#tbf like all that other shit up there aside

[eonars]

um. tfw your life is about to change massively very very soon and it still doesn't even feel real yet and still feels like somethings gonna pop up and it won't actually happen and also you're scared as fuck that you're too stupid to actually do it and it'll all be for nothing

[the-acid-pear]

On: today i dreamt...

What started as a story about a group of gangster breaking into an abandoned (but not really?) prison to film their movie and being caught soon devolved into an international conspiracy filled with subplots about love and corruption, culminating with both groups that we thought were equally righteous finding out not everything was quite as it seems.

[writefightandflightclub]

The light is blinding (Joel Miller x fem!reader)

Summary: When he's hurt, you offer to wash Joel's hair for him. Turns out there may be other forms of comfort you can offer him too.

Genres: character study; angst (sorta); hurt/comfort; SMUT. Joel's POV.

Author's note: I watched TLOU ep 1 last night, then made bad choices today in favour of hyperfocussing on this 8k Joel fic. I mean, this was sort of inevitable tbf. We've been handed a sad, scruffy, brown-eyed, dusty apocalypse DILF, and there was no chance of me not adopting him as a blorbo. Anyway, this is my first attempt at Joel, I wrote this in a trance so god knows what it says and I haven't spent any time on editing/correcting. Can't promise it's any good, but if you want to wash his hair as much as I do (lol) maybe you'll enjoy it, who knows. P.s. I promise it does get super smutty. You just have to survive the extensive internal monologue and many rounds of haircare first. (I'm just like that :P)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Minors interacting will be blocked. EXPLICIT SMUT (unprotected p in v sex, totally ignoring practicalities like birth control in the apocalypse bc we can); canon-typical themes such as grief, apocalypse, infection/disease, trauma, injury. SPOILERS - if you know the core plot points or have seen episode one you'll be okay. Joel's POV.

Word count: 8.2k

GIF by @joelmjller (Pls lemme know if you'd like me to remove this!)

How did he get here, exactly? All stretched out on his back, your careful fingers twining through his wetted, grizzled hair?

Well, he supposes he got here because a smuggling deal had gone sideways - like usual.

He got here, because he���s getting too old for this shit, and because someone precisely young enough for this shit had garnered the advantage just long enough to land a gun barrel blow to his head. A blow which then made room for all manner of nonsense, of course; like Joel being teep kicked into a desk. The desk - owing to its sturdy construction and deliciously planed hardwood - had withstood the blow. Joel’s body, however -far less sturdily constructed - had reacted far less favourably to that particular transaction.

Most of all though, cracked ribs and busted shoulder aside, Joel is here, because of you. He is here, because you offered to wash his hair.

Joel isn’t a clean man, by any stretch. Who could be anymore, with the way things are? In truth, he’s forgotten what it’s like not to be coated with a layer of dirt and smoke and ash. But apparently, even in the midst of an apocalypse, the dried-in, caked-up, days old blood matting his hair had left something to be desired.

He’d agreed to your offer only because - honestly - it was starting to itch. Because this time he truly couldn’t do it himself, the searing pain in his ribs seeing to that. Making sure he couldn’t quite raise his arm high enough or dip his head low enough to get the job done.

He’d agreed to your offer, in part, because he thought you would be quick. And - he now realises - you are being anything but.

You have him stretched out on his back, on a repurposed dentist chair. The worn, dark green leather creaks beneath him as he adjusts, positioning himself just so. You’ve installed a makeshift neck rest and basin to the rear of the chair, and Joel’s head is currently dipped backwards into the warm water, your fingers diligently combing through the strands to release the debris and muck.

You use a cup to cascade the water from the basin over his head, cupping it with the other hand to guard his face and neck from any rogue rivulets. Then, you ease your fingertips over his scalp, massaging in circles, being extra careful -he notes- around his recently closed wound.

Yes, to Joel’s dismay, you are taking your time. You are being so thorough and so attentive, in fact, that Joel even wonders if you will end up washing the gray right out of his hair - Joel’d never been wholly convinced that his newly-developed colouring was ever anything more than a thick, impenetrable layer of dirt and ash.

You hum thoughtfully, a sweet, innocuous note as you assess your next step. “I’m switching out the water, okay?”

That doesn’t sound okay at all. That doesn’t sound done. And Joel had thought that this would be quick. Had needed this to be quick.

Before he can grunt an answer though, you are winding a towel around his hair, presumably attempting to save the drips from reaching the floor as you swap out one basin for another, setting down the one now filled with muddy brown water, and bending carefully to lift a second steaming basin of fresh water on to your makeshift plinth.

He needs to stop this here. “That’ll do,” he says gruffly, motioning to sit up -carefully- despite the pain in his ribs.

“Lie back,” you insist, the sound of your voice muffled through the towel wound over his ears but soothing nevertheless. “I’ve only managed to rinse out the blood and bird’s nests so far. We still need to wash and condition.”

Joel would protest more vigorously -means to, in fact- but the soft smile on your face dissolves him like sugar before he can do so.

He frowns though, for good measure. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“The quicker you relax Joel,” you sing song, “the faster I’ll let you out of my seat. Deal?”

He grunts. He doesn’t relax. He can’t relax.

“And,” you add playfully, as if reading his mind. “If you can’t relax, you’d better learn fast to fake it.”

Joel sighs deeply in frustration as he lies back, and you usher him gently into position. However, the slow, deep breath he expels does genuinely serve to sink him more deeply into the chair. Does force him to release just a jot of the tension snaking through his taut muscles.

You hum again, softly, in satisfaction, and he thinks he can even hear a smile on your mouth as you foam his hair with some sweet-smelling product, your fingers resuming their careful ministrations across his scalp.

It’s nice, he notes, unwilling as he is to admit it. Your touch could knock him out better than a barrel full of oxy and a bottle of the good stuff. He almost lets himself enjoy it - an attractive woman like you working your hands into his hair, massaging with your thumbs, your fingers, your palms. Applying pressure and sensation, even into the tight muscles in his neck. Loosening some of the tension at his temples. He even consciously relaxes his forehead, feeling his frown soften. Closing his eyes instead of fixing his stare on the broken picture rail he’s sure he could fix with a few tools and a little bit of effort.

He breathes more deeply as he closes his eyes, focussing in on the sensation of your touch. On the scents flooding his nose. Floral and sweet and fruity. It smells of you, and he breathes it deeply. He tries not to think about how his pillow will smell of you later.

It shouldn’t be possible for you to smell as good as you do, Joel ponders. You even have him wondering whether perhaps he’s not the only game in town. Whether there’s another smuggler dealing in contraband which hasn’t even occurred to him to barter with. Perfumes and oils and essences. He doubts that you would be mixed up in smuggling, but he doesn’t doubt that you are capable of far more than surface-level assessments might suggest.

After all, people only survive this long with one of two things: brutality, or blind luck - and no-one is that lucky that they’ve never had to dabble in the former. Everyone who has made it this far is only out for themselves.

Therefore, who knows what secrets you hide behind your sweet facade, Joel contemplates. Though, if he did have to believe there was anyone selfless left on god’s blighted earth? If he had to believe in someone, Joel would bet cards on it being you.

He sucks in another long, slow breath, and the scent of you envelops him all over again. For a moment, he finds himself wanting to believe in you. But it’s never too long before he recalls he gave up a long time ago on believing in anything. Anything except his wits and his fists and his gun, at least.

“That’s it Joel,” you praise as he relaxes - uncoils - just a shade, and the smooth tone of your voice slides right under his skin. The thought that you want to make him feel good makes him tingle. Makes him forget - almost - that he doesn’t deserve that.

Meanwhile, your deft fingers and thumbs continue to work nimbly into him, sliding over the contours and bones and ridges of his skull. Applying a warm, steady pressure against the muscles at the nape of his neck. Circling your thumb against a spot that sends a buzzing, suffusing warmth skittering down the length of his spine. Blooming through him - and, it has been so long. So long since Joel felt anything resembling pleasure that when he feels this warm honey trail down his back, an involuntary moan overspills his parted lips.

Shit. There's no chance that you didn't hear that.

The moan reverberates in the tight, quiet room. Lingers far longer than it sounds out for. Lingers, despite how quickly Joel cuts it short - clamping his mouth shut and hoping he can pass it off as a grunt or some expulsion of pain from shifting in his chair.

Your fingers halt, still tangled in his hair. “D-Do you want me to stop?” There is a heat in your tone, Joel thinks, the vowels and consonants warm and full like the pop and crackle of a hearth.

It's new. And it occurs to him, ever so suddenly, that maybe you are enjoying this too? Touching him?

After all, he’s not insisting upon it. Didn’t suggest it. Has not attempted to prolong it. And yet, you continue, working diligently. Soothing him. Freely offering your praise and those little, contented hums - those small, burgeoning sounds which make his fingertips ache to have your skin beneath them, so that he can keep on making your lips overspill with those sweet sounds of satisfaction.

Indeed, Joel’s hair has got to be cleaner now than it’s ever been. He’s been in your chair longer than he ever intended - and you don’t seem to be working any other angle. Don’t seem to be after any contraband that he can get his hands on. Haven’t submitted any requests. Fished for any information.

Perhaps then, you are enjoying him. Enjoying performing this act of service for him - though god knows why. Perhaps you are even looking down at his body right now while he’s all laid out for you in this worn-out chair. His long limbs stretched out, clothes tugging taut over his tight, muscular frame. Perhaps you like looking at him like this, his hair slicked back and away from his sharp face and his hawkish nose, watching the twist and pull of the muscles as he sets his jaw - needing to consolidate all of his resolve simply to resist your sweet, sugary touches. Perhaps you liked when you watched his eyes flutter closed under your touch. When you watched his lips part with that sound. That throaty, undone moan, all for you.

Joel’s not stupid.

He’s clocked the way you look at him sometimes. With this gentle, inviting hunger. The way you always make the effort to come over and speak with him whenever opportunity presents itself. The way your appealing body bends to him like a flower to its sun, as though he has anything nourishing about him. As though he has anything but darkness to offer.

He’s clocked you too. Has seen the way kindness and warmth dance across your features like a living, licking flame. Has seen you glow brightly too with a steady, constant fire, which he is sure must run hotter and more fierce beneath the surface than any would estimate. He had noticed too, of course, the swell and contours of your body, hiding beneath your clothes in all the places he most enjoys.

He’s thought before how he’d like to find out where the hunger in your eyes could take him if he chased it; but in the end he knows there is never any further to go than here. That every road is a dead end since the world ended. That the quarantine zone is the only place with walls more impenetrable than his own.

Still; he’s thought about you more than he’d care to admit. To Tommy. To Tess. To you. To himself. Has thought about the way your lips might feel on his. How soft and warm your body might be if he held it up against him. The way his calloused hands might look with his fingers sunk into your flesh, grabbing up handfuls of you like you are his daily bread - the very thing he needs to survive.

Of burying his head between your thighs for hours and trying to suck the impossible sweetness out of you, as though, somehow, he could then begin to understand how someone as good as you is capable of existing in a world as shitty and cruel as this.

He’s had darker thoughts too though. Thoughts of filling you rough and sudden - if you’d let him. Of burying his anger in you with every thrust, deep enough that he could attempt to forget it. Of letting you take his rage from him for just a few moments - as if it could ever truly leave him for a moment longer than that.

But of course, in actuality, he’s done none of that. Joel hasn’t pulled on a single one of those threads. He hasn’t unravelled.

Instead, for the most part, Joel has simply ignored you. Ignored you, because that’s the precisely the last thing he wants to do. Ignored you, because the safest option - Joel has established - is usually to give himself the opposite of whatever he thinks he wants.

That is… he’s ignored you until today. Until you offered to wash his hair. A simple yet towering offer of kindness in a world blighted by dark and rot. An offer that feels like more than he deserves when all he’s ever done for you is to give you the brush off. To answer you tersely, his aim with every interaction to have it over quick.

Still… he’d said yes. Or, at least, he’d declined to protest. Had nodded. Had followed you.

If he’s being honest with himself, he could have asked Tommy to help him, even if he was trying to obscure the severity of his latest injuries from his dear ol’ brother. Even Tess - she’d have done it. With plenty of griping, but she would have done it.

The truth is though, that he wanted it to be you. Needed it to be you. He’d gravitated towards you, even before he knew what you might be prepared to give him. Even without any trade to offer. For you, he’d unravelled. Just a little; in a moment of weakness. He hasn’t slept and he hasn’t succeeded and he hasn’t succumbed for so long, that he finally slipped. Finally gave into one of his wants. Finally gave in to what he wanted most. To seat himself in front of the warm hearth of you and to feel a little god dang comfort.

Joel opens his eyes, expression washing clean with a new resolve, and your fingers still frozen in his hair. He fixes his gaze on the broken picture rail. Precisely at the point where it fractures. Where it needs fixing. He needs a little fixing too, he thinks. He’s sure now, that he’s chosen the right tool for the job, when not another damn thing could do it.

“No,” he finally responds, his voice unwavering, blinking his bitter coffee eyes, sweetened already by your sugar. A gentle gulp sinking down the corded column of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop.”

From behind and above him, he hears you release a breath as though you may have been holding one, tight in your chest, and you slide your fingers from his hair. “Good.” Good. The word rattles pleasantly in his chest when you say it. “We’ll do your conditioner next.”

And, for the first time, Joel unclenches his fingers from where they have been curled around the arm rests of the chair, clinging on to the lip until his knuckles had turned white.

This time - for all he can tell via his scalp - your touch feels a little bolder. A little looser. You even drag your nails over his head now, applying long, sizzling scratches which send that same buzzy warmth snaking down his back. You massage him more eagerly, blood flooding to his crotch as he thinks about having your strong, supple, precise hands work him in other places. He imagines, as your nails graze over him, how you might claw harsh stripes down his back in a moment of ecstasy. As your thumb massages a circle into the spot behind his ear, imagines how you might circle the soft pad of it around the swollen head of his cock, collecting up the glistening bead of precum as he leaks for you. Imagines, as you carefully pour a cup of warm, cascading water over his head, how he could bathe himself with the warmth of your skin on his. Imagines, as he hears the subtle wet sounds created as you scrunch sweet-smelling elixirs into his hair, how it might sound if your own juices were being coaxed out of you by his fingers until they began to drip, working down his veined, muscled forearm.

He allows himself to imagine everything he plans to deny himself. He at least allows himself to have that.

“That temperature still okay for you?” you ask as you lift the cup of water once again, fracturing his sordid daydreams.

Joel gives a terse grunt. It’s all he can manage.

“So,” you ask breezily. “Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?”

It takes Joel a few moments to realise just what you’re doing. To twig. It’s a decade - shit, more - since he had a haircut like that, so it takes him a while to pick up that you’re echoing the banal small talk which used to occur as you sat down in the barber chair. Those memory cogs are stiff. He hasn’t turned them in a long time. He doesn’t want to remember that there was anything before. At least, not a lot of it.

Still, your bit takes him by surprise. It’s such a ludicrous contrast that it makes him laugh to think about how things have changed. Who can even go on holiday now? You can’t even leave the quarantine zone. Shit. Even if you could, you wouldn’t want to. And so, Joel laughs. He laughs and he barely recognises the sound from his own mouth. He laughs… and he instantly regrets it, because he knows better than to pull on any of those threads.

But; it’s too late now.

He laughs and you mirror him, the sound melodious and hopeful, and all of a sudden Joel can imagine everything he’s been avoiding you for.

He hasn’t been avoiding you because he wants to fuck you - not really. He’s fucked plenty of folk, and he’s moved on.

He’s avoiding you, because of how easily he can imagine you in a summer dress, twirling in the yard to show it off to him. How easily he can imagine you sitting on a front porch gripping your morning cup of coffee and the sun shining on your face as you smile up at him. How easily he can imagine you lifting a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven, batting his hand away as he steals one before it cools.

Truthfully, he has no idea whether you ever did a single one of those things before - before all this. He doesn’t even really care whether you did. He knows it’s a flat, idealised, empty picture postcard version of you.

But, even so, it still hurts.

It still hurts, because of just how easily he could imagine waking up beside you in his house.

The house that no longer exists.

The house with Sarah in it.

And that’s why he never pulls on that thread.

That’s why he avoids you.

That’s why this can never work.

Because you?

You make him remember all the sweet things. All the sweet things the world used to contain before the rot and the death and despair painted over everything. Infected it.

You make him remember the taste of fresh mangoes. The feeling of sand beneath his feet and waves washing over his toes. Saturdays at the mall. Picking away at his guitar in the living room. The easy jubilation of ball games on the TV on Sundays, with Tommy in the kitchen plating up chicken wings. Of bad movie nights. Of mornings spent around the kitchen table, and his daughter cooking up birthday pancakes.

That’s why he can’t ever start to be happy with you. Why he can’t pull on that thread; because all the good things in life are attached to it. All tied and knotted and tangled up with “before”.

When he dreams of you - when he lets himself - he dreams of then too.

He has to, doesn’t he? Because the past is the only place to build a future when the present is apocalyptic, isn’t it? When you are the only thing he hasn’t lost yet, and everything else -pretty much- is already dead and gone.

It kills him that he found you now.

Found you too late.

It kills him because Sarah would have loved you, and because he thinks he could have too.

You don’t know all of this, of course. You can’t ever know this. And so, your oblivious fingers continue touching him, until he feels another moan begin to spool itself tight in his chest, getting ready to unravel. This time though, he is less sure whether it is a moan of pleasure or of anguish. More and more these days, those two feelings have been starting to feel precisely the same.

“Can we move this along?” he asks gruffly, some of the weight settling back into his brow. He asks, predictably, for the opposite of what he wants. It has to be like that. There’s no other road anymore.

“We can stop whenever you like but… that’s a shame.”

His frown deepens. “Why?���

“Because your hands had only just started to unclench.”

Joel’s heart clenches at the thought you were watching him that intently. That you were weighing the state and tension of his body. Valiantly trying to release some of that weight from him, even when you must be so heavy too.

And of course, knowing this, he only tries to push you further away. Before his dreams of you are seared even more brightly under his skin.

“You know what. I should go.” His chest constricts - throat grows tighter, a lump forming.

Joel idly wonders if his grief will ever stop feeling so raw. That’s the second disease, he thinks. The other monster infecting everything around it. The shadow of the original cloud. He wonders if it will always be this debilitating, even after he’s pushed it down as far as it can go. It’s not only a grief for what was lost, he ponders. It’s also a grief for what he can never have again. It's a grief for you and all the ways he could have loved you.

He sits up -carefully but abruptly, hand clamped over his aching ribs- and his wetted hair sends rivulets snaking down his face, his neck, his chest. Inching beneath the collar of his green button down shirt. Collecting on his shoulders like a pattern of indoor raindrops.

“Joel,” you scold, tutting lightly. Following quickly after him with the towel, trying to mop up after him. Hastily, you towel off his hair. Sneak your hand beneath his collar, gathering the drops up from his chest and neck.

With effort, and a grimace, Joel swings his legs around, until he is sitting upright, feet planted on the floor. But, whether for the pain or for the promise of pleasure - he’s not sure - he can’t bring himself to move any further than that. Especially not as you finally round from the basin, the damp towel slung over your shoulder, your hands and wrists still shined and wet from caressing his hair in a way he can only describe as reverent.

You kneel before him, drying your hands off and setting the towel down before boldly sliding your palms up his denim-clad thighs. “Joel. Would you just let me take care of you?"

He meets your eyes and finds them soft but determined. Empty of darkness, even with the black expanding abyss of your pupil eating away at the colour of your iris.

Joel looks down at your hands as you begin to smooth them up and down, inching slowly up towards his crotch before retreating - repeating the pattern. He looks at you in displeasure, but there’s nothing about your touch which is unwelcome - and that’s exactly the problem. He swallows. Gathers his question up in his throat before he offers it to you gently, as though in cupped, outstretched palms. “How?”

Your beautiful eyes flash with pity then, he thinks, or something like it. It seems like a silly question, but after all this time he doesn’t recall what it’s like to be cared for. He doesn’t know how to let you.

Your palm reaches up to the scruff on his cheek. You smooth it fondly. “Lie back,” you encourage, with a soft smile which seems to glow from the inside, like a porch backlit with the glow of home. “And just let me take care of the rest.”

Joel has always found something to fight for, but today, he has no fight left in him. In truth, he doesn’t want to fight this. To fight you. It is easy to give in to you. In fact, it's too easy. That has always been the problem.

Your hands continue to travel up and down his thighs, and he feels the warmth of you bleed through the fabric.

God. He’s already hard for you. Already full and throbbing in his jeans. Already, he is imagining your hands wrapping around the thick, straining mass of him. Imagining the way that -in moments - you may be unloosing his belt, threading leather through denim loop. The way you might pop the button keenly with your thumb, and he might groan as you relieve the pressure. The way you might unzip the straining fly to have his substantial length spring free, so rarely touched and so so ready to be taken care of.

At the thought of that alone, he’s straining against the seams of his pants, a pressure which sits smack bang between pleasure and pain.

“Joel,” you whisper softly, and he realises he hasn’t yet moved from his position.

“Right.” He swallows. He lies back. Stretches himself out, feeling far more exposed this time, even if he is still fully clothed.

You stand, quickly disappearing the basin away and soon you’re back, standing over Joel and watching him laid out all needy like this. His eyes travel over you, entranced by your form, and he suddenly needs friction. Needs the relief he didn't even know he was waiting for until you offered it - or, implied it. He bucks his hips up, not even caring if he’s being subtle, and the denim and leather creak as he shifts. He punches out a breath as he strains in his pants, chasing any morsel of friction he can. The feeling of his shaft pushing harder against the seam as his whole cock twitches for you. For those hands. For that plush mouth. Maybe for that cunt of yours.

As usual though, when Joel feels anything good, there is a familiar swell of guilt too; this time, riding in on the flood of arousal to his cock. This time, there’s something new to be feeling guilty for too. Something to add to that already long list. He feels guilty for having all of these thoughts about you, despite never having asked you where you were from. Before. What you used to do. Who you lost.

“I’m sorry,” Joel offers, before he even knows that his mouth is moving. Before he’s even figured out what it is he’s sorry for.

Truth is, he’s sorry for so many reasons. For what he’s done. What he’s lost. Whatever you’ve lost. For not asking you about it. Mainly, he realises, because he can’t make you any promises. None that he could keep. Not to keep you safe. He can’t promise you that.

He thinks you’ll ask him what for - why he’s sorry. But instead, you say something else.

“Don’t be.”

If only it was that easy.

Even so, he looks into your eyes as your hungry gaze skims the length of his body, settling at the bulge at his crotch as you drag your tongue along the pillow of your lower lip. You’re beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and lust and hunger. Alive in a dead world; and suddenly, it doesn’t matter one bit to Joel where you came from. It doesn’t matter what happened before. It only matters where you’re going. What you want. How he can give it to you.

But it is you who gives him something.

You hinge at the hips, slanting your mouth against Joel’s, and he feels your lips brush up against the scruff on his top lip. Feels the pillow of your plush mouth meet his before your tongue fleets out, licking into him like a searing, dancing flame. You hum hungrily into his mouth and his lips chase you as you pull away, another backlit smile dancing on your face, your features already beginning to resemble home to him in a world where there's no such thing.

Joel watches you move now, with quiet fascination, as you kick off your boots. As you wiggle your pleasing hips, untying then easing your cargo pants and panties down your thighs. His tongue curls around his lip as he is gifted glimpses of your skin - although you are still covered to your upper thigh by the yellow tunic top you’re wearing - and now he can’t help but palm himself through his jeans for a morsel of relief.

Still. What you're about to offer him? It feels like far too much. “What are you doing? You don’t have to-“

“-Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” you promise, meeting his eyes, open and honest and ready to back off if he doesn’t want this. But shit, how could he not want you? Look at you - and so he can’t. He can’t possibly tell you that, even though he thinks that he should.

“No. God, I want you,” Joel pleads, voice hollowed-out with need. All spent, like ash.

“And you’re going to have me.”

You kick your pants and panties off, leaving them to pool discarded on the floor, and Joel palms himself a little harder, grabbing the fat roll of himself through the denim as he catches a glimpse. They’re nothing sexy, of course; but from the way they’ve fallen he is able to note the telltale wet spot on the crotch. It looks like you’ve soaked them through, and God he wants to feel your wetness for himself.

You ease over him, settling your knees on to either side of the leather chair, where Joel’s legs are stretched out before him, sturdy thighs slightly parted to accommodate the arousal between his legs.

You’re still wearing your tunic top, bright yellow like sunshine, and the length of it dances and clings at intervals to your hips and thighs as you move. It’s driving him wild that you are bare beneath. All he can think about is that warm, delicious wetness of yours spilling over him. God, he wants to hear it. Wants to squeeze it out of you. Wants it to drip down the veined shaft of him.

You straddle his thighs, knees folded, the soles of your feet pointed up towards your ass cheeks, and your heat settles just below his own - not quite grinding over him, but tantalisingly close.

You take a moment like this to simply look at him. To gaze into his coffee brown eyes as though there’s something more to him than being sorry and bitter. Like you could see anything sweet there. Anything worth wanting. Then, you comb his damp hair back with your fingers, drawing the strands back from his forehead. Tucking and curling them around his ears.

Your touch - your tenderness - makes him ache. Makes him throb. Makes him want to bury himself in you. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, his feelings - anything of him you’ll take. And, as he wraps his arms around you a wracked moan unspools from his chest as his rough fingertips find the soft skin beneath your yellow tunic. As his touch traverses the contours of you he’s always admired from a distance.

As his jaw falls open, slack with desire, you drink down his moan, catching the resonant sound in the cave of your mouth. Kissing him with a gentle yet constant hunger. With a red hot spark of deviance in your sweet eyes which almost makes Joel spill creamy ropes into his pants there and then. Your tongue travels along your lower lip. Your gaze drops, lust dark and heavy to the bulge at his crotch, and you unloop his belt with those hands of yours. They'll look small next to the size of him, he thinks. He likes that thought a lot.

“Let’s see what contraband you’re smugglin’ in these pants of yours, cowboy," you smile, and Joel's eyes crinkle with rare amusement. His face tips up with a lopsided smile which is quick to drop - all of him focussed on where you're about to touch him.

He twitches eagerly in his jeans thinking about how tight you will grip him, but you don’t touch him just yet. Instead, you shuffle yourself back, down his legs, giving yourself enough space to tug on his clothing and to ease it down his thighs. Once his pants and his boxers have reached his knees you stop there, abandoning them almost as soon as his thick, veined length is sprung free, nestling all tender against the hatch of greying hair trailing down his abdomen - where his shirt is lifted.

He’s flushed a deep colour already. Veined and needy and weeping for you. His need becomes even more urgent yet as he thinks of your hands and the way they move - the way they might touch him. Take care of him. As he thinks about you sliding your thumb over the pearl of precum at his head.

Still, he is not quite ready for the feeling when you dip forward to slide your tongue around the head of him instead, gathering that salty bead with your tongue, lapping it up with relish. He feels you hum around the head of him, the vibration sending a zip of pleasure flooding along his length. Making his balls tighten and ache already.

He wants you. He needs you. He wants you with an urgency, and yet here you are, still taking your time. Taking your time to suck at him and feel him weigh heavy over your tongue until your jaw aches from it. To grip him in your hand and marvel at the girth of him. At the way he is so sensitive that every motion and shift of your pattern makes him melt into the chair, increasingly boneless, his brow burdened with need.

You are tender with him. Careful, of his injuries. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You touch him like he’s wounded; everywhere. His whole body. His whole soul too. And he is, isn’t he? All of him is hurting? Has been for so long?

Joel groans, his lip almost splitting from biting down and stifling his moans. He never was a vocal lover but God, it’s different for you. And this time, the sound punches out of him as you shift. As you settle your cunt over him and he feels your sopping heat glide along his length for the first time. It is a non-descript sound, halfway between pain and pleasure; and instantly, concern flashes in your eyes. You pause; lift off of him with a rise of your thighs and check-in with him.

“Joel. Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

Are you? His breath is searing in and out of his lungs. Ragged breaths, jolting his pained ribs. You have him on the edge and so alight with desire for you that his need feels unbearable. He’s aching to fill you up. His face is contorted and crumpled by his need, brows drawn down, eyes half-lidded. But is this pain? Or is this something else? Something he has forgotten.

For a moment, then, he almost answers “yes”. Yes, because he doesn’t remember anything else but pain and so, the sensation he’s feeling now? Isn’t that pain too? Is there anything else?

He’s almost grateful when he shifts slightly, writhes against the chair to buck his hips keenly up in search of you as you withdraw so cruelly from him, his muscles coiling up. He’s grateful that the shift does indeed send pain blooming through his side; because he knows then, with certainty, that you are bringing him nothing but pleasure.

He’s grateful too though, for the pain, because a pleasure like this? A pure hit of it, not cut through with anything he's more used to? Joel thinks it would be too much for him to take. Joel thinks you are too much for him. Far more than he deserves.

“Joel?” you prompt, sliding your palm against his scruff. He hears it rasp like a scraped match. “I want you.”

You don’t want me, the voice in his head sounds out. I have nothing I can give you. But those are not the words that make it to his lips. Those are not the words at all. “Then have me, sweetheart.”

Joel may have nothing he feels he can give you, but holy shit he wants everything you are offering. He wants your plush, velvet mouth. Your smooth thighs. He wants the pooling slick between your legs - and for once, just this once, he intends to allow himself to satisfy his needs.

He figures he will simply owe you a debt. Find something that you want or need and acquire it for you. He simply has to think of this like a transaction, doesn’t he? Something familiar. Something he knows. That way, he’s not taking anything he doesn’t deserve - and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.

Once invited back to his body, sure of what he wants, you kiss him. Deeply, hungrily, your tongue rolling and writhing against his. Your breaths just as ragged as his. Your thighs quaking next to his, your want more than evident.

You break for air and you rise up on your knees again so that you can settle over him, notching the fat, swollen head of him against your folds.

You look like a dream on top of him, and with this yellow fabric dancing about your thighs, you look to Joel like you’re wearing a sun dress. Indeed, when he looks up at you - when he blocks everything else out - you make it feel like nothing ever happened. Like nothing was ever lost.

You look just like you’re about to fuck him on his bed on white crisp sheets. Like you’ll fall asleep beside him and in the morning he’ll make you breakfast.

You look like everything he wanted and found far too late.

You are beautiful. You are good. You are gentle. Gentle still. Gentle despite everything. And where on earth did you learn that from - how on earth did you hang on to it - in a world like this? A world which has not been gentle with him. Which has been out to get him at every turn.

You are gentle with him, even when he is undeserving. Even when he has been anything but.

Gingerly then, you settle yourself over him, and once his head is notched there and your slick hand is guiding him home, he slips easily past your folds. His eyes flutter closed as he feels your warmth wrap around him, the tightness of you hugging his girth. You’re so tight that he feels like he must be splitting you apart, but the way you’re shaking for him, the way these delicious moans unravel from your mouth tells him it feels just as good for you too.

You’re gentle with him. Sinking down on him slowly. Being ever so cautious of his ribs and his bruises and scrapes. You’re making him feel so good. So close to coming undone.

But god, he’s not planning on being gentle with you.

There’s a part of Joel that wants to make love to you, sure; but he’s not even sure he’d know how to do that anymore. How to be tender. How to be gentle. And so, he reaches for you in the only way he knows how. Reaches for you with his arms, his hands. With a body that doesn’t remember pleasure - not really. With a soul that doesn’t remember anything good - not really. He reaches for you, with hands that only know how to kill things.

In the end, it’s clunky, when he extends his touch towards you. Rough - and far too desperate. He reaches for you like it’s survival - the one thing he knows how to do - and he claws at your hips, the rough pads of his flesh sinking into your skin like dough. He has the sense, at least, to check with you, to ask with words rasped through gravel in his throat if he can fill you up. And as soon as you say yes, as soon as your breathy affirmatives and pleas lilt to his ears, Joel is dragging you down on him. Spearing you -abrupt and sudden- with the fat length of his dick, surging into you all at once.

The motion, along with the sudden swell of him punches a breath from your lungs, your rib cage flaring with quick short pants. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as you mewl his name, and god, if he wasn’t hurt he’d be drilling into you already, fucking himself up into you at a brutal pace, so long as you’d let him.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, with effort. “Too much?”

“Almost. Joel - fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He stills as you breathe around him, adjusting to his size, and as soon as you’re ready you rise up on your knees, dragging electric pleasure all along his shaft as your cunt strokes and grips him tightly.

Then, when you sink yourself down once more, impaling yourself on his length, Joel screws his eyes shut as he eases -glides- into the wet, warm cushion of you all over again. You’re so soft and tight and forgiving, your walls relenting to the girth of him, yet providing such glorious friction that it makes his head spin. Makes him see spots, the edges of his vision whiting out.

Next, Joel moves too, adjusting his hips slightly. Helping you impale yourself on him over and over like this. He keeps it going, despite the burn of pain in his ribs and his shoulder. He tries to guide you with the claws of his hands at your hips, until it begins to hurt him too much. Until all he can do is lie back and take it from you. All he can do is feel it, emitting gusty, billowing breaths from the shocked “o” of his plush lips as he attempts to stave of his end. To do all he can to take care of your end too before he spills himself.

He needs to. Needs to take care of you like this, because he can’t offer you any other damn thing.

He can’t promise to take care of you.

He can’t promise that to anyone ever again.

He will only break it.

So, no promises. But surely, he can feel pleasure, for these fleeting moments? Surely, he can give you that too, because even if he doesn’t he’s damn sure you deserve at least that much.

He reaches for you. In desperation again. Like it’s survival. Like he can’t live without this. Without you. Even though he has already. Even though he'll have to again.

For now though, for right now, he's filling you all the way up. Squeezing your juices out of you. Pushing them out with every thrust until he’s fucking you with wet, obscene sounds. Until your slick is coursing down his shaft, coating his balls, inching over him.

With a grunt, Joel gathers some slick with the two forefingers of his left hand, and he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers into your clit. You yowl at the pressure -the pleasure- and then you guide him with your hand over his, Joel quickly learning your pace and your patterns, replicating it perfectly when you release your guiding touch.

It feels so good. It feels so good and your eager, pleasured moans are billowing down to him, your cunt clenching down on him and his dick is feeling fucking blissful as you repeatedly sink yourself. It feels good - so good - and it’s more than he deserves but god, he’s going to take it. He's going to take it even if he has to be punished for it later.

He’s pretty sure the world has been punishing him for years anyway. Pretty sure it’s keeping score and will be sure to let him know about it if he dares to take too much.

For now though.

Holy shit.

It feels so good and you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Better than he could have imagined, his flattened daydreams of you nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a vision, and you’re too good for this blighted earth and you’re every bit deserving of the life Joel knows he can never give you.

It’s bittersweet and you’re beautiful; but you’re too beautiful to look at - bright like the sun in your yellow tunic, fabric moving around your thighs like a sun dress, like something you might have worn in the before times. Like you might have worn in his yard if he’d still had a home to offer you. Maybe. Maybe you would've. It kills him that he'll never know. Never know what you could have had. What he could have given you.

You’re beautiful, and god you’re too beautiful to look at and so he drags you down to his lips as you clamp down around him, squeezing him like a vice, causing pleasure to sear white hot from his middle, creamy ropes of cum filling you up as you convulse. Your spasming cunt sends jolting aftershocks zipping through his length, ekeing every last drop from him, draining him dry.

You’re too beautiful. Too good of a thing for him to hold on to - and so Joel keeps kissing you, his hands coming to cup your face as tenderly as his killing hands know how. Kissing you, for long enough that he can quash the tears which threaten to squeeze out from the corners of his eyes. He kisses you softly, his sentiments dissolving like sugar against your mouth - as sweet as he can muster.

He kisses you, until he feels the shape of your mouth morph into a smile, and that’s it. That's when he stops.

That’s when he stops, because he can’t let himself feel this. He can’t let himself feel this because he can’t pull on that thread. Not when everything he has worked so hard to push down is all knotted and tangled together. Everything he’s loved and everything he’s lost, all bundled up in his chest.

He can’t let himself feel this because it was far more than he expected to feel.

He’d thought that you would be quick. Thought -hoped- you were just using him. Like this was a transaction. That maybe this was how you collect advantages. How you’ve managed to survive. Instead though, you gave, and you took, but it was not transactional in the slightest. And Joel has nothing left in his heart or his pockets except ration cards. Nothing he can give you in return.

Most importantly though, he can’t let himself feel this, because happiness died when the world did.

Died when she did.

And, happiness?

Well - Joel doesn’t believe he deserves to feel it again.

That’s why he encourages you off of him a little too quickly, even when you pepper kisses along the column of his neck. Why he moves away a little too abruptly, even when you tongue hungrily at the salt-slick sweat which has pooled in the hollow of his throat. Why he sets his face, all stern again even as he’s still leaking out of you.

Anyway, he stands, grunting out in pain. Maybe in anguish. Pulling his pants up with his good arm, and preparing to go.

He sets his face, and he looks back at you, where you have huddled yourself in his spot on the chair, your makeshift yellow sun dress hitched up around your hips, exposing where you glisten, all slick with the evidence of what he just did with you.

You're beautiful. Too beautiful. You look like summer when he meets your eyes. A sun that is bright and constant, like it used to be before the rot clouded over the skies.

A light that is far too bright for him.

Part of him expects you to look sad. To look surprised that he has leapt up like this, motioning to leave so violently. Expects you to plead with him to give you more; but instead, you look at him levelly. Knowing, not naive. Maybe you too are clear on the limits of what’s possible. Clear that there are some things that can never be.

Still, as that soft smile plays over your face, as Joel holds the memory of your touch over his body, the bitter coffee look in his eyes sweetens just a little.

“Listen. Thanks," he states brusqely. It’s not enough. Not by any stretch. But unless you want some contraband or some shit, it’s all he’s got.

“No problem, Joel-y. I... I just wanted to take care of you. I thought you deserved that - at least once.”

Tears prick at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Stinging; but pushed down and flattened before you can even notice it. He’s not quite sure. Not quite sure whether hearing you say he deserves something he’s sure that he doesn’t counts as pleasure or pain, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. He’s back to not knowing the difference. Not recognising pleasure or happiness when they stare him in the face, because now they have become strangers.

Joel nods efficiently at you. Picks up his rucksack and moves towards the doorway, trying not to think about the fact you’re still full of him. About the fact that you’re still smiling, that backlit glow of home imviting him in.

Truth be told, he can’t imagine ever being happy again.

If he could imagine it though? If he could imagine being happy, he’s sure as all hell that it would be with you.

You’re like summer, he thinks. Bright. Luminous. It's just that Joel’s not looking for the light.

For someone who’s so used to the dark? Like him? The light is blinding.

Still, he pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you for one moment more. From the surprise on your face now, he can tell you didn’t even expect that much from him - and by God, you deserve so much better.

His eyes sweeten, just a little further, and his face sets - now with a different kind of resolve. He offers his words, like they’re cupped in outstretched palms. Like he could be gentle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t owe me a debt, Joel.”

He nods, but that doesn’t mean at all that he accepts your assertion.

His eyes tick over to the broken picture rail, right where it fractures. His gaze lingers on it for a moment, cataloguing what tools he might need to fix it. Clocking the picture frames of salvaged art you have leaning up against the wall, not yet hung.

“I said, I'll make it up to you.” You nod efficiently back at him, and Joel drinks one more long measure of you in before he leaves. Maybe it's not quite a promise, but right now, it's all he's got.

He’d burn the world down for you, he thinks, if it could change a damn thing.

Thing is though, the world has already burned.

He can’t make you many promises. Can’t keep you safe. Make you happy. Offer you a home.

He’ll only let you down.

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe it is - but Joel knows one thing for sure. You’re brighter than the sun, and, in a world full of darkness? He just can’t look away, even though you’re blinding.

[randomwriteronline]

Do you think love can bloom even despite Greg Farshtey if we don't have mouths between two sets 15 years apart?

so a friend got me a g2 Kopaka--

Mata Pohatu was a gift from my beloved beautiful chum @cantankerouscanuck and when i went to pick up my other boy my friend n i ended up doin a lil photoshoot at their house bc i couldnt resist trying to make them kiss, which was Fucking Hard due to the mata build's terrible posability but thank god Pohatu's got at least one loose leg and Kopaka has many more joints and is so stable. homeboy was holding this whole thing together all by himself like the gallant gentleman he is

my only regret is not having a proper camera with cool lenses and all to properly devote an insane amount of effort to this stupid thing... have a documentation of our tribulations under the cut instead XD

first problem we incurred in (aside from my shaky ass hands making some pictures blurry) was the height difference.

it doesnt look terrible bc kopakas got his knees bent in the photo but effectively the only way pohatu got to his face was by standing on his tippy toes, and while his steel toed boots did give him the added cms necessary they did NOT let him stand on his own, so either we held him up or he fell over even when propped against a wall. we tried pinning him to the wall with kopaka but he still slipped so both cute ideas had to go down the drain

(we also tried a classic kabedon pose but kopakas fucking pauldrons SUCK for arm mobility so tragically, that was also scrapped)

the good news was however that they COULD hold hands! sorta. kinda. im still counting it. the mata hands have axels for fingers, so they fit snugly in the handpieces the 2015 gang has :)

only problem with it is that

straight in the tits.

(me trying to browse a tag in peace but overly horny fanart pops up)

BUT ANYWAYS. the hand holding did provide some stability and so we started trying out poses by seeing how far we could tilt pohatu while keeping him standing - this because he has another problem, that being that his head bobs up and down with no way to keep it up or down on its own, so we had to work with gravity

came out a lil foreboding, like kopaka is threatening him. but we're getting closer!

thankfully me being a big ol sap helped in figuring out how to make the whole thing more tender bc i love that shit. so we decided to push pohatu's loose leg out to balance him and one of his arms up, like he was reaching for kopaka's mask, which was also very good bc kopaka's hand lodged itself right between pohatu's tiny elbow and hip so he looked like he was wrapping it around his waist. then we adjusted them a lil bit, teaked them here n there, and

OH YEAH.

OH YEAH BABY WERE GETTING SOMEWHERE NOW

we had to uh. briefly stop. and laugh really hard for a second bc pohatus entire head fell off. i dont have photos for that but it was so sudden and unexpected that we had a fit of hysteric giggles

as you can see however, their faces are Not touching. this is due to the aforementioned problem with the Mata neck, plus the fact that kopaka couldn't bend further down to close the gap on his own, though tbf cut him some slack hes already holding the both of them up as best as he can

so we meddled a lil bit to pull pohatu more upright and strengthen kopakas pose so they wouldnt topple over, considered a maskless version, scrapped it bc they looked VERY silly, and THEN. AT LAST

THE ELUSIVE BONKLE KISS..........

from as many angles n lightings as possible bc im Unwell

AND a cool version from the hand-holding side bc the transpieces look great and i find it very sweet :)

but yeah that was a fun time :D it was great and the lads have been untangled and retired on a shelf where theyll stay nice and tight hehe

hope yall enjoyed these, they were great fun to make and i think they came out really well despite my shitty hands and cameras. maybe ill do more or not, who knows ahah wait what was that.

that sound... its like. plastic smacking plastic... to mimic kissing...

you dont think... the bionicles... they couldnt... no...

oh... oh good heavens. oh theyre canoodling in there

[zmediaoutlet]

Order the fries!

And you may have already done this one but Sam/Rowena? (Or Sam/Jody if you prefer)

y'all the fries were Ordered and then they were Crushed. so while I sit here in grease coma--

sam/rowena

this is one of those ships that I get on an intellectual level but that I'm kinda meh about. to sweep aside the version I'm most meh about as I've done with all the other options -- I hhhhhhate "witch Sam uwu" and the purple woowoo magic that costs nothing and Sam Learning Magic From Rowena and any of that cutesy flowercrown business. ech. If we're gonna ship people I want them to be adults, lol. So with all that--

this is one of those ships that I see the full ship-tential for, really, but I think it's one where they were kind of passing each other at the wrong... time? Kinda like uhh Doctor Who/River. If Sam had been his shadier less-self-respecty s4 self and met a hot dangermilf, odds are higher he could've gotten in there. But Sam in the latter seasons does have self-respect, and when he meets Rowena she's essentially Crowley but redheaded, and we've already talked about how Sam's too good for Crowley, haha. She does get slowly less villainous and Sam respects her more the more she does good, and I can see Sam's genuine interest in her rising the more she clicks over into neutral vs evil. She's his McLeod, where Crowley is Dean's, and Sam were go for it it'd be when she's at her best -- but unfortunately she dies before that door ever fully, really opens. (I try to forget about the 'queen of hell' shit. that red pantsuit, christ.)

Interestingly, too, Rowena's level of self-respect is all over the place. She's haughty and her chin's held high but we know she went through the filthiest muck to get here, in her ridiculously OTT gowns and wealth and make-up to the nines at all times. It's a facade to cover up the terror and old shame, and tbf she has built up a whole castle of witch-bitch to surround that. I can fully see her wanting to fuck Sam just on a physical attraction level -- not least because of that one dom!Sam moment where he makes her sit down and she does, presumably gushing -- but I don't know that she'd let herself. Men are to be used and discarded on the way to the next goal. Letting yourself be open with one is weakness, and she doesn't intend to be weak again.

So what does that leave me at -- like, mutual admiration, physical attraction, but a thin barrier always held up of we could, but let's not do that to each other. Alas. Sam could hold her up with one hand and nail her standing.

[dilatorywriting]

Random question cause I've just seen an event and I'm starting to find idia a bit annoying lol but I do still like him when he makes sense but I wanted to know why YOU didn't like him lol

Okay I give my whole ass disclaimer that I know Idia is a fan favorite and I completely get why. In the words of Hades, I get it. I got it. I got the concept. But I just personally don't vibe with him.

Mostly I think it's because I've known quite a few people with his personality/archetypes in real life who were just absolutely awful, and that colored my opinion a lot. It's a fun concept for a character, very not fun to deal with in real people. Which, tbf, would be the same for pretty much all of the Twist boys. But as a nerd and someone in a very quote-unquote 'intellectual' field of work/education, I have met too many people like this.

But as like, an aside on top of that bias, I can tolerate most traits or flaws in other people, in real life and in fiction. My one, personal, irredeemable, nitpick is hypocrisy. Everyone comes from somewhere different and has different experiences that shape your values and ideals, but the second you start being a hypocrite, you're just proving that it's not the values, it's you being a dick. Idia for a lot of his vignettes etc. is incredibly judgemental of his classmates, while simultaneously lamenting how everyone would judge him for his interests. You don't get to be a dick to people and then be all 'uwu no one likes me' when they call you out on it. Like in the Ghost Bride event! Everyone shows up to save him--intentions entirely good or otherwise--and he spouts off enough ungrateful/mean comments that it turns into all of them basically being like 'fine go die :)' I remember thinking it was the funniest shit, and it was definitely meant to be a comedic moment, but the problem is that he never really recovers from those moments. It's always him being a dick, inevitably getting roasted, and then that's... sort of it.

His one redeeming trait in my opinion is Ortho and his obvious love for him. But like, even that gets tainted a lot of the time. Like in Ortho's vignette for his robes or whatever, he gets so excited to go to the opening ceremony! And when shit goes tits up, Idia just like... refuses to interact with him? To the point that the groovy image is Ortho pressed up against the door just... waiting for him? Ortho would give literally anything for his brother, and yes we're told Idia feels the same, but more often than not he still puts himself first. I'll give my disclaimer that I haven't read Idia's book. I know the gist of what happened to the OG Ortho, but like, I don't have the details. Maybe it gets better. But for the most part, until that book, all I'd really seen was things perpetually working out for Idia whenever he needed it (every event he basically gets what he wants--the new years bags, the wishing star, etc), while never having to deal with the consequences of him being nasty to other people and then just going on to complain more. Which. Ack. It just personally rubs me very much the wrong way.

Again, I completely get his appeal. His character design is absolutely gorgeous and sometimes the guy says some genuinely funny/unhinged shit. My favorite characters have literally tried to kill people and I'm sure drive some people into an absolute rage, so like, no judgment here. He is just very much Not My Vibe. At least, not at the moment. Maybe it will get better in Malleus's book.

[broodwolf221]

Happy Friday! For DADWC, how about "severely wounded during battle" for Varric/Solas? 👀

okay so this is a post-trespasser fic that’s very loosely inspired by a scene from the missing (which tbf i have Not read). shouldn’t spoil anything tho. working off the idea of a slowly developing relationship for them that hasn't quite become established yet @dadrunkwriting 698 words cws: gut wound; enemy death; no other character death

Shit. How’d he always end up in these messes? His hand was pressed against the hole in his gut and he was just… wishing that Cassandra had come with him. She’d needed to look after the new Seekers, though. He understood. It was selfish to want her to drop everything, but he rather thought he was allowed to be selfish in the privacy of his own mind while he was dying.

Not really the way he thought he’d end up going, either. Solas might have killed him, but this? Some random Venatori? This was just a sad way to go.

The Venatori was dead. It was a cold comfort, but he supposed there was some small pride to be had in that. The man had run Varric through, but Bianca had cored right through him. Fuck. Bianca. He supposed he should try to destroy the crossbow, wary of letting it fall into enemy hands, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Partly because he was exhausted on account of bleeding out, sure, but also because he couldn’t.

It didn’t hurt much, at least. He knew it should and it scared him that it didn’t, but at the same time he was grateful. If he had to go, at least he could go with some kind of peace.

He heard something and opened his eyes – when had they closed? – blearily watching someone approach. He figured it was another Venatori, but the armor didn’t quite make sense. But he couldn’t focus enough to figure out who it was, not until he crouched in front of him.

Bald, pointy ears, a gentle expression… “Solas?” He rasped, the other man smiling faintly and nodding.

“Shush, my friend.” He wanted to question that, wanted to protest. Who was Solas to be calling him friend, after having abandoned them all? But he didn’t have the strength to argue. Besides, it was kind of… nice. “Let me take care of you.” Sure, that sounded good.

Things were blurry, then, and if asked he wouldn’t have been able to say how much time had passed. All he knew was that he eventually opened his eyes and saw Solas seated cross-legged before him, looking somewhat drained but otherwise normal. Aside from his fucking armor. What kind of mage wore shit like that?

It took Varric too long to realize that his hand had been moved aside, that the hole in him had been patched. It still ached horribly, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore. “Am I…?”

“Going to live?” Solas finished for him, with that same, gentle smile. “Yes, Varric. You’ll go on to write many more books.”

“Hey, Solas?” The other man made a low, encouraging noise. “What the fuck?” For a moment there was absolute silence, then Solas laughed, bright and loud. Clearly Varric had startled him, but Solas had startled him right back. Shit. “Gonna give me a heart attack after all your work…” he grumbled, but he was smiling as Solas’ laughter slowly subsided. Eventually the other man settled down, his countenance becoming a little more somber.

“I can’t answer your questions, my friend.”

“I know,” he said, and he did. He knew how this was going to go. And he wasn’t really in any position to prevent it. “You’ll leave again, won’t you?” Solas nodded.

“And you need to stop pursuing me,” he insisted. “It’s too dangerous.” Varric snorted.

“Like letting you tear the world apart is safer? Sorry, Chuckles, but you’re stuck with me.” Solas sighed and Varric grinned, but he didn’t feel it. “Did you really think I’d just pack up and go home?”

“One must have hope…” he trailed off, apparently unable to keep up the back and forth. Or unwilling. “I do not wish for you to die, Varric. You should go back to Kirkwall, live your life in full. Stop pursuing me.”

“Not a chance.” Solas stared at him for long moments, then sighed again before rising.

“You’re healed enough. Rest for the day, you’ll be safe here. And please, reconsider. You will gain nothing by following me.” With that, he turned and left.

As soon as his footsteps faded, Varric levered himself upright with a grunt and followed.

[bookishbrigitta]

Okay, so I'm making my Wookiee house and using photos from the SW Holiday Special for reference, and honestly? The special does not get enough hate for its shitty home design. Observe:

The Kitchen

I would bet you passage to Alderaan for an old man, a dumb kid, and 2 droids that a man who can't cook designed this kitchen.

Let's set aside the wood paneling as a design choice. It was the 1970s, and they're living in a tree...it's not worth fighting. Moving right along, the everything here is an absolute shit show.

It's a freaking carpeted kitchen. Look at the pink circle in the lower right. It appears the producers covered the green shag carpet in the rest of the house with one of those plastic mats for the kitchen. Better than straight-up carpet, but COME ON! Presumably, that is also why the weird oven has to be jacked up on a weird pedestal, to prevent it from sinking into the shag and/or melting the plastic.

They have no upper cabinets. Or even shelves! Or a hutch! Even I, a certified short person, knows that is a dumb idea. Wookiees are super tall; surely, it's more ergonomic for them to reach up or out to grab a glass than it is to get on their knees and rifle through the lower cabinets?

On that note, the cabinets look to be off-the-rack from a home improvement store and then they slapped space-age-y drawer fronts on (more on that later). Why do I think that? They seem to be standard height...for humans. Wookiees are tall! Look at the red circle. Malla's arm is almost completely extended down and barely reaches the worktop, even with her shoulders already rounded in. That means basically any time she's handling food or knives, she has to bend down. Terrible.

The weird rectangle on the far wall (circled in blue). What is it? Why is it there? Wouldn't, say, shelves be a better use of space? We see another angle in the red circle below. They've got either drying dishes or dish/utensil storage on the countertop. Nothing wrong with that if you need it, but they have room directly above to hang those things up. Clear the work surface, for God's sake!

Where does that massive garbage can live? And why doesn't it have a lid? I know they made them with lids because my grandparents have that same garbage can in their garage.

6. Back to the cabinets (yellow circle). I get it, circles look outer-space-y, but they have no place in cabinets. WTF can you even store in there??

7. Once again, we have more wasted work space with the TV (green circle) sitting on the counter. Sigh.

8. People are going to see this photo and say that the bucket (pot?) and counter looks to be at an okay ergonomic height. Yes, this counter height works for this specific instance, but not for most others. In this case, she could have had taller counters and just used the shorted dining table for the bucket thing. It's what I do when I knead bread. It's not rocket science.

9. Cardinal rule of kitchens with windows is to put the sink by the window. Not only is the sink not there, but it looks like maybe they just don't have a sink. I give this a grade of E for E.Coli.

10. There are no hooks or rails anywhere, so there is no place to hang up a rag or an apron. Malla has a tea towel chilling on the counter in this very photo -- where does it end up afterwards? How do they dry them out so they don't get manky?

The Living Room

Despite the low-res photos, I'm reasonably certain their living room furniture is literally just a dining set, two bookshelves (which I honestly love the look of, TBF), a weird desk, a ginormous coffee table, and two mismatched chairs facing dead-ahead and not towards each other. It's giving "Single Man Plays PS4 From A Folding Chair" vibes.

It looks like there's no comfortable place to have a conversation in that living room. Why is all the furniture just sort of floating in the middle of the room? Someone get Cliff the Feng Shui Guy on this, stat!

[arsenalgbt]

Yep! All arranged marriage au questions (headcannons also relate to it because I had random thoughts including a Dec one that made me sad). Also I'm copying and pasting how I wrote them into my notes which was prett excitedly so apologies for that

Q1 - Whose name did they take? Kai's father insisted that Dec take Kai's name and become a Havertz. Did Dec do it? Did he keep Rice despite not always wanting the association with his father? Did they double barrel their names like Trossard-Tierney? Did Kai's father even care considering he's got his new wonderful family in Monaco? Did he insist on Kai taking Rice as another way of signifying he was leaving Kai behind?

Q2 - Kai's father is a piece of shit. Does Jorgi still work for him? I'm thinking about him ignoring the worst parts of Kai's father because he truly loved his job but when he starts dating Reiss and falls in love and brings him to work events on his arm, the disproval from Kai's father becomes much too hard to ignore

Q3 - Let's talk about the house! Did one of them move into the other's place? Did they get a new house on their wedding day as like a gift from Kai's father who used it to buy Dec's gratitude? Did Mikel have to arrange a house for them and navigate the various demands each of them had that seemingly opposed each other? Did they have to endure house shopping with each other?

Q4 -Kai clearly loves routine (and Dec clearly loves Kai because he knew that routine so easily when Leah asked) and sticks to it. Does Dec have a routine? Does Kai know it? If he does, what's his routine like?

Q5 - Feel like this might be spoilery but did they go on any "dates" before getting married? Talk on the phone? Have business meetings with their representatives? Or did they meet for the first time on the wedding day? Did WDBs meet Kai before the wedding? Had Jorgi met Dec? What did everyone know about the other before the wedding?

-💙🤍 KT anon

*cracks knuckles*

oh fuck man decisions decisions. tbf ever since u said along the lines of: "dec is rich, but not richer than the havertz therefore he can't overpower them"... I think it's Declan taking the havertz name ngl!!!

this line killed me tho;

Did he insist on Kai taking Rice as another way of signifying he was leaving Kai behind?

2. kai's father is a piece of shit? hmmmmmmmmmmmm idk abt that cough (but hell yes abt jorgi bringing reiss to work parties and receiving a tight lipped smile from the old man!! thing is, i haven't made up my mind as to what position jorgi has/is in kai's life lol ajhsdfajfja but yes to that damn!)

3. good question, makes me think LOLLLLL initially I wanted deckai to live in central London like in a penthouse/townhouse, no dogs. but I remembered about kai's dogs, which became a vital characterisation for Declan lol, and dogs need a space. was going to have kai into supercars (he's an F1 fan in the story) = needs proper garage to store his cars. in the end he only drives his Mercedes and Declan his Range Rover lol.

secondly, I wanted to have them live in Declan and Leah's childhood home, but given how shitty dec's dead dad was, I scraped the idea.

sooooooooooooo. I'd say kai wasn't fussy about his new home in London, miserable England. he just wanted a vast space for his dogs to play catch. Declan likes clean, minimalistic decor. kai doesn't mind. it was a quick process. if u notice so far, there's not a hint/an ounce of personality from how I describe their house LMAO. no arts. no nothing. just the custom made designer sofa where kai's kids can't hop on :(

4. you know what? Declan is more like "I work 9-5, 5 days a week, and the rest of my time I spend it around my husband" type of man. kinda boring, aside from his WDBz get together and some sports night with idk his other friend LOL. very devoted tho; dinner at home, Saturday is lunch date time, Sunday is doing whatever kai wants (flying to Monaco/germany/spain/qatar to watch an F1 grand prix or whatever filthy rich cpl do - rarely golfing or playing tennis, declan's fave sports, bc kai is not into them lmaooooooooo) (damn is Declan insane or pathetic... u tell me...)

5. yep this question is spoiler-y. very mucho. can't answer this one LMAOOOOOO but if u remember, Declan and kai met before the wedding. Declan hissing at Mikel "are you sure he's not using? Im not going to marry an addict" just because kai is too skinny and lanky asjdfjasjkfajskdfajksfjkakj

[coconox]

honestly been going back and forth w myself on a lot of things lately attaching a read more for the sake of ik i'll be rambling like theres no tmr

a part of me wants to drop pnc but i havent really gotten everyone i wanted yet + im broke so i need to build my stash up *looks at clotho and eos* oddly enough pnc has been a game ive been pretty happy on playing still hate how i missed a login day tho tbf ive rarely borderline never interacted w the fandom so me just being in the dark w what goes on there has kinda been a blessing and a curse in a sense that i can enjoy the game in peace but it feels like im alone doing so

pgr im really REALLY tempted on dropping my glb acc, once nocti comes around which will prob be around the end of the school yr for me thats where i'd be like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ welp ig im done and drop that acc after playing around w nocti and whatev. tw im still not too sure abt?? prob when i get around to lvling up my main teams i can be like ok im done and drop that at any time since im just there to experience content ahead of time without being in cn directly

before dropping pgr entirely i do wanna complete a few stuff i had in mind tho

countdown for hyperreal which will prob happen bambi patch

still need to finish that nocti countdown for tw ive barely had any motivation completing that

nocti's bday countdown (similar to how lee's went)

glb nocti's countdown

draw every char up to latest one in cn

a few noctiskk comics thats been in the back of my head for MONTHS now

basically LOTS of countdowns and nocti stuff before i drop everything entirely

will i still draw pgr stuff after all that? mayyybeee???? itll moreso be towards kye's lore building rather than it being a standalone thing. i'll still collect merch and build up my shrines and make cosplay for chars but aside from that i'm pretty much gonna be moving on to other things

ive always had 50/50 feelings w being in the pgr fandom, tho being introduced to it on disc and then going to twt may have affected my views on this whole thing. esp when the side of the fandom i was first introduced to is like the lowest of the low, i dont want to go back to a place where a bunch of dudebro incels made fun of me for being afab and liking lee and me thinking that was a norm when it clearly isnt. its been 2 goddamn yrs and theyre still poking fun at that?? like my god grow up im so sick and tired of it.

if by a slim chance i still want to participate in being in the pgr fandom i'll just go back to lurking like ive always done in prev fandoms, if i really wanna be active in talking abt the game i'll talk abt it in servers or dms, but publicly i felt that i could never really comfortably talk abt how i feel abt it aside from here cause this site >>>>>> bc i felt like my opinions arent valid, tho that really applies to anything i do so 💀💀

pgr has been a really nice game for me to destress and detach myself from reality for a bit, tho now i wanna move on to other games and focus more on my ocs like i did back in the day. once i properly set up everyone's lore doc maybe in the future i'll make a game around them, nothing too big since i'll pretty much be making most of it, but i kinda wanna fulfill my childhood dream that was just recently unlocked

theres also that small part of me that wants to be known for my oc stuff rather than pgr stuff, but bc im not tagging w popular art tags im kinda just existing, and thats fine by me. hitting 500+ follows on twt was like peak realization of me going like "oh shit, 😨 maybe this big of a following aint for me" and it truly isnt lol

[mochiwrites]

Lucy... i'm love her. from like the moment i saw her i was sure i wasn't gonna like her but then more and more of her character was revealed and i just fell in love.

Like she's so hard-working and started her journey in the first place to prove to herself that she's independent and hard-working and that she's worth it. everytime she found a new key she worked hard to develop a bond with the spirit because she knew that not all of them would be treated right y other holders (as proven by Leo's fears and avoidance at first) but she fights for not only her friends but her keys too!!!! like!!!! Who else (besides yukino) does that!!!!!!!!! We've seen how other holders treat their keys and it's like "oh wow wait a min, lucy was onto something" and she learned her compassion from her mom and instead of squashing it like her dad wanted she made it flourish!!!!!! And her dad!!! He was working on changing himself and she didn't have to forgive him at all, but she did and she healed from it. there's sm more but i feel like i've gone on for long enough but i'd love to hear your input too!

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

listen 12 year mochi who didn't know she was a lesbian at the time was Instantly in love with lucy (young mochi the signs were there you loveable fool) and she was Onto something.

I think what I love a lot about lucy is the fact that unlike in a lot of shounen anime, she wasn't forced into a relationship with natsu. like don't get me wrong, I'd love for her and natsu to finally get their shit together however. there's been so many animes where the lead girl fell for the lead guy and confessed their feelings and she turned into this really flat character (I'm not gonna point fingers *coughs swordartonline coughs*)

like does lucy fall for natsu? yes. but it feels so natural and gradual over the course of the series. but it also isn't her 1 (one) character trait y'know??? what mashima does really well with lucy is that he establishes her as her own character, and she is a strong character.

she runs away from home at like 16, literally throws her dad's money aside, and leaves her rich and cushiony life to make something of herself! she runs away and works to establish her own life (and it makes sense why she freaks about money so much, she's literally lived on her own and that apartment is her's, a home she made herself, a home she worked hard to achieve) and it takes a lot of guts to do that, especially as someone who grew up very sheltered.

at the start of the series, lucy may not be a character who can meet her guildmates on the same level of physical strength, but she has the strongest heart out of everyone. in every situation we see her in, her heart is where she really shines and it makes me melt so much.

where lucy may lack in physical strength (at first, because we do see her become physically stronger and WOW IM GAY AS FUCK), she makes up for it with her very big heart and the bonds she makes with the people around her and UGH!!!!!!!!!

not even lying I think about her saving loke literally all the time. it's such an emotional scene and it is SO fucking well done like holy hell. lucy hardly even knows loke, he's flirted with her a couple of times, he was kind of an ass one or twice (though tbf luce didn't know what was going on), and yet here she is, holding him as he's slowly disappearing and risking her own life to save him and SHE'S DEFENDING HIM. IN FRONT OF THE CELESTIAL SPIRIT KING. SHE'S CALLING HIM STACHE FACE.

she was ready to sacrifice it all for loke.

and she is so loving to her celestial spirits. you can tell how much she loves all of them, and how much they all mean to her. hell, she's literally going on a journey to find aquarius' key!!!!! that is her MAIN goal in 100yrsq and it breaks me. I sobbed like a baby when she broke aquarius' key. like that DESTROYED me. aquarius is probably the most important bond she has because aquarius was layla's key and she watched lucy grow up and GODDDDDDD that scene breaks me. BUT AGAIN. IT JUST SHOWS THAT LUCY IS READY TO RISK IT ALL TO SAVE HER LOVED ONES AND AUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

lucy's character is just so. she is SO important to me. I love her development. and I think a lot of people who hate lucy let the fanservice ( >:( stop treating my girl like that I stg ) and exaggerated character moments get in the way of their view of her. so many people are quick to say that she's weak because of her magic and I. do not think people realize that being strong isn't just something physical. they also forget that lucy lived a very sheltered life before joining fairy tail, so of course she's not going to be on the same level as say erza or wendy or mirajane. she has to work for it, and she does!

she has soooo many powerful moments, like the oracion seis arc??? bro she literally won gemini because angel treated them like shit and her compassion, her heart is what swayed them. I think they even said they wanted to form a contract with her too. aND THE GRAND MAGIC GAMES???? DO I EVEN HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THE GRAND MAGIC GAMES ARC. BECAUSE I CAN. AND THIS POST WILL GET SIGNIFICANTLY LONGER. BUT I SO CAN.

future lucy. fucking future lucy. LOUD YELLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I will contain myself but COME ON. THE ENTIRITY OF THE GRAND MAGIC GAMES ARC IS SUCH A GREAT EXAMPLE OF HOW STRONG AND WONDERFUL LUCY IS???????

also. key of the starry sky arc. like I. HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I love lucy so fucking much man. despite fairy tail's many flaws, she really is a wonderfully written character who can stand on her own without natsu (and that's a whole other post because I can talk about those two for FOREVER) and gah. I love her. she's so strong. my wife. beloved.

[frecklenog]

finally watching house of wax 1953 ,, thots under tha cut

YAYYY WAX WOMAN W KNIFE

HI MR PRICE HIII HIIIII

the subtitles dont work o no :(

“that should be they now” pronoun user ..

soo curios whether these r real wax sculptures.. some of them are. obvious. but others i straight up expect to move. the craftsmanship is incredible

HI JOANIE !!!!!!!!

also curious about the clothes. are they real cloth or are there sculpted parts too. is it just a full body underneath or is it just the skin that’s visible. tho admittedly i don’t know much abt wax sculptures despite having the ‘05 movie as a longstanding hyperfixation 🥴

HIS NAME IS FUCKING JARED????

oh okay he just turned booth’s head. so that’s probably not connected to like. more wax skin.

if jared is the one doing the killing i support him. jared did nothing wrong this mf is setting his art on fire for insurance fraud. he should murder

marie :(

ok the burning clothes r answering my questions LMAO

JARED GET UPPPP

JARED

jared you fucking suck at fighting. knock it off w the water bucket and KILL THIS FOOL

ono. explodegeon.

OLD TIMEY FIRE DEPARTMENT YAYYYYYYYY HORSES YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY 🐴🐴🐴

OH THIS BITCH.

“had i been there i might have saved him” kys you fuck

“they always want a corpse :)” i love this strange woman

ohhhh all these mary poppins ass dresses J’ADORE

i hope jared is waiting in this fucker’s house with a club

OH MY GOD YAYYYYYYYY

he’s got a little bit of a “freddy kreuger cosplaying nosferatu” thing goin on. tbh

hiding..

someone get this man a cane or smth. my god. SOMETHING

LMFAOOOOO GOODBYE BITCH

“yes. but he hung himself instead 🥰” SHE IS SO BIZZARE

“you got all the brains and all i got is the boobs!”

CATHY’S SO SWEET 🥺🥺🥺

her laugh is. a little much. cute here and there but with the amount she does it it gets grating. but it’s very much of the time ain’t it. cinderella and snow white and alice in wonderland ass giggle

oh hey jared i almost forgot this was house of wax

SUE ???????

i mean tbf. what on EARTH is jared doing here. but maybe he would explain if he could get some dialogue

not that i don’t love silly chase scenes. i just wanna know Why yfeel

jared please leave sue alone

SUE YOUR SHOES?

oh weaponshoes. punch shoes.

ok i was here for killing matt or whatever his name was but cathy didn’t deserve that :/// cmon jared

I DIDNT THINK THOSE AUTOMOBILES WENT FAST ENOUGH TO HURT ANYBODY AHSJSGSJGXJAGSJSBAN

dont call dead women “honey” like that that’s weird.

I DONT THINK EMBALMING FLUID MAKES PEOPLE SIT UP LIKE THAT.

someone sit up again that was funny

YAYYYYY HI JARED

he is just scrimbling around……..

boy what on earth are you doing

is he going to defenestrate her bo- HE IS OH MY GODDDD

who is helping him. what

JARED DONT STEAL BODIES?????

“no human being can look like that” you wouldn’t say that about a scarred vet you chunk of shit i oughta kick you in the both of your balls

who is this very attractive man in the apron……….

JARED OH MY GOD. HI JARED !!!!!!!! how.

igor is so pretty and so fucking talented. would. in a heartbeat i would.

jared’s wheelchair fucking rules. vincent should’ve used a wheelchair i think.

i wonder if this is really how any of this process goes. it makes more sense than vinnie’s godawful shower

MATT FALLING OUT OF THE BOX AJSHSJHSNZHSJSB

daaamn this movie has an intermission. not even an hour in

HELLO PADDLEBALL MAN

OH MY GOD IT MOOOOOOOOVESSSSSSSSS

the 3d nonsense is so funny omg

THE LADIES PEEKING THE WAX DICK SKDHJDBSNDB

WAX CHOPPPPP

oh millie :(

WHY DO YOU CARRY SMELLING SALTS. JARED. IS THAT TYPICAL 50S BEHAVIOR. (genuinely unsure)

just a dead ass body on display lmao get fucked matt

the chamber of what.

OH MY GOD CATHY.

jared this is why we don’t just put wax on human bodies. you get found out by the friends of the deceased. also the rotting

jared please dont kill sue i like sue. i liked cathy :((

jared seems like a chill dude. aside from the.

waves my hand vaguely. You Know

please got JUST SCULPT HER. JARED. JUST SCULPT HER. STOP CHEATING

something is deeply wrong w the paddleball man. sir this is post-hayes code why do you have balls in your mouth

JARED. JUST ASK HER TO MODEL. CHRIST.

honestly tho WHAT is the explanation for his face. please. pl

THOSE DRESSES LOOK SOOOOO FUN TO SPIN AROUND IN !!!!!!!! 🥰🕯️

“you never saw a show like this in provincetown” MASSACHUSETTS MENTIONED 🐞🐞🐞🐞🐞 (there r no chickadee/elm/mass flag emojis)

PTOWN ALSO MENTIONED 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

girl put your ass away i’m here to watch vincent price be Odd and Peculiar

“cathy had the habit of wearing an earring in her right ear. she had the lobe of her right ear only pierced for that” cathy was out there in 1953 using flags for gay men to spot each other not established for another two decades

sometimes i watch dancers in old movies like this and i try to spot my grandma maggiepat. that’s not really related to the movie but i do wonder. i know she was in the red shoes…

“why should joan of arc have her right ear pierced?” “why not? they wore them then.” “two, not one.” WHY DID CATHY ONLY WEAR ONE THEN !!!!!! someone who knows about 50s culture help me

ohh his name is henry jared. whatever.

the long highwaisted skirts….. :)) 🕯️

sue. sue get down from there

igor is SOOO HANDSOME god okay i’ll be normal sorry 😔

jared. no. bad. knock that off. spraying him with a squirt bottle

god he’s INCREDIBLY charming tho. mad props to mr price

oh my god LEON..

sue should Not be in here alone at night. girl this is a horror movie and you are TRESPASSING

oh hello skeleton

unidentified fucking thing just drifting creepily around the room 🆗🆒

WIG…………….

hiiii mr price

ok jared can walk like. fine. who ACTUALLY fucking killed cathy whose physicality was that

HE WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO MOVE A WAX FACE …….

JARED SHES STILL ALIVE. JARED. JARED.

why was leon convinced by that guy pouring liquor djgsjdbs

idc what happens i could fix igor. me and him and vincent sinclair. fuck timelines

hdkdhjdgd THIS FUCKING GUYY

i’d let igor do this to me. who said that.

HES SO RESOURCEFUL AND INTELLIGENT

girl what is scratching the wax gonna do. be serious

LET IGOR BEHEAD THIS GUY

HE IS DEAF AND MUTE LEAVE HIM ALONE STOP SLAPPING HIM I WILL BECOME VIOLENCE

why are you using the pointy end of that thing to bust thru this door. surely there are more effective ways to go about this

goodbye pig

“every time i shave i can still feel that guillotine blade” it never made contact with you. or you would be dead. dont try to be funny

why did shane sneeze.

NOOOOOOO IGOR :((((((((

[wench-and-jezebel]

Dark Angel Reaction: Red

Jezebel (@typicalopposite) reacts [with occasional asides by Wench (@scripted-downfall)]

NO MONOLOGUE 😱😱😱

[“We stole that power first!  It’s ours!”  So she was ranting about this in s1 even before she was ranting about this (re. Alec) in s2, I see]

*sigh* so bitchy. So hot. S’not fair

I’ll live in an abandoned building for that tub  *sigh*

Togan! 😁

How did you know that?  Some good ears  [The water was splashing pretty loudly tbf]  True ☠️

[Max prioritizing herself over the greater good again]  Does she ever not tho?  [True!  Also, it might be fine if she didn't then act like she was some paragon of virtue later]

Must be so dehumanizing for these poor men to be lifted like a rag doll by her

Sorry but.  Buddy there was no blood.  You’re just stupid

["I thought you were dead"  Damn, this is the episode catchphrase, apparently alkdsjf]  ☠️☠️☠️

[OH IT'S THIS ONE!  Get ready to be annoyed]

“Coulda been worse.”  ☠️☠️☠️

“Here’s some spending money” ☠️☠️☠️ *sigh* Must be nice.  She should respect the shit out of him

THEY GONNA HOOK UP!?!

Look here bitchy man

How boujie of him

Oh she kinky

BOUJIE

🥺🥺🥺

Money! 🤣🤣  Yeeep it’ll get you anything

Speaking of off the record… How’d you get this tape

Budddy that’s not healthyyyy!  Stop watching yourself get shot

Nooooo Wot Is Happening How Even Did He get them in there  [Magic]

MEN 😤  [Ma'am, you're married… I remind you that you got yourself hitched to one of them]  He’s different (most days) ☠️  He’s the exception.  But he still has his “men” moments

[OH MY GOD THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️  The one time it’s very much not welcome  [Enemies to friends to lovers?]  Does that happen?!  [No aslkdfj]

“It’s all coming back to me now”...  I got my ass kicked by a lady

[btw, her mission security is shit here]

This scene is giving me whiplash

Oh he has escapéd  [laksdjflkajfd the accent is stunning]  ☠️

Did she not think this would happen???? Dumbo.  [Like I said, mission security sucks]  ☠️☠️

[Okay, but her dealing with the guy extorting the working girls was, grudgingly, great]

You know when you got these scenarios where the persons life is in danger but they are stupid?  [All too well]  And keep running away?  I don’t even feel bad when they ultimately get got

*sigh* she's showing off her Manticore stuff without call for it again  ☠️☠️

“My wife” ☠️☠️

Buddy I’m sorry, but you do not have the right lifestyle to be reproducing  [You're not wrong]

Cliche bad guy: has a kid so isn’t “so” bad 🙂🙃

Is he lying?  I feel like he’s lying.  And she’s just stupid.  (Cause she gave the ol soft smile awww he’s a good dad face: Women… we got our flaws too)  [I?  Don't think so?  I think that was genuine]

– – –

Okay… Midpoint *sigh* imma lil rusty.  BUT.  This fecking man (Bruno) is annoying af!  *sigh*  Like, Max is annoying.  Logan is annoying sometimes.  Hell, they all have their moments.  But this man… Like, buddy is such a good father he HAS to call his daughter every night.. but can’t take the fact people are trying to kill him serious enough to stay put!?!  And in all honesty I don’t have too much more. Other than Logan ridiculously torturing himself with reasons he hates the guy he wants max to save ☠️ nothing else has happened til now

– – –

[I maintain that Normal wears makeup]  ☠️☠️☠️  I believe it

I LOVE HER! And him!  [This watchthrough, I'm loving both Normal and OC even more than I did last time]

“Dumbo”  [Look, is you!]  Shush

WHY WOULD YOU GO SEE YOUR KID YOU IDIOTTTTTTTT?!?!?!?!  LIKE?!?!?!?!

[Okay but that "yahoo" was adorable]  I know but still  [Shush]

Seeeeeeee  [Shush.  The yahoo was cute]  And the gunman took a giant shit on the cuteness ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

Buh-ruh  [OH SHIT THEM Rightttttt I remember this]

Ooooh ok fire knife makes sense now

Who is this guy?  [idk but I remember liking him]  Did I miss him coming up  [Nah, I don't think we know him]  Oh 🤣 He just randomly popped up.  I was like….. who are you!?

Oooof I got caught up in the story 🤣🤣🤣 but how cliche: a bomb threat

Oh

Double-cross!  Evil!  Man!  [Did I mention she's kinda dumb for stupidly flaunting her powers... this is why. People. Notice.]  Yep

Welp if he dies… Won’t feel too bad (again)

[Hubris being her flaw again]

Nope not a lick of remorse… Ya deserved it buddy  [This is fair, but the kid didn't]  That’s true and that part sucks. But he could have got her killed getting what he wanted (to see her one more time) so imo she’s better off

Aaaaaack

[Another instance of Max being allowed to verbally express pain/discomfort while she didn't allow Alec the same season 2 courtesy... not that I'm bitter or anything]  So what I’m hearing is alec becomes her (just better) she becomes zach and zach becomes the terminator  [... That-  Yeah, that's a pretty damn good description, tbh]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

No end monologues… This ep was all kinda weird 🤣🤣🤣

– – –

Jezebel: This episode managed to piss me off in multiple ways… *sigh*  Like, this time her bitchiness was deserved ‘cause Bruno was an idiot.

Wench: WAIT THAT'S A GOOD POINT!  This is vaguely off-topic rn but!  Take her bitchiness towards Bruno… Direct it towards Dean… Don’t change anything about her bitchiness and don’t change much of Dean's character… And you have her relationship with Alec.

Jezebel: So she’s just like that all the time. But for NO reason?  *sigh*  Hoooo boy

Wench: I mean.  He's a bit trying at times, sure.  But he doesn’t deserve her shit 

Jezebel: Next seasons reactions are gonna be spicy

Wench: alskdfjla;skdjf I look forward to it

Jezebel: I think that’s all for endpoint tho. Again, this episode revolved around this one story line so much the cameos of the other characters could have been left out and it wouldn’t be noticed.  They were just filler to make it longer lol

Wench: That's true.  This is fair… Til next episode then!

[justmybookthots]

Forget Me Not

3.85/5 stars

But, honey! you may say. I thought you hated Love Hypothesis! And just Reylo fic in general, since Adam Driver deeply repulses you? So why are you reading this book?

Well. Yes. But also, well… Have you considered… 

Okay, okay—bad jokes aside, this book, despite being former Reylo, was actually pretty good. Any contemporary romance that can keep me hooked is something I consider an anomaly, because I am under a curse where I have difficulty finding contemporaries engaging enough. I’ve gone through a bunch, from Abby Jimenez to Tessa Bailey, and… I actually want to say I was just bored with them, but Tessa’s male leads actively annoy the shit out of me, so. 

All right, I think I’ve digressed a bit. To start: Forget Me Not is definitely more enjoyable to me than Love Hypothesis—which… doesn’t say much, when the bar for that one is underground—but I still vastly prefer Love Theoretically to this book (yes, Ali Hazelwood, of all people, started and also broke me out of my year-long contemporary romance slump). I finished Forget Me Not yesterday in two sittings between chatting with a friend and watching TV. Overall, I found it a very nice read, but I do have certain gripes with it.

Pros:

I think it being a second-chance romance kept the tension high, and me engaged. The air is constantly charged between the leads during the present timeline. (There are two parallel timelines going on. One in the present, one in the past.)

I liked her peanut allergy. As in, I don’t like the allergy, but I like how it was used in the story. Her first kiss with Elliot resulting in a visit to the hospital was hilarious. And also him saving her life before she ate a peanut butter bar (in the present) was sweet.

Her fracturing her leg and Elliot stepping in to take over her wedding planner duties was very, very nice (as in, not the leg fracture. What was nice was that he helped her).

I found the whole car thing very funny (IYKYK)

I liked that it was the FMC that had the commitment issues at first, not the MMC. But this brings me to my cons…

Cons:

I find it unconvincing how she changed her mind in the end. Was it because Elliot helped her with the wedding planning? But how… exactly does that translate to her being sure their relationship wouldn’t end, which was her biggest fear? Because he's, um, reliable during a work emergency?

Elliot, you are wayyyyyyyyy too passive. Even in the past, Ama was doing the work, and making all the moves. You want her to change her mind about being willing to commit, but you haven’t… really done anything to change her mind other than just go along with the flow. I can’t think of more than one time he challenged the status quo or initiated much with her besides that day they broke up. 

I did NOT like Hazel or Jackie. From the start, I was already unimpressed by them. I found them to be a pair of very, very privileged people. And what Hazel did in the end was not cool

Anyways, that’s about it. I struggled for a long while whether to rate this four stars, but I decided the cons were too heavy for me to do that. Elliot’s passiveness was my biggest issue, and though there are less cons than pros, that single con outweighed several of the latter. So a high three stars will do.

But hey, for a former fanfic, this is quite remarkable (Tbf, I also haven't really read fanfics in ages). And also. This was once Reylo fic. 

BE AMAZED I GAVE STARS AT ALL

- 9 Aug 2023

[slow-button-off]

For them to have counted all of that, it means they have to have gone through his team radios for the year. To come to thae conclusion they have after rewatching the races from his onboards is not ignorance, it's purposefully deceitful to push their agenda

Tbf I didn't watch their video I just scrolled past it because I for once decided to not make myself angry.

All social media outlets are somewhat proud of their drivers.

But the Spanish media has a bit of a tendency to go a bit overboard. Idk how much of that is that that's just what my twitter timeline shows me compared to me not seeing it from media from other countries.

But they said some weird shit this season. Like Carlos car was the one with damage in Silverstone. That Ferrari blew up Carlos engine on purpose in Austria because Charles/ Nicolas Todt told them to.

There is the whole narrative that Carlos has been told to move aside many times this season and so on.

I don't think they care about being deceitful.

And the worst thing is that none of this helps Carlos in any way. It's just gets him more hate because he isn't responsible for them being a bit insane sometimes.

[bisluthq]

The talk about how Taylor and Joe left things has made me curious about where her exes fall on the "hate" to "love" scale, so I have done a *speculative* ranking:

Starting with guys I doubt she thinks about, period:

- Lucas

- Martin

- Conor (aside from an occasional, "Dear God, what was I thinking?")

- Sam ×3

- other randos (for example, Belmont guy, Tom Odell etc)

#10. John - I really don't think I have to explain this one like at all.

#9. Matty - fresh wound, plus he pulled a lot of the shit that other guys did before him, which really just rubbed it in

#8. Jake - she seems to hold A LOT more empathy towards him than she does for John, which I think is ultimately because despite his many flaws, they had an actual relationship. He wasn't just trying to fuck with her head, as John did, and as she accused Matty of doing. Again, pulled a lot of the same shit, but I think she's moved past it (for the most part).

#7. Calvin - she seems to hold a lot of resentment towards him, but she's never written a full on disstrack, just songs about him getting cucked😭

#6. Tom H - I don't really think she thinks about him either, but she also seems to really dislike him. I can't even call it pity, it's just disdain. He hardly even got an apology song. It was just her calling him a dumbass (which tbf, he was).

#5. Joe A - I don't think she hates him, but again fresh wound, and all the rest of the dude’s on this list were very young and therefore less deep, therefore less hurtful.

#4. Harry - I really don't think she gives a shit about him now, but when she did there was a re mix of good and bad, but I think in retrospect, it's such a nothing that i doubt she cares

#3. Joe J - the only one of her exes she's been like legit friends with, though it seems that's kind of fallen through in recent years. Obviously was pissed after they broke up, but she got over it

#2. Drew - she has always spoken really highly of him, and per like Midnight Rain does think about "what if" on occasion, though I doubt it's ever a serious consideration. Not much else to say. Just that I think him being her first boyfriend/kiss/date/maybe hookup makes him seem a little better in retrospect. Her teenage self romanticised Mr. Senior Boy because she had nothing to compare him to.

#1. Taylor L - he annoys me to know end, but I can't deny she likes the guy and has very consistently. Again, I think other factors may influence why she feels SO favourably towards him in comparison to some of her other exes (looking at you, John), but overall they're clearly chill, though you can't convince me they're like "Besties."

I am very proud of your knowledge of the ex files, this is a very solid list and I’m willing to bet you can list the “other randos” we know about and for that I salute you queen because very few people have the level of brain rot you and I have obtained.

I agree with your list 100%

fwiw it’s Sam (x6) not Sam (x3). Doesn’t mean she ever thinks about him in 2024 but she hated the absolute fuck out of him when she wrote debut because she really thought he SHOULD HAVE SAID NO and he SHOULD HAVE GONE HOME!!!!!! I love that song so much lmao because it’s so so so angry and so very teenagerish in its stance on infidelity? I mean we’ve criticized her hypocrisy with men and women cheating but when her grown ass is angry with men cheating or worried about it, it’s… a more grown up vibe. Sixteen year old her was literally like “LISTEN HERE SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM: YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID NOOOOO YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKING PRICK!!!!!!!!!!!! I WAS ON TOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FAAAAAACKKKKKKK!???????”