#where the fuck are they then!!!! why is it my job!!!

[harunayuuka2060]

Azul: MC...

Azul: My "poor" friend...

Azul: How are you? 🥺

Chubby MC: Mf I see what you did there.

Azul: I know you are having a difficult time right now, so I am trying to cheer you up.

Chubby MC: Don't try when you're not good at it.

Azul: 🙄

Azul: Anyway, where are you? I texted Jade and he said you went out for a walk.

Chubby MC: Yeah. And looking for a job too.

Azul: You still didn't get a job?

Chubby MC: I got one, but I'm looking for a second.

Azul: Why???

Chubby MC: My house has been invaded and I want to move out.

Azul: ...

Azul: Is the situation really that bad?

Chubby MC: I don't like seeing couples in my own house.

Azul: Fair enough.

Azul: Hey, why don't we talk on the phone?

Chubby MC: So you can use your hands to sign contracts?

Azul: Yes. Texting is decreasing my productivity.

Chubby MC: Yeah, sure.

Jade: *is stalking MC*

Vivienne: It appears they are not aware of their surroundings.

Jade: ...

Jade: Why have you come here? Didn't I explicitly instruct you not to leave the house?

Vivienne: I'm worried about you. *nonchalant expression*

Jade: My, that's a waste of emotion.

Vivienne: It's not if it's you, Jade Leech.

Jade: *not amused*

Chubby MC: Damn, I'm standing in front of the supermarket now.

Azul: How long have you been walking?

Chubby MC: Am I supposed to measure that?

Azul: Hmph.

Chubby MC: Should I go inside or not?

Azul: You should. I'll send you money.

Chubby MC: No need. I have money here.

Azul: Huh? You haven't started working in your new job yet.

Chubby MC: Yeah.

Azul: Then who did you get your money from?

Chubby MC: Vivienne.

Azul: ...

Azul: Why?

Chubby MC: I don't know. Maybe payment for staying in my house?

Azul: So you're accepting rent now?

Chubby MC: Can't I?

Azul: Well...

Chubby MC: Ah, I'm buying seafood. Oh, the octopus is on sale.

Azul: ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?

Chubby MC: It's begging for its life.

Azul: I hate you!

Chubby MC: *didn't buy anything and went straight home after teasing Azul*

Chubby MC: I'm going to bed early.

Jade and Vivienne: *waiting for them at the entrance*

Chubby MC: ...

Jade: *smiles warmly* Welcome home.

Vivienne: Hm. You didn't buy anything.

Chubby MC: Yeah, because it's not my money. *returns it to her*

Chubby MC: If you'll excuse me, I want to go to bed now.

Jade: How about dinner?

Chubby MC: Go serve your wife. *then walks inside*

Jade: ...

Vivienne: ...

Floyd: Beluga-chan?

Floyd: Beluga-chan~? Are you sleeping???

Chubby MC: *was messaging Floyd, but fell asleep immediately*

Floyd: Hehehehe~ Good night, Beluga-chan~.

Vivienne: *holding their phone* They're close to Floyd Leech too.

Jade: *snatches the phone from her* That is an invasion of privacy.

Vivienne: ...

Vivienne: Aren't we both invading their privacy?

Jade and Vivienne: *individually decided to enter MC's room*

Jade: Oh, but I have their consent.

Vivienne: Huh. How convenient.

[chaosandmarigolds]

(Did the poll say happiness and rainbows? Yeah but I’m having fun with my angst so here’s more! :) )

“No I want to see him.”

The officer looked at the man, who looked like he had just rolled out of bed, and she narrows her eyes, “As I had told you, sir, Mister Taylor asked for no visitors unless family. And are you related to Missus Taylor or Oliver?” The question was a mock because she knew the answer.

So, with a bite of a tongue Price relented, “Who’s your supervisor?”

“He’s out of office.”

“Fuckin- course he is. Where’s Riley?”

“Mister Riley is currently in questioning.”

Price frowned, “But you already questioned him.”

The officer shrugged, “Our lead detective thought it best to do a second round.”

“Then I want to speak to your lead detective.”

“You and everyone else, take a ticket.”

-

To say your hands were shaking would be an understatement, you had been sitting in Johnny’s car for a close to an hour and so far you probably lost half your body weight in tears. It seemed unreal, there was no way it was actually reality, after all you had been through. It was just….

You jolt when someone knocks on the glass window, only to see Eliza by the door and you let out breath, quickly getting out of the car and into her arms.

“T-they still have Simon in questioning and-and he’s not answering my calls-“

“I know, John’s taking care of it. Oh honey,” her voice was a bit rasped and she looks you over, “You look like a mess.”

Your chest heaves for air as you ramble to her, telling her about how they took you all to the station at four in the morning and how everything was working against your favor. You both sat on the curb outside, as Johnny’s car was an incubator, her arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders and hands holding the coffee she had gotten you.

“Johnny went-Johnny went to be with Ollie, they…they wouldn’t let me see him.”

Eliza scoffs at that, “Bastards. Keeping a child from his mother.”

—

In hindsight it wasn’t best idea.

However, it did do its job. What job was that? Who knew.

“Uh oh,” Ollie whispered from the other side of the conference table, looking to his biological father (who was currently doubled over while clutching his nose), “You made uncle soap maaad.”

“You fucking bitch!” Caleb practically screamed, “I’ll have your job!”

Johnny stood perfectly still for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure if he had just imagined he punched him or if it was reality and he then snapped into the situation, “Ah please, as i’ you go’ a job tha’s all high n mighty.”

It took about a minute before an officer came back in to check on everything, and thanks to a somewhat threatening stare Caleb had just said he got a bloody nose and everything was alright.

“Oliver, come on. We’re leaving.”

“But I don wanna go.”

With a tug and hoist Oliver was being carried on Caleb’s side, “Didn’t ask we have a flight to catch.”

-

“For the fucking millionth time she had Oliver when I met her.”

“According to these files Oliver was with his father.”

“Bullshit!!!” Simon snipped back, his anger growing with each second. Every file, data bank, Facebook post made it seem like Oliver lived with Caleb until he went ‘missing’ two weeks ago. “Look at the bank statements why would she pay insurance for a child she doesn’t even have?”

The detective sighed, “We did, Mister Riley, she’s not paying for any child’s health insurance.”

This was insane.

“Mister Riley, I am going to ask one final time: did you help Missus Taylor take her son?”

With a glare Simon leaned forward on the table, “Didn’t fucking take him, because he’s ’een here wit us for ‘is entire life.”

-

“Caleb?” You slowly move to stand up as you watch your ex husband carry your son out of the station, and within a millisecond your blood was cold, “Oliver?”

“Mommy!” The boy practically screeched at the sight of you, trying to pry himself away from the man’s grasp, “Mommy I don’t wanna go!”

Before you had the chance to get to the car Caleb was currently putting Oliver into, you were held back.

“Lassie, lassie easy-“

“Johnny let-let me go.”

Johnny, with close to zero effort, turns you to face him, “Leave it. It’s gonna be okay, go’ a plan yeah? Ollie’s gonna be in his bed tonight, promise.”

(Teehee, that’s all for now)

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi Shinazugawa standing up for you

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: You are used to no one believing in you, to get picked on by other corps member because you're a girl. Until one of them crosses the line and starts a fights. Until a certain someone stands up for you when no one else does.

Warnings: not proofread bc I have a gym date with my boy (in order to have a biceps as beefy as (y/n)'s lmao), reader gets reduced to being a weak woman when she is anything but that, bad girl energy, Sanemi being a cutie

„I can’t believe they allowed a little girl to participate.”

“Look at her. There’s no way she survived the training of the former sound hashira, the serpent pillar and landed here.”

“Probably nothing but luck. Or she cheated.”

Don’t listen to them, just focus on staying hydrated and eating enough for your upcoming training. It has always been this way. You, a girl in a world of boys against everything. Why is it so hard to believe that you are capable of doing what they do when two female hashira show them how it’s done? You work your ass of day in and out, stayed consistent for your whole life. You’re always the first who appears in the morning and the last of them who falls into bed after practice. Nothing in life is given you for free, especially when it comes to strength. But apparently, they fail to realize this even after being a part of the demon slayer corps for quite some time.

“I bet she slept her way up.”

Your heart drops to the floor, eyes widen in sheer disbelief. You, sleeping your way up?

“Yeah, maybe she aims to be the fourth wife of him or something.”

“So that’s why he’s always going easy on her.”

“I can hear you. Loud and clearly”, you finally speak up.

They are talking about you as if you are nothing but air, as if you wouldn’t share the same air. Anger begins to rush through your veins uncontrollably. All this work only to be called the mistress of a former hashira?

“I couldn’t care less about the existence of a woman who fucked her way up”, one of them spits directly into your face.

“How are your trainees doing?”, the white-haired men questioned while staring into the sunset.

“Most of them are trash. That one though…”

Instantly, Sanemi’s gaze is glued onto Obanai who now sits next to him.

“Really? You’ve got one that has some balls?”

“A girl, to be exact. She seems decently skilled and Actually just transferred to your training”, Obanai clarifies.

“I never heard of a girl getting through Uzui’s basic training until now”, Sanemi replies while rubbing his chin.

A girl, huh? He can’t put a finger on the last time he ever trained one. But if Obanai talks so highly about you, there sure must be something going on.

“She’s got potential. Let’s just hope there’s enough time.”

“Instead of lying around like the loser you are, try training next time. I don’t need to fuck my way up, I’m all good by my own”, you bark back along with straightening your shoulders.

Who does this guy think he is? Talking behind your back like that while you don’t even know who the fuck he is.

“You’re nothing but a weak woman, I’m sure it was way too easy for you to wrap them hashira around your finger.”

You draw closer, his dreadful eyes piercing like arrows through yours. But you couldn’t care less. No, this is enough.

“Bold coming from a guy who obviously never touched a woman in his entire life. To be honest, I could give you one or two reasons for that. But it’s not my job to tell you what kind of loser you are. Now excuse me, the training session with the wind hashira begins soon and you definitely aren’t worth being late to that.”

“Why do I have to waste my time with those losers?”, Sanemi mumbles to himself while walking towards the campsite where all the trainees are located.

Or wait, didn’t Obanai talk about a skilled girl earlier? Maybe she’ll last longer than that bunch of losers. While getting closer, his eyes fall on a crowd of multiple guys cheering and staring of what looks like a sensation in the middle.

“What the hell is going on over there?”

You manage to escape his punch just before he hits your face with full force, so unexpected that your eyes widen. Did he just try to slap you? In your face?

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? We are here to get trained and not to fight each other like animals!”, you roar at him.

Another dash forward, another failed attempt to hit you with full force while everyone around you starts eyeing you up and down. This must be a cruel joke, a nightmare. You joined the demon slayer corps to fight against injustice and to support peace. But in this very moment, you find yourself surrounded by your comrades who definitely try to hurt you.

“You just have to play the smartest one, don’t you? I don’t give a damn about your little game. I will never respect a woman who fucked her way up”, he jeers back at you.

You force yourself not to cry, to not show them how much their fucking words sting. All your life, you were forced to fight against those who wanted to see you suffer, does who didn’t put trust in your abilities. Your neighbors, your friends, even your own family. Never more than a little girl with crazy dreams, never more than average with no one who believes in her.

“You have no i-“

An enormous storm of air swirling around you catches you completely off guard and almost sweeps you off your feet. You aren’t able to see anything anymore, let alone move. Fuck, what is this? Definitely not the power of that jerk from before. Your lungs feel like bursting under the immense pressure, chest so tight that you have to force air in and out. What on earth is this?

“That’s enough. Who do you even think you are?”

When the storm calms down as rapidly as it came, you find yourself landing onto the floor with your knees just in time while everyone around you bumps into the ground head-first.

“S-she attacked me! It was her fault!”

Your eyes widen in sheer horror when you begin to realize who was responsible for this. There he stands with his katana in his hand, his white cloak still flowing in the wind.

And his dreadful orbs are set on you.

You try to scream, try to defend yourself, but all of the sudden you forgot how to speak. This is the wind hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa. After all those countless sessions with Tengen and Obanai, it was your goal to get here, to impress him.

But now you’re kneeling to his feet while countless men point their fingers at you, claiming you’re the one responsible for this mess.

“So, this was you?”, he questions.

There is no doubt in the fact that his ask is directed towards you. Not when he looks at you so serious with his hand clutched into a tight fist.

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble”, you finally press out.

Defending yourself is a waste of time. With all those men saying you’re the problem, your words mean nothing. All you can do is sit here and hope that you’re able to stay, hope that the wind hashira won’t send you back home like everyone predicted.

“You have to be fucking kidding me”, he mutters with low voice.

It’s over. This is it, your final time at the hashira training. Even giving your best wasn’t enough, apparently. Not when nobody believes in you except yourself. You should have kept quiet, should have ignored their stupid sayings. You furrow your eyebrows, wild eyes going hard.

No. You did everything right. No one is allowed to talk to you in such a manner, to say all those nasty things about you. It was the only right thing to defend your honor. There is nothing to regret.

“Are you really trying to make her responsible for this when I heard your dumb ass talking shit about her? You have some fucking nerve, lying into the face of a hashira.”

Time stands still, you don’t dare to make a move while the crowd around you goes silent. Did the wind hashira really just…Stand up for you?

“Now get lost, all of you brats. If you’d be as good at fighting as in talking shit, we would have beaten all demons already.”

He doesn’t have to tell them twice. In the matter of seconds, the usual crowded area is deadly silent with only you and the white-haired man remaining. Your heart almost beats out of your chest, eyes now fixated on his back. Why would he even stand up for a stranger, especially a girl? It’s probably best if you get away from here as well-

“No, not you. You definitely stay”, he instructs you after you take one single step forward.

You freeze right in your tracks. What now? Will he kick you out, send you back to your family? What if he didn’t mean those words he said earlier, what if he’s not convinced that you are in fact innocent?

“Listen, I’m sorry about t-“

“You really have some balls, dealing with a bunch of guys like that. My honest respect for that.”

 “What?”, you blurt out.

And there it is. The most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen, a smile that makes your heart and stomach flutter, that leaves you standing there like an idiot. You never actually believed in love, let alone to fall for someone. But the wind hashira, standing in front of you with his katana casually placed over his shoulders and his hand on his hip while smiling at you…

You’re lost. Deeply, completely, utterly lost.

“It’s clear that you’re working hard and I admire that. They have no right to talk to you this disrespectfully. I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that”, he replies with his charismatic low voice.

“Thank you for standing up for me. For a second, I was pretty sure you’ll send me back home”, you admit while avoiding his gaze.

Maybe you’re still able to prove them all wrong, maybe you will make it after all. The hashira training is your chance to finally show your true self. You grab the handle of your katana tightly. And you will do everything you can to use that chance.

“Why would I send someone like you home when you’re one of the best corps members? These guys don’t know shit about you and it’s clear that they’re jealous. Don’t listen to those people and keep up the hard work.”

The man in front of you definitely isn’t the monster you’ve heard of. The rough and loud wind hashira who has zero control over his emotions, who rejected his own brother. The man who means nothing but violence, nothing but trouble. No, that man in front of you is smiling at you, teasing you in order to become better. And you’ll do everything to thank him for believing in you.

-one week later-

“You can’t keep her for yourself any longer. Apart from Kamado, she’s one of the greatest chances the demon slayer corps have. It’s Gyomei’s turn to train her”, Shinobu explains calmly, earning one of the deadliest looks ever from the wind hashira.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to let you go. He wants to see you every day, wants to train with you as often as he can, wants to talk with you into the night. What is left when you’re not around except the effect you had on him, the admiration he holds for you in his heart? Sanemi thought he’d never be able to find love again, that no other woman would ever catch his heart. But there you are with your determination made of stone and heart made of gold.

“She’s better off with me”, he mumbles with a pout, not daring to look into the insect pillar’s eyes.

It’s clear that he’s acting ridiculous. When it comes to gaining more strength and abilities, you’re definitely not better off by his side only. He can’t just gatekeep you for his own will.

“Don’t tell me you started liking her”, Obanai comments dryly.

“Sanemi, is it possible, that…that…”

“Don’t you dare saying that”, he warns the pink-haired girl opposite of him.

“ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH (Y/N)!?”

“SHUT UP, I NEVER SAID THAT!”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO SAY IT, I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR EYES!”

“WHY? BECAUSE THEY’RE BLOODSHOT!?”

Him, in love with a woman? How ridiculous…

Right?

He huffs to himself. Yeah, there is no denying in the fact that he fell a little too hard.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen

[wellofdean]

Not to discourse, but...I do not understand at all why people think Jensen Ross Ackles is gonna answer questions about things that haven't happened yet in an ongoing story in any kind of way that tells you anything concrete about what is going to happen, or what his character is going to feel or do, when his character has not had a chance to feel or do them yet? Do people really want him to start spinning fucking yarns up there?

Also, I cannot understand why anyone wants him to?! Like, thank you Jensen for NOT TELLING US. I don't want to go into it having been told what to feel and think about it! I want to see it, be surprised and experience emotions that aren't just the smug satisfaction of watching what I already know will happen play out. Like, when Supernatural returns, y'all know they are not going to just immediately throw the whole cow to us piranhas, right?

And while I'm here, on my horse, I would also like to say that I can't help but feel that this whole discussion that I have seen elsewhere in my feed here, is predicated on the idea that Jensen has not known ALL ALONG what character he was acting or what Dean feels and thinks, and that he is not good at his job. Does it ever occur to people that he DOES KNOW, because he is, in fact, fucking great at his job?

One of the best things about that guy is the way he does not say anything coercive EVER about this story or his character. He is letting his work as an actor speak for him, AS HE SHOULD. Do you feel like there is a deep sadness in Dean? A loneliness and an unspoken inner life? A desire for something more? Do you feel like he has made it clear in a million tiny ways that Dean cannot carry on without Cas, but that he fucking tried because Cas died to save him, and he had to make it mean something? Did you not see how he hugged that fucking dog that one time?? Do you not watch Dean, and see these things? These things are the actual content of the actual narrative. The narrative is the place where Dean's feelings and thoughts and actions are stored. Jensen speculating about it on a con stage is not a thing I even sort of want!

If you are disappointed that Jensen did not say: oh yeah, they will RESOLVE IT (nudge nudge wink wink har har har) my question is: why don't you trust your own eyes? Why do you think he is not in control of what he is putting across as an actor? Why do you need him to tell you, in kindergarten terms, what happened? Why don't you want to just watch it and be surprised by joy? The truth is, he has been very consistent in his responses to these kinds of questions, AND he made a whole season of television (TW) with his production company that is consistent with everything he has said. What can he possibly do to satisfy you?

I can only say that personally? I AM SATISFIED. Dean is Dean, and I love him. Jensen made him, and I love that guy's work. Please make more of him, because I cannot wait to love Dean some more. I am here because it's fun, and I am having a good time. Y'all should try it!

[doccywhomst]

okay so i understand that daleks are one of the main brand icons of doctor who, and that they represent a certain breed of fascist thought that can never be fully stamped out, but. :/

i think im ready for the daleks to die.

daleks have been central to doctor who from the very beginning (the second ever episode, the daleks, and season 2’s the dalek invasion of earth), embodying fear, hate, imperialism, and the darker sides of our own nature - but it seems that, for a while now, their continued existence has been maintained solely by the doctor’s mercy and/or ineptitude ??? which sucks as a theme imo

a great example is remembrance of the daleks, a seventh doctor story from 1988 - yes, the one where the doctor blows up skaro. or, davros fires a device the doctor boobytrapped at skaro’s sun, which goes supernova and destroys every dalek in that region of space. it’s pretty baller. anyway! davros and a few daleks hop in an escape pod and fuck off, and the doctor just lets them. k.

(skaro’s destruction was later ‘corrected’ by widely-detested EDA author john peel in war of the daleks, which is unhyperbolically the worst book i’ve ever read, and thus disregarded! but this heretical text explains that the planet was a decoy named antalin. it’s awful yeah. i tried to warn you)

exhibit b: evolution of the daleks (2007). ten confronts dalek caan, the sole survivor of the cult of skaro, at the top of the empire state building. the daleks have just created and annihilated a slave race of pig people, and it’s horrible to watch. you get the feeling that they’ve done this millions of times all across the universe, because they canonically have. they are inherently imperialist, racist, and genocidal. the doctor knows this.

and the doctor’s response is basically “killing you would mean that I commit genocide, so let’s just hang out and have a conversation.”

dalek caan gets away.

and you’ll never guess where he goes. that’s right! he hops the time lock and grabs davros, who escaped in remembrance of the daleks!!! and they make a bunch of new dalek babies together, out of davros’ gross old flesh. it’s a tentacle fest.

so he was right. killing dalek caan would’ve been a genocide- but because he didn’t, now there are ten thousand genocides. a clear improvement!

exhibit d: victory of the daleks (2010).

after a couple of false starts, the daleks manage to make more daleks after tricking the doctor into confirming their species to open their own device (??? okay sure)- but then they trick him again with a robot scientist bomb that he failed to detect even after talking to the guy, and it’s just like…. fool the doctor once, shame on you, fool them twice? damn, you must be on the merch.

exhibit e: the witch’s familiar (2015).

the iconic ‘only other chair on skaro’ scene where twelve and davros chat on the rebuilt dalek home world - super fun, so fun i forgot how the doctor folded like a house of cards. davros, the genocidal maniac, wants to live another day to see a pretty sunrise, so the doctor *checks notes* gives him some artron energy? that can’t be right, wh- oh- oh, but it’s fine because it affects all daleks, and through some contrived science magic, they all ‘learn the concept of mercy.’ on accident.

and it changed nothing. later stories retcon this. i’m too tired to even think about resolution, revolution, or eve of the daleks right now, but those episodes only further cemented my malaise regarding the doctor’s apparent complacency.

again and again, the daleks depend on the doctor’s mercy, and they get it, and they WIN- and it feels like the moral is that they should be eliminated like an unthinking, unfeeling virus, but the doctor is just too compassionate or inept for the job. certainly not the first doctor to lose to a virus, but perhaps the first to do so willingly.

beyond a loss in revenue, i can’t imagine why the doctor couldn’t destroy the daleks, or why they wouldn’t want to - there was a point when, allegedly, “the time lord’s continuity could not survive without the daleks” (“neverland” audio), but i think the weight and relevance of that harry potter type threat has long since passed.

so… it might be time to put the daleks away, for now. sure, they can come back as a concession to the persistence of fascist ideology, but watching the doctor lose or win to fascism for seemingly arbitrary (always sentimental) reasons isn’t really satisfying. the show addresses that daleks cause untold suffering, but again and again the only obstacle to no suffering is the doctor, who can’t get their shit together! it’s killing me.

[raina-at]

Empty

Bakers, again.

----

Hospital tea is awful. Hospital food is worse. Sometimes Sherlock thinks hospitals provide awful food on purpose, to keep patients motivated to get well as soon as possible just to escape the food.

He knows it’s not true, of course. Hospital kitchens cook for the lowest common denominator, and more often than not, sick people don’t have the most refined palette anyway.

Still, there is no excuse for this croissant. It’s dry, tasteless, hard as a rock, and the jam inside is present on a molecular level at best. This pastry could be qualified as a hate crime against the French, or a human rights violation.

Or, Sherlock is angry and trying to take it out on the croissant instead of yelling at the person lying in the hospital bed he’s currently sitting next to. 

Or maybe both.

It’s fuck o’clock in the morning, as John would say, and quite honestly, Sherlock would rather be anywhere else. If he has to be here, the least this hospital could do for him is a decent cup of tea and a mediocre pastry, instead of distilled bathwater and this abomination. 

There’s an audible groan from the bed. Blue eyes blink open and look blearily at Sherlock.

“What the actual fuck…” 

“Good bloody morning to you too, I hope you feel like shit,” Sherlock says, his voice as brittle as his smile.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Harry groans, closing her eyes against the dim light. “And where the fuck is here?”

“Glad you asked,” Sherlock says in a mockingly cheerful tone. “We just had a thoroughly delightful night together, you, me, and your brother, who’s just stepped out to phone your work and make up some bullshit excuse why you can’t be in today. See, it all started at one on the bloody morning, when your neighbour phoned John to inform him that he heard a loud bump and crash from your flat. Your brother decided he couldn’t just wait until morning to see whether you’d actually managed to off yourself this time, and so we went to check on you. We found you delightfully unconscious, lying in a pool of your own blood from a nasty head wound.”

“I must have tripped and fallen,” Harry mutters rebelliously. 

“We found this next to you.” Sherlock holds up an empty vodka bottle. “Coincidence? Probably not.”

Harry looks away, turns her head towards the window. “Fuck off,” she mutters, quietly defiant like always. 

“Oh, believe me, I would love to. But as long as you insist on dragging your brother through hell, I’m along for the ride, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t phone him! I never asked for his help! Why does he always have to stick his fucking nose into my business? Who asked him?” Harry’s voice is raspy and raw from the alcohol and emotion, and she’s glaring daggers at Sherlock.

“Would you rather he let you die?” Sherlock asks acerbically. “Is that how selfish you are? Don’t you realise what that would do to him?”

“Yes, and who the fuck cares what it does to me,” she mutters.

“You are an adult,” Sherlock says, leaning closer and holding Harry’s angry gaze. “And furthermore, you are not my responsibility. But your brother damned well is, and it’s my job to protect and support him to the best of my ability. And quite frankly, he’s at the end of his tether, Harriet. I’m not sure how much more of this he can take.”

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite, you know that, right?” she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. “You act all high and mighty, like you’re so much better than me, when you’re one fucking weak moment away from ending up right down here next to me.”

Sherlock rubs a tired hand over his face. She’s right, of course. He’s a junkie. A sober junkie, but there is no cure for addiction. He will always be tempted. He will always be one needle prick away from the abyss. But that is very much not the point.

“You’re right, of course. I understand the rock bottom you’re hitting every time you disappear into that bottle better than most people. And I’ve been where you are. I’ve bitten the hand that tried to help me up, again and again. I regarded it as entirely my brother’s problem that he didn’t just wash his hands of me when I was at my lowest. But if he’d done that, I would be dead. And he would have to carry that guilt for the rest of his life. I don’t want that for John. Do you?”

She looks away, tears now streaming freely down her face. He has little sympathy, because he suspects she mainly feels sorry for herself, not for anyone else. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she mutters. 

Sherlock sighs, feeling his anger slowly drain out of him. This is pointless. Addiction is complicated, nobody knows this better than him. No rousing speech will change the grip the bottle has on her. And all the love she has for her brother—and she does love him, as much as she resents him at times—won’t make her get sober. He can’t articulate, to this day, why he managed to drag himself out of that black hole. Resources helped, sure. But he doesn’t know what changed, what shifted within himself, to make it possible for him to accept the help that was offered to him. 

And nothing will keep John from extending a hand, again and again, until she’s ready to take it.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I…” he looks down at his hands, then admits quietly, “I can’t fix this for him. I want to, and I can’t.” 

“I’m trying, Sherlock. I’ll keep trying. I’ll probably fail again, but believe me, I am trying,” she says quietly. 

Sherlock doesn’t answer, but he gives her a short nod as acknowledgement, because he believes her. It doesn’t necessarily make a difference, and he hates how much she keeps hurting John, but he does believe her. 

She’s trying. She’ll keep trying. They all will keep trying.

And maybe someday, they can break this vicious circle. Maybe someday, she’ll stop hurting John and Sherlock can forgive her. 

Until then, he’s here, because John needs him to be. And as much as he would like to fight and slay all of John’s dragons for him, that’s never going to happen. Life doesn’t work that way. But what he can do is fight alongside him. And that’s what they’ll do. They’ll fight this dragon together until they slay it. 

“Don’t eat the croissants,” he tells her, as close to forgiveness as he will get as long as she keeps hurting John. “I’ll make you some topfengloatschen later.”

“Five years in, and you still can’t fucking pronounce golatsche,” Harry says, but she’s smiling at him in silent gratitude. 

“Shut up,” he says, returning the smile.

Truce restored, he thinks. I wonder when we will finally have peace.

----

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[danielcalmdown]

Here's a few thoughts i have about Disco Elysium and it's lack of philosophical approach towards Harry's experiences. (Not to mistake it with psychology. There is plenty of that in Disco and the characters and ideologies are pulled apart in many fun ways.)

Explanation below the cut, so it's not a long-ass post.

So, Harry is very much suffering. He says "I am in pain. I have no idea how to get better, I'm about to fucking give up." What he gets as response, from his own mind and other people, is things like: "Get your shit together. You have to go through this hell. It will be awful, depressing and boring. Forget her. Stay strong, don't give up, you will eventually feel better. This is how normal people live. Do it for the (...)." This is encouragement. What it does is it keeps him on his feet and helps him move forward. But it's the only type of response he ever gets. What it doesn't do is challenge how he experiences his life in the first place. There is not a single sentence, a thought, any kind of spark in the game that would begin some sort of reform within him. He's the same sad, old Harry utill the end. The rest is accessories.

Beyond that, the gameplay is screaming at you: SEIZE THE MOMENT! There is so much work put into describing things happening around Harry. And so much fondness towards that world. But it's just there, next to him and his pain. Beautiful and worth living for, but it's not used to reveal anything that would inspire him to change. Something about humanity, the meaning of his suffering, maybe a hint about that hole in the world. Yknow, philosophical stuff. Even the miracle of the story, the phasmid, answers Harry's most existential question with "I don’t know, nobody knows." It's not there to guide him away from the vicious circle he's stuck in. It's more like a pat on the back. "Look, something incredible happened today! Life can be great sometimes." Here are a few statements meant by the game to be impactful: "Something beautiful is going to happen", "The night is always darkest before the dawn", "One day, i will return to your side", "The road to healing is going to be a long one. You will make it, some day." They sound like coping mechanism. They are motivational, hopeful, but don't speak about reality. "I'm suffering RIGHT NOW. The world and my head are still fucking broken. Heelp!" Harry cries out. "Hope for a better future. Go for a run. Focus on your job, get a hobby, take your mind off the pain." Try to be happier while remaining the same. Switch alcohol and drugs for non destructive activities to help you endure through that persisting pain. Look out of the window each morning, wait for that special thing to happen. And when it happens? The core stays unmoved. You don't even know what it is about you, where lies the first mistake. You learned nothing new about yourself.

I think all of this fits with the creators' views, which are sparsely hinted at throughout the game. "God is indifferent. This is our curse", "The world is inherently meaningless", "True love is possible in the next world, for new people, it's too late for us." Maybe that's why the game didn't allow Harry to change, because it doesn't believe there is anything out there that could help him. He's a human, therefore he has no choice but to think and suffer exactly the way he does. So yeah, that's my thoughts on it. Feel free to comment, disagree and enlighten me if you think i'm wrong. I'm always open to change my mind.

[shuttershocky]

Penny for your thoughts about this thread? Just wanna hear some more opinions from people who work in the industry.

I don't want to fucking talk about pricing and monetization and markets and how F2P live service titles have warped the industry beyond recognition anymore.

The insights look good (of course they look good, this guy literally worked with Square Enix) I just can't fucking take it anymore I know what he says before I even finish reading the tweets and it's reminding me of how I started getting into learning game development in 2010-2011? (I don't remember anymore it's been that long) and EVERY SINGLE TALK AND MEETUP AND LECTURE WAS ABOUT MONETIZATION (to be fair, my local industry was a small one that could only really support mobile back then)

I watched all of this happen. I saw how the mobile industry's designs slowly bled out of mobile and into the AAA industry, warping it forever. I was in college when I first learned what minnows, dolphins, and whales were and why your games ought to be fishing for whales. I watched Team Fortress 2 go from a premium game you got all the content at the start to introducing lootboxes (they popularized that shit outside the gacha sphere btw, people blame Overwatch, but TF2 started that trend) to going F2P. I've been an active Dota player since 2012, meaning I was there when the concept of Battlepasses were first birthed into the world during 2013's The International 3 and which made other companies realize live service titles could gain yet another psychological hold on people to add on to World of Warcraft's skinner boxes.

"We are seeing standard singleplayer games no longer able to gain new audiences as they are crowded out by increasingly growing live service titles like Fortnite" "Why would someone spend 60 dollars to play FF16 for 100 hours when they could continue playing Fortnite and Minecraft and Roblox for free where all their friends are"

I have seen all of this before I remember when Overwatch first came out in 2016 a peculiar statistic was that almost every popular title at the time saw their playerbase drop as everyone moved to Overwatch, EXCEPT for Dota 2's because of how hard Valve had captured their audience to the point where they would not play other games. Of fucking course everyone else learned that was actually an incredibly efficient way to make money forever and they should do that too (except Dota was free and had all characters and all game mdoes unlocked for free, but these other games would now ask you for 60 dollars to play as 4 guys with a 100 hr grind for the rest)

I might feel a little unhinged right now because I have worked for two weekends straight and it's a Sunday night (EDIT - put it in drafts and it is now Monday and I am at work) and I'm still at work working on video games and tomorrow will be Monday and another work week working on video games where if we don't sell our upcoming titles my job is toast but fuuuuuuccckkk dude I just wanted to help make things that people would find fun

Capitalism and corporate greed (but I repeat myself) has twisted an industry that was already shitty in the 90s to be something hideous and completely hostile to the idea of creatives being able to make games that are meant to be played, finished, and remembered fondly and even wholly single player one and done experiences like Insomniac's Spider-Man games need to fill themselves up with checklists or else their audience will claim they got ripped off because the time they spent on it was simply not worth the money which STILL happened with Spider-Man 2 anyway

I'm not against live service games as a concept I love seeing a title like Dota get constant support since 2011 (or 2003ish if you want to count the original WC3 mod) and witness it grow and evolve with the times but I hate how it's become increasingly difficult for other games to exist.

I don't actually have a point to make here I'm just rambling. FF7Rebirth was fucking great though (and I hated FF7Remake as a game) so I hope it actually makes its sales target eventually so it doesn't scare Square into adding even more bullshit filler or worse into the 3rd game. I need to play Vincent Valentine with Rebirth's combat system. it's not a want, but a need. A thirst even.

[misskattylashes]

Okay, I’m going to do it. I have been holding back and just telling my closest fandom friends my crazy theory, but what the hell. Most of you think I’m batshit anyway.

Here we go.....

What if we have been on the receiving end of a long played out psyop and Louise has been a way to make the public want Milex?

Okay, hear me out...

It’s 2017/8 Alex has abandoned Miles after EYCTE. He has gone to France to write and record TBHC, having realised their little TLSP bubble could never last (see Star Treatment). Without Alex, Miles is a little lost and lonely in LA. His reputation is also at rock bottom after the journalist incident. Miles decides he wants to move back to England, and Alex decides he wants to move back to, as we know they can never be more than a few minutes away from each other

Taylor either wouldn’t or couldn’t leave LA, so she and Alex break up. But they need a new girlfriend to keep up the straight image (especially with the new badly-received album and a world tour about to begin). On the original version of OPP as seen on the AM in Mexico video, over the turtle segment Alex sings ‘One More Year I’ll Call It Quits’ maybe the plan was to give it all up,but he had signed a contract to do another album and tour after TBHC, and with Miles’ reputation so bad, if they were together then they would both be cancelled.

So a European girlfriend is found and this is where the subterfuge begins. We start with old Instagram posts with tags like #alexturnerwillyoumarryme, then we get professionally shot videos of her backstage at AM’s concert (all the time Alex is ‘still with’ Taylor) so as soon as they launch, the first image of Louise the public get is a negative one, as a fangirl who has set out to get Alex, not caring if he cheats in his current girlfriend.

Before I list the reasons why I think she is fake, can I say this idea he has stayed with her as punishment for cheating on Taylor is absolutely ridiculous. Men who are serial cheats aren’t known for wearing hairshirts. Especially when you’re a handsome, wealthy rock star who could easily get another girlfriend.

So, the idea is, Louise is the most unpleasant person who makes Alex miserable, and if most people are honest, they want Alex to be happy..

So, let’s look at the evidence..(where there is a * it means there is a Miles counterside)

Louise doesn’t work. She claims to be a feminist, but her job seems to be being Alex’s girlfriend.

She openly copies selfies posed by previous girlfriends, making her look like she has no personality of her own

She boasts in her IG posts ie the ‘we just fucked’ pic and the panties on the piano.

She claims to be a musician but we rarely see her writing or recording anythjng.*

She writes embarrassing things about itAlex on social media (beautiful dick).*

Openly takes a neutral stance on Palestine.

Claims to wear vintage clothes but they rarely are*

When Alex was ill after the third London show, it is publicised that he leaves the Emirates with his parents, no sign of Louise. She’s too busy taking pics in the hotel with Matt and Amanda

Meanwhile Miles has worked hard on his public image. He has shown he is a hard worker. He rarely mentions Alex on social media and when asked about him in interviews, whilst admitting they are good friends, is insistent they are not working together. Which is good because he has always been accused of riding on Alex’s fame.

He frequently gives updates when he his writing and recording, treating us to little snippets, something Louise never does.

Is it a coincidence that holiday gate is the same as the week One Man Band’s release. Alex looking miserable with Louise Vs Miles being charming and hard working.

Not long after Louise starts going on about her fake vintage, Miles posts a whole real of him going proper vintage shopping so he looks authentic.

Even in Dublin there is no duet with Alex. Miles not using Alex’s,fame,but also those who monitor social media can see how hungry they are for Milex interaction.

The river Mersey comment – another way of guaging public opinion. Finally the legion of doom 😍😍 comment on the NY recent. The fandom went crazy at Milex acknowledgement.

Alex....

His face..Alex is a pro. He has had twenty years of faking smiles after arguments with the other Monkeys, girlfriends, even Miles. He could fake a smile with Louise if we wanted to when they call their friends at Backgrid to take pap pictures. But instead he chooses to look like someone either on the verge of tears or else being held hostage. And in the latest set of pics, Louise looks the same.

The Taylor tattoo....it looks like he thinks so little of her he has kept that tattoo.

‘I don’t wanna be hers, I wanna be yours’ quite often at gigs where Louise is in attendance.

Not one song on the car written about her.

And now of course with the tour over, a lot of people return to watching TLSP videos. Happy, muscly, healthy looking Alex having fun with Miles as opposed to skinny, miserable Alex trapped with Louise.

Apart from Louise’s most ardent fans, most people want to see him away from her and would be overjoyed at a TLSP reunion, and for us Milexers, a declaration of their love.

So, has this been a long game? A way of making the people think they want Milex? I told you it was crazy, but just remember the world of public relations is completely underhand and insane.

[eldritch-nightmare]

hi hi !! i was wondering if you could make any creepypastas of your choice (but if you can please include toby) with a final girl reader? you know that cliche of slasher movies, thank you <3

a/n: fun fact abt me my favorite final girls r carly from house of wax and princess from laid to rest. and arkin from the collector. he is everything to me. honestly wasn't all too sure who i wanted to put in this so i just sorta chose at random?? idk maybe in the future i can use this premise for some of the others if u guys want that. this is really short nd kinda bad tho and i apologize for that. i'm trying to ease myself back into writing so tht might b why tbh

warnings: not proofread. pre-relationship?? the romance isn't really there for the most part but the obsession is, attempted murder, gn reader, reader has a younger brother in lj's part, laughing jack is probably actually his own warning i think he's kinda. kinda fucked up in this. many mentions of attempted harm to a child.

includes: ticci toby, jeff the killer, and laughing jack.

TICCI TOBY

He had been tasked to kill you. He doesn't know the reason, nor does he really care. Maybe you knew too much, or maybe Slender had other reasons. Whatever they were, you had to die.

And Toby rarely ever messed up an assignment. He never had any issues killing anyone. Sure, they typically fought back, but he'd always get them in the end. He didn't think you'd be any different.

He was rather... surprised, to put it simply, when you proved to be a challenge.

You didn't want to die, so you fought back. Hard. Honestly, it was impressive how determined you were to live. He's never really met someone like you before.

This is one of those very rare times where he's a bit glad he can't feel pain, because if he could feel the pain he gained from you fighting back, he probably would've blacked out from it.

The only reason you get away the first time is because you had stabbed him one too many times and he didn't really want to bleed out and die, thank you very much.

He still had a job to finish though, so you fighting back meant nothing to him. He was told to kill you, and that's what he planned on doing.

It didn't matter how long it took. Though, as time went on, Toby couldn't help but find himself wondering what he would do with himself when he actually killed you.

He's never found any joy in hunting someone down, but he finds himself strangely excited when it comes to you. It's the first time he's ever felt this way for someone he was meant to murder.

He doesn't really want to let that excitement go just yet, and maybe he's delusional but it almost seemed as if you were having fun with these little life-or-death chases you two had.

Maybe he lets you get away a few times. You would've been dead a long time ago if he hadn't found you interesting.

And who knows... maybe he can convince Slender that you're a worthy candidate to be a proxy... that way, he won't have to kill you.

JEFF THE KILLER

Absolutely thrilled at the idea.

Jeff is a big fan of horror movies, and he's always dreamed of having some final girl type of person that he could never kill.

Key word. He dreamed of it. He's not a big fan of it when it actually finally happens, not at first.

You were annoying, always somehow dodging his knife and managing to fight back against him long enough to make your escape.

Now, normally, Jeff would've just dropped you and gone on with his killing spree. He didn't have to kill you, and it's not like he's scared of you going to the police. He's already on the FBI's most wanted, trust me, he couldn't care less.

But there was a thrill that went through him whenever he got close to killing you. Each time he's able to cut you, he feels his heart pound in his chest.

It reminds him of when he first started killing, and that feeling was becoming addictive.

He didn't even realize how obsessed he had become with killing you until he actually got the chance to kill you. He had you cornered, and there was nowhere for you to go.

He could've ended it right then and there, but he hesitated. Jeff the fucking killer hesitated to actually kill someone. What the fuck? That made no sense.

The hesitation was enough that it gave you a chance to get away, leaving Jeff alone to ponder why he had hesitated.

And during that time, he left you alone.

But trust me, once he finally figures out why he hesitated, he'll be back. You can't escape him.

LAUGHING JACK

Hates it and hates you. Your little brother was supposed to be an easy kill. He had been so desperate for a friend, neglected by his parents, that he was eager to let Jack into his life.

But then you had to come home for the holidays, and suddenly it was hard to get the brat alone without you being around. The only time he could torment your brother was when everyone else in the house was asleep.

When your little brother went to you crying about how his friend Jack was being mean, telling him horrible things, you weren't supposed to fucking believe the kid. You were supposed to be like the others, brushing off the kid's concerns and sending him back to bed.

But you didn't. You believed your brother, and now you can fucking see him, and he hated it. Oh, he wanted to kill your little brother so badly, but he wanted to kill you more for ruining all the fun.

All of the torment on your little brother stops, and instead he starts tormenting you instead. His ultimate goal was to get you to kill your little brother. It would be a satisfying thing for him to see. And maybe even poetic. You're trying so hard to protect him, and you end up being the one to kill him... that would be nice.

But you don't make it easy for him.

Seeing your fear was entertaining, especially when he was able to strike at your insecurities. At some point, he found that he didn't mind how long this little plan of his would take. He just wanted to see what made you cry. What scared you? What had you reeling away in disgust? What made you laugh?

Okay, that last one confuses him and he does not at all want to know what makes you laugh. No. No he does not.

Sometimes, he doesn't even torment you. He just silently watches you, which you find to be arguably worse than him actually trying to cause you harm.

It felt like he was studying you whenever he did that, and you hated it.

And Jack finds himself struggling to hate you the longer this takes. You've become interesting. He finds himself looking forward to seeing you, and he finds himself admiring you whenever you end up smiling when he's around.

Though, that's not something he's quite ready to admit yet.

[firefly-sky]

things i loved on my second reread of the outsiders since eighth grade (mostly the curtis bros because i love them)

ponyboy is fucking hilarious

darry looks ‘just like the curtis’ dad but acts the exact opposite’

darry instantly regretted smacking ponyboy

darry likes being teased by soda

soda ‘looks like a greek god’ (greek mythology hyperfixation went off + new art refs!!)

soda thoroughly enjoys the feeling of being in love

pony is the heaviest smoker out of the curtis brothers, soda only smokes to look tuff and darry is too proud of his body to smoke

darry is 6’2’’ and his muscles are like ‘oversized baseballs’ according to pony

soda’s nickname used to be pepsicola

soda calls ponyboy honey and darry calls him baby (i swear if i get an anon saying this is anything but platonic im gonna jump off a building)

soda had a horse named mickey mouse that he had to give away

pony and soda both cried at their parents funeral but darry just stuffed his hands in his pockets and wore a ‘helpless pleading look’

the gang refers to darry as superman

darry works two jobs and makes good at both

all three curtis’ have gigantic appetites and darry cooked two chickens before the rumble because of it

soda hates when his brothers fight

darry used to be super close to his dad

when darry saw ponyboy it was (supposedly) the first time pony had seen him cry in ages

the end of chapter 6 where pony got reunited with his brothers ohmygosh that was my favorite part of the whole book

even darry wouldn’t wanna get into a fight with dally

darry would be a soc if it weren’t for the gang

darry was voted boy of the year and was on a football scholarship

darry checks all of pony boy’s math assignments to make sure he’s doing them right

darry full naming pony when he caught him smoking in bed made me laugh

pony has almost red hair (another reason why i like the musical pony over movie pony)

pony hates most people with green eyes

soda has warm brown eyes that can go from happy and cheerful to blazing with anger in a second

darry would be really good looking if it wasn’t for his cold eyes

johnny’s scar goes from his cheek to his temple and it’s really hard to look at

darry is harder on pony than his parents were out of fear that pony’s gonna throw away the same opportunities that he had before his parents died

pony is a grammar police

soda is really bad at spelling

dally’s death was actually an assisted suicide (i didn’t catch into this when i was in eighth grade)

darry doesn’t like movies

two bit and steve got kicked out a church for horsing around once (i think it was them, idk)

darry and paul used to be best friends

ponyboy felt really bad because he didn’t think he asked for darry enough when he was sick

it was kind of implied darry feels that pony favors soda and vice versa

soda and darry tickle ponyboy out of bed in the morning

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Another celebration ficlet request! The original ask for this one seems to have gotten deleted, and it was sent on anon, so I can't even tag the person who sent it in. 😫

I hope you still see this and enjoy, nonnie! 💖

Heaven's in the backseat

Rated: E

Words: 1,000

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Mob boss Dick Harrington; Mentions of Stommy; Knife play; Dubious consent; Obsessive behavior; Violent thoughts; Car sex; Eddie has anger management issues and Steve is a little slut

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Eddie has just lit his first cigarette of the night when one of the waiters informs him that Mr. Harrington wants him outside. As he grinds the cigarette under his boot, he imagines doing the same thing to Dick’s stupid head. 

Working for a mob boss is so goddamn exhausting. 

A week where Eddie doesn't come close to kicking the proverbial bucket is a good week - especially now that Dick has been taking him along as a bodyguard more and more often. He’s not complaining about that, though. Occupational hazard. 

No, what’s really annoying is the damn black tie affairs. As if squeezing into a fucking suit wasn't enough, the social dynamics of the underworld are mind-numbingly complicated. All of the big mob families are either related or out to kill each other - more often than not both at the same time. It makes events such as this an interesting affair, to say the least. All night long, Eddie has been hovering at the edge of the room while the boss ate and drank and shook hands with other important farts. Always vigilant, always ready to pull his knife from its holster under his suit jacket. And now he can’t even step out for ten minutes to have a fucking smoke? 

The car is parked in the driveway when he arrives. Next to it are the boss himself and a swaying figure with disheveled chestnut hair wearing a rumpled suit. 

Eddie’s blood bubbles and his steps speed up.

“-fucking disgrace,” Harrington says just as he flies down the stairway leading to the car. “You’ll do anything for attention, won’t you?” 

Eddie doesn’t catch the slurred reply, but it must’ve been the wrong one, because Harrington slaps the boy across the face before wrestling him into the backseat. Eddie’s hand is already on the knife when the asshole turns. For a heartbeat, he revels in the temptation of lodging the blade right in the middle of that ugly face, but he reigns himself in. Too much security, too many witnesses. 

“My son is drunk,” Harrington says. “Drive him home.” 

Before Eddie has a chance to reply, he has stalked past him and back into the venue.

*

“What the hell took you so long?” 

Eddie casts a look into the rearview mirror to see the venue disappearing behind them and Steve straightening up in his seat. His voice is still slightly slurred, his eyes a bit unfocused - but he's nowhere near as drunk as he appeared seconds ago. Eddie's mouth tugs into a grin. 

“What, I don't get a thank you for driving you? Where are your manners, little nymph?” 

“Why should I thank you for doing your literal job?” Steve’s mirror image scoffs at him. His bottom lip is pink and a little puffy where his father slapped him. “And don't call me that.” 

“I'm a bodyguard, not a chauffeur,” Eddie says. “There's a difference, y’know?” 

“You're a dog,” Steve drawls. “You do whatever my dad tells you to.” 

Eddie’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. Steve’s mouth curls at the edges, but his eyes stay bored. 

“How about you?” Eddie asks, once he has blinked the crimson shadows from his vision. “What did you do to incur his wrath? Must’ve been pretty bad, if you feigned being so wasted he’d send you home like some misbehaving child.” 

“None of your business, is it?” Steve snaps. Then, after a second or two, the aloof facade slips back on and he shrugs. “He caught me in the bathroom with Hagan.” 

Something slithers low in Eddie’s gut, dangerous and deadly like a coil of venomous snakes. 

“What? That ugly, freckled fuckface? C’mon, you can do better than that.” 

Steve laughs, a sound like the edge of a knife - bright and pretty and sharp-edged. “Why do you care? You don’t own me. What is it to you if Tommy fucking Hagan shoves his cock up my-” 

He doesn’t get any further than that. Eddie pulls over to the side of the road and slams on the brakes. One fluid motion later, he has scaled the middle console and has Steve pinned on the backseat, wrists trapped over his head in a one-handed vice grip. 

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, voice low and lethal. “But this is where you’re wrong, see? You are mine. And one of these days, I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.” 

Those pretty eyes go wide as he slides the knife from its holster. The blade gleams, catching what little light there is in the dark car. With one flick of his wrist, he slices away the top button of Steve’s expensive shirt, revealing the long, graceful line of that neck. Steve exhales a shaky breath and his throat bops with it. 

“One of these days,” Eddie murmurs, trailing the tip of the blade over tan skin, leaving just the thinnest of red lines. “I’m gonna kill everyone who ever looked at you or touched you wrong and claim you as mine. Stuff you so full of my cock you forget about everyone else, until the only word you remember is my name. Carve my initials into that pretty skin of yours so nobody ever forgets who you belong to.” 

Steve looks up at him, eyes bright and hazy, and a little whimper falls from his perfect lips. He writhes deliciously in Eddie’s hold, and for a moment, Eddie thinks he’s scared, that he’s gonna plead for mercy. 

But then he slots his leg between Steve’s thighs to hold him in place and he feels it. He looks down at the boy in awed surprise and can’t help the grin that creeps over his face.

When Steve speaks, his voice is hoarse and breathy, but not from fear. 

“Do it, then,” he challenges, rolling his hips and grinding his hard cock against Eddie’s thigh. His lips strain to meet Eddie’s, breath warm and wet against his skin.  “Make me yours.” 

Eddie has never been so happy to obey in his life. 

More celebration ficlets

[silverskull]

Chenford and The Rookie S6

This is a post where I vent my frustrations with The Rookie season 6 and the Chenford breakup. I will take questions, but I do not guarantee an answer. Retain the fact that this is a TV show I am mad at, not someone/thing in your personal life.

This month/few weeks haven't been great for me to absorb what happened in the last episodes of the season. Some of the reasons are listed below before I start sounding off.

-Unrelated but irritating:

Working 3 jobs, only 1 is paid. 

Crunch time at all 3 jobs

Visiting family expecting all of my time (same crunch weeks as work)

-Related and disappointing:

Cancelled cameo

Cancelled convention appearance

Sloppy SM and PR, frequently missing Melissa

Short S6

Late S7 renewal announcement

Delayed start S6 and extra-long hiatus before S7

Specifics:

Okay, so in 606 Tim lied - so did Lucy and Lopez. Why was there no IA investigation for them or concern about their honour? We were led to believe in 214 (Casualties) that everyone involved in an off-book mission could be compromised. So now why is the fact that Tim is lying more important than either woman compromising their career? Why is there no acknowledgement of THEIR discomfort? Lucy was already on shaky ground after he let her take the blame for SOME RANDOM SCENE COPS??!!? at the clown murder before her detective exam, but now I’m supposed to be worried about Sergeant Spotless-Record Bradford and his honour?! He could have just let that Ray guy go, or even fucking TOLD SOMEONE. He'd still have saved the Venezuelan, but it would have been above board.

And then, apparently the breakup happened over the aforementioned lying and Tim and Mark’s coverup of Ray’s misdeeds. We got no further clarification on this. And I really tried. I read deeply, DEEPLY into Tim’s reasoning (there are tumblr posts and twitter threads). I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I earnestly plead with people on twitter to give it time. But instead of that patience paying off, all we got was Tim trying to act normal, Lucy justifiably pissed, and generalised "things" opened up in (blackmail) therapy?

(Here’s where people have been coming at me too: I don’t really care about the therapy storyline. Honestly, if it’s not done well, I don’t know why we bother. I'm not out to get therapy, I just don't think it's working here. Just mention it and carry on like with Lucy after DOD, or show some scenes from the damn sessions. But turning the therapist into a blackmailer for Monica, who was selling to The Swiss?!?? or an Argentinian??? (I don’t even know and I do not care, and I will not listen if you try to explain, lalalalalala) How did we even end up here???)

And it PISSES ME OFF that we spent years building up the momentum for there to be turbulence in their relationship over Lucy going UC. We were ready. We were waiting. The traps were laid and baited. And they just went PSYCH! IT’S TIM’S ARMY DAYS THAT ARE THE PROBLEM, EVEN THOUGH WE LEAD YOU TO BELIEVE HE WAS WELL ADJUSTED BACK IN 214 WITH MITCH AND 311 WITH KATIE BARNES LOLOLOL

We have spent SO MUCH time on Tim's backstory. In fact, here's a list!

Isabel - wife -> ex-wife, UC drug addict, unfaithful

Tom Bradford - abusive father

Army - Let Mitch get his leg blown up; told Katie to let it go with a ladybird; unblemished record;

Cop Buddies - Wrigley -> lazy; Mack -> Addict;

Love Interests - Isabel, Rachel, Ashley

Family - Genny and Tyler (and some other nephew, and apparently a niece and a drunk uncle)

Here is what we know about Lucy:

Mother, Vanessa and father, Patrick, are psychologists and hard on Lucy

Mother had an affair with a patient (also named Patrick) who is Lucy's father, but - boo - he's dead. So is bff Jackson.

Aunt Amy and unseen Nana are nice.

Lucy's other love interests (206 ex, Emmet, Chris, TIMOTHY BRADFORD) have been assholes.

NOW WHOSE FECKIN BACKSTORY DO WE NEED TO SEE MORE OF???

(sorry to those of you who have heard all this from me before, I am literally typing my sporadic thoughts with you guys into longform)

Look, no doubt characters on this show need therapy, but if we’re just gonna make it a vehicle for some random side-characters to have an entire story arc, then WHY? And like, we were misled with the Bailan getting-pregnant storyline too, only to end back up where we started with fostering - because it’s only worth second place if your ovaries are geriatric. LIKE? SO. MANY. PROBLEMATICS.

It’s as if The Rookie plotters were given the outline to the exam questions… then tried to make the answers fit all the WRONG QUESTIONS (I may be speaking from experience). If the cards are laid out one way, don’t struggle to make a different answer fit. Just use what you’ve got, and use it wisely. Especially when it’s been working so well.

And another thing!!! Canon is not fiction - we all know that. We’ve all seen the ones who get carried away with fanon Chenford and ‘Lucy is vegan’-type imaginings that were never actually true. But saying if we don't like canon then we should just write or read fiction to deal with it is only serving to send people deeper into denial. There is a point where you are not crazy, and the writers did something stupid and you start understanding what ‘jumped the shark’ actually means.

Speaking of outdated TV lingo, I saw a really good tweet from Brian_Cronin :

TV showrunners accepting the "truism" that getting "will they/won't they?" characters together hurts the show, always citing Moonlighting, is because they like "rules" that remove their responsibility, as "Don't write the show poorly once they're together" puts the onus on them.

This goes for Chenford. No, Eric Winter. No, Alexi Hawley. We don’t need to see a breakup because it’s more like ‘reality’. Here’s a shocker: we come to watch a COP show, in this age of police brutality, global dictatorships, internationally ignored genocide, timelines full of dead babies and the constant looming threat of utter climate destruction to ESCAPE from reality. We are not watching a COP SHOW - A SHOW ABOUT ONE OF THE MOST VIOLENT, ABUSIVE POLICE FORCES IN THE WESTERN WORLD - for “reality”. Get your fucking head in the game. We supported you through pandemics and strikes, and you pull this season of SHIT on us.

I love all the characters, but I’m hooked for chenford. And I feel really badly treated.

If I was marking your exam, you’d get a failing grade.

“Started off well - linked UC storyline to previously-hinted relationship trauma. Dropped the plot entirely mid-way and brought in a host of unknowns. Tried to blame breakup on army issues previously marked as ‘resolved’, instead of UC drugs and unfaithful wife/abusive father? Reused names multiple times. Confusing and inconsistent. Fatally underused Chen character - inexplicably failing downwards, while Nolan character inexplicably promoted upwards. Use basic research next time."

[empressdede]

Disrespectful .

Chapter five

Nora and Sienna were both over the attitude that took over the life of London. She was angry at everyone in the world and she had nobody to blame but herself.

They’d already crossed those lines so what was the point of having morals now? It was a question she asked herself everyday. She regrets telling him that they should’ve ended it because she hasn’t had a good day since.

She blames Roman. It was his fault. She was fine until he came and ruined her. He gave her an itch she couldn’t scratch and it was driving her insane. Her sex toys could only do so much. And James…. James couldn’t even scratch the surface of her sexual desires anymore. Before, James was enough; he got the job done.

But after having a taste of what Roman gave her, why would she settle for just getting the job done?

The worst part is, it was her who cut off their secret rendezvous and she didn’t know how to deal with the cards she dealt herself and since she couldn’t get her fix, she released her frustration with almost everyone around her: Nora, Sienna, James and it was even worse for everyone at work since she buried herself at work for a distraction.

At first, Nora thought it that her little sister’s attitude was going to pass after a couple of days but its been going on almost three months now and Nora didn’t know how long she could take it anymore.

London wasn’t the only one who blamed Roman; Nora and Sienna did too. It became very evident to the two of them that whatever those two had going on was taking a toll on London. So both girls were taking matters into their own hands. Nora and Sienna were determined to make them cross each other’s paths once again.

Who was it really hurting that they desired each other sexually? What their partners don’t know won’t kill ‘em right? And after those words left Sienna’s mouth, the girls knew exactly what they had to do.

Which brings them to now: Nora sitting in her car in front of London’s house going over the plan with Sienna over the phone.

“I’m sorry Sienna, I just don’t think three days is enough days. You don’t think you can push it to two weeks?”

Sienna scoffed, “Girl how the fuck do you expect me to distract Tiara for two weeks? The best I could do is a week and even that is pushing it. And plus, you’re worrying about the wrong thing, go try to get her to agree to the trip first and we’ll talk longevity later.” Sienna suggested.

Nora laughed because she already came to her decision for the both of them, “If the best you can do is a week then I’m gonna tell her it’s a week trip because a little weekend trip ain’t gon do shit. So Figure out what to do with Tiara cause I’m ending this angry streak by the end of the this week.”

Sienna agreed and after they hung up, Nora got out of her car to walk to London’s door. She didn’t know what to expect when she got there but when she knocked on the door, she wasn’t really expecting to hear an argument behind the door.

Damn. London was hellbent on letting everyone feel her wrath.

When James opened the door, Nora took pity on the tired look on his face. But she only kind’ve felt bad for James in this situation; there wasn’t really much she could do when it came to those two anyways. She still flashed him a smile when he opened the door wider for her because unbeknownst to him, she was about to fix this problem.

“I’m sorry Nora, Now really isn’t a good time.” James tried but Nora held her hand in the air to silence him, she came here on her own mission and she wasn’t going to let James close the door in her face.

"Nonsense; seems like the perfect time to me. Where’s my sister?" She questioned but London let herself e known by her yelling.

"And just what the fuck am I supposed to do when you leave James? You knew I was going to take my vacation with you and now all of a sudden they need you of all people to go to an open house?"

Nora flashed him another smile before entering into the house to find her sister in the living room. "Well what’s going on in here?" Nora asked, raising an eyebrow at the mess that was in the living room with clothes being thrown all over the place.

"She’s upset because she wants to take a vacation but I can’t. I haven’t sold any property in five months, I don’t want to pass up on the opportunity to bring home some money - I’m sorry."

“It would’ve been different James, if you had no idea of my plans, but you fuckin knew!” London argues, dismissing his attempt to apologize.

“Babe I can’t just drop everything just because you want me to.”

“So you don’t wanna go out with me even though you make your own schedule?”

James let out another sigh and walks away from the living room, this argument was going nowhere and he was tired. London scoffed as she watched James walk away, ignoring her question. She couldn’t believe this was even an argument.

“Talk about a coincidence.” Nora states with a smirk on her face.

The statement caused London to turn around and face her sister, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Girl what the hell are you talking about?”

“Girl, I literally came here to ask if you wanted to take a sisters trip to Houston. Just you and me playing catch up, ya know?” Nora explains and shrugs at her sister. “What better time than now huh?”

“And since when you been thinking of this?” London questions.

“ I seen how stressed out you’ve been lately and I want to help you, I hate seeing you so stressed out. Plus…” she steps closer to her little sister and lowers her voice so she wouldn’t be heard. “I know you don’t really want to spend an entire week with James right now, so let’s just go and enjoy ourselves okay?”

It really didn’t take a lot of convincing on Nora’s end to get London to agree to go out. As horrible as it was to admit, her sister was right… She really didn’t want to go anywhere with James; but he’s been claiming how weird she’s been with him, and she wanted to do to something to make up for her bad mood swings. She couldn’t help it though, she needed an outlet to let out her frustrations.

She’s more than thankful for her sister coming to the rescue. Hopefully this trip could get her mind off you know who.

Unbeknownst to London, Nora was quick to send out a text to Sienna to let her know that the plan was going as planned so far.

we’re good on our end, Get started on your end.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Roman was confused when he got a random call from Khalid asking him to get away for a while. It wasn’t like him to isolate himself, but he can only guess him and Sienna were into it because Tiara had told him that Sienna had invited her out to New York for some kind of fashion week.

He originally decline, but Tiara convince him to go; stating that Khalid just needed a friend, the same way Sienna needed a friend. So here he was, in Houston, Texas, at a Ritz hotel, wondering what in the world could Sienna have done to make Khalid supposedly so angry.

“So what made you run away?” Roman asked during their game of call of duty.

Khalid raised an eyebrow at the random question. “Huh?”

“How come you’re in Texas and Sienna’s in New York? What made y’all run 1500 miles away from each other?” Roman asked again.

Oh. Right. Khalid almost forgot his wife sent him here on a mission.

“How do you know she’s in New York? I thought she was back home.” Khalid questioned, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“Tiara caught a flight to New York a couple hours before I flew out myself, She’s the one who told me they were going to New York. Anyways, you didn’t answer my question; what made you run away? Why are we in Texas instead of Florida?.” Roman questioned him again for the third time.

Khalid wondered if he presented Roman’s own problems, if he would catch on. “I’m in Texas because I need space to think about our relationship. I don’t wanna hear any speeches or anything but… I cheated on Sienna and I think she knows.”

Khalid paused the game and turn to face Roman to continue spewing out bullshit. “I don’t know what to do now.”

Roman nodded his head because he understood - sometimes life doesn’t happen the way you expect it to. “Unfortunately, I know how you feel.” Roman reveals and Khalid raises his eyebrow in faux shock.

“You cheated on Tiara?”

“Something like that. I’ll take my faults, it’s wrong because I’m married but there’s nothing wrong with exploring for a bit; as long as you find your way back home. At least that’s what I did.” Roman confessed.

“If you could go back in time and take it back, would you?” Khalid questioned and the heavy silence that took over the room really answered his question but Khalid wanted Roman to really get it off his chest. “It’s just between you and me bro… do you regret it?”

“No.” Roman finally answers, but the look in his eyes is very distant, almost as if he was lost in thought. “I know I don’t sound like a committed husband but if I had the chance to do it again with the person who I did it with; I would.”

Khalid let out a hum and nodded his head to let Roman know he was listening. And he was, that confession was all he needed to move forward with his wife’s plans.

______________________________________

London, let herself relax in the hotel bed, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the silence of the room helped her feel so relax. If only her mind was as quiet as the room; her mind going to the one man who couldn’t escape her thoughts matter how hard she tried.

She hasn’t seen him since that last dinner because she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stand on business. London was a prideful woman, she was never going to admit how much she regret her decision on cutting him off.

Why the fuck do you keep thinking about him anyway? This has to stop. It’s what she’s been telling herself for these past couple of months and she still couldn’t do it.

She finds herself missing him in the weirdest times. If she’s in a boring meeting, she’ll reminisce on the time where he text her to keep her entertained. If she went out to to eat, she missed his endless compliments or even the risky freaky shit he would pull with her, like fingering her under the table when the waitress came back to ask if everything was okay. She especially missed the sex… damn did she miss the sex.

Roman took his time to learn her body, he found out what she liked and he even introduced her to new things that she found herself loving. Sex with Roman was always exciting; especially when he would fuck her in places where she usually wouldn’t let herself do those kinds of activities: in her office, backseat of his car with or without his chauffeur… almost one time in the locker room - Roman never cared. If he desired her, he was going to to have her and she missed the feeling.

Missed feeling desirable, missed the funny moments between the two of them… she missed her friendship with Roman. He was her friend first and she missed her friend.

“Okay girl; I’m over this little rut that you’ve been having. It’s time for us to go out and shake some ass, Let’s go!” Nora exclaimed when she busted into London’s room.

“What the fuck do I look like going to the club to shake some ass as a married woman?” London questioned with a confused look on her face.

Nora scoffed and rolled her eyes, “When did being married mean you can’t be outside and shake some ass?”

London let out a tire sigh, “I just wanna relax. Maybe call a masseuse to give us a massage. I’m away from home and I’d really like to enjoy it.”

“You’d really enjoy it if you stop fighting me and go out with me.” Nora retorted and London sat up and squinted her eyes in suspicion at her older sister.

“What you got up yo sleeve Nora?” She questioned, getting straight to the point.

Nora exhaled and walked towards her sister to take a seat on the bed. “London, I know you won’t talk about what’s bothering you and I respect that; can you just respect that it hurts me to see you like that? I’ve been taking care of you for the longest, I always know when you need a break, why don’t you just let me help you?”

Albeit everything she was saying was true, Nora knew she had to lay it on thick for London to agree to go out with her. London’s eyes scan Nora’s face and took in her expression, the sadden look in her sister’s eyes is what made her drop her shoulders in defeat.

“Fine. But if I’m not enjoying myself after an hour; I’m leaving.”

Nora flashed her blinding smile, nodding her head to agree with her conditions “Great! I’ll go get ready and you can meet me downstairs okay?” She didn’t even let London respond as she rushed out of the room in excitement. London, huffed as she let herself flop backwards onto the bed, she just hope she doesn’t regret this.

______________________________________

After London finished getting dressed for her night out with her sister; she stood in front of the mirror touching up on her make up as she thought about ways she could convince her sister to let her come home early.

Her phone going off, snapped her out of her thoughts and she turned to see who was calling: Nora. “Hello?”

“Hey, did you leave your room yet?”

“No, I’m about to leave though; I’m coming downstairs right now.” London explained.

“Before you come downstairs, can you go to my room and grab me a pair of sandals? I forgot to grab it.”

“Why can’t you just go and grab it?” London asked in annoyance.

“London, you’re already upstairs; can you just please?” Nora begged and London let’s out a groan before agreeing.

“Great, my room is on the fifth floor, room 26. I think housekeeping is still cleaning the mess I made so just knock okay?” And without any other explanation Nora hung up the phone.

She’s been so demanding since we got here, I thought she wanted me to have a good time? London thought to herself. The entire elevator ride to the floor above hers she thought about what the fuck was going on with Nora in the first place.

The last time Nora took London on a sister trip, it was to break the news that she was getting a divorce. What type of bad news did she have to break to me now? She wondered. Her mind was running through all the possibilities of what could have her sister acting so weird while she off the elevator to look for room 26.

She let out a small huff because she was drawing a blank, she’ll just have to ask her sister why the fuck she was acting to weird when she got downstairs. She knocked on the door and waited for housekeeping to open the door.

Didn’t she give me her keycard? London asked herself, she remembers them giving each other keycard when they got here. Before London could give look in her clutch to search for the hotel keycard, the door finally opened and when she looked up she felt all the breath in her lungs leave her body.

“Roman?” She breathed out in disbelief. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her.

Roman himself froze as he stared at the woman in front of him. There’s no way she was standing in front of him right now. “London… what-“ he trailed off because he really didn’t know what to say.

It’s been almost three months since they last seen each other, the feeling of shock is what keeping them frozen in their spot.

“What are you doing here?” London finally asks, her mind racing because seeing him did nothing but resurface those feelings she was reminiscing about earlier. Did he have a show here? She questioned. That could be the only reason he’s here right?

“Khalid brought me here. Him and Sienna are going through it.” He answered.

Nora set me up, she brought me out here and set this whole thing up.

Everything was making sense, because even if Khalid and Sienna were going through it, Khalid wouldn’t have left Florida. They set her up, and her body was yearning to just touch him.

“You know they set us up right?” He states, and yeah. If she was going to be pushed in this direction anyways, she didn’t give a damn about the consequences anymore.

“Are we going to take advantage of the opportunity?” London asked softly and it wasn’t something the two had to really think about. They’ve denied themselves what they really wanted for long enough, and if their friends were going to push them into each other’s arms, who were they to fight what everyone else thought they needed too.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Roman and London lost themselves in each other like they usually did, but the feeling wasn’t the same as it was before.

What was so different about tonight?

There was something more profound than lust and sexual tension lingering in the air between them. When Roman pulled her into the room, their lips immediately push against the other and instead of the fast kissing they were used to, it was slow…sensual.

When they broke apart they stared into each other’s eyes. The lines of their friendship was blurred with the unexplainable feeling they were feeling for each other in the moment, they couldn’t pinpoint what that feeling was exactly.

But it’s what made London grab his neck and pull him back down to her. Their lips brushed against one another’s and the hesitation made London pull away but Roman made the choice to close the gap between them. London’s helpless moan slipped from her lips and she melted into the embrace, pushing her body against him as if to make them one.

The taste of him was intoxicating, it was one of the things she missed about him.

Roman led the two to his bed, and London made herself comfortable in his lap. Her hands caressing his shoulders and eventually moved her hands over his strong arms as their lips smothered each others again.

Chills ran through her body when he trailed his hands up her thigh to grip onto her ass, that’s when she knew this was real. She’d fall victim to daydreaming - especially when her and James were trying to get into it but she’d always come back to reality. But this… this was reality. James never touched her like that.

His hands were roaming her body as if taking in this moment would be her last. Her body was vulnerable to his touch, and she could hear her heart beat drum in her ears.

The sweet feeling of his warm body mixed with the throbbing between her legs radiated more than a positive feeling of intense pleasure of her brain. She didn’t know if it was possible to feel the way she felt at the moment: fuzzy at the brain, and warm at the heart.

They didn’t want to rush the moment, especially since it was something her sister wanted to bless them with. Upon seeing her outfit, he fell into their old routine.

“You look like an Angel.” He softly murmured in her ear before he started undressing her. “Most beautiful thing on Earth and It’s all for me isn’t it?”

And there it was, that feeling she was missing rushing back into her lungs almost as she deeply inhaled his words, that feeling of wanting to feel desirable. That feeling from earlier returned but it wasn’t a feeling she could identify at the moment so she focused on the feelings she could.

At the impulse decision of the moment, their bare bodies touched each other’s. As soon as Roman was submerged within her, she swallowed up some of his thick inches with pride and contentment. Undoubtably, her eyes flickered to the back of her head, her lips separated, and her back arched off the bed and pressed to his chest. Being so close to him, was enough to send her body into a frenzy of different emotions. Not only because it felt so good, but because it was him. Because it was Roman.

There’s synchronized movements were coupled. London’s fingernails, digging into his back and the sound of her soft moans only seasoned the moment for the both of them. She pulled his head between the crook of her neck and let her heavy pants fill his ear.

At her own allowance, she caught a sweaty grip onto his arms and extended her legs wider to pull him in deeper than before. She wanted all of it, all of him. She wasn’t holding back on taking anything he was willing to give her; she’s gone long enough without it.

Their lips met again, and while he sucked on her tongue, she let out whimpers of pleasure into the air. Roman had to give himself a silent, prep talk to encourage himself not to cum too fast, it’s been a while since he’s been in her and her wetness was driving him crazy.

He knew what she wanted without her, having to ask for it. The passionate quickening of his strokes, promoted her to tango, her legs around his torso. Her arms in case themselves around his neck; she held onto him for dear life. Her cries of pure delight escalated be on guidance. He fucked her soul into oblivion like he’s done before. She would have never imagined herself calling out God’s name, but she did just that, screeching to the heavens, while she let that dick dominate her cloudy mind and rock her entire existence into a temporary state of belief.

Without any separation between them, they painted all of their essence all over the bed. Roman could feel her in every pulsing vein in his body until he’d consumed all that was left of her.

They were both so lost in the moment that it didn’t register to either of them that a condom was initiated and neither of them seemed to care when Roman groaned into her ear and emptied himself in her. It only made London tighten her legs around his body and keep him trapped in between her legs and she welcomed the feeling of his fluids filling her up.

Never again. She wasn’t letting Roman leave her ever again. If this was wrong, she never wanted to be right. Ever.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Whew😩 this chapter went exactly how I wanted it to. I’m sorry it’s such a long read😩 I just couldn’t break it up. You guys won’t wait that long for the next chapter 😭 I promise.

As per usual please comment and gimme some love 🥹💙

Tagging the lovelies: @whatdoeseverybodywant @theninthwonder @christinabae @2-muchsauce @alichesmi @pitlissa22 @sassginawanmills @harmshake @po3ticb3auty @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @dershalover89 @serena004 @reci1996 @scarlettnoir01 @kill-the-artiste @southerngirl41 @badbitchcentralinc @reignsboy19 @mzv11 @cyberdejos2 @msbigredmachine @msniaimani @skyesthebomb @wanderingreigns @katymae12344 @bebesobrielo @alyyaanna @raya-hunter01

[auteurdelabre]

LOSING OUR MINDS TOGETHER CHAPTER 5 soft!Joel x f!reader

Tags: soft!Joel, pining, crushes, fluff, art references.

Pairings: Joel x Reader/ Ellie x Riley / Bill x Frank

A/N: for those of you who like my romances with a little less angst!

Series masterlist here

“Don’t be mad.”

“That’s not a great way to greet me, Frank.”

Frank is giving you a hound-dog look when you arrive at the gallery that week to help him hang pieces for his upcoming exhibition. He often calls you in for times like this, wanting your advice on where to place items, paying you more than you deserve. You know he could do it himself, that he only does it to keep you in enough cash to keep creating.

“I just know your temper,” Frank says as he searches his pocket for his phone. “But a woman came in looking for something to put in her office. Needed something really eye-catching. So I showed her that piece you texted me.”

“What piece?”

“The canvas. The intense one. The one not like your other pieces.”

“Oh that.”

“Yes that,” Frank mocks, leading you into the gallery. “She was interested. More than interested actually.”

You give a hum of a response, helping Frank to hang some of the bigger canvas pieces.

You don’t feel like broaching this subject again. Selling that art piece feels strange. Creating it felt strange, almost like you weren’t in control of yourself when you made it. You don’t really have any desire for that piece to go out into the world.

“I see the AC is working,” you say, motioning to the roof. “Bill did a good job.”

“Uh, yeah,” Frank clears his throat before focusing all his intention on a label next to one of the bigger Mondrian-inspired piece.  “You teaching that Ellie girl yet?”

You’ve known him long enough to be aware that this is classic Frank misdirection.

“So how did it go with Bill?”

“How did what go with Bill?”

“Don’t do that,” you say with a gentle shove to his shoulder. “Tell me. How did it go? Fireworks? Did you kiss? Did you tell him you’ve been secretly pining for him for months?”

“No,” Frank frowns. “I was professional and so was he.”

You take a moment to watch the slim man continue to affix the label to the creamy white wall. He doesn’t seem his normally boisterous self. Something didn’t go the way he wanted it to. So you stand there, arms crossed, brow raised. He tries to ignore you for a few minutes, but knows it’s a lost cause.

“I tried to pay him and he wouldn’t take the money.”

“Okay…”

“And then he was just so beautiful and sexy and manly and he knew Hockney and I didn’t know how to ask him out or even if he wanted me to ask him out.”

You’ve never seen Frank ramble like this, all high pitched and nervous as he paces around the painting.  Then to your surprise he trips over his own feet, going down like a sack of potatoes. You can’t help but laugh as he rights himself.

“See? I’m a fucking wreck!”

“Just a little,” you say, helping him to stand, brushing the dust from his sleeves. “So what happened next?”

“So then I wanted to be cool and say ‘then lemme treat you to dinner’ but I kept second guessing and freezing and I just kept thinking about what would happen if he wasn’t interested. If I’d read the situation wrong.”

You groan, wanting to shake the man in front of you. You can see so clearly that Bill is into Frank. You want to smash their faces together like two life-sized Ken dolls.

“If you don’t ask him out, I’m gonna do it for you.”

“No you fucking won’t,” Frank says sharply, taking the next canvas from you with a frown. He doesn’t speak to you again until you’re both halfway through hanging, your head cocked as you look at the colorful picture in front of you.

“So? What do I tell her?”

“Huh? Her who?”

“The woman who wants to buy your painting,” Frank says slowly as if English isn’t your native tongue. You wince, unsure of why it feels so weird to sell it. Right now it exists under a sheet of canvas in your studio, not like it’s that sentimental.

“It wasn’t really for sale. Just something dumb I did and wanted to show you. It’s not really my style. . .”

“So have two styles,” Frank shrugs. “One for yourself and one to pay the bills.”

“Van Gogh didn’t have to change his art styles,” you mutter sullenly.

“He also died penniless with one ear.”

You hide a smirk at that. “How much does she want to pay?”

“I told her it was five grand.”

“WHAT?”

Your eyes are like saucers. Even after Frank’s commission that’s a hefty chunk of change. Nothing you’ve ever sold comes close.

“And she didn’t even hesitate,” Frank says with a supercilious grin. “Offered to write the check right then and there. So you tell me Miss van Gogh Jr, you want five grand?”

///

Ellie finds herself feeling strangely nervous for tomorrow’s first lesson. She assumes it’s because you seem cool so far, but what if you’re a shitty teacher? Or what if you’re boring? You seem fun with your weird style and playful attitude. But it could be an act.

She sits on the front porch swing, working on her latest sketch when she hears the faint tick tick tick of a bicycle’s gears heading up the driveway. She glances up to see Riley dropping the bike on the lawn before moving with gazelle-like grace towards her.

Ellie tries to force herself not to take in Riley’s long legs or the way her body movies under her t-shirt.

“Hey Texas,” Riley grins.

“Hey Riley," Ellie replies with a smile. Her heart pounds as the taller girl comes up the porch. Riley unhooks her bright purple biking helmet, dropping it onto the swing.

“Whatcha doin?”

“Sketching,” Ellie says, closing the book quickly. “Practicing since I’m taking art lessons from the neighbor.”

She points at your house and Riley smiles, nodding. “She’s cool for a grown up. Not annoying like the rest of ‘em.”

Ellie nods, agreeing. You’re about the only other person on this block that she actively looks forward to seeing.

Riley collapses onto the porch swing beside Ellie, her dark face shining with sweat.

“Lemme see,” Riley says motioning to the sketchbook still in Ellie’s grasp. Ellie pauses, unsure. She doesn’t really share much of her artwork with anyone besides Joel and you. She doesn’t think she’s very good. It feels too intimate to show off her sketchbook right now, so she clutches it a little closer to her chest, shaking her head.

“Uh, not much in it yet. I’ll show you when I have something good.”

Riley doesn’t fight her, doesn’t even seem upset. She just nods before yawning and stretching.

“You settling in okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Ellie nods. Ellie watches as Riley’s bare leg brushes her own and she wished she wasn’t wearing jeans so she could better feel the warmth of Riley’s touch. Riley is talking but Ellie misses it, distracted by the beautiful dark of Riley’s skin.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you have a bike?”                         

“No. Mine was stolen right before we moved here.”

“You should get one,” Riley says, pulling a knee to her chest. “Then we can go riding together.”

Ellie nods, her eyes finally moving to Riley’s face. “Yeah, good idea.”

The two of them lapse into an easy silence, rocking back as they watch the lazy neighborhood. David is mowing his lawn, giving them both a wave when he catches their eyes.

“That guy is such a creep,” Riley says with a mock-shudder.

“I haven’t spoken to him yet.”

“Don’t if you can help it.”

“Okay.”

“I’m heading to my volunteer job with the seniors,” Riley says with a dramatic sigh. “Saw you and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Well hi,” Ellie says with a shy smile, watching as Riley pushes herself from the swing and goes to right her bike.

Before Ellie can reply Riley has snapped on her helmet and given a wave. Ellie watches her pedal away, her braids flying out behind her. Ellie feels a strange jump in her stomach, confused at how much she enjoys Riley’s company.

///

That Wednesday you make sure that the studio is the tidiest it’s ever been. With the large canvas sold (and you $4,400 richer) there’s more space to move around. You bring your drawing table to the center, setting two stools opposite one another. Today will be a chance to see what Ellie is drawn to, what she’s already created. Then you’ll get an idea on how to move forward with it.

It’s very early, earlier than you normally are ready to start the day. But you’re excited for lessons with Ellie and amazed that you sold that intense painting of yours. You wonder what about it was so enticing to the buyer.

You walk out your front door, bare feet slapping the path to your mailbox. You glance over at a flash of movement, shielding your eyes from the sun as a tall figure moves towards you at the same time from the yard over.

“Mornin’ neighbor,” Joel offers, his toolbox in one hand, a coffee thermos in the other. He strides toward the truck parked not too far away from your mailboxes.

“Morning,” you greet, faltering slightly when you recall your last interaction with him. 

You turn your attention to the mailbox and Joel takes his time gazing at your legs in your shorts, the deep scarlet of your toenails. He has the insane urge to run his palm down your calves, just to feel them sun warmed and soft under his touch.

“You’re up before noon,” Joel teases, placing the toolbox in the back of his truck and grinning at you. “Special occasion or somethin’?”

“Ha ha,” you say drolly, opening your mailbox and finding it empty. “I’ll have you know I’m taking my teaching responsibilities very seriously. I was just making sure everything was ready for Ellie this afternoon.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Big day?” you ask, chin tilting in the direction of his truck.

“Yeah, Tommy and I – he’s my brother – we’re gonna check out some place on Mulvine. Apparently it’s a pretty big job.”

“In this heat? No thanks,” you say with a crooked grin.

Joel thinks your smile makes you look mischievous. He likes the sight of it.

“Gotta pay for those art classes somehow,” Joel hums in amusement.

“Yeah well, thanks to a really nice neighbor I saved some money and get to teach in an air conditioned environment,” you offer feeling shy. “So I guess I owe him a beer sometime.”

Joel feels his pulse tick at that, seeing the way you’re mouth curls to the side almost shyly. You stand on one leg, the other crooked, foot balanced on your calf. You’re still shielding your eyes from the early morning rays, missing your trademark oversized sunglasses.

“I’m sure he’d be agreeable to that,” Joel says softly, desperately wanting to extend the moment despite running late to meet Tommy. It feels like the first time since the two of you met that the conversation is easy and well-received.

“I uh, I looked up that Pygmalia thing,” Joel says, the name getting stuck on his tongue.

“Pygmalion,” you correct gently. You don’t do it with mockery or malice, just like the gentle teacher you always are.

“Yeah, that one. The one you talked to me about.”

The surprise must read on your face because he chuckles and his cheek flashes the hint of a dimple.

“I was wonderin’ if you ever Pygmalion’d yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Like, uh, put yourself in a painting as a character or somethin’,” Joel says wincing at how awkward this is coming out. He’d hoped to sound suave and knowledgeable but he feels like he’s coming off like an illiterate hillbilly.

“No,” you say laughing at his inability to explain himself. You find it strangely endearing to see this broad, tall man looking so overwhelmed just at the topic of art. “I don’t like to do portraits. I used to, but not anymore. Now I like doing sculpture more.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “When I do sculpture it’s like I’m creating something from the ground up. I don’t really know how to…” you trail off, trying to think of how to articulate this. “You build houses, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, when you’re doing that starting from the bottom and working out until you’ve got this big beautiful house, that’s how I feel. Like I’ve just created something from the earth.”

Joel is struck dumb by your words, not in some small part at your ability to bring what he does for a living into it. He’d never considered construction and contracting work to be artistic or beautiful – more just a means to an end. But there’s something about the way you weave your words that has him spellbound.

He must be staring too hard for too long because your neck goes pink and you step back, eyes on the ground.

“Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. Have fun at work and I’ll see you for that beer sometime.”

With that you twist away, feeling embarrassed at having said something so stupid. Joel watches you leave, feeling that same yearning twisting around his ribs as he watches you enter into your home.

///

Ellie wishes Sarah was with her today. Not just today of course, but especially on days she tries something new. Ellie was all shouts and fists; Sarah was tempered action and cutting words. Between the two of them they were each other’s armor. Sarah was always there to help and make her feel less intimidated, less scared. Now she feels vulnerable as she trudges over to your door, sketchbook under her arm.

You fling the door open before she can even knock and Ellie is relieved at the smile on your face. Over your clothes you’re wearing a yellow smock with ribbon ties that have a lemon pattern printed on them. Your hair is up, out of your face and your feet are bare.

“My favorite student!” you crow, urging her inside. “C’mon in. I’ve got us all set up.”

Ellie follows you through the maze of eclectic furniture and art on the walls. She’s curious to see that your style inside is just as she imagined it – colorful and sort of weird, like you. And like you it’s got a vintage feeling – like something not quite modern. Ellie finds she really likes it.

“So I like to have some music playing on in the background while I’m in the studio,” you explain as you move to the turn table. “Which do you like?”

You motion to the shelf of vinyl records all lined up. Ellie has to stand on her tip-toes to see the titles.

“I know David Bowie,” she offers.

“Good taste,” you muse.

She takes a moment to survey the records a bit long before she reaches for one with sketches of vegetables on it. The Best of Cream. She likes the look of it.

“This one?”

“One of my Granddad’s favorites,” you say with a grin. You nod in approval and Ellie feels secretly pleased. You place it on the turntable, lifting the needle. Ellie watches as you touch it to the spinning record, the crackling sound of contact comforting.

The music flows from the record, guitar and drums and a man’s sultry voice singing about the sunshine of your love. You give a hip shake, shoulders rolling as you attempt to take Ellie’s hand in yours in dance. You’re surprised when at the contact she jerks her hand back as if she’s been burnt, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” you say with your hands raised.

Ellie feels her face flush, her body breaking into a cold sweat under her layers of clothing. The sound of I’ve been waiting so long dances through the air as the two of you stand there. You’re still, unmoving, waiting for her to say something.

“I just. . . “ Ellie looks anxiously at you, faltering. “I just don’t like to be touched.”

“That’s totally fine,” you insist. “I should’ve asked.”

Ellie waits for you to make a big deal of this. She waits for the prying questions and prodding but none come. Instead you’re giving her a warm smile and tilting your head to follow you.

“C’mon, let’s get started.”

Ellie seats herself at the drafting table in the center of the room with its two stools. For the next half hour  you take her through a quick overview on what you’re hoping to teach her; still life, landscapes, watercolor, oil painting, sculpture and more. You also encourage Ellie to tell you anything she wants to learn in particular.

“I always thought it would be cool to make a comic book,” she offers, sipping on her sweet tea refill.

“Oh that sounds fun!” you make a note of that in your sketchbook. “I see you brough a sketchbook with you. Mind if I take a look?”

“They’re not very good,” Ellie says shyly. She’s seen the work you have hanging around the studio. It seems like you’re good at every medium.

“I just sold a piece recently that wasn’t one I didn’t think was very good,” you tell her honestly. “I think sometimes we don’t know the impact our imperfect work makes on other people. Plus if you were perfect then we wouldn’t be doing lessons, so hand it over, kid.”

You hold out your hand, fingers curling. Ellie smirks up at you before shoving the book into your waiting grasp. You open it up, looking through the variety of sketches. While her technique may be adequate you’re very impressed. There’s major talent here, just waiting to be nurtured.

“Is this Joel?”

“Yeah,” Ellie nods.  “He naps on the couch and that’s the best time to draw him. He hates sitting for me.”

You smile briefly, turning the page to a beautiful teenage girl with a shock of hair and large luminous eyes.

“Who’s this?”

“Sarah,” Ellie says, looking wounded as she stares down at the drawing.  You want to ask for more details but Ellie is flipping to the next page, showing you a horse from a farm.

“That’s from Uncle Tommy’s place last summer,” she explains. “He has a farm up here. His wife runs it.”

“Cool,” you say impressed. “I love animals.”

“Me too.”

For the rest of the lesson you bring out sheets of paper and graphite. You teach her proportions and she grasps it all so easily. You teach her smudging techniques and highlights and the direction of light. When three o’clock chimes in the grandfather clock out in the hallway you’re shocked.

“Damn that went by fast.”

“It really did,” Ellie says, looking up at you from her latest work. It’s a sketch of that same horse, the proportions coming along much better now.

“You know when I look at this art I can see the feeling behind it,” you tell her. “I can see the love you have for animals.”

Ellie listens, nodding.  You see the graphite on the end of her nose and hold yourself back from rubbing it off.

“Art is kind of magic that way. Plus, it’s like therapy when feelings get too big. You ever have that, El? Where the feelings are so big words aren’t enough?”

Ellie thinks of Riley and the twist she’s had in her stomach since they met.

“Yeah.”

“When you feel big feelings its best to get it out on the page,” you tell her as you begin to set up the canvas. “So your homework this week is to take any big feelings and put ‘em to paper. I don’t care if it’s sketching, painting, collage. You do what works and then if you don’t mind, I’d like to see it next lesson.”

Ellie beams. “Yeah, okay, awesome.”

///

Frank goes over the books a few days later, his mouth curled to one side in concentration. It’s been a very profitable month for the gallery. You dropped off that big canvas earlier in the week and it’s like nothing you’ve ever done.  He hopes you’ll make more.

But he’s been so busy he hasn’t had time to go to the coffee shop which means he hasn’t been able to see Bill since the day he came in to help with the AC.  Frank is convinced he can still smell Bill’s shampoo in the air some days, even though it’s impossible.

Frank is so focused he doesn’t even notice the hulking figure in front of him until he clears his throat. Frank glances up from his computer to see Bill standing there, his shirt tucked into his jeans and his large hand holding a to-go coffee cup from Frank’s favorite coffee shop.

“Bill,” Frank’s voice is a cracked choke. “W-what are you doing here?”

“Haven’t seen you around the coffee shop lately,” Billy replies. Frank watches as the man places the coffee cup in front of him. “Thought you might be avoiding me.”

“What?” Frank’s eyes are saucers. “F- no, no of course not. I’ve just been so busy this month.”

“Ah, okay.”

Frank feels a flush start on his cheekbones. He takes the coffee into his hands, praying they don’t shake. Bill brought him coffee? What does this mean? The two man stand in awkward silence together.

“Your friend was at the coffee shop today,” Bill announces out of nowhere, his voice almost tentative.

“Which friend?”

“The loud one you’re usually with.”

You.

Frank holds in a groan, terrified to know what’s going to happen next. Either Bill is going to be horrified and think Frank sent you over there to scout things out or he’s going to be a very straight man who’s deeply offended.

“I don’t know what she said, but I apolog-“

“She said you wanted to ask me out to dinner the last time I was here.”

Silence. Frank feels his face turning beet red the longer that it stretches on.

He’s going to fucking kill you.

It’s not like over the phone where he could just hang up and then avoid his favorite coffee shop.  Bill is standing there, big and broad and his eyes so beautiful waiting for an answer. There’s only one choice; total honesty.

“Uh. Yeah. I-I did. As a thank you for all you did.”

Bill blinks slowly, his light eyes trailing over Frank’s face for a full moment.

“So you just wanna take me to dinner ‘cuz of the repairs.”

His voice sounds even, almost resigned like he was expecting that. Frank knows this is his last chance. He could pretend like it was just that – just a kind offer of friendship, a thank you for his repair work.

But he doesn’t want that. He wants more.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Bill seems to be gauging something before his brows rise and fall.

“Huh.”

Frank feels a strange curl of his lip begin, amused at the man’s monosyllabic yet thought-heavy response. He doesn’t seem offended, doesn’t seem disgusted. But he doesn’t seem over the moon either. It makes Frank lick his lips nervously.

“So you wanna go out then?”

“Pardon?”

“Wanna go on a date? Dinner?” Now it’s Bill’s turn to look rosy in the face. His eyes are on the desk Frank stands behind. “If you want, I mean. Maybe you changed your-“

“No.”

Bill’s face goes slack. “No. Right, of course. Forget I asked.”

He goes to turn but Frank throws himself over the desk, a heavy hand on Bill’s shoulder before the man can walk away.

“No! I mean, like, yes! As in no, I didn’t change my mind, so yes I want to go on a date with you.”

Frank winces as he hears his frantic voice echo in the gallery. He sounds and looks insane. He removes his fist from where it clutches at Bill’s shoulder and feels immense relief when Bill turns back, his light eyes filled with quiet mirth.

“You always this articulate?”

He steps towards Frank, allowing the taller man to slide back onto the other side of the desk, cheeks burning fiercely. Despite everything Frank laughs, a real genuine laugh that has his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“I’m normally better, I swear.”

“Guess I’ll have to see for myself on Saturday night.”

It hangs there between them, like a melody. Frank feels his mouth curve into an even wider grin, his heart hammering in the best possible way. He feels electric, like every neuron in his body is shooting off fireworks.

“Pick me up here at eight.”

“How about six? I’m an old man that works early the next day.”

“Let’s compromise and say seven.”

“Seven works.”

“Alright then.”

Bill takes one last look at Frank before touching his fingers to his forehead, giving a gentle mock-salute. Frank watches him lumber to the front of the gallery, heading out. He gives one last wave to Frank as he exits, a smile on his face as he walks by the window and down the street.

Frank collapses into the stool next to him, his body weak with excitement. When the excited tremors abate he tugs the cellphone from his pocket, quickly composing a message to you.

         [1:04pm] You fucking bitch. I love you.

///

Ellie is trying to think of a big feeling to channel into her art that weekend when she hears her name being called. Riley is striding up the walk, a smile on her face. She’s wearing shorts and a neon crop top that reads sunshine, fireflies, summer in looping script.

“Hey Riley.”

“Hey Lee.”

“Lee?” Ellie wrinkles her nose at this.

“Ellie. Lee. Get it?” Riley balances against the porch railing smiling at her. “I figured since you don’t have a Texas accent I needed to give you a better nickname.”

Ellie grins. “Got it.”

Ellie catches herself staring at the girl and tears her eyes away, looking at the scuff of her sneakers instead.

“So hot out today.”

“Yeah,” Ellie concedes. It is warm out today, in a sticky, oppressive way.

“You wanna go swimming with me?”

Ellie immediately feels her body tighten. She glances at her long sleeves and thinks about the murky waves. She shakes her head, swallowing.

“Nah.”

Riley seems to take this personally because she starts backing up.

“No worries. Maybe next time."

Ellie realizes her faux pas too late. Riley has taken Ellie’s shyness for rudeness. She should have told Riley the truth; that she can’t swim. That she doesn’t want her body exposed. But the taller girl is already striding down the driveway on her long legs.

Don’t leave. I want to keep talking to you.

“Bye Riley,” Ellie finally manages to croak out.

“See ya, Lee.”

Riley casts a polite smile over her shoulder, her smile gone before Ellie watches her jog off in the direction of her home. Ellie watches the girl leave, feeling a crushing disappointment somewhere beneath her ribs. She fumes silently before pushing into her house, slamming the door behind her.

“Woah, what’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” Ellie replies sullenly. Joel goes to ask more but she’s already padding over to the couch, her sketchbook tightly held in her grip.

You said to draw in moments like this. To make her feelings come out on the page.

“Tough day,” Joel comments.

“Nah. Just… nothing,” Ellie finishes, not raising her eyes. Joel watches his daughter draw furiously, knowing better than to invade her space. His eyes lift to your window, surprised to see you in the studio tiding it up.  He drags his eyes away, feeling like a creep staring at you.

“Making sandwiches, you want one?”

Ellie gives a grunt of response, her eyes fixed on the sketchbook. Joel whips them both up a turkey on rye and plops some chips onto a plate, bringing it over to Ellie who takes it gratefully with a quick thank you. Joel plops into the easy chair on the other side of the room, crunching on some chips as Ellie digs into her lunch.

“Haven’t seen you drawin’ like that in a while,” Joel comments.

“Neighbor told me to draw when my feelings feel big.”

“Good advice,” Joel nods. He watches Ellie’s eyes go distant and he wishes he could know what she’s thinking.  “She a good teacher then?”

“Yeah, I like her.”

“Good.”

Joel is pleased to hear this. Happy to know his daughter is being taken care of, that she’s happy. After so much misery he hopes that she can be as happy as possible with him.

“She said you were hot,” Ellie comments around her sandwich out of nowhere. “Told me when we were driving the other day.”

Joel tries to hide the pleased smile behind his sandwich, but Ellie sees it all the same

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (01)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: Teen (series will be explicit) Words: 1500 Summary: The Ghoul takes a bounty and you might be lost

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Wanted: Alive and Unharmed

The Ghoul runs his thumb over the picture - a woman, pretty enough but who knew what liberties the artist might have taken. It wasn’t uncommon to find people had some glaringly obvious deformity that no one had seen fit to mention to him before setting him on his tasks. Hunchbacks, missing limbs, hell he’d had a job once for a man whose only resemblance to the reward poster was that they were missing an eye. 

They’d been missing two by the time he’d drug them back to town.

In this case, he wouldn’t be surprised if the woman in question here turned out to be a damn sight less appealing than the picture made her out to be. But he was less intrigued by her hypothetical beauty than he was by the number beneath the image.

Reward: 5000 caps 

It was an absurd amount of money, enough to keep him in chem for years. Not that that mattered - chem was simple enough to come by if you knew where to look for it and procuring caps had never been an issue for him. No, the lure lay in the sheer amount - and that caution… alive and unharmed.

“What the hell did this one do?” he asks the woman putting the poster up with a frown.

“Ran away,” she replies with a shrug. “Boss wants her back.”

One of those then.

“This for real?” he taps at the number.

“Boss wants her back bad.”

He nods, pulling the poster off the wall and gesturing to the woman. “You can leave off, I’ll get her.”

“You?” she blinks at him then glances at the wall of bounties. “You sure this is the one you want?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s just… boss is real picky - not a scratch on her.”

“Then not a scratch will be.”

The woman shrugs and moves along, tucking the papers under her arm. He doesn’t think she’ll listen to him, but if it keeps her from putting up more signs today it’ll give him a head start.

Tearing the reward amount off he stares at the picture with a frown, studying the woman’s face. She reminds him of someone, not that he could quite put his finger on it. Something in the eyes though…

He grunts, folding the poster and tucking it into his saddlebag. He’ll figure it out when he finds her, and he will find her. He always does. Practically wasn’t fun anymore.

The bounty itself was being offered by someone he didn’t recognize, a warlord calling himself Nero down at what used to be the Stateline - when there were still states to have lines. Probably got himself holed up in a casino like those assholes out in New Vegas.

Sliding his palm down the hilt of his pistol he glances up at the sun. Plenty of daylight left, enough time to ask a few questions, see if anyone had seen her.

“Move it.”

Someone shoves into his shoulder but the Ghoul barely spares the man a glance, turning on his heel and striding across the creaking boardwalk and down into the street. He might oughta consider supplies too, he doesn’t need much to survive on but he does need a bit.

“Someone should take care of those fucking vermin.”

Pausing in the street, he turns to look back, eyeing the man from under the brim of his hat. “What was that?”

“You heard me, asshole,” the idiot continues, oblivious to the idea that these could be his last words.

The Ghoul considers his options. He could shoot the man, easy enough. Wouldn’t take but a second and then another minute to roll the body and see what he had. Would cause a bit of a ruckus though, and he wasn’t inclined to spend his time in what might pass for a lockup round here if the locals took offense to it.

That did leave the more amusing option.

He turns slowly, one hand pushing back the corner of his coat to rest on his hip, the other arm hanging loose at his side. “Seems to me you might be having a bit of trouble with what we used to call ‘courtesy,’” He moves in the man’s direction, slowly rising up the small set of stairs until they’re eye to eye. The other man flinches and the Ghoul suppresses a smile. “Now, would you like to try that again?”

“I s-said-”

The Ghoul doesn’t give him a chance to finish, striking as quick as a cobra with thumb and forefinger. The man chokes but the Ghoul doesn’t let go, pulling on the tongue until the man’s knees buckle.

“Now I think you were properly warned about the consequences,” with his free hand he pulls his knife, rusty and with a patina of grime from Lord only knew where. “So I can’t help but wonder if you might enjoy this.”

“Thowwy!” the man’s neck arches back, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “M’thowwy!”

The Ghoul hums to himself, hovering the blade over the man’s tongue. “We’ll see. Tell me, you seen this girl?” He digs the poster out, knife flashing dangerously close to the man’s eyes.

“Oh.”

“No?” He cocks his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Then I reckon you ain’t of much use to me are you?”

“Oth.”

“What was that?”

“Oth! Oth!” The man points and the Ghoul glances that way. South, fair enough.

“When?”

“Unnu.”

“Unnu?”

“Unno. Unno.”

“You don’t know,” the Ghoul finishes for him, still not letting his tongue go. “Then how, pray tell, do you know where she’s going?”

The man fumbles in his pocket, yanking a poster out that matches the one the Ghoul has in his hand. He takes it with a thoughtful frown, noting the scrawled words on it.

“South to Mexico, eh?” he asks, making a point of enunciating the soft ‘x’. “You going after her?”

The man nods and the Ghoul squeezes tighter until the man squeals, a mumbled series of what could pass for no’s grunting out of him.

“Good.” With a final nod the Ghoul lets the man’s tongue go. But there’s no chance for a sigh of relief before he turns his knife and slices the top of the man’s ear off.

“What the fuck?”

Grinning, the Ghoul slips the bloody cartilage between his lips, savoring the taste of fresh blood. “Something to remember your manners by, boy.”

☢ ☢ ☢

“Man, it’s hot,” you pant softly, resting both hands on your knees as you squint off into the distance. The short sage brush offers little protection from the late afternoon sun, and the trees with their spiky little leaves weren’t much help either. They had a dumb name - like Steven bushes. Something like that.

“I tell you Steven,” you huff conversationally, “days like today make a girl think leaving home wasn’t the best idea.”

The tree didn’t respond, which was probably for the best.

There are hills in the distance, maybe mountains? It’s really hard to tell how far away they are. You had been hoping to get to them before the sun went down but that was beginning to look less and less likely.

And that horned skull you’d seen a while back was starting to feel more and more ominous.

Letting out a sigh you set off again, doing your best to conserve energy. You try to keep to the hard packed earth, avoiding the sandy spots and looking for stones where you can find them. Anything that would make you more difficult to track. 

And someone was tracking you, you were certain of it. The Emperor wasn’t going to let you go just because you’d run off. With any luck he’d search down closer to Baja, you’d laid enough trail that direction even a blind man could find it. But there was no harm in being careful.

A hop takes you from one stone to another, your boots slipping slightly on the nearly smooth rock. Something skitters and you freeze, glancing around to find the source. It takes a moment for your eyes to pick it out - a lizard, maybe a foot long, the same sandy brown color as the rocks. It puffs its neck out and tilts its head at you curiously. 

“Nice lizard?” you ask cautiously. Keeping your eyes on it you move sideways, waiting to see if it’s going to spit poison or open its mouth to reveal inch long fangs. It puffs its neck out once more, mouth opening and a soft chirp comes forth.

Breathing a sigh of relief you watch it skitter a few feet away from you, turning sideways and cocking its head once more. Only this time, when it puffs its neck and opens its mouth a deafening roar sounds instead.

That did not come from that lizard.

Nor, in fact, do you want to know where it came from. It’s enough to know that whatever made that noise exists. Deciding speed is more important than caution, you take off running, aiming for the only thing in the distance that gives any semblance of hope.

It’s only as you’re climbing, heart beating in your throat, that it occurs to you that things that roar might also be able to climb.

☢ ☢ ☢

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