#pov i actually colour something for once in my life

[bobus]

lego style is fun

if you spot any mistakes .. nuh uh

[thelastofhyde]

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra​​ @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet. 

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?” 

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s. 

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point. 

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

 “you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure. 

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass. 

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

 and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time. 

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you. 

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms. 

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.​

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: slasher! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: mdni, dark themes, mention of drug use and cheating, stalking, obsession, König’s pov

A/n: it’s a prequel to my Fuck or Die fic, so go check it out<3 Will this be the beginning of psychotic yan! König series?? Maybe🤭

Crouched in uncomfortable position, fabric on his knees was damp from wet soil on which König was kneeling, mosquitos buzzing all over his head, all eager to drink of his warm blood - but he didn’t budge, staying still like a panther observing its next prey. Soft rustling filled König’s ears, warm breeze ruffling up the leaves of dense shrubbery among which man sat, completely concealing his bulky form.

König’s mouth filled with saliva, dilated pupils concealed the icy blue of his eyes, making them look pitch black. He swallowed hard, exhaling as slowly as he could through his nose, a spark of excitement settling somewhere deep within his stomach, watching unblinkingly through thick lenses of his binoculars two bodies swirling together.

In a building about three hundred meters afar all widows were free from curtains, revealing the insides of the house. With thumping heart König watched guy’s hands slip down Y/n’s sides, caressing sweet indent of her waist, down to soft hips and lower, finally resting on two hemispheres of girl’s plump ass. He noted how her back arched ever so slightly, pushing further into her boyfriend’s chest, hot mouthes connecting in a sloppy kiss, bright blush dusting Y/n’s soft cheeks and pointy tips of her ears.

Breaking apart shortly after, König’s sharp eyes watched guy’s lips move. “I love you” he said and König couldn’t help but snort in amusement, memories from only few hours earlier were still fresh in his head - how that motherfucker offered to give that cute cheerleader girl from his class a ride home, pulling up in an empty parking lot, not even ten minutes later his car was shaking from side to side. Still, Y/n smiled softly at his words, making König’s jaw clench. He could do so much better.

König didn’t expect much from you at first. Truth be told - it wasn’t you who caught his attention, but your boyfriend, especially where he lived. A huge house on the outskirts - closest neighbouring cottages were at best one kilometre away, making this place a perfect target for König’s next outing. So he came to studying its inhabitants more closely - a family of three - couple in their fifties and their only son. How better can it possibly get?

So König entered his usual routine - first and most important step was to learn more about his future victims, their routines and people they were close with. It was very easy with parents - an average boring life consisting of work, household and a dinner at local restaurant every Saturday. But slasher couldn’t say the same about their child.

From the very first hours König felt deep disdain for that guy. Everything about him just felt fake. A perfect son and excellent boyfriend, captain of local football team, goody two shoes who has never done anything wrong in his whole life - everyone’s golden boy, all bright smiles and promising future. The exact same one who snorted cocaine in stale bathrooms of gas stations, hands too shaky and mind too numb from withdrawal to actually process his surroundings; the one who, stoned out of his head, gladly threw himself in embrace of other women, hardly remembering sweet face of his girlfriend.

Oh, his girlfriend. Y/n - a sweet and lovely little thing, all butterflies and unicorns, never once failing to hold König’s full attention without slightest intention of doing so.

Watching Y/n has always been way more fun and exciting for him. König guessed it had something to do with her demeanour - so drastically different from his own, that attracted him so much. How bubbly and vibrant you were, making everything around you play with new colours, just like a little ray of sunshine - something König has never been.

Oftentimes slasher caught himself listening intently to you going over newest gossip with your best friend over the phone (wiretapping is way easier than one may think), your sweet voice filling his ears like honey, soothing his raging thoughts buzzing within his skull, clinging to every smallest word you said. It didn’t take much time for König to find your socials as well, spending way much longer than he should studying your pictures, breathing becoming shallow and his dick twitching at the sight of your puffy lips, often imagining how they’d look like wrapper around his shaft.

What König took special liking of was to watch your nightly routine. It was a stable and never changing chain of events - hot shower, skincare, rubbing moisturiser into your feet, shins and hands, and then finally tucking yourself comfortably in soft bed. It was nothing special, yet König craved to be a part of it. Craved to be the one applying whatever shit that was on your pretty face, to massage good-smelling mixtures onto your cheeks

Back to reality, König watched both Y/n and that little boyfriend of hers settling down in the couch, starting some soap opera on big TV screen.

Maybe now? König’s whole body froze at sudden thought. He swallowed hard once again, his mind racing, adrenaline burning through his veins at the intensity of this idea alone. Guy’s parents were out of town, meaning that him and Y/n were all alone in the house. König glanced at the black sport bag lying right next to him on damp ground, electricity tingling his fingertips - he had all necessary stuff packed with him, just go for it.

Slasher gazed through binoculars once again, blue eyes fixating upon you two cuddled up on the couch, man’s mind now filling with all the possible things he could do to the motherfucker, sight of him holding you so gently making König’s blood boil.

Reaching over to his bag murderer opened it, pulling out his mask and checking if voice changer was working still. All of König’s thoughts dissipating into nothingness the moment soft fabric of under mask touched the skin of his cheeks, leaving place for only one thing:

Soon she will be mine

[perseidlion]

Behold, my first strictly Payneland fic!

Daydreamers (3642 words) by perseid_lion Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Characters: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU) Additional Tags: Pining, Mutual Pining, sexual awakening, First Kiss, Charles Rowland Loves Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne Loves Charles Rowland, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Gay, Gay Male Character, First Crush, payneland, Daydreaming, Fantasy, Sexual Fantasy, Banter, Non-Graphic Smut, POV Charles Rowland (DCU), POV Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Gay Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Bisexual Charles Rowland (DCU), Revelations, Sloppy Makeouts, One Shot Series: Part 5 of Perseid_Lion's Dead Boy Detectives Summary: Ghosts can't sleep, but they can daydream. Those daydreams sometimes bring revelations. --- “You’re much too tense, mate. You should relax. You’ve been poring over those books for hours.”

“How can I possibly be tense, Charles?” countered Edwin. Then he returned to looking at a book and said idly, “I don’t have muscles.” 

Charles swaggered over to Edwin. He smiled in that oh-so-charming way of his, then sat on the edge of Edwin’s desk. “Well, I don’t know how it works, exactly. But your shoulders have been creeping up to your ears with each minute that goes by. Maybe you’re self-actualizing your ghost body into a big ball of stress.” He leaned forward into Edwin’s field of view and arched his brows.

Edwin lifted his head. When he met Charles’ warm brown eyes with a slightly mischievous twinkle to them, he felt the memory of his heart skip a beat. “There’s simply…” he straightened and cleared his throat, “...a lot to do, is all.”

Charles bit the edge of his lip, cocked his head, then hopped off the desk. “I think I can help.”

“Yes, it would be very good if you would pick up a book, Charles,” said Edwin flatly.

“No, not that,” said Charles as he circled around behind him.

Edwin was not prepared for Charles’ hand or his shoulders, or the soft massaging that followed. 

“Full of ghost knots, you are. Gotta work out your ectoplasm.” 

Normally, Edwin would have some sort of biting remark in response to that, but instead, he found himself overwhelmed by the contact. Charles touched him all the time in casual ways, but something about this was different. 

Charles started with massaging his shoulders, then the curve of his neck. Then, his hand slid around his collarbone and deft fingers slid under the knot of his bowtie. The finger rooted around in the knot until he worked it free. His other hand reached around to finish untying it. Then, he slid his fingers under Edwin’s chin, down over his throat, then inside his collar.

Edwin closed his eyes and sunk in the feeling of warm, deft, and lightly calloused fingers sliding along his neck. As he swallowed, Charles chased his adam’s apple and caressed it with his thumb. He felt the tiniest constriction of his airway from the motion that gave him a shock of excitement.

His ghostly body carried the memory of life. Often, the sensation was elusive and dull. But at others - like now - appeared in brilliant colour. They hadn’t quite figured out what triggered it, but he chased the feeling like an addict.

Edwin craned his neck and leaned his head back against Charles’ chest. He opened his eyes to see Charles smiling down at him.

“That’s better,” said Charles. He rested both hands flat against Edwin’s collarbone from behind. Then his fingers danced back to his collar and started to undo the buttons. Once there was enough space, he slid his hand down the front of his shirt.

Edwin gasped and arched his back. He reached up instinctively to cover the hand underneath his shirt. Then he felt a soft, warm kiss at the curve of his neck, and hot breath against his earlobe. 

“Edwin.”

“Mhmm….” Edwin lolled his head to the side and lifted a hand to reach behind him and slide through Charles’ short hair. He caressed gently and pulled him forward. 

Charles kissed his neck again, tracing his tongue along the curve of his jaw. Then he caught the edge of his earlobe between his teeth, pinched lightly, and then released it. 

“Edwin!”

Edwin sat up with a start. He knocked a stapler off the desk and barely managed to catch it before it hit the floor. He remained doubled over, breathing heavily, staring at his own feet and the 1950s red Swingline stapler in his hand. 

“You all right? Been calling your name for like, five minutes.” 

Keep reading.

[itsmewillful]

All for you, Sweetheart-Oneshot

Main Masterlist

(Anakin Skywalker x fem!reader OneShot)

3rd person(POV)

Word Count: 799

Warning(s): some curse words, very angst-y, mentions of Order 66, non-canon details, fluffy ending

***

The hallways of the Jedi Temple were dead silent, which was unusual for a Saturday morning. Usually, many people hustle around at this time to get to the cafeteria where they can get a weekly serving of pancakes. Which of course, confused Y/N a lot when she arrived back at the temple, to empty halls.

She had just arrived back from a week-long mission; one of her firsts, actually without her Master. 

She left the hangar bay and began to tread down the hallways of the temple to get to the main area of the building.

That’s when she saw it-bodies.

Everywhere.

“What the fuck?” She gasped at the sight. 

Younglings, Padawans, the children of the temple, were spread out everywhere along the floors of the enormous room. Near them, their Masters, died attempting to protect them, only to fail.

“Oh my gosh, Master!” She choked on her air when she spotted a familiar lightsaber laying on the ground near her feet. She ran over to her Master and sat down next to them, and laid their head on her lap. Her eyes became glassy and tears started to fall slowly down her face.

“Oh, Master. Who did this to you?” She whispered. Tears began to fall more frequently. Her sorrow began to black out all other senses around her; she didn’t feel him.

“I did it.” 

She turned around and met his gaze. The eyes of her best friend. Her secret lover. Him. Anakin Skywalker. His eyes looked conflicted and had some unnatural colours swirling around in his once sapphire blue eyes. His hair was matted and stuck to his face. Never once had she seen him so vulnerable–so weakened and troubled.

“A-Ani?” She gasped. She stood up from the ground and began to take small steps back.

“Hello, Sweetheart.” He whispered gently. He reached out to her but she moved away.

“What do you mean by ‘I did it?’ Did you kill everyone? All the Padawans-the children?!” Her voice cracked at the end and more tears fell down her cheeks. Anakin’s words were caught in his throat at the sight. Never has he ever seen her so depressed in his entire life knowing her.

“I-” he hesitated between his words. He looked up to meet her gaze and swallowed visibly. Tears also began to fall down his cheeks and she gazed at him with her mouth agape.

“I have no excuse for the things I did. I was used when I was the weakest–he promised me, but it still ended up twisted in the end.” 

“Who? Who used you, Ani?” She asked, stepping closer to place a hand on his cheek. Tears fell from both of their eyes, and she used her thumb to swipe them away from his cheek.

“I-I can’t, and I know what I’m about to tell you will make you hate me for the rest of your life.” The words fell from his lips, struggling to tell the words clearly.

Her lip began to quiver- could she ever forgive him? Yes, she could. It may take a long time but he will make up for it.

“Anakin Skywalker, I know that you’re not the type of person to suddenly go around in a building and kill everyone in sight without something forcing you to it.” She placed her other hand on his cheek. “Please, tell me. I want to help you.” She whispered.

Anakin sighed heavily and moved her hands from his face.

“Palpatine. He promised me that if I did his bidding he’d protect everyone I love and care for.” He breathed in heavily and his dreary eyes met her glassy ones. 

“I was part of his plan.” He continued shakily.“He manipulated me and used the things I cared for the most against me. It isn’t fair. Now I must face the consequences of my actions. I deserve to die.”

“No, Anakin. No one deserves to die. Especially not you.” She stopped him. Her hands found his hands and she squeezed them lightly.

“Y/N, I did something unforgettable, how can you say that?” He choked as more tears began to escape his eyes.

“Because, Anakin.” She placed her forehead against his. “I know you did it all for me. To protect me. And I will never be mad at someone for protecting their loved ones. It’ll take time, but I know you will make up for it one day.” 

He inhaled deeply before he closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. His eyes fluttered open and met her gaze.

Love, sympathy, and understanding filled them.

“Yes, I did it all for you, Sweetheart."

[ceilidho]

Hey! I think youre an amazing writer and i really look up to you. Ive been reading your works since reylo, you inspired me to write my own reylo stuff. I think youre wonderful and could read your works over and over again. I was just wondering if I could ask you advice. I'm trying to get into writing second person pov fanfic, but I'm terrible at it. I can write it from third person or first person no problem. I was wondering if you had any tips.

oh thank you, i really appreciate that!!! and im so glad you're giving writing a shot!! honestly it's so tough to actually make the decision to sit down and write something and then show it to other people (and it's very scary and kind of humbling as you get better and better and look back at your old work haha) so that's so awesome!!

i actually wrote so much beneath this so i needed the "read more" lmaooo

actually, i'll tell you what, when you first transition from writing 1st or 3rd person to writing in 2nd person, it feels weird and abnormal, but i've actually grown to love 2nd pov. i just love the way it sounds in my head when i'm constructing a sentence. and tbh there's actually not a huge difference from writing 1st and 2nd pov in my opinion.

like my general thoughts around 2nd pov are:

obviously since it's an internal dialogue (like the perspective is rooted in the person you're writing from rather than some omniscient 3rd pov), while you can still describe what's happening on the main character's face ("you purse your lips" "you frown, annoyed" etc), it's still coming from their perspective, so there's a level of depth there that other characters around them don't have. like Price in my western fic is a bit more mysterious on account of him not being a narrator figure in the story.

if you're using 2nd pov because you're writing an x reader fic, and you want to keep your reader character quite neutral, ensure that you're avoiding big descriptors like skin colour, hair texture/length, body size (unless you're specifically writing a fat reader or a reader with a specific body type, in which case, go wild!), height, etc. your reader character is never going to be 100% neutral, but just pay attention to any descriptors you add and you can make sure they're as neutral as can be.

this is probably obvious, but you don't have to start every sentence with "you did x" or "you said y" or whatever. you can still be loose and flexible with your sentences like you might be in a 3rd person narration. like, i'll take apart a paragraph from my fic and highlight where i've added the "you/your" pov:

The worry making your body tense and stiff finally releases once you’re alone. You curl up on the bed without pulling down the sheets or taking your dress off. The journey's left you weak, sapped of energy. Worn down to your base elements. Hardly unexpected after what you’ve gone through, after leaving behind a cooling body two states away. The days since have left you sick with worry, nerves shot when you consider how the authorities will look to you first, the maid, and find in your absence all the answers they need. 

notice that i only started one sentence with "you" here. i think some people mistake using 2nd pov for thinking that the entire story/fic has to be a direct narration of what the character is doing (i.e. "you walk to the end of the hall and then you sit down. you notice a silver bullet on the table near you. you pick it up.") but that's not the case.

the narration is coming from this character, yes, but it's also still a story. this is hard to describe, but there's almost a weird, unconscious 3rd pov in the story at the same time, like you're looking down at this narrator and you're speaking through them, but you still have some externality. in order to tell an evocative, interesting story, you HAVE to know and notice at least a bit more than your narrator consciously does.

this kind of mirrors real life in a way actually because your brain picks up a lot of information that you as a person don't consciously absorb. it's why humans are able to have quick reflexes and dodge/duck things or whatever without realizing what they're doing. (look up "unconscious perception"). you can do this with 1st pov as well, but 1st pov is very useful for stream of consciousness stories or really getting into a character's head. 2nd pov is still governed by that narrator character, but it's picking up on other details and information in the surrounding environment.

anyway i hope this is in any way helpful haha - it's how i like to think of writing in 2nd pov!

[goldennivoree]

HELLO DOCTOR!!!

Well hello readers ,

Welcome to my first ever story on tumblr … A SMUT STORYYYYY !!! WAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhTTTTTT

Starting my tmblr journy with an unholy story seems perfect to me … lololollll

Read y/n as your name and put your wild imagination on work and visualise all the words in your mind as if it’s happening for real …

Im sure you’ll find water in your pools as your garden starts to bloom *wink wink ….

Warning: SMUT and most type of SMUT ! Minors ! I will write a fluff content soon so wait until then… Rest of the thirsty readers- keep your hobi water on.

LETS GET ITTTTT……

Y/n’s POV

My life could be quite boring as a teacher if I never had Jungkook as my best friend. It was our set time table for weekends to hang out together. He was a doctor And also a very famous one. He only had Sunday’s free but if someone got unlucky And needed the famous skin doctor on sunday then Jungkook used to rush coz duty comes first…..

‘ lets skip today kook , I’m not feeling that good’ i told him with a irritated voice over phone.

‘ ok’ he said And took me by surprise because he usually never agrees with my negative responses so easily until and unless its dire.

‘ im already at your gate so you have five minutes to come or else I’m breaking down the door’ he said jokingly but the firmness in his voice pushed me to change into a skirt and shirt and run to him in four point fifty minutes exactly before he actually knocks something over. He is burly what can i say…

‘ damn ! You look exhausted… what’s wrong with you?? He asked me looking very fine in skinny black jeans and oversized black tee.

‘ nothing, Just a bit sleepy that’s all’ i lied very convincingly. I can’t tell him what’s my problem, it’s a girl problem, I know he’s a doctor but hes my best friend too. And it’s embarrassing if i tell him about my teeny tiny problem. Plus , my super strong crush on him since past two years wasn’t helping. I silently squirmed in my seat while Jungkook told me him stories about his week using his tulip lips.

‘ y/n , are you really ok ? You really don’t seem fine’ he asked me staring right into my eyes

I realised he has stopped the car and was looking at me quite concerned. We had reached the mall parking lot but he was yet to park the car.

‘ i … uhhh … i … ‘ i kept strutting but his soft doe eyes calmed me down and i felt that i can tell him.

‘ im fine koo , it’s just that I’m quite itchy and it’s burning’ i said in a low voice

‘ ohh , itcy where?’ He asked

‘ down there’ i said in such a low voice that i was sure he didn’t hear it

‘ that’s it ?? It’s a such a simple thing, you should’ve told me earlier’ he said and started the car and parked it at the end of lot where no one was there.

‘Come to the backseat and Show me’ he turned towards me once he closed all the roller blinds of the windows and went to the rear seat.

He got me puzzled but i still went to the rear as i sat in front of him staring at him with a big question mark on my face. ‘ show what ‘ i asked

‘ your kitty of course,,, it’s not much well so i need to see before i can give suitable medication’ he said so casually.

Does he even realise what he’s saying. Its ok if he sees lots of skin in his profession but I’m his best friend and seeing your best friends private part is definitely not a suitable thing to do.

‘You’re joking right?’ I asked him

‘Am I smiling?’ He pointed to his lips with an even serious look ‘ no , right . So show me . You can trust me bun , i wiill take care of you.’ His calm and reassuring voice ignited some confidence in me and i nodded my head.

I folded my legs up my chest and my hands went towards the waistband of my black coloured lace panties. I pulled it down a little bit and looked a Jungkook nervously. He smiled warmly and placed his hands on mine and helped me remove my panties in one swift but calm motion. And there i was sitting bare in front of my best friend. I shut my legs in embarrassment but his eyes told me that i was scared about nothing. He kept his hands on my knees and pulled them apart. The air from the car’s ac made me shiver and sent a tingle in my pussy which jungkook was now staring. He turned on the flashlight from his phone and went down to see my burning area.

‘ its gone all red’ he said with a hint of worry in his voice ‘ lie down a bit.’ He said and helped me by putting his hands on my waist. My heart fluttered due to his gentle and careful touch. I wondered how his female patients didn’t fall in love with him because of his admirable and soft persona. Or maybe they did … who knows….

My chain of thoughts was broken when his cold fingers glided through my folds. I shut my eyes tight when i saw him looking at my heat with so dedication. I felt surge of hormones rising through out my body and then reaching towards my core and i knew i was getting wet. His fingers kept exploring my pussy tracing it trying to see as much as he can. Millions of questions crossed my mind cause he was taking too much time to comprehend the issue.

‘Is everything okay ‘ my voice seemed to wake him up from his day dream because he answered me in a haste.

‘ yes its all well , just a minor rash. No need to worry. I have an antiseptic in my apartment. Let’s go there and u can apply it for instant relief’ he said all of this in one single breath and then It was complete silence throughout the journey to his home.

Once we reached his apartment he told me to go his room while he fetched the medicine from another room which he has converted into his own mini dispensary. I have been to his apartment a million times but today felt different. I wondered why…

Suddenly i started to feel at unease once again as the itch started to increase its frequency. I needed to scratch myself immediately. I closed the door and ran to the bed , removed those black net panties and spread my legs. I sighed in relief once i started to rub my pussy with my fingers. Within a second i started to imagine my fingers as jungkookies fingers and pleasure took over me. I kept continuing my action until i felt another hand on mine ….

Jungkook POV

The moment i saw her I realised that some things wrong with her. But little did i knew that her problem would be so intimate. As a doctor i told her to show me in confidence but the moment i laid my eyes on her burning folds my heart starting pounding and nervousness took over me. Never in the world I imagined that I’d actually see her like this. Yes I have always been fond of her , even saw her as my special one but this was becoming too overwhelming for me. I glanced at her but she was already sitting stiffly with her eyes closed. I couldn’t help but fiddle with her pussy first but then my conscience slapped me and i immidiatley pulled my hands back and told her the diagonosis. I could feel heat emitting from my face and i had to keep my mouth shut and think about something else to ease my hardness.

I gulped large chunk of water once i sent her to my room. I had to cool down so that my brain starts working and i could find that medicine. It took me few minutes to find it though .. I really need to clean up this room. I went back to my room to give this tube to her. Without thinking twice i was about to get into the room as the door wasn’t shut but ajar. Just when i was about to set my foot in the room my eyes landed on the girl sitting on my bed with her legs open , garments down , playing with herself with such force and passion. Her eyes were closed , her lips just parted so that her two perfect front teeth were slightly visible making her look like a fairy who just landed on my bed and claiming it as her throne in the heaven. I should’ve given her , her space or should’ve announced my presence but instead i stood there watchin her , my legs turning into stone. Her pink folds were glistening. Oh yes she’s so pink , now that im seeing her in the light. My dick was twitching so badly in my jeans which were now getting even tighter. Her pussy was inviting me to touch it. She was rubbing it mercilessly unknowingly turning me so so on.

I went inside the room and something inside of me told me that i must help her as she needs me right now. I placed my hand on hers. She instantly opened her eyes and just for few seconds we had an intense eye contact.

‘ may i ?’ I asked her and she nodded within less than moment and I replaced my hand on her heat and started to rub it , gently at first but then vigorously. She was stifling her moans and i was not liking it. I wanted to listen her voice.

‘ speak up baby girl. I am here to hear you’ i said as i took my mouth near her warm pussy.

My lips touched her pussy and she let out a moan which only made me further excited to taste her. I swiped my tounge on her clit and was sure that I never had or never could taste anything better than this. I started to lick her even more passionately and her moans were like music to me igniting my passion even further. My hands went to her waist and slid inside her top towards her breast. I lifted her top above her breast and started to massage her boobs over her silky bra.

‘ koo , stop , I’m about to cum’ she barely managed to speak between her moans but I continued until she released all of her on me. Just as I always felt , she really tasted sweet. I moved on to her stomach kissing her naval and licking it.

Y/ns POV

His lips started to explore my body taking me to seventh heaven. Never in my wildest dreams i imagined this moment would come real. Several knots in my stomach were tying and untying when his tulip lips were kissing everywhere he could reach. He made me sit and removed my top completely. I was sitting just in my bra in front of my bestie of three years. Still it all was feeling so natural, like it was meant to be. I couldn’t wait anymore so I hurried over to him and started to remove his t shirt earning a chuckle from him. Once he stood shirtless i started to feel shy but he took my hand and kept it on His hard torso. I started to trace my fingers on his chest and stomach meanwhile he removed his pants. He then lied on me and we started to kiss each other so fiercely as if we were hungry for each other since an eternity.

Authors POV

The remaining clothes left their bodies in a swift motion and their naked bodies intertwined with each other mixing their scents. He sucked her erect nipples with such enthusiasm that she was nearing her second orgasm. She kept moaning his name and only stopped whenever he kissed her and sealed her voice. Her hands roamed throughout his body as if worshiping him. Soon his tool was in her hands and she realised how badly hard he was. It was her time to return the favour and show him how much she wanted him. She took his dick in her palm and guided it towards her pussy. She gave her pussy some rubs with his dick and Jungkooks melodic moans bloomed in her ears. He quickly took out one condom from the drawer and put it on his length. Jungkook was now on his peak of his wilderness and inserted her in one jerk. Though he stopped for a while until she adjusted.

‘ is it ok now love ‘ he asked her gently. His hair dancing on his forehead once he started to move after she nodded

He kept looking at her while fukcing her to see any sign of discomfort. But she was far away from feeling discomfort, instead she was feeling ecstatic. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss intertwining their tongues. He increased his pace thrusting her even deeper touching all her insides. She broke the kiss to match her moanings with his grunts. The only sounds echoing in the room belonged to both of them. Her finger nails dug into the skin of his back and motivating him to go deeper and deeper. This episode took quite some minutes until he released inside her. He lied on top of her and they kept kissing one another , tasting each other’s lips

‘ how r u feeling’ he asked her

‘ much better .’ She cooed ‘ you really are a great doctor’ she chuckled jokingly

He went to the side table and took the medicine in his hands and rubbed it on her pussy ‘ it will heal in no time’ he said

There was a silence for few moments until she started to speak again

‘ can we do this again someday?’ She asked not looking directly at him but at the ceiling.

‘ yes of course, i like you too much to say no ‘ he said looking her face admiring her delicate features.

She looked back at him listening to her response’ i like you too koo ‘ she replied softly and they sealed their new journey as a couple with a kiss.

‘One more thing y/n -ah ‘ he said with a mischievous grin ‘ I know it looks more sexy but wear cotton fabric when its itchy’ he teased.

She went all red and nuzzled her face in his neck and he hugged her tightly to never let her go ….

The End

for now

[askblueandviolet]

DF: Hey so you guys know how once upon a time I had mentioned that I would be writing an LBD centric prequel to Blue and Violet in an author's note in one of the last chapters of Colours?

It's definitely still happening if some of you were waiting for it!!! It's just, I haven't been working on it lately (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ. Actually, I've barely worked on it at all. Technically, I am more than a third way through writing it because it's only a three chaptered fic (well, that's the plan as of 'right now') and I have the outline of the whole thing pretty set in stone (aka, I know exactly what's going to happen).

The first chapter of it is... Actually, it's already done! Pretty terrible draft but not something some quick editing can't fix! But me being me, I don't particularly like to publish chapters unless I have some more chapters in the backlog to be published the following week (to uphold a consistent schedule). Hence, why I'm able to keep up the weekly update schedule!

However, I... Genuinely don't know how long it is going to take me to write the other two chapters. Because my brain is not good at multitasking. So, since my main focus is on Winter Mornings, Summer Nights (WMSN), this ask blog, and my life outside of the internet, it's hard to find time and energy to actually... Write the prequel I've been wanting to write for ages. A piece of work that I really wanted to share before WMSN came out because it's actually meant to be read after Colours (despite literally being a prequel. But it contains so many spoilers for the timeline beyond it because ITS LBD'S POV) but lmao it is what it is.

HOWEVER: If you are all willing to endure the very unreliable production of the prequel (it literally could take me months to dish out the second chapter), I could publish the first chapter for it! Just so you guys can like, I don't know, consume it.

Um, do bear in mind though, I might not end up following the results of this poll. Because I don't know, I'm a little silly I guess (or just incredibly unreliable lmao). But I will take the results from this into consideration! Ultimately, I will try to do what I feel like is best for you guys and the series (and my own sanity too I guess).

So, this is more of an update post than anything else. To tell you guys that I'm working on the thing, I swear XDDD!!! But if you guys really want to see some of it now, I am willing to share what I currently have :DDD.

[kaitaiga]

OC Interview

G'day! I felt like doing some writing tonight and I remembered I saw this OC Interview thing going around, so I thought I'd give it a crack! I did something like this a while back but in an ask game. I had so much fun with it so why not do it again!

It's pretty long and is written from your pov (the interviewer!). I hope you enjoy and I'd 100% recommend you give it a go yourself with ur own ocs!

August 2022

You trailed behind a tall man with a thick moustache and cap, trying your best to keep up with his quick pace and long strides.

“You, wouldn’t think he would mind, right?”

“Hm?” He glances over his shoulder at you. “What? Nah. You’d actually probably make his day more than anything. Bit of time off trainin’ would make any bloke ‘ere happy.”

You were visiting the main barracks of the 2nd Commando Regiment in hopes of interviewing a special forces operator about his life outside the military for your class assignment. A brother of a friend of yours just so happened to be an acquaintance to one, and he agreed to meet you.

The man, who introduced himself as Lachlan, lead you over to a quiet corner overlooking a large grassy field with soldiers running about, fitted with a small round table and two chairs. He gestures his head for you to take a seat.

“Right. I’ll be back for ya with Damo in a moment. Don’t go runnin’ off now, will ya?” He says firmly.

“O-okay.” Not like you were, anyways.

Ten minutes go by…

Sigh. He is taking an awfully long time. You skim over the questions you had prepared on your laptop once more, making sure everything was in order. You didn’t want to take up more of the valuable training time of that soldier. When suddenly…

“G’day,” startles you and you swivel around in the chair, looking up at the tall, blond man as he places a hand on your shoulder to ground you. “Haha! Sorry darl’ didn’t mean to scare ya” he says with a warm smile.

He moves past to sit in the chair across the table from you and as he does so, you could smell the overwhelming scent of men’s body spray, deducing that he just applied some before coming to see you out of consideration.

“You must be Damien, right?”

“Yep, that’s me, love.”

“Alright! Are you ready to answer a few questions?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Basics

Name:

“Damien Whitlock. You can just call me Damo though, that’s what most blokes refer to me as. Sergeant in the Second Commando Regiment.”

Are you single?

“Woah! Crackin’ onto me ‘ere, are we love? We just met! *laughs* Buy me a drink first, would ya? Haha. Nah yeah, I’m single alright.”

Birthplace?

“Was born in Sydney, though was raised on a farm in the countryside for most of me life. Only really came up to Sydney to go to boardin’ school.”

Hair colour?

He reaches up and tugs on a chunk of his hair. “What colour does this look like to ya?” he snorts. “Red? You callin’ me a ranga? Don’t insult me. Blond.”

Eye colour?

He hums and leans forward so you can get a better look into his eyes over your laptop screen. “Blue. Blue, Gray. Something of the sorts, I reckon.”

a/n: puppy eyes…

Birthday?

“7th March. 26 right now…gettin’ bit old now, aren’t I?”

Gender?

“Male, last time I checked.”

Mood?

He shrugs, “Eh. Livin’ the dream, honestly. Not much to whinge about right now, and not much to be over the moon about either.”

Are you happy?

“Pleasantly. It’s because I’m not havin’ to do what those fellas down there are doing right now” he says whilst peering out of the window besides you.

Are you angry?

“Nah. Cool as a cucumber.”

Summer/Winter?

“How ‘bout neither. I’m an autumn man. Not too hot and not too cold to get shit done. If I had to choose though, winter. Nice to rug up in layers of clothes or walk anywhere without bustin’ a sweat.”

Morning/Afternoon?

“Mornin’. The air feels nice and it’s quiet. Just the way I like it, believe it or not.”

Eight Things About Your Love Life

Are you in love?

“Can confirm that I am indeed, not in love.” He nods. “Maybe with my ute though.”

Who ended your last relationship?

“Uhm,” he clears his throat and looks away at the floor, “Reckon it was me? Given I did in fact catch her with another bloke, in me own bed may I add, and kicked her out. You could also argue that she ended it when she started havin’ it with him. I dunno, really.”

Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

“Probably.” He shrugs, “Look, like I’ve turned down people for sure, but they were mostly some randos you’d find at the pub. Not someone I’ve known for a while.”

Are you afraid of commitments?

“Uh, probs not. They sure as hell scared of me though, that’s for sure. Not one relationship I’ve had where I’ve caught the misses doing dodgy shit behind me back. Can guarantee ya that I’m a very loyal person, even when I’m away. Marriage? Not gonna beat around the bush ‘ere, I do wanna get married it’s just…*sigh* never mind...”

Have you hugged someone within the last week?

“Nope. Would be nice, though.” You look up and notice he’s staring intently at you.

Have you ever had a secret admirer?

“Yeah, this one chick over in the US. My mate told me ‘bout ‘er. I reckon I only had about one convo with this chick and all of a sudden, she starts anon sendin’ me things and placing things near my gear. Though it was nice until I found out she was literally tryna do a ritual on me or somethin’. Crazy stuff.”

Six Choices

Love or Lust?

“Love.”

Iced Tea or Lemonade?

“I would absolutely kill for a Lipton right ‘bout now. Iced tea.”

Cats or Dogs?

“Doooogs all the way! Love ‘em to bits. Cats are just lil pieces of shit that try to scratch me whenever they can. Also, I’ve been told I look like a dog, can you confirm- “

A few best friends or many regular friends?

“Couple close friends will do. As long as they’ve got my back and I’ve got theirs, that’s all I need.”

Wild night out or romantic night in?

“Night in, thanks. Piggin’ out on food with my misses and watchin’ a movie sounds fucking mint to me.”

Day or Night?

“Love the night. So peaceful and beautiful when you walk around the city, lookin’ at all the lights or when you can see the stars clearly in the country.”

Four Have You Evers

Been caught sneaking out?

He laughs. “Yeah, this one time back in school, Daniel and I snuck out of our dorms to go grab some grub. We were raaaavishing! The food they served us in that school was criminal. They caught us jumpin’ the fence ‘round back.”

Fell up/down the stairs?

“Yeah. Ate shit tryna run up ten floors of stairs during PT. Never seen ol’ Lachy boy laugh so hard, so I guess it’s a win?”

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt?

“…Physically? Yeah, probably joining commandos. Christ, I couldn’t even tell you how much pain and suffering I went through in training and the selection course. Worthwhile though, look at me now.”

Wanted to disappear?

“Yeah…For sure. Losing Daniel was hard, but what came after, the grievin’ and the possibility that he could’ve been saved…*sigh*...I’ll stop there for now.” His voice subtly cracked, and you noted seeing his eyes water before he turned away.

Four Preferences

Smile or Eyes?

He pauses to think, staring at the table. You notice a pink tinge appear across his cheeks. “That’s hard…can I pick both? I can get lost in some beautiful, big eyes…the way they look at ya…” He notices himself getting carried away and clears his throat, “B-but a nice smile always makes me heart melt also…”

Shorter or Taller?

“Shorter. Love to just pick ‘em up for the shits ‘n giggles, throw ‘em over my shoulder. Also, great arm and head rests.”

Intelligence or Attraction?

“Intelligence. Love me a smart woman, like yeah tell me about the thermodynamics of a kettle. Draw me the free-body diagram while you’re at it, too... Don’t ask how I know all this.”

Hook-up or Relationship?

“Relationship for sure. Lookin’ for my misses. Not sure if I’ll ever get one the way things are going but oh well.” He shrugs, “Not gonna sit here and pretend that I haven’t had my own fair share of hook-ups, though.”

Family

Do you and your family get along?

“I get on well with my sisters. They’re probably the ones I keep most in touch with, the rascals. Parents I do keep in touch with but…even less than before. They’re still not happy about me enlistin’. Brother fucked off years ago without a trace.”

Would you say you have a ‘messed up’ life?

“Nah. Well, before joinin’ the army at least. No real issues growin’ up but after enlistin’…Let’s just say I’ve seen and done some shit that only so little have the balls to do.”

Have you ever run away from home?

“Nah. Where would I run off to anyways in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere?”

Have you ever gotten kicked out?

“Again, no. I’d like to think of myself as a good boy.”

Friends

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“If I did, I wouldn’t be friends with any of ‘em now, would I?”

Have you considered all your friends’ good friends?

“For the most part yes. To be fair, we’re all in the military so we’re all a little fucked in the head, honestly. We’re just here to do our bit and clean up a mess.”

Who is your best friend?

“Ah…” His smile fades, “Daniel. Danny, Dano. Doesn’t matter. He’s…long gone now…went to school together and enlisted together. He passed a while ago, tryin’ to save me. Smart fella he was.”

Who knows everything about you?

“Again, that would be Daniel. We grew up together so, he’s seen all the embarrassing stuff. I don’t think anyone else knows me on the level that he did, could be Lachlan but even I’m hidin’ stuff from him.”

--

“Well, that’s all of the questions I have for now, Damien! Thanks for letting me interview you!”

“Ah, no worries. Thanks for takin’ me outta PT.”

[sytheofabloodmoon]

So more 4am rambling, or like 5am now as I start typing this. Less timeline rules rambling but still timeline related thoughts. Although we know for certain after S2, that Lu Guang's gone back in time to save Cheng Xiaoshi(seemingly more than once if the 'last chance' line is anything to go by), I have to wonder if Cheng Xiaoshi has done the same for Lu Guang, even if it was only once. We haven't seen it actually happen but we've seen Cheng Xiaoshi be inclined to save him, seeming to consider it when he thought Lu Guang was dead, almost doing it to stop Lu Guang from getting onto the boat (until he literally got in his own way, lol). It doesn't feel impossible or to me. But considering his sincerity and how he wears his heart on his sleeve, would he even be able to keep it a secret? Maybe with some struggle, maybe more easily than we think. Regardless I think he'd end up telling Lu Guang eventually in this case, whether it was because he was pushed to, due to guilt for keeping a secret, if he just couldn't keep it a secret, getting tangled in his own web of lies, just before death or something else entirely. But then why does it seem like Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't know as much about their powers as Lu Guang, why does it feel like he's more in the dark about things? Maybe because in whatever timeline we're currently in/seeing, he doesn't know and is in the dark.

Hear me out for a second. So the flashback of Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi's first meeting on the basketball court when Cheng Xiaoshi mentions that the ball represents his trust in Lu Guang and how nice it is to have lifelong partners. It seems a little much to say to someone you just met, or even someone you knew in passing as a classmate because you happened to recognize them. It sounds like something you'd say to someone you've known a long time. What if in that moment it was Cheng Xiaoshi diving back in time and he couldn't help himself from saying something he'd perhaps wanted to last time but never did or never got the chance to? There's also the part of the flashback where Cheng Xiaoshi simply says something along the lines of 'Hey newcomer, come play with us!' And while they definitely could be part of the same flashback (i.e. before and after the game), what if they were two different flashbacks? The actual first meeting and the altered one. Even if they are both the same flashback, it could still be altered because again the lifelong partners mention feels too familiar for a first meeting. Even then, there's the question why go so far back?

Also a particular line of Vortex I've seen mentioned in other theories 'Am I destined to fall? Like you once did for me?' I do think of this as Lu Guang's POV. The thing is I've seen people suggest it refers to when Lu Guang got stabbed by a possessed Qiao Ling and that maybe Cheng Xiaoshi was the one who got stabbed initially. Maybe it does refer to that or maybe it's only part of it and it also refers to falling through time, through near endless dives in an attempt to save the other. Until the only photo left, the 'last chance' was to go back to the beginning. Of course there's the white hair theory which probably plays apart in making it seem like Lu Guang's gone back in time many many times, but since diving into the photos is Cheng Xiaoshi's own power, his hair would stay the same colour. He's not using anyone else's power.

I've also seen people mention that the girls who started the noodle shop together (I rewatched this episode recently and still can't remember their names for the life of me), how their relationship seems to mirror Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi's in some ways. The dynamic mainly, I think. But during my rewatch I noticed after the fight when the client asks her friend after the fight 'where are you going?' Her response is 'Back to the beginning. I'll reset.' And that was very interesting to me, considering season 2's last episode, the 'last chance' with Lu Guang going 'back to the beginning', essentially pressing the reset button. I don't know if anyone else noticed that, but I haven't seen it mentioned. And while it could be a reference to Lu Guang, it could also reference Cheng Xiaoshi if he's gone back in time to save Lu Guang before. He did after all, posses both of the women, the one who changed and the one who didn't. If their relationships do intentionally mirror each other, I think it's interesting what that might mean for the boys. Cheng Xiaoshi is both the same and different, possibly due to all the messing around with the timelines. Also considering the argument between the two, it could reference and argument about changing the timelines, changing death nodes, the first time when Lu Guang found out about Cheng Xiaoshi going back in time to save him (supposing it wasn't shortly before Cheng Xiaoshi died), and potentially a future argument when Cheng Xiaoshi finds out about Lu Guang changing the timelines and breaking his own rules to save him (and I do think he'll find out about it). Speaking of Lu Guang's rules, why is he so adamant about Cheng Xiaoshi not changing the past? To protect him, protect their present together, some sense of responsibility, because he knows Cheng Xiaoshi can be reckless? Probably at least a few of the above if not all. And maybe some reasons I missed. But also think about if Cheng Xiaoshi had gone back before, who knows how many times, to save Lu Guang, succeeded ultimately but then ended up dying, potentially in the act of saving Lu Guang depending on what the cause of death was (that's not an answer I have thought of for this theory rambling). Obviously Lu Guang wouldn't want him to be reckless and change things again, especially if he holds the memories of that happening. Cheng Xiaoshi at one point may have made his own death node by changing things to save someone so important to him.

Back to the point of why in the timeline we're seeing, Cheng Xiaoshi seems more clueless about their powers. I'm thinking what if whatever may have changed in this timeline, lead to whatever may have happened in the hypothetical timeline I purposed not happening, either the avoided whatever event would've caused Lu Guang's death and Cheng Xiaoshi diving back or somehow Lu Guang managed to live through it. So as of this timeline, Cheng Xiaoshi never dived back to save Lu Guang, he hasn't done all those dives and doesn't have all that experience. But Lu Guang does, he has dived back, he's manged to avoid Cheng Xiaoshi having to, maybe in part to his rules, maybe something else. But Lu Guang still has all those memories of timeline after timeline, has used those powers himself now, so this time Cheng Xiaoshi is really in the dark. Maybe it's not just Cheng Xiaoshi's optimism that contributes to Lu Guang choosing to dive back to save Cheng Xiaoshi himself, even though they supposedly can't change the path and death is an unchangeable node but the fact that Cheng Xiaoshi has done the same for Lu Guang and succeeded. Perhaps he somehow even replaced Lu Guang's death node with his own, even if he no longer knows that he did that.

I really want a happy ending to the series with our main trio all happy and alive and together, but I also don't think we'll get one. Whether my rambling theory thing is in any part true or not, I feel like the series will probably end with either one or both of the boys dying. I will cry if that happens though, that is a threat and a promise, lol.

Anyways if you're still reading thanks for putting up with the long post. Also I have no idea if this even makes any sense or not or if I can really even call this string of thoughts a proper theory. But it's food for thought and I wanted to get these thoughts down and semi-organized, so here we are

[devil-on-acid]

The Heart of Eywa Pilot

Chapter 1

A/n: i could not stop myself from writing this. This is my first time writing fanfiction after reading them for years. I hope you guys enjoy it. fort the most part i wrote this to let my creativity out and to heal my post Avatar TWOW depression. Sorta warning i wrote half of this while under the influence and later on fixed the mistakes and some sentencing. Also note that English is not my first language so my vocabulary is not impressive. Please enjoy this first draft/pilot. Any feedback and comments are appreciated.

Genre: Thriller/Isekai/Fantasy/Sci-fi

No Pairings yet

Word count: 3,301

 _________

I know myself, i’m obsessive. I have hyperfixations. Hobbies and will do anything to make days go by faster. I am one of those people who are sometimes not aware of what is happening. My emotions not in tune with my body. My feelings are cut off from my responses, i am…..

i was never able to cry when i wanted to or when i needed it. Instead of feeling numb i went to feeling everything all at once. That is the only way i can describe it in short.

But if i am being true. This feeling i have is indescrible.

And all of this came from nothing but a single unrealistic wish i had while trying to fall asleep.

 ________________

Third pov

The year is 2023, slowly it’s getting colder at night but warmer at day. The freezing cold prickling at your skin and the wind sharp in your face. During the day it’s still cold but the sun comes out alot more. The enjoyable heat of the sun coming through the windows a start of a new day.

A girl no older then 17 is currently in her room weaving and braiding a band from string in a multitude of vibrant colours. Colors who are getting harder and harder to find in nature. As she is braiding we hear the background noise of music softly spilling into the room. The girl in question keeps her head down as she braids the strands delicately tot the beat of the music. The laptop it is playing from sitting far beside her on the desk facing the wall. Everytime she looks up she studies the massive collection of posters up on her wall. Posters of music she loves. Movies, series, artworks made by hand. The one in the middle had just been added to her wall. A poster of the movie Avatar the Way of Water. It’s blue color looking back at her. It has been a month ever since watching the new instalment and (y/n) felt nostalgic evertime she looks at it. the feeling of wanting to leave this place getting larger and larger she looks at that wall. she often imagine stepping up to it and would hope the wall could just swallow her up as if a portal had transformed it.

_________

(y/n) pov

It was a normal night of settling down for the night. Doing something else besides studying or working. Some time for myself to work on hobbies or anything that has gotten my interest lately. I often times like to stare at the wall in front of me. My huge collection feeling overwhelming and soothing at the same time. I tend to think about how many stories have actually been made in such a way as we make them now, we are al storytellers as humans i presume. The amount of fantasy needed for it is already impressive to begin with. I often get lost in the music of soundtracks playing in the background while i work. I always like fantasy, action, sci-fi and thriller. But my childhood favorite has always been Avatar (2009). It was the first sci-fi action movie i watched. But i found it a fantasy as well. The whole world so thought out a full book can be written about the Culture of the Na’vi and the beautiful Flora and Fauna of planet Pandora. If i’ll ever be able to make a wish it would bet to get transported there. Living the life of a free Na’vi. Exploring the forest of pandora, instead of living month after month in a little gray box. It feels so wrong to think we live like this, most of us. Not knowing what to do with our lives as so much is expected from us. The pressure building up and your body feeling more tired then ever. That feeling has been crawling in the back of my throat the older i got. The more responsibilities that i didn’t want the larger the hollow and empty feeling in my chest. Work, eat, go to sleep,  repeat the day. I am not the only one feeling like this. People around me have expressed the same feeling. And still i wonder how they manage to push trough as well as they do. It almost fills me with curiosity and jealousy.

Braiding away at the new necklace that i am making i start having this uneasy feeling. I try to ignore the feeling and try to concentrate on my work. Focusing on the beat of the background music coming from my laptop. But the more time past and the sun went under the bigger my paranoia became. The more i try to ignore everything around me the more blurry my vision got from starting at my hands. At some point i was ripped away from my dazed state only to get goosebumps all over the back of my neck and my arms. The laptop my music came from had stopped playing the music and instead an awfull buzzing sound came from it. like the electronics started to malfunction. panic seeps trough my skin as i start the hear the music again, but there was something wrong about it. it was slower and was playing backwards. Trying as fast as i could i turn off the laptop and sit back down. Trying to calm my breathing, slowing my heartbeat.

As my mind began to clear i was able to stand up again. ‘’its probably just something wrong with the laptop, its 10 years old anyways’’ ‘’nothing is going to hurt you, you are not in danger’’ ‘’you are savely in your house with all windows locked’’

With those thoughts all i was able to cal myself down, checking the time i noticed it was already 00:47 at night. Better to go sleep instead of staying awake much longer. I changed into my pyjamas, brushed my teeth and my hair and layed down in my bed. When i get scared or i feel like there is something wrong i always hide away in bed. Maybe even hide under the covers if i want to. It was a habit of my childhood that stuck with me even to now.

As i was laying in my bed trying to sleep i tried tot hink of the many possibilities of getting out of here. Wheter escaping from this house and moving to a place i felt happier or escaping this world completely, everything is possible in your dreams anyway so why not indulge in a fantasy for a few hours until you go back to your endless working cycle. The house was unusually quiet. My parents where both visiting my aunt abroad and my sibling has their own place 20 min away from here. The usual sounds of snoring from my father in the other room and the buzzing sounds of the washing machine weren’t here. It was deadquiet.

As i’m laying down trying to get comfortable i force my eyes to close, instead of staring at the ceiling. I try to make my mind go black and slow down my rapid thoughts. However one thought came to me that i was unable to get rid of no matter how hard i tried. The most unrealistic wish i ever made. Because it wasn’t real. But to be able to dream about it, to dream about Pandora is a privelege.

Before i know it i feel myself being pulled away by this reality and into the next. I let the serenitiy take over my mind and body and accept everything coming my way. the aches of my body dissapear, the stress in my shoulders lift up out of my body. This feeling, the feeling of flying, a dream i tend to have a great many of times washes over me like a wave of water. my mind at peace when i slip into unconciousnes.

I see a tunnel light up completely by white glowing vines. I am being pulled by my entire body through this tunnel at such a high speed i wanted to close my eyes from being blinded.

And then everything went black. It stayed like that for it felt like hours. Just staring at the blackness as peacefull bliss fills my body. Slowy i start to feel sensations again. I can feel my bare skin touching what felt like grass or moss. The cold breeze flowing over my skin, i can feel how humid and warm the air is. I try to hang on to what i feel. my ears start to pick up sounds one by one. The wind. The moving of plants all around me. The sounds of bugs, birds and other animals i can’t recognise filling my mind. Wanting to see my suroundings i try to move my body. Trying to twitch any muscle i can think of. My fingers, my toes, my face and my eyes. It felt like i was laying there for over 20 min before the sensation in my legs came back to me. My body waking up from my toes, up to my calves, to my stomach, my arms and upper body. When my back and neck where able to move. I take in the deepest breath i could, pulling in my stomach before letting go again.

The air was so fresh i enjoyed every second of it. being completely awake now i open my eyes too fast and got blinded by the sun. Wait…..the sun. I tried to pry my eyes open again blinking a few times to sharped my vision. The first thing i saw where the enormus trees towering over me. Looking down from it i was overwhelmed by beauty all around me. The grass and moss on the ground was greener then i’ve ver seen in real life, the ferns and flowers all looked to be tropical species i had never seen before.

It took a bit before my mind caught up to me. ‘’i must still be asleep.’’  I kept repeating that to myself as much as possible ‘’you’re asleep, you’re alseep, you’re asleep. No one can hurt you in your own dream’’ but as much as i was trying to convince myself it didn’t feel like i was telling myself the truth. This, wherever i was looks and feels way to real for it to be a dream.

Last option. Pinch or hurt myself into waking up. I pinch myself on my arm, doesn’t work, i scratch myself on my wrist, i’m not waking up. But now i look at my hands in shock and wonder. Five fingers on each hand. My skin is a beautiful Azure blue colour with darker stripes in patterns along my body. Softly glowing freckles on my hands up onto my arms and down my stomach and legs.  I put my hands up to feel my face, it felt the same as it did before i went to sleep, but my ears are higher onto my head. I am able to twich and move them, picking up even the slightest of sounds with them. I pull my hands behind me and feel the back of my head. A long braid from the center of my head goes all the way down over my back towards the ground. As i looks behind me my new tail is swishing back and forth on the ground. And i come to the realisation that this can’t be a dream. This is way too real. Wheter it is a dream or not i am unable to wake up.

 My wish, my unrealistic ‘’i want to go to sleep’’ wish came true.

‘’i’m on Pandora’’

 ‘’WAIT….what the…’’ i shoudered in a shaky breath by what was coming over me, my mind was having a hard time believing what i was saying out loud. This is impossible.

‘’i’m on Pandora, and i’m na’vi’’

With my new eyes i scanned and observed my sourroundings. I was amazed at how much i see. Every tree, strongly rooted into the ground. So many type of plants, flowers and moss around me. Never had i seen a forest like this one. Not even in the pictures of the earth i saw online. Or the footage i saw in documentaries.

I try to move my legs and sit up properly to stand up. As i try to stand up with difficulty i have to grab onto the tree nearest to me. I stand there a bit letting the dissiness fade away and test my legs. Slowly walking a circle to see where i am or rather where to go. I try to think about the possibilities that i have. I have no idea in what year i got into here on Pandora but that would be difficult to find out without anything that doesn’t involve  technology or the humans. Do the Na’vi even count the years ? or the months ?. i don’t think so. I’m not even sure how that would go.

The best options i have on foot is see if i can recognise anything, a scene from the movies, or a sign of life. Hoping i won’t run into any dangerous animals i choose a direction and started walking. Feeling every leave and fern i touch. The green moss feeling soft to walk on. The more and more i walked the more types of bugs and small animals i encounter. I can hear prolemuris swinging above me from tree to tree. Sometimes seeing Arachnoids crawling upon the trees. My mind started to wonder, if i truly am here, where are the others currently ?, are they already gone, or do they still reside in Hometree. Is Jake already on Pandora as well ? or has he been here for years already. All of these questions can decide my fate. I don’t know where i’m walking to, but the most likely thing to happen is getting killed by an animal or being found by a clan and being killed for being a Dreamwalker. That name really does fit me in this case. I’m essentially walking in a dream.

The it wasn’t that much light left anymore in the forest. Soon the sun will dissapear during eclipse. But i am too distracted by the world around me. Around me i find more and more shimmyflies soflty fluttering from one plant to the next. I was hypnotized by it’s eight iridescent wings and delicate build. Trying to touch one was difficult. They looked almost too fragile to even touch anything they come in contact with. Like the thinnest ice melting away after a single touch.

I mindlesly follow the insect like creatures flying all in the same direction. Some of them flying up into the trees. Other left behind to go someplace else. It wasn’t long till i realised the sun had completely dissapeared. I was in a rather dark spot still following the shimmyfly. I looked at my feet with each step. The ground of moss on the floor reacting to my steps with it’s bioluminecent light. creating a path of my footsteps that fades away withing seconds. I start feeling like the sounds around me go in sync. Each small droplet of water, each insect, each call and chirp from the animals mixed together. Like music to my ears. i’m getting more and more lost from where i’m going, but it didn’t matter. I was so calm and at peace here. I could feel my skin tinteling as if pain doesn’t exist. The more i listened the more it almost felt like i was hearing actual music was playing around me. It felt like i wasn’t alone. As if there was a comforting presence of something or someone all around me. It made the drifting feel slower then it actually was. But it still then felt like i was watching the biolouminescence of the forest for hours. Sometimes just trying to spot more small insects. Other times touching plants to see their reaction in colour.

But unbeknowns to me, it actually was hours that i was walking. My body starting to feel faint from being so tired. I tried to still figure out a new direction to follow, i can’t remember which direction i came from. Taking another few steps i start hearing the dripping sound of water.

‘’That must be a river’’ i was getting thirsty from the warm humid air. Putting a faster pace on my walking i follow the sounds of the river water the best i could.

___________

Third pov

Walking through the forest you want to make your presence almost invisible. the forest of pandora holds many dangers. You need to be alert, silent, and quick. That is what a hunter was doing at that very moment. Hiding in the trees looking for any smell, sound, or track from an animal to hunt.

Being in there for more then an hour the hunter went back and forth looking for any clue of animals passing through the area. What he didn’t expect however where the presence of a great amount of shimmyflies around. Shimmyflies where difficult to find this deep in the forest. It wasn’t till long that he realised there was something wrong, something or someone was there that was unfamiliar. A scent he did not recognise as any animal he knew of.

Going further into the new direction he chose. Not wanting to be spotted he climbed into the trees so he could see from above. Watching carefully at any change or sign of life. A little further away he stopped abruptly. Right down on the ground further away he saw a person walking slowly the opposite direction, right towards the river. The person now identified as a young girl was dressed in peculiar clothing, clothing not completely the same as the Sky People. But still a red flag to look out for. The girl was dressed in just a thin dress. Carrying no weapons as far as the eyes could see.

This could mean only one thing, a sky demon invading into their land. No matter how outnumbered the demon was it was still a cause of concern in the mind of the na’vi hunter. As quiet as he could go he ran to his ikran in a hurry, making Tsaheylu and flying back to the village. He knew where the sky demon was headed and he wasn’t far from the village, if he was fast enough he could warn the other warriors and the Olo'eyktan about this and they would be back before she drifted to far from this part of the forest.

after the war with the Sky people years ago, they sended them all back to their own planet, the dying planet they destroyed for their own greed.

Only a few where chosen to stay, scientists loyal to the protection of pandora and it’s natives. Loyal to the omaticaya. But out of those humans none of the avatar drivers have been young females, only adults known by the clan and recognisable to them. Even then they never venture this far from Hells gate and not on their own.

These thoughts worried the warrior fearing the worst. Flying at a faster pace trying to reach his destination. Looking down the area one last time remembering the way back, it was a completely dark spot. The bioluminescence gone from the area where he just ventured. Completely dark against the night sky protecting a certain Na’vi girl from the aerial hunters.

__

Meanwhile the girl was still drifting, unaware that she was being watched. Shock settling into her body as she was still accepting and processing what happend to her. All that matters now is staying alive long enough to find the only people she might know, the Omaticaya.

[uniquevoidflowers]

A couple and their family

Time's POV

I have had a rough life, all sorts of traumatic events making my every decision difficult to make. I am so grateful I am no longer alone though. When I met Malon it was like she had given my grey, miserable world colour. Malon had been able to gently break through my tough barriers and stoic facade. She was and still is mending the wounds in my heart.

Now, we have been married for 8 years and I can recall what joyous day the wedding had been. From even before the wedding to the present, Malon and I have a had a lovely relationship, content with our current living situation. Of course there had been discussion of wanting children to expand their family, Malon especially loving that idea. But I wasn’t so sure I wanted that, after all, I’ve heard of the things that could potentially happen.

Some are positive and some are negative. Instead of disappointing my wife too much, I suggested getting a pet to get a feel for parenting. Malon agreed and shooed me away, since she was allergic to cats and therefore couldn’t enter the pet shop. I found myself driving to the nearest pet shelter, listening to country music and humming along. I then arrived at the pet shelter and swung open the door.

“Welcome to Hyrule’s Pet Shelter! How may I help you today?” A saleswoman greeted me, with a signature smile.

“I’m looking for a dog, perhaps one that really needs a home.” I answered, not bothering to return the smile.

“Of course! Any sort of behavioural things you wouldn’t want in a dog?” The saleswoman asked, maintaining her smile.

I thought for a moment before replying with, “I would prefer a dog that is potty trained. But other than that, I really don’t mind.”

I was confident Malon would say something similar. “Alright. I’ll take you to come meet our most recent puppy Wolfie. He was found wondering the streets and didn’t belong to anyone, or at least nobody rose to claim him. He isn’t particularly social and fought viciously against us but for some unknown reasons he is gentle with children. We haven’t been able to figure out what breed the puppy is, he actually more resembles a wolf pup but his behaviour is entirely different. Which is why everyone has taken to calling him Wolfie. He was surprisingly potty trained when we took him in, so we have a guess that he was abandoned. Poor thing.” The saleswoman explained, walking.

I followed her. My heart ached a little at the thought of abandoning a pet. My thoughts led to this Wolfie. If he was gentle with the young ones, perhaps there was a chance I could train him to be kind towards older people as well. I texted Malon, not entirely sure what to do.

Link: The woman here offered me a puppy named Wolfie, said he was found on the streets. He’s potty trained, aggressive but gentle to children. She doesn’t know the breed though.

Malon: Well, try meeting Wolfie first darling. According to what I’ve read, you must meet the dog first in order to know you’ve got the one you want.

Link: If you say so.

“We’re here. Hi, Wolfie.” The saleswoman waved.

I was greeted by a snarling puppy that looked exactly like a wolf. The puppy had dark, black fur with odd white markings imprinted on his snout. I noticed a shackle on his leg, that had the markings of the ancient Twili. Strange. Wolfie stopped snarling when he sniffed me, and relaxed. “Hello Wolfie.” I approached the puppy warily.

Wolfie barked happily and his tail wagged back and forth. “Looks like he’s drawn to you.” The saleswoman commented, grinning.

“Can I pet him?” I wondered gazing at the puppy’s cute eyes.

“I guess you can try.” The saleswoman shrugged.

I slowly reached my hand out to pet Wolfie but snatched my hand back once he started growling. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re okay.” I tried, hoping at least the soothing tone of my voice would allow some sort of touch.

Wolfie tilted his head as if to question what I had just said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I repeated, firmly.

Wolfie relaxed a little and whined, glancing at the saleswoman. “That dog is strange. I’ll leave you two be.” The saleswoman smiled and left, seemingly oblivious to Wolfie’s turmoil.

The second that woman left, Wolfie completely calmed and nuzzled up against me. “Awwww, you’re a good boy aren’t ya?” I cooed.

I had to admit, this was pretty adorable. I reached out to try and pet Wolfie again and the dog allowed it. So I pulled out my phone while softly petting the puppy. I had feeling he was a keeper.

Link: Wolfie is drawn to me, and he’s adorable and quite intelligent. He was aggressive at first but as soon as the saleswomen left he was practically a new puppy.

Malon: Hm. I think you should get Wolfie then. By the way, I’ve set up the stuff for whatever dog you wind up choosing.

Link: My mind is made up, I am getting Wolfie. See you soon.

I carefully sat up and began to leave the room but Wolfie started whining and jumping up on me, begging me not to leave. “It’s okay, I’ll be back.” I reassured.

Wolfie must have some abandonment issues, I’d have to remember that for later. The puppy seemed to understand my words of reassurance and he sat down. “Greetings again, I would like to get Wolfie.” I approached the saleswoman once more.

“Wonderful. You’re fee is 135 rupees.” The saleswoman nodded.

I paid and then tried coax Wolfie into a carrier but my efforts were in vain. I scooped Wolfie up in my arms and I was prepared to be scratched or nibbled, but Wolfie just slumped in disappoint. Then eventually we drove back to the house where Malon awaited. “C’mon boy, come meet Malon.” I gestured for him to follow.

He did and I opened the door to see my wife there, gazing curiously at Wolfie. “Oh, my, Link! The puppy looks like a literal wolf!”

“I’m aware. Meet Wolfie, now is there anything this one can get into?” I searched the ground for any chewable things.

“I don’t think so. Why don’t you get him onto the couch?” Malon recommended.

“Are you sure?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Yes I’m sure. There’s a gate to the upstairs and the doors won’t budge.” Malon assured me.

So I scooped up Wolfie once more and set him on the couch, but the next thing that happened was shocking. Wolfie disappeared into thick black triangles, and when the black stuff was gone, a boy with the exact same markings appeared. “What in Hyrule City?!” Malon gasped.

“S-Sorry! Please don’t kick me out, I didn’t-I just wanted o-out of the shelter!” The boy panicked.

(There's more! Read the rest on AO3 ---> A couple and their family)

[everythingsf1ne23]

𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑) | 

𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 & 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘯

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🎀💕:

@yarrystyleeza If you want to be added check out my pinned post! 

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 💌:

My goal is to be more productive in terms of writing this week ‘cause I’ve been lacking with the fics and also enjoy Michael’s pov at the end my lovelies ~Jess

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 📝:

in which, Molly takes her shopping but she is spotted which is a shock as she is believed to have died 

���𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘗𝘰𝘷:

I pose in the mirror after I apply my makeup but then I laugh, 

“oh gosh” I say to myself realising that I’ve probably put too much blush on 

but you can never have too much blush right?

I have my hair in a ponytail which is unusual as I love it done but I wanna be different for once,

My phone buzzes and I check it to see that Molly is on her way to pick me up for our shopping trip, 

I hear a whistle behind me 

so I turn to see Wayne,

“You’re looking absolutely stunning as you always do” I feel my cheeks turning red and with my blush, I probably look like a tomato 

“Aww thank you!” I get up off the chair at my vanity and I give him a hug

“You make me the happiest” I tell Wayne as he holds me tightly in the hug 

“I’m glad that I do and I’m definitely the happiest when I’m around you, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me”

I hear a car beeping and I look out the window to see Molly’s car 

“I better go otherwise Molly will probably leave without me” I smile at Wayne and he smiles back 

“Well enjoy yourself my love”

I give him a quick kiss then I grab my leather jacket along with my handbag 

“I will, see you later, I love you” 

I shut the front door behind me and I get into the passenger’s seat of Molly’s car 

“You two must be so loved up, I was almost thinking that you weren’t coming with me” 

“Of course I was still coming with you, I always enjoy our shopping trips and we really are, Wayne is honestly my everything” 

“You seem so much brighter and that’s so lovely to see” 

“How are things going with Michael?” 

“Things are really good with us” 

Soon enough we arrive at the shopping centre, some of the shops weren’t our style so we didn’t bother going into them, 

I pick out a white corset top and I pair it with bright orange pants 

I’ve been loving colour recently so I’ve been trying to bring them into all my outfits,

I decide that I need Molly’s opinion as she has great fashion sense,

“Molly what do you think?”

“It’s certainly your style, you should definitely get them” 

Afterwards we walk into a more expensive, boutique aesthetic shop 

Molly looks at the blue summer dress 

“That’s nice isn’t it?” she asks me and I nod in agreement 

“Ooh yes it’s lovely”

Molly notices the price tag 

“Well it’s very expensive especially for our pharmacist wages, we should probably be getting more for what we do”

“Yeah I definitely can agree on that one, when I was being a dj at concerts for some friends I was getting more money” 

“You were a dj? Teach me how to do it please!”

“Of course I will and yeah when I left for America last year, I decided to do something different with my life” 

“Stop that’s actually super cool, we should have a party so you can show off your dj skills” Molly giggles and I smile at her

“I’d love that, I haven’t done it in so long”

I notice some skirts in the corner of my eye so I walk quickly over 

“I haven’t bought a new skirt in so long” 

I think to myself and I look through the rack of skirts, some were mini and other were long 

I observe a cute long green flower patterned skirt but once I see the price tag I realise that I should probably leave it there,

Suddenly I have the feeling that someone’s watching me so I turn slightly and I notice that it is Viking sitting down on a small couch with his phone in his hands, 

Does he know that it’s me? I ask myself but then Molly comes over to me

“Let’s go see some other shops” she links arms with me and leads us out of the boutique. 

𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭’𝘴 𝘗𝘰𝘷:

I’m currently at Amanda and Jimmy’s house as Eric apparently has something important to tell us,

“What do you think this is about?” 

I ask Amanda,

“I honestly don’t know, sure it could be about anything knowing Viking”

The front door bursts open which the three of us can only assume that it’s him

“You’ll never guess who I saw today when I was out shopping with Nikki”

Viking tells us and he is clearly in a grumpy mood as usual with him lately,

“Well no need to keep us in suspense, 

who was it?” 

“You know Moore’s cousin the one who helped him set up the shooting that killed Jamie, the one who is supposed to be dead”

“You’re actually joking right?” Amanda asks him

“Of course I’m not fucking joking, 

look there’s a photo of her”

I look and I notice that it is Molly’s friend who works with her in the pharmacy, I say nothing as I know that she’s a good person according to Molly.

“She must be really sneaky if she pulled that off, I wonder where she went” Jimmy remarks and Viking speaks up again

“I heard her speaking to her friend and apparently she was being a dj in America, I’ve done some digging and I found her new Instagram and everything” 

Viking passes his phone around once again, I could see her photos and videos with the same people, must be her friends.

“According to her Instagram, she has been in America, Europe and Asia touring with her friends at their concerts, there was even concerts here in Dublin” 

“Jesus you’ve found out a lot of information” Amanda responds 

“Nikki helped me too so I can’t take all the credit, but she could possibly be a threat so we should keep an eye on her”

I know that she is Molly’s closest friend so I can’t let anyone in the family hurt her whether she is a threat or not, I know that she means a lot to Molly so I’ll have to protect them both,

Viking turns to leave but then he turns back 

“Oh and also Wayne Madigan is following her too, so she must know him as well”

“We’re dealing with him right now so I’m sure that they’re not planning anything together” I tell him 

“If you say so Michael”

“I know so!”, I respond and then Viking finally leaves which means that I can also go home. 

[dvzaiosamu]

Ao3 fanfic recommendations and name ideas por fanfics — bsd

Again, yes... I apologize. I swear I'm not doing more, I'll post in a future, so I don't bother yall with these so much.

It's the same as the other two parts! Only that I'm also giving fanfic name ideas for yall to make wonderful stories. If yall take some name ideas for fanfic, I'd want to take a look at them! Of course, I don't force any of you, but if some of you wish to, you can send me the link in my inbox.

FANFIC RECOMMENDATION.

Dark is the Night — [fyodor x reader]

Summary: Winter, 1942. Stalingrad is no longer a town but a hellscape of destruction. By day clouds of smoke rise from the rubble into the frigid sky, burning and blinding. When night arrives it falls scorching and howling, an inferno of cold. Slow victory is measured not by meters, city blocks or even buildings but by bodies.

Night arrives and you are not sleeping. Neither is he. In the gloom of the shelled warehouse basement, a long narrow room lit only by dimmed lanterns and the occasional meager campfire, his eyes find yours.

A stranger to the squad, but that’s not unusual in the chaos that is Stalingrad. His hair is not close-cropped but dark and lank, falling across a handsome, pale face in which odd magenta eyes glow. His clothing, too, is not standard-issue Red Army but tall soft boots and a dark, fur-trimmed cape. Again, nothing unusual. Here, men do what it takes to keep warm in the brutal conditions.

“Your hat,” he whispers across the narrow corridor from where you are propped on opposite sides, careful not to wake the sleeping soldiers that surround you. He touches his head, drawing your attention to the white ushanka you are wearing. “It looks very warm.”

Summer Watercolours — [fyolai]

Summary: Nikolai paints rocks and hides them around the beach, Fyodor visits during the summer and hates the heat but the colourful rocks catch his eye.

(Prequel to Summer Waves, another fanfic I wrote)

Summer Waves — [soukoku]

Summary: Osamu Dazai leaves for college but never forgets his beloved Chuuya Nakahara.

Prayers of Impermanence — [soukoku]

Summary: As a temple master, he has recieved a lot of strange requests over the years. This particular client is the strangest of them all. After all, why would anyone actually went to be haunted by ghosts?

[or: POV Outsider, Post-Beast. Chuuya wants to be haunted by Dazai's ghost]

If I called your name, would you even answer? — [soukoku]

Summary: After a year of dating and living together, Dazai feels deeply neglected when Chuuya starts spending more and more time away from him.

Could it be that Chuuya is bored of him? Has he found another partner? Or…is it something completely different?

A mask is sinking in the sea fog — [soukoku]

Summary: Cheap cigarettes burn in a blue fog, giving free rein to secrets and sincerity.

For You I'd Catch Every Cold — [fyolai]

Summary: Growing up in the cold winters of Ukraine, Nikolai was unfortunately good friends with the common cold. He absolutely hated getting sick but it was an unavoidable curse that came with living in the northern lands. Even after his chance meeting with the mysterious man known as Fyodor Dostoyevsky, the seasonal flu continued to plague his life. But perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he previously thought-

A sort of ‘through the years’ look at the relationship between Nikolai and Fyodor and their propensity to get sick.

Based on a lovely Tik-Tok by @fruit_chus!

FANFIC NAME IDEAS.

Ceasefire of Hostility.

Sin and Sinuous.

Hot Summer afternoon.

Taste of Heaven.

Death of the Horned Goose.

The Whispering Turnip.

The Mystery of Miss/Mr [character name].

Last Marigold.

Drown the Future.

Flavour of Death.

Prey of the Night.

Cheating will not help you out.

Rain of Iron.

Bite me, Kill me, but don't tell me you're leaving.

If I die, will you be at my grave?

Sing once more that song and I'll cry once again.

Greyed Morals.

It Almost Worked.

Pretty when you Cry.

I've lost myself.

This is how Mother raised me.

I throw up in her Bathroom, but she still Offers me a Drink.

I can't cry when my eyes are already Dry, can you?

Hunting Swirl of the Cirque.

Meat between Flowers.

Bloody Hands.

Silver Corpse.

The Love Empire has Fallen.

Used Knife.

The Twisted Daydream of his Paranoia.

That's all, I hope these fanfic name ideas could help any of you, if so, I would happily read them! You can use the tag dvzaiosamu's place for stories to show me your works!

[kirua9]

Okay so idc that nobody tagged me etc I just want to share this

1. Hitagi Senjogahara (Bakemonogatari)

honestly, this girl was my childhood crush and I simply loved her design... Bakemonogatari is overall iconic series, so it makes every shot with characters make like a piece of art. Hitagi was like that for sure

2. Asuka (NGE)

Well, now I realize that my oc resembles Misato more that Asuka, but actually only Asuka's relationships with her mom inspired Makoto's own story :/ Also Asuka's need to be with someone but lack of understanding how to love and what to do.

3. Dragonfly – album by Aki Akane

Aki Akane's voice and her manner of singing is the best to describe how my oc would sound. I LOVE Aki Akane's strong, almost cry-like voice.

4. Ayato&Laito (well technically it's 2 characters sorry)

Long story short, once I just looked at how the colours of Laito and Hitagi (from the 1st paragraph) match and voila, I liked it. So I literally wanted to make a character which matches with Laito by colours :/

I didn't think about the character etc, no, just colours. Tho, recently I thought it'd be cool to make a "lover" for Laito who is very similar to Ayato in terms to get on Laito's nerves 😊

Seriously, the idea of a s/o with opposite pov, morals is fascinating for me

5. Flesh without blood – song by Grimes

Art Angels album by Grimes is something what brought me to life again and encouraged to... u know, do art? Back at this time I didn't know that Art Angels album's theme is the relations between artist and their audience etc, yet I just liked this music with sometimes controversial lyrics. So, Flesh without blood was the biggest inspo for Makoto's vibes. Bright, happy-looking (bcos it's pop), energetic, but the also has the meaning behind all the fancy stuff...

6. Jolyne Cujoh, but actually Araki's art style

The most recent inspo is Jojo's Bizarre Adventures and Araki's art style in the "newest" parts (Stone Ocean, Steel ball run, Jojolion, Jojolands). Idk u guys I love the way Araki draws faces, and just the way he draws. I'm in lovee

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Your Best American Girl (Gia Gunn/Laganja Estranja) - Lita 

Summary: Life on the road is fucking lonely, and Laganja thinks it’s killing her. Gia is adrift in a foreign country, trying and failing to stake out a career. Friendship can be found in the unlikeliest of places - namely a high school gym in Delaware. Femme Fatale Wrestling AU. 

A/N: This is essentially the Pretty Dope origin story that I’ve been sitting on half-finished for months. This is set five or six years before the main story iirc, while Gia and Ganja are still working on the indie circuit before getting signed by Femme Fatale. I love these morons and put way too much thought into their respective backstories, and I wish they got less villain-coded airtime in the main story (which won’t be the case for much longer, I promise) so this was stupid fun to write. Re: the song from which I lifted the title and lyrics, Your Best American Girl by Mitski has always been Gia/Ganja crack to me - it was written from the POV of struggling to meet eurocentric beauty standards as a woman of colour trying to date white men, but I think it can also read as a trans narrative and the ‘all-American boy’ line really evokes angst and shit about FFW!Laganja for me, so it’s always really inspired me while writing the two of them. Anyway, hope you all enjoy! &lt;3

CW: Transphobia 

Your mother wouldn’t approve

Of how my mother raised me,

But I do, I think I do. 

**** 

There’s something a little disarming about wandering around in a high school after hours. The fluorescent lit hallway leading out of the gymnasium is overbearingly bright and creepily empty. Laganja makes slow, unsteady progress towards the door leading out to the parking lot; one of the wheels of her suitcase fell off while she was trying to get it out of her car earlier, and dragging it around lopsided was proving nothing short of a fucking nightmare.

The show had been far from bad, but she’d just hit her limit - at least it’s only five minutes’ drive to her hotel, maybe fifteen if she goes via McDonald’s like she’s planned. She has a pre-rolled joint in her backpack, and nowhere to be until eleven am the next morning. Then another hours-long drive to the next gig out in the back of beyond, to another shitty match in a shitty school gymnasium or community centre - rinse and repeat. She’d been living out of a suitcase for the better part of a month already, with another two weeks to go before she’d next see the inside of her apartment. She wasn’t at all mad at the payout, but it felt like a lot of work for money she was spending most of on gas and takeout. A little bit of her missed being a ‘real’ athlete - it wasn’t nearly this lonely. 

A lot of her missed it, actually. Back then, she’d had teammates to keep her company, and she didn’t have to pay for her own accommodation. Or travel. Or gear. These days, she’s never a standout - just a replaceable body at the bottom of a card, never in the same place more than once. No foundations, no friends. She misses being treated like she mattered. 

The scandal had died down since last year - she was finding it easier to get gigs, and could look at her social media without having a panic attack - but it didn’t make things much easier. She was just a little less radioactive than she had been after being kicked off the Olympic team. Rebuilding her life was taking time. 

Laganja rounds a corner, still fighting with her suitcase - a loud voice catches her off-guard and she stops dead; ducking behind a row of lockers. It’s a guy’s voice, brash and angry. She doesn’t really want to get herself involved in whatever the fuck this is. At least not until she’s figured out what’s going on. 

“What part of leave me the fuck alone don’t you understand?” 

“Babe, wait-“ A female voice this time; equally loud and a little abrasive, but with a distinct edge of fear that makes Laganja nervous.  

“I’m not your fucking babe- don’t touch me!”

Laganja hears the crash of a body slamming into metal, and winces - craning her neck to peer down the hall. The feminine voice belongs to that Japanese chick she’d worked a match with earlier that night - Gia something? She couldn’t work out at the time whether or not she liked her - she’d stiffed her a little in the ring, and had been pretty closed-off and hard to talk to backstage. Her lip is trembling, and there’s already black streaks of mascara running down her face. The guy has just shoved her into the lockers - pinning her in place with a hand roughly grasped around her shoulder. The other is raised like he’s about to punch her. Laganja’s stomach drops. 

“Look, can’t we figure this out?“ Gia’s voice is shaking.

“There’s nothing to figure out - I’m not a fucking homo, okay? So back the fuck off. I’m leaving.” 

“But my-“

“I don’t give a shit,” he snarls. “Stop following me around like a lost fucking puppy - we’re done.” 

“How the fuck am I gonna get home-“ 

“I don’t care! You fucking lied to me!”

Gia whimpers. Fuck this - Laganja steps out from where she’d been hiding; this feels like it’s about to get ugly, and she can’t just stand around and let that happen. She tries to say something, but the words get stuck in her throat, standing about ten feet away from them as her mouth opens and closes like a guppy, trying to string a sentence together with her fists clenched by her sides. 

Doesn’t matter - the guy sees her there, and his eyes widen. He practically sprints towards the door; shoving it open with his shoulder and letting it slam behind him. Gia crumples against the lockers. As soon as he’s out of eyeshot, Laganja drops her case, making straight for Gia. She’s sitting on the ground; hugging her knees and crying. Laganja crouches down at her side. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” 

She looks up, sniffing a little. She’s still wearing her ring gear, a black and red high-necked two-piece, with an oversized hoodie shrugged over the top.

“I’m fine,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact with Laganja as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Is he-“

“Fuck off,” Gia pulls away sharply from the hand that Laganja had placed on her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry - I don’t want to shove my nose into your business or anything, but like…hey, weren’t we in a match together earlier?” 

The brunette gives a nonplussed shrug; pulling out her phone from the pocket of her hoodie and wiping away her running mascara with  the aid of her front camera. Laganja fishes a travel pack of Kleenex out of her backpack and offers it to her. She takes it begrudgingly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Laganja sits down on the floor next to her, crossing her legs and leaning against the locker. 

“You’re doing a really bad job at fucking off,” Gia observes. 

“I heard most of your conversation - I figured you don’t have a ride home, or anywhere to sleep tonight, and I’m not gonna leave you stranded out here in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. I’m waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and realise that I’m trying to help you, okay?” 

The brunette cracks half a smile. 

“Bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” Laganja smirks. “What’s your name?” 

“You seriously did not forget what my name is after an hour-“

“No, I mean your real one.” She gives a bemused laugh. Pro wrestling etiquette is a language she’s still trying to decipher - she’s not sure whether or not that’s something she should have asked, but the question is out there now. There’s probably a stupid made-up word for the question she’d been trying to ask. Shoot name? She thinks that’s maybe it. “Mine’s Lucy, by the way.” 

“It’s still Gia,” she replies, a little thorny. Then: “I’m gonna stick with calling you Laganja, though. That’s funnier.” 

“Thanks,” Ganja rolls her eyes. She turns to Gia, her face turning a little more serious. “So, what’s going on?” 

“With what?” Gia says, her tone half uncertain and half sharply defensive. 

“You know - that guy. Looked pretty bad from where I was standing.”

“Oh, Trey’s my boyfriend. Or well, I guess was. I…” she sighs, chewing over her words a little. “One of the- look, why the fuck am I telling you this?” 

“Because I wanna help,” Laganja replies simply. Gia purses her lips. 

“One of the guys backstage told him something about me that I wasn’t ready to tell him, and he got mad, okay? So it’s basically my fault.” 

“What the fuck could they have told him that made him that mad?” Laganja raises her eyebrows. “None of that was okay.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Gia hugs her knees. 

“Listen - I just met you, and after tonight we’re probably never gonna see each other again. Who am I gonna tell? It’s just between us.” Gia doesn’t seem impressed. Laganja offers a hand out to her. “Pinkie swear.”

Gia looks a little wary, hushing her voice and ignoring the childish proffered hand. “I…I’m transgender. I was like, born a guy. It’s not something I wanna make a big deal of, it’s just that-“

Laganja has to hold in a laugh, realising that now might not be the right time. 

“Seriously? Bitch, me too!” 

Gia looks taken aback. 

“Shut up,” she says, shrinking away from Laganja. Fuck. She thinks she’s mocking her. 

“I’m not kidding - honest to god.” Gia eases up a little. “And by the way, wether you told him or not, that doesn’t give him the right to treat you like that.”

Gia doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean it - I’ve dealt with my share of this shit, and there’s no excuse for it. What he said to you was fucking wrong, period. Doesn’t matter how upset he is.” 

“I was gonna tell him - I just didn’t think he’d react like that. Plus like, he was gonna find out eventually.” Gia laughs a little grimly. “I told him I was saving myself for marriage, and I don’t think I was gonna be able to like, keep that up for much longer.” 

Laganja gives a tight-lipped smile, slightly uncomfortable. Not with Gia, with the situation. She hadn’t even attempted dating since she’d come out, and this was exactly why. Too scared of what people would think - or say, or do. After seeing the full, horrendous extent of the first ‘big’ reaction to her transition, it didn’t bear thinking about. Didn’t exactly help that her parents, who she’d been outed to in the midst of the whole scandal, had barely said a word to her since, and her teammates had thrown her to the wolves. 

“Well, he’s a loser who doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Laganja eventually says. She stands up, walking back down the hall to grab her broken suitcase, before returning to Gia and holding a hand out to her. Gia looks perplexed. 

“What are you-?”

“C’mon - I need dinner, and I’m not leaving you here.” 

****

“You want any more?” 

Laganja holds the joint out to Gia - sitting in the passenger seat of her car. The brunette shakes her head, a hint of a laugh in her voice. 

“Nah - I’m good.” 

“You sure?” Laganja takes another drag; trying to talk while holding in smoke. 

“Totally sure - I…you got me really fucking high,” Gia giggles, leaning against the door of the car. She aims a handful of fries for her mouth and misses - dropping most of them into her shirt. 

“I think you needed it, honey,” Laganja smiles, watching Gia trying to pick fries off of her chest with her tongue, like a lizard. She’s loosened up a hell of a lot, Laganja thinks as she flicks ash into the empty Coke can on her dashboard. 

“Yeah,” Gia says airily. “Y’know, you’re the first person I’ve met who’s like, like me. And you’re really fucking cool. I like you.” 

“You’re just saying that because I bought you food and let you smoke my weed.”

“Nah - seriously,” Gia insists - rambling a little, her eyes overly-moist and tinged pink. “I’ve never met another trans girl - I knew that I was one, but you’re like….you’re the first. It’s like we’re fucking unicorns or some shit.” 

Ganja smiles. 

“So, what the fuck is your story, Gia?” 

“What?” Gia giggles, still fighting with her fries. 

“How did you wind up stuck out here, with him? You’re too fucking good in the ring to be working in a high school gym in fucking Delaware.”

“I started training when I was like, eleven,” Gia says, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. Laganja notices her slack jaw, and tries to pick it up off the floor before Gia sees it too. “It’s like, normal in Japan. Both my parents are wrestlers, it was sort of always gonna be my thing.”

“But what are you doing here?”

“It’s part of the training system - we call it a ‘learning excursion’. You get sent to the US for like, a year before you debut on TV back home, learn to speak better English and work different styles or whatever. So I came over when I was nineteen. Then while I was here, I figured out my whole…” she gestures awkwardly at herself. “This, and now I don’t think I can go back home. Well, I could - but I ditched training, so I think my parents will want to kill me, and also I have tits now - I don’t know how they’ll feel about that but I don’t think I want to. So for the last three years, I’ve just been taking whatever shitty gigs I can get, lying to my parents about getting signed to WWE developmental so they think I’m too busy to talk to them, and trying to like…I don’t know. Live.” 

“God.” Laganja grimaces, sucking down the last few puffs that the joint has to offer. 

“Your turn - what’s your damage, Miss Laganja?” 

Laganja squirms a little. She glances into the backseat at the Team USA backpack that she still uses. It feels a little bit like stolen valour. 

“Kinda similar. Not as cool. I was an amateur wrestler - and I was fucking good at it. Like, Olympics good. I was meant to go to London in 2012, but I’d already started hormones and obviously that got flagged up in my drug tests, so I got disqualified and then the news went apeshit about it because it got misreported and people thought I wanted to compete for the women’s team. So I sort of just went and lived under a rock for a year until the shitshow died down, and then started doing this. I’m still pretty new to it.”

“You are really good,” Gia says, kind of aloof like she doesn’t want to be caught giving Ganja real praise. 

“Thanks.” Laganja’s cheeks flush pink. 

“Also that’s fucked up. What happened to you, I mean.” Gia pulls a face. 

“Yeah, but I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. At least this way I can actually be myself.” Laganja shrugs. “And nobody seems to care - real sports it’s all ‘biological advantage’ this, ‘biological advantage’ that, but this is all staged, so nobody gives a shit. And the outfits are better.” She gives a laugh, watching the evening sky shift from deep orange to star-scattered blue through the dirty windshield. “I never wanna see a fucking singlet again.” 

“Tell me about it,” Gia giggles. “It’s like, a whole thing with the Young Lions - the rookie wrestlers back home - that you don’t get to have a distinct look until you graduate. Just black trunks and a shitty haircut.” Gia pulls out her phone, flicking at warp speed through her camera roll and then zooming in on a group picture. She turns the phone to Laganja - it’s filled with the image of a depressed-looking teenage boy with a buzz cut, standing shirtless and shoulder-to-shoulder with a group of similarly uniform but presumably less miserable kids. Laganja’s eyes widen. 

“No fucking way is that you!” She gasps. “That’s insane - you look so different.”

“Thanks, it took a lot of work.” Gia half-laughs. 

“Seriously - you’re like…so much hotter now. It’s not even funny. Your stupid boyfriend doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Shut up - you’re hot.” Gia smiles, her head lolling back. She puts a hand on Laganja’s thigh. Laganja’s skin tingles. 

“And you’re high.” 

“Am not.” Gia flops sideways, her head resting on Laganja’s shoulder. “I’m glad I met you, Ganj. You’re really nice. And really pretty.” 

Laganja blushes again. She doesn’t think anyone has ever called her ‘pretty’ before. She tries to keep her eyes fixed in front of her, like she’s driving, but Gia’s hand is cupping her cheek now - soft fingers brushing against her sweat-misted skin, gazing up at her with hazy brown eyes. When Laganja looks down, Gia inches closer to her - hesitantly pressing their weed-dry lips together. Laganja doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she also doesn’t try to stop her. 

The brunette parts Laganja’s lips with an exploratory tongue, and Laganja - no idea what she’s thinking, no intention of questioning it - lets her, closing her eyes and deepening the kiss, one hand leaving the steering wheel to cup the back of Gia’s head. Gia murmurs softly, and then she pulls away before Laganja has really figured out what’s going on. Once her touch is gone, she kind of misses it. 

Gia is laughing again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Sorry. I don’t know what the fuck that was. Guess I am high.” 

“It’s okay. I liked it,” Laganja admits hesitantly. Gia reaches a hand out for hers, clasping them together. “What now? Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

“Fuck no,” Gia pulls a face. “And I don’t have anything booked for…” she pauses to think, counting on her fingers. “Fucking ages. I was just tagging along with Trey since most promotions don’t bother booking a women’s match until the last second, but now he’s gone.”

“You can tag along with me,”  Laganja offers. “I’m crashing here tonight and then I’ve got a show in Pittsburgh tomorrow - come along for the ride, I can try and get you on the card.” 

“Sure - if you’re sure.” Gia looks hesitant. 

“Positive. I kinda miss having company. And you’re really cute.”

“No, you.” Gia smiles drowsily. Pulling Laganja closer by the hand she’s holding, Gia tries sloppily to initiate another kiss, and this time Laganja doesn’t hesitate. 

For the first time in months, she doesn’t feel quite so alone. 

****

You’re an all-American boy,

I guess I couldn’t help trying to be

Your best American girl.

Pride Challenge Points: 5331