touchy, sometimes it's beating the hell out of Osamu, shoving Sunarin by his shoulders whenever he takes an unflattering photo, jumping and high-fiving his teammates after every win--but with you, it's a different type of affectionate. How after every game, win or lose, he comes to you with a small, sweet smile, and a warm hug, strong arms wrapping around your waist holding you close to him as a thank you for cheering him on the entire time, how every night when you two crawl into bed he holds you while he nestles his face into your shoulder knowing he can rest in your arms when your fingers comb through his hair, how he holds your face with the kindest expression gently wiping away every tear with his thumbs when you're crying with the sweetest hug after because he can't think of any better way to show you just how deeply he loves you. He'll always be holding your hand so you know he's always there for you. ♡

I chose what characters came to mind first so please feel free to request any you may like to see :)!

[deareststars]

i need to be youthfully felt 'cause, god, i never felt young (house, md)

title taken from jackie and wilson by hozier. continued under the cut.

(this is a short reader-insert written because i'm overstimulated and need to write about something OTHER than pmh nursing. tempted to make this into a full-blown >5k wilson x reader...)

“You’re stupider than I gave you credit for.”

Even with House’s usual snark, you can’t keep a smile from coming across your face.

“You say that to everyone. When is it going to hold any substance?”

He shakes his head and kicks back in his chair, using his cane to balance himself. “No, what I meant was: for someone whose whole job surrounds psychology—also known as the study of the human mind—you really don’t seem to understand people.”

This only serves to make your grin widen. “What, my usual argument that humanity’s natural state of being is empathy, and that we can change for the people we care about, doesn’t hold any substance either? Maybe we’re both shallower than you gave us credit for.”

“If humanity’s natural state of being were empathy, Wilson wouldn’t be three wives deep with a fourth one on the way." The chair legs fall forward with a thump, and he points an accusatory finger at you. "And if you cared about yourself, you would take one second to realize that you’re setting yourself up for a T4-sized tumor in the shape of a shoe to kick you right in the ass.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on, House.”

“No, you come on.” He gets up. For a moment, you think he might actually ask you to walk with him. Instead, he jabs at your foot with his cane. Better than him hitting your shin with it, you suppose. “You and I have known Wilson for almost the same amount of time. Yet, you think dating him is a good idea?”

“What can I say?” You don’t fight to keep your gaze from softening. The retch that House lets out is gratification enough. “There’s just something about him.”

He gasps and holds his hands together like a lovesick schoolgirl. “Is it the hair? The eyes? Or the fact that he is a serial cheater and you are an idiot for even humoring the idea that he’ll stay with you for longer than it takes him to find another attractive bimbo wearing a skirt?”

“People change.”

“No, behaviors change. People never do.”

You spread your hands wide. “Is my happiness really not good enough of an argument for you?”

He groans, the loudest one you’ve heard him let out to date. “Your happiness is better served sitting here on the sidelines with me, watching Wilson fail to keep it in his pants! He hit on a married woman at a casino, for God’s sake!”

That’s something you hadn’t heard yet, but you don’t want to give House the satisfaction of your surprise. And even without House's uncensored thoughts spilling out, it's true that on your own, you’ve had these doubts. Ever since the budding feelings of a crush developed in your heart, your mind has been trying to win out.

There’s a reason why every nurse in the building knows Wilson’s name, Cameron had once told you. Even if they don’t work in oncology, that kind of reputation spreads.

Why would you set yourself up for such a perfect downfall? Maybe you’re tired of playing it safe, or maybe you want to hurt. Maybe, despite everything you’ve told House, you want proof that it’s worth it to ache on someone else’s behalf—and not just proof that you’ve read about in an article, but proof that you can hold in your hands and see with your eyes, even if it's your own blood spilling out from self-inflicted misery.

“Plus, how inconvenient is it that you’re dating each other now? For me, of course,” he adds before you can get a word in edgewise. "Sharing your time, making sure you don't sneak off on me...and now, I have to give you the shovel talk.”

“Oh, I’ve actually been waiting to hear this.”

He clears his throat. “Chase introduced me to this thought experiment of the ‘immortal snail.’ It’s this little snail that follows you around. You can’t kill it or escape from it, but the moment it touches you, you die. If you hurt Wilson or break his fragile little heart, that snail will be me. I’ll hunt you down with my cane, waiting for the moment to shatter your knees in one fell swoop. You can hide from me on any distant plane of the planet, but I will find you.”

You’re…actually in awe of his creativity. “Okay, noted.”

He waves you off. “Don’t worry, I’ll come up with an equally creative one to tell Wilson on your behalf. I can’t have you thinking I’m playing favorites.”

"Perfect." You turn and dig your hands into the pockets of your coat. "Well, I'll give James your regards, then."

"Oh, God, you're already on a first-name basis!"

You leave him to his whining, letting the door swing shut behind you. As you walk, you hum to yourself, finding your steps growing lighter at the thought of a familiar office and an even more familiar smile.

[classicanalyzer]

Andor Season 2 Arc 1 Thoughts

The first arc of Andor’s final season (One Year Later, Sagrona Teema, and Harvest) continues Andor's peak quality. It dives into plenty of complex themes in three episodes, with each arc covering a section of one year before jumping to the next year. We see more turmoil in building a rebellion and surviving in a galaxy that's only going to get worse under the Empire. Ariel Kleiman did a great job directing this first arc, and Brandon Roberts does an amazing job scoring the series after taking over from Nicholas Britell.

"If I die tonight, was it worth it? You've done this before. You must have thought about it." Niya

"This makes it worth it. This. Right now. Being with you. Being here at the moment you step into the circle. Look at me. You made this decision long ago. The Empire cannot win. You'll never feel right unless you're doing what you can to stop them. You're coming home to yourself. You've become more than your fear. Let that protect you." Cassian Andor

The development of Cassian is clear. He is far from the selfish, apolitical scoundrel of Season 1. He is now a confident, rebel agent on his way to becoming the rebel leader we see him in Rogue One. He's more interested in connecting with rebels than isolating them like Luthen does. Even when he's kept prisoner of the Maya Pei brigade, he tries to help them out before giving up on the doomed rebel cell. He also shows how his friends and family are still a priority as he goes off-mission to save his friends and family on Mina-Rau.

The cold open of the TIE Avenger Prototype Heist begins this season with an amazing start. You can definitely tell how much the show's budget is by the quality of the practical sets and filming on location. The TIE Avenger strikes me more as an aerial ground assault support with the rapid fire blaster cannons, missiles that seem more designed to attack ground targets, and the larger cockpit able to house more than one person. The ship doesn't strike me as a very effective Starfighter combat ship in the vein of the TIE Defender. Live-action TIE Advanced v1s is a great touch given how Sinear in the show is home to TIE prototypes, so it would make sense that other TIE prototypes would be here. It was also great to see Range Troopers again, and the Range Trooper with the rocket launcher truly represents the Battlefront experience of trying to hit a Starfighter with a rocket launcher.

The Maya Pei brigade's downfall is an allegory of the rebellion at this point and what the rebellion needs to do in the future. If the rebellion literally starts killing each other out of petty arguments, the monsters, aka the Empire, will destroy them. On that note, the Maya Pei brigade is a sorry sight of a rebel cell. Say what you will about the Partisans' methods, at least they were generally united about something compared to the brigade. We also see how Luthen's obsession with secrecy doesn't work in the long term. Communication and unity are key to making a scattered rebellion into an alliance; keeping rebel cells in the dark will lead to confusion and division. Hell, in the same year, Bail Organa and Ahsoka Tano figured out they needed to properly coordinate cells together rather than working alone with covert assistance.

I was not expecting the jungle moon to be Yavin IV. That was a pleasant twist that sets up the future Rebel Alliance.

Mina-Rau is a beautiful location, and you can tell the Ferrix refugees found peace, friendship, and even love on Mina-Rau. We see how the community didn't care if they were refugees or legal immigrants; they saw people in trouble and in search of a new life, and they accepted them. They help make the harvest, and the entire community thrives socially and economically. However, as Season 1 and every Star Wars story with the Empire have shown us, there is no escaping from the Empire. It's truly disgusting how the Empire cracks down on "illegals," discarding them once they serve their purpose of making the harvest. And with one vile Imperial officer, he's willing to use his power and the fact that Bix is an "illegal" to rape her.

I love the Maara Andor photo in the Ferrix refugee's home. She still lives on in spirit with the cast.

Despite the peace Bix has found for herself, it's clear that Gorst's torture of her still heavily affects her. It's still heartwarming that she's more able to relax and have fun with her friends, such as helping get Wilmon and Beela together. It's also nice to see her refer to Cassain as her "husband" to try to get an Imperial officer off her back with major red flags, as we'll see how much of an evil, gross rapist bastard that officer truly is.

At the Maltheen Divide, we get the Star Wars version of the Wannsee Conference as Krennic leads Imperials in discussing how to justify and enact either a forced relocation or if it comes to it (the latter option is definitely the first option in the minds of a lot of Imperials), commit a genocide (or as Krennic puts it, "alternatives") of the Ghorman people (800k people in 9 cities) to secure resources important to Project Stardust I mean Project Celestial Power (I love that Catalyst novel reference). You know it's bad when Krennic of all people told the Ministry of Enlightenment reps to tone it down, and he just delivered a pretty evil, despicable speech of his own. Those propagandists delivering the insidious, disgusting yet sadly realistic ways of how they dehumanized the Ghormans and their beautiful culture and society to the galaxy. The fact that they're having cakes and drinks while discussing how to commit genocide against the Ghorman people is also so disgusting and horrifying. The way Partagaz describes the upcoming genocide as an opportunity for Dedra to rise in the ranks is just disgusting again.

Dedra's and Syril's relationship is so...fittingly weird. The fact that Dedra was raised in an Imperial orphanage explains a lot about her fanaticism for the Empire. Syril can really go from self-assured employee to lying face down on the bed after his mother continuously emotionally abuses him. While I don't like Dedra, I will admit it is satisfying to see Eedy Karn be put in her place.

After seeing Chandrila only in books and comics, it's finally great to see it on-screen in live-action TV. That one take with Mothma is amazing to say the least. This is what you can accomplish with large-scale sets, the series is known for. It's also great to see Erskin from Rebels here, which establishes more of the connection between Andor and Rebels. It's also tragic knowing he's half-Ghorman, knowing what will come down the line. However, it's heartwarming to hear that while the galaxy shunned him and his family for his half-Ghorman heritage, Mon helped them out. It further reminds why she has so many people loyal to her.

The wedding may look pretty, but it's literal hell underneath the lavish imagery. Mothma has one of the worst weddings ever. You really can't blame her for getting drunk and dancing along after seeing another future unhappy marriage unfold, and your former "loyal" friend about to be offed due to his potential betrayal.

Luthen must be a KOTOR fan with all the references to the Rakata. We also got a date (25k years ago) of their tyrannical rule, which matches up with the Legends' depiction of their rule as well. We see how much Luthen "the art dealer" is a front for the real Luthen "the rebel spymaster" as he orders the assassination of Tay. I'm also excited to see more of Kleya as she got a lot more screentime in this arc, and it's clear she wants to be where she can help the rebellion more than be at the wedding.

It is heartbreaking to see Vel realize how Cinta is only there to assassinate Tay. I hope Vel and Cinta survive the show to enjoy peace together.

Perrin delivered a pretty hypocritical speech, yet one that has truth in it. On one hand, he's an absolute hedonist who calls hanging out with Fascists "fun". He chooses to completely give in to "joy" and having fun with Fascists rather than acknowledging the suffering going on and siding with the oppressed. Yet, he has a point about finding joy when you can. It's important to appreciate the happy things in life whenever we can, especially in these dark times we're living in right now.

Poor Bix. She's been through absolute hell. That rapist Imperial bastard disgusts me so much; the amount of red flags he gave off is insane. It's unnerving and chilling to see a rape attempt and the word rape said on-screen for the first time in Star Wars from what I can recall. Thank Goodness Bix was able to kill that rapist bastard. She needs all the hugs and therapy she can get. At this point, I really want her to survive this season and see the sunrise of the New Republic. If anyone deserves to see that sunrise, it's Bix.

RIP Brasso, you were a true lad to the end. The moment I saw the one Stormtrooper in slow motion, I knew Brasso was gone. I didn't catch it the first time, but I love how he protected Kellen and his family by making it seem like Kellen turned him in to the Empire.

Cassian may have saved Bix and Wilmon, but Brasso is dead, and B2EMO had to be left behind. Given how one image on the Star Wars website shows Wilmon with Saw, I get a feeling that Wilmon will be increasingly drawn to the Partisans in response to the tragedies and atrocities he witnesses. I really hope Bix gets her revenge on Gorst in the next arc.

The Niamos remix is an excellent dissonant track to the absolute downer ending we witness.

There's one thing left to say: all roads lead to Scarif and Yavin IV.

"Pain will find you. Trouble and disagreement will arrive without summons. There's no choice in this. There's no effort required. You simply stand still and the galaxy will deliver a daily basket of fresh anxieties to your door without fail. But my solom...My solom seyna--The Elders know what I'm talking about, right? My hope... My hope... My hope is that you learn to reach past this constant cloud of sadness. Pleasure. Gaiety. Amusement. These are hidden things. The music buried beneath all that noise...Joy. Joy! Joy...But Joy has no wind at its back. Joy will not announce its arrival. You need to listen for it, and be mindful of how fleeting and delicate it can be. But search out these treasures. A moment of... of pleasing sensation, the memory of laughter and good company, the comfort of a fine meal. And for me... For me, right now, it's the smile that I can't hide as I see these two young people sharing our greatest tradition. Sagrona." Perrin Fertha

[ilguna]

☼ cruel summer pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick tricked you into playing the damsel role, something the Capitol will be referencing for the rest of your life. still, you're not sure if you can forgive him for being so cruel to you in the first place.

warnings; swearing, ehh gore, someone loses an eyeball, weapon use, death.

wc; 2.2k

part one

--

If you make it out of this arena alive, you might consider taking back all the nasty things you called Finnick that night on the balcony. In the heat of the moment, you confessed the feelings that you’ve had for him for a while, and in return, he told you that this had been his plan all along—to push you to your breaking point.

Every ounce of composure you had left was gone at that moment. All the emotions that you’d bottled for the last year shattered. You were upset, because this vulnerable moment had yet again, been turned into a joke for Finnick’s amusement. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

When you finally stopped screaming at him, which was right around the time the escort and Mags had come to check to make sure that everything was okay, he tried to explain his reasoning. You didn’t want to hear what he had to say, so you left to go to your room, which brought the conversation inside.

“You need to listen to me, (Y/n).” Finnick had told you, grabbing your arm to slow you down. “I know you’re mad—”

“Mad?” You repeated, your ladylike appearance was fading, not being able to hold it for the escort. Who was standing in the living room beside the stylists and Mags, watching the argument unfold. “Mad doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface, Finnick! This is one big joke to you! I’m going to die, and it’s going to be your fault!”

You made a beeline for your room, trying to lock the door behind you, but they won’t shut if there’s something in the way. It was Finnick, and he had himself firmly planted there, refusing to move.

“You know I would never get you killed.” He tried to tell you.

You scoffed, “Do I, Finnick? I wouldn’t have put it past you.”

“You can’t place all the blame on me, you’re supposed to be the smart one. I was waiting for you to figure out I was messing with you the entire time but you trusted my judgement. I hope you won’t be this naive in the Games.”

“Get out of my room.” 

“I wanted you to look like a ditz, to give you a better chance at winning.”

“You’ve got a really backwards way of thinking.”

“It’s worked for me in the past, so I figured that it’d help you, too.” His patience was unwavering. “I wanted the Capitol and the tributes to overlook you, and they are. It’s a blessing. You’re going to be invisible in the arena—it worked out for me, so it’ll work for you.”

You stared at him, still angry, gripping the white trim of the doorway. “And you didn’t think to let me in on this?”

“You would’ve slipped. It’s hard to genuinely act clueless.” He shakes his head. “I had to do it, (Y/n), or else the Capitol would’ve had their eye on you the whole time. This was the only way.”

“I have no skills.” You seethed through your teeth.

“That’s not true. You know how to use a spear and hunt for food. You just need to put that together, and you’ll be able to keep yourself alive. You don’t even have to kill unless you absolutely have to.” He raised his eyebrows. “Like I said, you’re smart, (Y/n). You’ve got this.”

“Is this why you stopped being friends with me? Back home?” 

Finnick shook his head. “I stopped being around you after my Games because I felt like we couldn’t connect anymore. I was somewhere else and you didn’t understand.”

“So you told all my secrets? You let them start rumors about me?”

He looked at the ground, quiet. “I never should have told them those things.”

“It’s too late to feel sorry for yourself.” You told him. “Or fix any of this. You better hope that you’re right about this strategy, or my blood will be on your hands.”

Finnick nodded, backing out of the door, satisfied that he’d gotten the chance to properly speak to you. “Goodnight.”

You punched the button on the wall. 

If Finnick’s plan doesn’t work out, it won’t matter, because you’ll be dead anyway. Still, you’ll spend every last breath cursing his name and actions, for getting you in this position.

As much as you hate to say it, you have to admit that his plan has worked without a single hiccup. He was right, down to the very last word. You don’t think that you crossed any of the other tributes’ minds, much less the very much, now-dead Careers.

It was easy, too easy to survive this far. There were several times you were sure that you’d get caught sneaking in and out of the Cornucopia for supplies. Or when you’d accidentally pass by an active camp, where you were merely just a few feet away from the deadliest tributes in the arena.

You never got caught though, you flew under the radar, and it’s brought you here.

The male tribute from District Eight stands a few feet away from you, knife in his hand. You can’t seem to remember his name, but you know that he’s older than you, on the cusp of being free of the Hunger Games forever. You won’t be able to place your finger on his age exactly, but if you had to guess, it’d be eighteen.

He’s panting heavily, a result of chasing you for two miles through palm trees and sand. You would’ve brought him through the river, too, if the Gamemakers hadn’t dried it up yesterday. Now all it acts as is a barren trench. He’d tried to corner you into going inside, but you knew better. If you’d fallen in, you would’ve died down there.

You didn’t survive this entire time just to be killed from doing something stupid.

“Come here, little girl.” He breathes, voice deep. He takes the first step toward you, your legs twitch, wanting to run. You don’t move. “I’ll try to make it quick.”

You tilt your head at him. 

In the past two and a half weeks you’ve been in here, you don’t think you’ve said a single word. A point you’ve been trying to make since you made a fool of yourself on stage with Caesar Flickerman. Which has been a little difficult to keep up, because you have a habit of working out your problems aloud. 

Your lips are sealed, as far as you’re concerned. And they’ll stay that way, until you’re announced as the victor. 

He’s making his way at you at a steady pace. The closer he gets, the more you’re able to see the deranged look in his eye. It makes you worry, but your focus lies with the knife that he’s white-knuckling. Your idea of getting it out of his hand somehow is becoming a bad one. 

You really have no choice. The Cornucopia is miles away. The only weapon you had is gone, thrown into the trench. What you have now is your backpack, which has close to nothing inside of it. Just the sleeping bag you stole, a half-empty bottle of water, and a coiled wire.

“Surprised you lasted this long.” He mutters, “What did you score, again? A three?”

Four. Which might have been done out of irony, because that’s where you’re from. Or pity, because the Gamemakers saw that you were making an effort to learn. With Finnick’s initial instructions to fail everything you touched, you had a hard time figuring out the right way to do things.

You weren’t allowed to succeed.

“What’s the matter?” He teases.

He’s gotten close enough to lunge at you, swiping with the knife. He cuts you across your upper left arm, leaving a stinging trail behind. In turn, you swing your fist at his jaw, an ache forms in your knuckles, pain blossoming under the skin.

You’ve never had to punch anyone before.

In the brief time you have, you try to seize the knife from his hand, but he’s already thought of that, lifting it up, out of your reach. As he prepares to stab downward, you wiggle out of the backpack, bringing it in front of you to act as a shield.

Sure enough, it pierces through the cloth, he draws it out. You lower the bag, backing up, shaking your head at him. You’re not going to be able to fight, and it’s not because you don’t want to, it’s because you’re not capable. You can punch and kick him all you want, but he’s going to bounce back.

You need a weapon, so you rip the backpack open, pulling out the bottle of water that's beginning to leak from being stabbed. You throw it at him, watching as he dodges it, breathing out a laugh. It wasn’t your goal to hit him, just slow him down another step.

Your hand dives back in, rooting around for the wire, which lays at the very bottom, practically untouched since you discovered it. Right as you go to pull it out, he swings at you again. You’re barely able to lift the bag in time, listening to it tear from the sharp blade.

Without thinking it through entirely, you retaliate, aiming for his legs. The wire slices into skin, he jumps away from you. One look at the damage you’ve caused, and you forget about defending yourself with the backpack. You have a ranged weapon. 

For once, you take a step forward, pursuing him. Each time he slashes, you dodge and attack. He doesn’t miss every time, sometimes catching your shirt or your skin. Either way, the advantage changes.

You hurl the backpack at him, still hanging onto a strap, watching as his focus turns to catching it before it knocks into him. With the other hand, you bring down the wire, coming into contact with his face. He lets out a hiss, right as you whip it forward again.

His sudden scream startles you, making you jump. You watch as he drops the knife in his hand, forgetting about it. His hands are trembling when he reaches to touch his face, his left eye, where blood is gushing out like a waterfall.

You don’t stare for long, jerking forward, falling into the grass to grab the knife before he realizes his mistake. His eye is squeezed shut, letting out pained sobs. You get back to your feet, arm drawing back, before you hammer the knife into his chest, right over where his heart is. 

His eye and mouth pop open at the same time, hands falling from his face to his chest, where he’s just able to secure his fingers around the knife. Then, his eyes roll back, taking his body with him.

A cannon blasts.

You shuffle forward a step, looking down at him, and then up at the sky. 

That’s it, right? That’s all you had to do? There’s no one left in the arena?

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games, District Four’s very own (Y/n) (L/n)!” Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms over the clearing, answering your questions.

You laugh, backing away from the gruesome scene you caused. “How’s that for a score of four?”

—

The familiar voices down the hallway grow louder with each step you take. They placed you in the room as far away as possible, to make you work to see your people again. In any other instance, you’re sure you’d be on some degree of irritation, but you’re so relieved to be here, and alive that it doesn’t seem right to be mad.

You survived the Hunger Games, there’s nothing in Panem that can touch you now. 

Your eyes are searching for them before you’ve even rounded the corner. Your stylist, your escort and Finnick are standing together, talking quietly. 

“Finnick.” His name leaves your mouth in a gasp, causing him to turn. Your feet move without permission, body gravitating to him. Finnick gives you a look—the look he used to give you back home when he thought you were being dramatic.

He throws his arms open at the last second, your body coming into hard contact with his, making him stumble back. He’s got you securely, though. Your arms lock around his back, squeezing him tightly. You can feel his cheek press against your ear.

“Welcome back.” He says.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself this moment, because you’ve missed being his friend. If there’s one good thing that will come of this, it’ll be getting him back. But it won’t happen before he shows you that he’s sorry.

When you pull away from the hug, his eyes flicker to yours, watching you. “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But it’s a start, isn’t it?”

You suck in your lips for a moment, nodding. “We’ll figure it out when we get home. For now, I just want to get out of here.” You tell him, before turning to the escort and the stylist, who are both smiling at you. You take in a breath, trying to reciprocate, “So, what’s next?”

[roseychains]

sorry for being a little shit and asking so much (I asked twice 🏳️🏳️) but do u PERHAPS write like, idk maybe sorta fluff?? but not hardcore fluff. something in me just wants to see brother!sukuna x sister!reader but not smut or anything. ^_^

also, I’m not anonymous so I don’t rlly need a sign off but it’ll still be 🫧🕊️ bc I’m greedy. please and ty in advance! Ik writing can be tiring and so can getting tons of requests :’)

Brother Sukuna

A/n: so it’s obi gonna be out of character cuz sukuna but more so it’s gonna probably be atleast a little unrealistic bc I have a twin brother, who is anything but sukuna-like.(for reference, he’s a big shot in our schools band, the only one who made state and lowkey a nerd) I’ll try my best tho lol

C/w: NOT A SHIP. PURELY PLATONIC. mentions of bullying, as well as assault. (Neither done by Sukuna).

First and foremost, protective but not in the way you’d expect. If you ever come to him complaining about people bullying you he’d probably brush it off and tell you to not concern yourself with others opinions, but then the next day those same bully’s were beaten into a pulp

An actual menace. A prankster if you will. Bluring the line between playful and hands down annoying. Take for example, drinking your drinks you put in the fridge to get cold, eating snacks you bought for yourself(he’s a fatass), NEVER PUTS THE TOILET SEAT DOWN, blasts music when your trying to sleep, takes controllers from you when he needs them, at anytime without asking permission, the list goes on.

But he does have equal amount good quality’s as he does bad ones. Despite his annoying habits, he makes up for it in other things. He drives you to places, anytime he’s bring home food he will get you something too(50/50 chance if he asked you or picks for you), and 11 out of 10 times sides with you in arguments you have with people. Additionally, he will also show up to any events you want him too, even if sometimes begrudgingly so. I can also imagine him getting pissed off if you try to compensate him for anything like gas or food, offended you think he’s poor

He gives me stoner vibes. So, as a sibling, he wouldn’t let you do anything till ur an adult and once u are he would only give u his stuff when your together and safe

At any point if you ever text him that your in trouble and need him to pick you up, he’s immediately on his way without a second thought. He might be a dick sometimes but he doesn’t play when it comes to your safety

Speaking of safety, if anyone victimizes you, more than just regular bullying I’m talking physical or sexual assault, he will do a whole lot more than just beat them up. Let’s just say he’s not afraid of being potentially jailed. Knowing the justice system, even if he did end up in jail he’d probably have a not terrible time, seeing as people who killed/severely ingured an assaulter are often respected

As children, when you would roughhouse he would find himself holding back and letting you win. As much as he likes to antagonize you he won’t ever hurt you

In summary, he’s genuinely very caring but never shows it. It kills his tough guy personality but deep down he does care for you deeply

[chaotickasugaicrows]

Welp, yesterday’s poll has spoken. You guys wanted to see the human and demon role reversal AU. We’re calling it Good Intentions. We struggled and brainstormed and did our best to change characters' roles without straying too far from their canon personalities. 

First up, the protagonist is one Muzan Kibutsuji. Muzan is an egotistical and cowardly little shit at first. He’s a kid from a fallen wealthy family but he takes extreme pride in his family’s name. His father instilled in him the belief that they’re family is perfect and that they need to build back up their name and remind everyone of how perfect their family is. Despite his ego, he’s actually quite insecure and compares himself to his little brother Kagaya. Muzan was born albino and not all that healthy. He doesn’t appear like he’s healthy and his albinism makes him look a bit out of place compared to the rest of the family which really bothers him. However, Kagaya was born even more sickly and that persisted throughout childhood. Muzan being healthier and being able to do things his brother can’t is what prevented too much resentment towards his brother. One day, while Muzan was away from his family, the Demon King came to their house, killed his parents, and turned his little brother into a demon. Muzan becomes determined to cure his brother to restore a semblance of his old life and wants to get revenge for his family. He also wants his brother back to normal because as a demon Kagaya is stronger than him. Yet, among those maybe less than stellar motivations, Muzan does in fact care about his little brother. He’s terrified of having to face life on his own and has nightmares about what would have happened if he had to kill Kagaya.  Now for Kagaya Kibutsuji, little brother turned demon. Kagaya is calm, quiet, and prefers to sit in the background. He’s not blind. He knows that his brother is insecure and constantly gives in, letting Muzan decide things or win arguments, because he cares and doesn’t want to see his brother suffering. Kagaya is pretty smart in making these concessions feel genuine so that it doesn’t come off like he’s pitying his older brother, so that Muzan doesn’t notice he’s doing this on purpose. Winning never really mattered to Kagaya. Kagaya’s got a more grounded confidence and friendlier demeanor that he learned from his mother compared to Muzan’s grandstanding that he learned from their father. As a demon, Kagaya resisted hurting his brother and held onto more of his humanity by clinging to the thought that he couldn’t leave his brother alone, that Muzan wouldn’t survive alone. Despite being calmer than his brother, both are rather dangerous opponents as they have a natural talent for battle tactics and strategy. Kagaya was more gifted in knowing when and where to strike for the most effectiveness, while Muzan was gifted in knowing how best to evade to give yourself a more advantageous position. Before fighting demons, these talents manifested in brutal verbal assaults that left no retort from Kagaya and dancing around topics of discussion in a way that allowed him to control the flow of conversation for Muzan. Kagaya’s blood demon art is Lunar Tide which allows him to manipulate water extracted from his blood and freeze it down to -173°C during the day or -273°C at night. He can induce frostbite to the point of necrosis, even in demons. Also, Kagaya is not carried by Muzan because Muzan said “being turned into a demon didn’t get rid of your legs, walk.” So Muzan went through the extra hassle of figuring out enough clothes and shade so that Kagaya could walk himself through the dang sunlight.

And now, last but not least for the moment, Demon King Tanjirō. Smol struggled so hard, literally agonized over making Tanjirō pretty much evil. She even wanted to make him win, which Lilith absolutely vetoed. He’s my blorbo, Lilith you can’t blame me. Anyway, this AU is called Good Intentions for a reason. Approximately a thousand years before the Kibutsuji brothers, Tanjirō Kamado was dying due to a disease he inherited from his father. Now, he might not have looked for a cure so hard if all his siblings weren’t also dying from the same disease. He was desperate to save his family even if he died first, willing to do anything. This led him to an experimental treatment that turned him into the Demon Progenitor. He turned his siblings into demons, all of them except Takeo who ran away because he felt that this was wrong. Kie also became a demon to stick with her children. Soon, however, they discovered that being a demon meant that they couldn’t walk into the sun (Rokuta wandered into the daylight and died, devastating all of them.) Thus, Tanjirō became focused on finding a way to make the cure perfect. To allow his siblings to live life to the fullest. Good intentions right? Good intentions that so easily became twisted. Demon King Tanjirō spent a lot of time searching and turned many others along the way. People he felt bad for, people with tragic stories. Tanjirō as the Demon King actually cares about those he turns. He feels possessive over them and over the years his perspective became one of us versus them. He wants those he cares about to be safe and protected, he’s biased towards them. If other people have to die, if things have to get messy, what does it matter as long as those he cares about remain safe and happy. He eventually grows more paranoid, protecting his demons from imagined threats. Tanjirō spirals into self justification for his more cruel decisions and does so for others too, him and his demons are always victims even when they’re the ones who instigate the violence. The stagnation of becoming a demon, this fixed and faulty mindset, can bring out the worst in even the kindest of people.

Ultimately, Muzan Kibutsuji starts off only caring about his family and later grows to feel empathy even towards his enemies, while Tanjirō Kamado starts off with lots of empathy and becomes colder towards those that are outside his circle.

[sugudoe]

HI BABES <3 hruuuu

I've been on ur page for a while and was curious about the jjk matchup and wanted to try 😭

btw feel free to ignore this if u don't wanna do it 🫶🏻

-appearance wise- short? Not athletic at all, casual goth/alt kinda style hijabi/curly ASF short hair, (kinda really conventionally attractive according to shit ton of people ig😭?)

- schizophrenic? Borderline personality disorder and adhd 💀

-Quite smart actually but js lazy asf so usually no efforts

- procrastinates ALOT like that's a huge part of my life atp😭in literally everything

- not really the type to care for own health or anything

-Got a really bad rbf in public +not talkative AT ALL outside of home💀

a huge girls girl

-Really weird mood swings so either talk wayyy while making zero sense or fully mute

-Overall quite confident esp in own body and all so it's pretty hard for other person to win any argument/insult type of things

-Kinda narcissist? Like 1st priority is me so pretty hard to settle for anyone

-childish in relationships cuz ykk trauma🥰🫶🏻

- not taking ANYONES shi esp from partner soo.....

ANYWAYS THAT'S IT ILYYY BYEEE MWAH

my first sukuna!!!! i’ve been waiting for you mwah. this is true form!sukuna and heian!sukuna. also you’re so badass i got inspired to write a one shot, yay.

•⁀➷ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . ﹫ 𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢 ៹ ༉‧₊˚

sukuna does not give a fuck about anyone that isn’t him or uraume, so when you came on this temple he took for himself with a lot of blood as a payment, he was left wondering.

you arrived as an offering from your village, they couldn’t deal with your personality and ways. never putting your head down or allowing anyone to talk shit. and you, a cursed user, had no restrains on using your technique to defend yourself or prove a point. somehow, they still managed to get you unconscious.

throw at sukuna’s feet, you woke in a daze and you were mad at everyone. seeing this fragile looking little person raising chaos and destruction intrigued him. he killed all of those you didn’t, and you hated him for it.

“hey, you big asshole!” you stormed all the way to his seat. “they were mine.”

“and you are mine now, go with uraume to receive your tasks.”

. . . what?

you start to work under sukuna after that day, he says he doesn’t give a fuck, but it’s an easy lie to spot. sukuna wants to know about your powers, your anger, your everything. and since asking you would be inconsistent to his nonchalant personality, he makes uraume be near you at all times.

uraume hates you. not for jealousy, they just hate how lazy you are with the work. the three of you have an intimidating aura, the closed off faces of you and uraume and the devilish smirk of sukuna is a common last view for anyone who dares face you all.

sukuna begins to view you as something other than a soldier when you keep back talking him more and more. he gets offensive, you defend yourself and nearly gets you face burned or body slashed, that makes you even angrier. he finds amusing your scowling and screeches, so he keeps “missing” his assassination attempts.

sukuna does not court you or asks you on a date, sorry! he will just make clear one day that you are his, like in your first encounter, except this time anyone that comes into his room will be met with a not friendly sight of you on his lap.

now, uraume hates the two of you.

──── 𓇼 ° ⋆ FUN FACTS ᵎᵎ

۫ ּ ﹗it’s all a lie, uraume actually likes you both. and if you ever get sick, sukuna will not help you, but the cooker will make you soup and that’s it. don’t ask the ingredients, though.

۫ ּ ﹗sukuna has a short temper, and you have the light to ignite his anger. you both are very explosive, and yet he stopped getting angry a long time ago, he rather see you worked up. you know where this ends.

۫ ּ ﹗he sees you with a gothic dress, his many eyes won’t leave you alone, never.

۫ ּ ﹗when the culling games start, you come back thanks to kenjaku. it’s like the day you first met, you come his way in a confused state and angry. he missed you a lot.

[vitasexualiiis]

Mori + Dazai in Dark Era:

Ever since finishing the Dark Era novel in full, I can't stop thinking about the end where Dazai confronts Mori??

After almost every exchange they have, Mori asks Dazai some very leading questions:

"Very well. You have my permission. However, I would like to know why." "Of course, he's a dear ally of ours, but is he worth sending executive-level men to the front line to save?" "I understand your plan, but but in all likelihood, Oda doesn't want help. What do you think of that?" "No matter what the cost, you have to get yourself dirty to keep the Port Mafia going. [...] you must also willingly perform any logically conceivable atrocity. Do you understand what I'm saying?" "What remarkable inference. There is nothing that needs correcting. I have just one thing I'd like to ask: What is wrong with that?" "It's a win-win situation. So why are you so angry?" "We have always brought darkness, violence, and cruelty to this city. Why is that a problem now?" "Stay, or do you have a logical reason for going to him?"

etc., etc. I assume the story is (textually) painting two pictures: one, that Mori is, above all, rational, and will win this argument no matter what. The second, that Dazai is no longer acting rationally, but is being lead by his emotions--something that, up until this point, was something he didn't (intentionally) give into.

Dazai didn't say a word. That was just about the first time he'd ever been unable to articulate his feelings. Logically speaking, Ougai was right, and Dazai was wrong. Ougai's narrowed eyes harbored a tinge of cleverness, as if they could see into his heart. It was the same kind of light that was once in Dazai's eyes when he looked upon his enemies or allies

Obviously Mori is asking these questions so he can refute them, but it does genuinely make me wonder if he has an ulterior motive here? We know that by this point, their relationship has deteriorated. Mori says, "It's not often you come here yourself." Which is a far cry from Dazai being his confidant and right-hand-man in Fifteen.

Are his questions rhetorical? Is he genuinely telling Dazai, "If you can give me a better option, I will take it"? Is he defending himself, knowing that he hurt Dazai immensely? Is it a plea for rationality? Is he testing his loyalty?

Does he want Dazai to realize he's languishing in the Mafia? ("Why are you so angry?") Is he giving him permission to live authentically--outside of the Mafia--by making him admit that he no longer holds its values?

Is he simply laying everything on the table so that Dazai can make the choice he needs to make? Or, is he pushing him away intentionally, knowing that Dazai will hang on until it kills one or both of them?

The thing we need to understand here, is that Mori never hated Dazai. He was (is?) afraid of him, yes, but Mori (STILL!) wants him by his side. Dazai was his confidant, his project, the ace up his sleeve and his heir.

Yes, Mori got the permit, and it was all worth it in his mind, but it's a Pyrrhic victory at best.

Two weeks after Dazai leaves, Mori is STILL described as "listless," and outright refuses to replace his executive seat (which...iirc he never has).

The organization had received an item of great value, something that more than made up for the total pecuniary damage and loss of talented subordinates. That included Dazai's disappearance as well. Logically speaking, the results couldn't have been better. Everything was going according to plan. Ougai folded the document [Oda's Silver Oracle] into a misshapen paper airplane. Then, with his chin still resting on his hand, he threw it. The deformed plane almost immediately crashed into the floor. "Things sure are going to get boring around here..."

Sooo...yeah. It really makes me wonder just what Mori was trying to accomplish with Dazai during all of this, and especially during their final exchange.

Was one of his sacrifices as boss Dazai's presence and loyalty? For the health of the organization? For Dazai's health and happiness?

I dunno! Given what we're shown here, I'm kind of inclined to believe it was a little of everything.

[kittkatattacks]

Wip Wednesday 7/31/24

These are hella late but here are my sentences for 7/31 :)

Perfect season 20-22 for:

@happinessisntfun @owlbearwrites @1attheedge @eriquin

“I need you to get some information to the little lord.”

“Ah, I see. And what exactly would I be telling him?”

“Riko is getting out of control. He sent some of the freshman Ravens over to Palmetto to kill one of our players.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes. the player who was attacked saw who it was and I’m sure there’s a paper trail that leads back to the side branch if not to Riko himself.”

“Alright, I’ll check it out and relay your message. Is there anything else?”

“Thank you, and no, there’s nothing else right now.”

“Very well then, I’ll let you go.”

“Bye,” Neil says, and hangs up the phone, handing it back to Andrew.

He pockets the phone, leans back on his elbows and stares out at the parking lot. Neil doesn’t feel like going back inside so he sits with Andrew and stares at him, admiring how the sun lights up his hair and makes his eyes glow gold.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

AFTG space au for:

@enigma-the-mysterious @scifikimmi @auburnlaughter @adhdavinci

Neil finishes signing his email, heart pounding in his ears and sends it off before he can think about it too much. He quickly closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and then takes a few calming breaths.

In, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Out, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

In, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Out, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

He does this until he feels his heart slow and gets up to get ready for the day. 

Neil barely makes it through his first class; the professor monotonically goes over the syllabus and then keeps them there for another half hour talking about himself and how he ended up in ‘such a fine establishment’. He resorts to alternating between drawing on the handout given to them at the start of class and stabbing himself in the thigh with a pen.

He meets up with Jean for a late lunch and they both talk about how their classes are going so far.

“I’m just saying, that class is shit. I don’t understand why we need to take it.” Neil says, referring to his undergraduate studies class.

“We have to take it because someone,” Jean replies, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork, and then pointing it at Neil, “wanted to explore Europe instead of going to college when we graduated.”

“Whatever,” Neil says, swatting the broccoli away. “It's not like I made you come with me.”

“True, but irrelevant. Besides, if you had gone on your own, who would have been there to take care of you after all of the times you got into fights and needed patching up.”

“I could have done it myself or gone to a clinic,” Neil says, already knowing he’s going to lose this argument.

“Bullshit. I’ve never met someone who hates hospitals more than you do. Also I’ve seen you try to patch yourself up, you’re pretty shit at it.”

“Alright, Alright,” Neil says, putting his hands up in surrender, “you win.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

YLPWBOYF for:

@somefishycat @wizisbored

Lola wastes no time getting into his space, knife in hand, crowding him even more into the car door. 

“So, Junior,” Lola says, like she’s gossiping with a friend, “I’ve just got to know, where’d Mary run off to?” She presses the tip of the knife into his cheek when he doesn’t immediately answer, just enough to draw a drop of blood. 

Nathaniel doesn’t flinch despite the pain he feels and replies, “Like I’d ever tell you that.”

“Maybe,” Lola says, “but I have a feeling you’ll tell me sooner or later.”

Nathaniel wants to question how she plans to do that, but keeps his smart mouth shut, his mind already coming up with multiple ways that she could.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

DMRA for:

@zyrafowe-sny @whimsicalmeerkat @aparticularbandit @post-and-out

Aaron can tell he’s struck a nerve, the bulging veins on either side of Hill’s forehead giving away just how much he has. 

Halsey steps between them, redirecting Hill’s attention to him and Aaron takes the chance to give Kevin a once over.

Aaron hadn’t thought much of him when he first walked in, having been more focused on Hill. However, now that he’s really looking, he notices how muscular Kevin’s arms are, his jade-green eyes and how he towers over most of the people in the room, including himself.

Aaron turns his attention back to Hill and Halsey, “I look forward to seeing you in class,” Hill says, but Aaron can tell he is still pissed from earlier despite the smile he wears.

He glares at Hill until he’s gone and turns his attention back to Halsey who checks his watch, “I’ve got to go, there’s a call I need to make. Kevin, could you please show Mr.Minyard the Emergency room.”

“Of course, I was on my way over there anyway,” Kevin says.

Aaron gives Kevin his full attention now that Halsey is gone, “You sure know what to say to impress important people huh?”

“I assume you mean Hill.”

Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass but he’s got a lot of influence here. Let me guess, you’re taking Dr.Hill’s class?”

“Yep.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d tone down the animosity. Getting an F in his class is like a bad review from the New York Times; it’ll ruin your career before it even begins.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[dollwrites]

Hi Hi I’m so happy you finished it!! Now we can really get into some discussions lol this will probably be sooo long

So I’ll be honest I’m meh about cregan probably because he’s very team black lol. I’m also meh about the starks just from watching GOT like the only starks I liked were John and Sansa tbh, I definitely don’t dislike the starks and I LOVE winterfell and the northern people, I just don’t love most of the starks we see on screen if that makes sense 🤔 they’re definitely not my favorite house lol. And it’s so annoying that cregan is friends with Jace like in the books they’re really close and describe each other as “brothers” eugh 🙄

Aemond is too smart to be manipulated by someone like larys lol I love that he’s the only one that sees through his shit. So I never noticed this until I saw a TikTok about it but when larys was on the wall staring at aemond, aemond looked up at him and kinda walked with a limp to mock him 💀 I’ll make sure to send it to you it’s so funny aemond is so sassy

Girl I was dying those two years waiting for more 😭 I just rewatched it a lot and read a lot of fanfic and used a lot of character ai lol. It’s so hard waiting like I’ve never loved anything as much as hotd so it pains me to have to wait 🥲

Ok so now we can really get into alicent and why I switched up on her 😮‍💨 it kinda started with how she treated aegon in season two it kinda had me looking at her like 🤨 like when his son was murdered and she only cared about how helaena felt even though aegon was a wreck too. It really broke my heart to see her walk away from him when he was sobbing alone in his room. And then of course like I mentioned before how she broke his heart when she basically told him he was worthless. And then it got worse for me when she took Helaenas side against aemonds and said she didn’t have to help him with her dragon. Like??? Do alicent and helaena not understand that if helaena doesn’t help they’re literally going to lose the war and their entire family is going to die??? In that whole argument alicent was basically telling aemond that he had to fight the ENTIRE war by himself knowing that he was outnumbered and was probably going to die. Helaena is the only way they could win but alicent was like nah you can go die by yourself lol and what’s worse is aemond never signed up for this shit like he wasn’t the one plotting to usurp nyra. Then it got even worse with the ending of the last episode. I have never been more confused, angry, disgusted in my life I could not believe the shit they put on my tv lol. So you’re telling me alicent FORCED aegon to be king when he didn’t want it, and then literally changed her mind and went nah actually you can die I’m on nyras side now?? WHAT?? What was the whole fucking point of putting aegon on the throne then!??? What was the point of hating nyra for years and plotting against her for years??? Just for her to literally give up her own son. Like what the fuck she really hates aegon. Aegon would never do that same thing to her, he would be actually heartbroken to know his own mother did that to him. And she’s not just giving up him, she’s basically also agreeing to have aemond and her other son daeron killed just so she can have nyra be queen. Like you’ve never even been around this poor kid daeron and she’s like yeah whatever kill them all. And the fact that aemond had been fighting alone for his entire fucking family and this is how they repay him. It’s baffling honestly. Book alicent would never every single thing she did in her life was for her kids, she was ride or die for them and would literally do anything for them. They completely ruined her character I have no idea why they went this route with her. Book alicent would probably kill nyra with her own hands given the chance.

And can we also talk about helaena what the fuck?? So she helps daemon with that “vision” and literally smiles at him as she’s like you have to help nyra win. Like hello?? That’s the man that killed her child and she’s smiling at him and helping him?? And saying that their side has to win against her own family?? And then she literally smugly tells aemond he’s going to die, literally says you’ll be dead 😏 like what has aemond ever done to her to make her basically happy he’s going to die?? He’s only ever defended her 🙄 ugh like the writers need to be fired I’ve never been so mad at a show before lol.

The only things I liked about this season was aemond, aegon, and the dragons. The writers have changed so much this season from the books and it’s so frustrating I could go on and on about it. Honestly the highlight of the season to me was aegon and I know you don’t really like him lol but I was blown away by him this season. I honestly think he was the most interesting character by far, his character was so fleshed out this season, we got such a deep insight into him. I’m such a sucker for tragic characters like him, I never wanted to like him but I felt myself actually feeling heartbroken for him so many times and actually growing to like his character. A lot of the characters are so one note/ one dimensional but aegon is so dimensional, he has moments where you hate him and moments you love him. I also think his actor fucking killed it, he was acting circles around everyone else lol.

I would love to know your thoughts now that it’s over 👀 also how many TikTok’s are too many lol like I said before I have like 800 saved so idk how I’m gonna narrow it down lol

YES MY LOVE HOW ARE YOUUUU !! Sorry this has taken so long to reply to BUT

Okay so my opinion on cregan is positive just bc I think he’s sexy so SKSKSK THATS IT. I’m interested in his character and even though team black makes me 🤨🤨🤨 I can still respect his loyalty to the original oath I ALSO AM PARTIAL TO STARKS ( did I mention this in the last message? I can’t remember 💀 ) BECAUSE I ONLY WATCHED GOT AT FIRST BC OF NED…. I am a big Sean Bean fan I’ve always loved him character ai doing me so dirty by not offering a father figure eddard that also wants to yoinky sploinky me

Cregan… honey… you’re bad at choosing friends 💀💀 I HATE JACE SO MUCH but I will admit the actor that plays him is pretty so I guess I don’t mind him being on screen I just wish he wasn’t such a piss boy !!!

IVE SEEN THE AEMOND CLIP YOURE REFERENCING HAHAHA I was like did he just… I’m glad he’s smarter though! They did show him being really impulsive towards the end after Vermithor and silverwing were claimed and I wanted to know whether you thought that was accurate to the books? When he burned down the city. Because I did kinda like it! It showed how weak he felt in that moment and I personally thought it gave him more depth. I feel like he’s one of the best developed characters in the show, even though towards the end of the season he only had scraps of screentime. Either that or I’m just filling in the blanks bc I love him I CANT TELL

ALSO I HAVE BEEN WRITING SOME AEMOND STUFF…, I hope you get the chance to read it whenever it drops next month I think I have 3 almost finished fics ready to go. Ofc i do less deep more smut but SKSKKS still!! I’ve looked at the fic pool on here and some of these writers are INSANELY good so I’m pretty nervous to be dipping my toes into the fandom, BUT I NEED CONTENT ever since finishing it I’ve just been like 🧍🏼‍♀️now what

Speaking of needing content….. I redownloaded audible !! So I could get the book experiences too. Although the only version of fire and blood they have is the hbo tie in so I know it’s not exactly the same thing but !! Still I don’t really have the time available for me to read anymore so audible is like my only avenue, but I might try to also read the other ones he’s put out too. It depends on how this goes.

OH YKW AFTER YOUR ALICENT RANT… I totally get it. I agree with you completely once you break everything down. When jahaerys died aegon was a COMPLETE MESS 😭 ( let me admit rn that after rewatching it with my mom I have grown to love him I just needed to be open to him SKSKKS ) and he needed his mom, that part really bothered me, and it also bothers me that even after the way she treated him he still always looks to her when he needs her. I saw a tiktok ( forgot to save it ofc ) about the times hes said “I want my mother” or “mummy” and I was like OK TEARS THANKS FOR THE PAIN !!!

Aemond really is fighting this whole war by himself!! Alicent and Otto put all of this into motion and now is like ok now destroy each other and as much as I like helaena I lowkey don’t think she should be able to just be like ya I know I have one of the oldest strongest dragons and if I rode with my brother we could probably stand a chance but 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️ I won’t burn anyone like…. What do you mean !!! Aemond has always had a soft spot for helaena from what I saw in that scene where he was crying and basically begging her to go with him I WAS SO MAD AT HER FOR THAT SCENE

If I can be totally honest the whole daemon in the haunted keep arc I deadass didn’t pay attention so I don’t even understand it SKSKKS I was like well this is pointless so I just zoned out every time HAHA so when I saw helaena I was like ???

AEGON DID WELL IN THE SECOND SEASON like I said I do kinda love him now!! After seeing the scene where he was like trying to make the people of kings landing happy during their petitions or whatever I was like 🥺 I am really scared for him though now that he’s on the run with LARYS ???

I’m actually… dreading next season HAHAHA like I need to see it but I have read so many things that might be spoilers idk and each time I’m like :/ please… don’t do that… but if I’m honest it’s one of the best shows I’ve seen in the last ten years! By far my favorite right now, and I can’t wait to also give my opinion to you on the books as I read (listen to ??) them

YOU CAN SEND ME AS MANY AS YOU WANT sticking with 5 in a message would probably be easiest for me to be able to watch! Plus I’m in the us so TikToks probably getting banned like next month so I NEED TO SOAK UP THE CONTENT WHILE I CAN