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why did i eat with that cassian series. i just read the whole thing. i’m proud of myself and thank you all for reading and leaving such lovely comments. I think i felt very shy about it so i didn’t interact much but i just read a bunch of the comments back and they are SO sweet.

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ok 27 August 2024 REAL TALK and LIFE UPDATE i ain’t been around fanfictioning like i was in the past .

but i’m sure everyone’s lives have changed over the last year and a bit so i am not That sorry you kno?

i am good. i hope everyone, both mutuals and non mutuals, are well <33

i have an observation and it goes as follows:

i thought that the tens of millions of words of fanfiction i have read over my lifetime + the several thousands of words of fanfiction i have written was as close as i was personally going to get to experiencing unconditional love with a partner +/- that it just didn’t exist.

but it do exist?

and i thought the way that ppl wrote abt these fictional ppl, especially in the Dude From Media x Reader sphere must be incredibly unrealistic in terms of how much a guy could be devoted to and in love with their partner. turns out. not particularly unrealistic.

met a dude. fell in love. he says he won’t leave me and that he wants to take care of me and i’m trying to take that at face value. + he respects me and loves that I’m smart and also calls me cute little nicknames and shit. and he has these big brown eyes and long dark eyelashes it’s crazy. IT’S CRAZY. HES FINE AS HELL he’s so broad shouldered and beefy. and such a wonderful person.

around the time I met him I sorta stopped reading fanfic and i was like hmmm what gives.

i realised fanfiction was an outlet and an escape for me when i was struggling a lot in life with uni + when i was extremely lonely. and i had just graduated and also met my bf.

and as strange and sad as it is to lose some of my connection to communities i love, it’s nice not to be struggling or bone crushingly lonely.

fanfiction is different for everyone and what it gives us is different for everyone and for me that is what it has been in my life so far! who’s to say what it will become!

SO who knows if the writing bug will ever return to me ? i hope it does in some capacity!!! but for now ,,, lots of love and byeeee see u round x

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i’m gonna marry this man

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i always scoff at those posts reels tiktoks etc that r like “i love to hang out w my boyfriend and my brain shuts off and he just tells me where to go and what to do” and i’m like oh come on people why r you infantilising urselves

i still scoff at the wording, and that’s not how i experience it, but i DO understand like.. the gift of having a partner you trust completely and feel incredibly safe around. like my brain is a lot quieter now i know i’m not the only person that’s concerned with my safety when i’m out and about.

like right now, i have someone that is stronger than me who has expressed love for me and a desire to take care of me and keep me safe if necessary and my brain loves that and i was not expecting her to.

[okdeedee]

CHAPPELL ROAN | makeup by @donni.davy

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y’all expose yourselves and take this fanfic test i was just forced to by an irl so now i’m making you too

[okdeedee]

choices

Summary: Joel is dying. He reflects on the choices he made.

Word count: ~2.2k

Relationship(s): Joel & Sarah, Joel & Ellie, Joel & Tommy

Warnings: spoilers for tlou part 2, a whole lot of grief and love, descriptions of violence and injuries and death, confusion, trauma, written in like two hours and edited only lightly, not my usual writing style

A/N: Hello, remember when just this morning I said no golf on this page? I lied a little bit. We're going golfing in this one, but I think the fact that I can write about this without having a breakdown means the big ball of grief in my chest is easing just a little. Maybe that's silly, considering he is Not Real. But it is what it is. I don't expect many of you to read this lil fic but if you do, know I love you and appreciate you. I would love to hear anything you have to say. Thank you for reading <3

“What if she’s still alive, Tommy?”

Tommy’s head snaps in his brother’s direction, Joel still waiting to receive medical attention.

It's warm. The weather is nice. He can hear crickets chirping in the grass. Feels like a fucking crime.

Pandamonium, everywhere, still, in the triage center; but between the two of them it’s quiet, the whole world far away. It has to be, with Sarah’s blood still on his hands, the feeling of her little hands clawing at his bicep still wasping over his skin.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, Joel?”

“S—” Her name gets caught up in his throat, wads up against the back of his tongue and sticks it to the roof of his mouth. That first letter is sour and anxious, a bitter candy in the maw of his grief.

Daughter, child, baby.

His baby, warm in his arms, her blood threading through his fingers, life draining away.

All he could do was watch and watch and try to stop that horrible red.

He had looked away for one second, and she’d left. Gone.

Two days ago, her body cooled in his arms. Two days ago, he had to close her eyes forever with trembling fingers. He hadn’t been able to look into them again, and would forever be missing that color, trying to remember it, match it to some shade that would never be right, never be her.

“Sarah,” he manages and clears his throat.

Tommy is the one that wants him to get looked at. Because Joel can’t tell if something is wrong or not, from running and falling and being shot at. He doesn’t feel fucking anything, just numbness, just the pull of his skin too tight against his organs and bones. Just a pulsing dark hole, raw and torn at the edges.

Part of him got ripped out when she—

Where had he put it all before, he wonders, all that love? His body isn’t big enough for it. And it certainly ain’t big enough for this much grief.

“What if she was still alive? When we buried her. I want to check.”

Grief.

It will bend over backwards just to look you in the eyes. Denial of its gaze will break even the best of them.

Joel looks away, sees a daughter that might claw free of the fate she suffered.

The memories are sunbursts behind his eyes, blinding and impossible to look at, but not something he could ever forget. Cradling her to his chest, can’t leave her behind, bury her at least, put her bones to rest, but what if she’s alive? Are they sure she was dead? Maybe she’d just passed out?

Tommy shifts, looks away, across the emergency tents and the families still hoping to find a loved one, everyone wondering what the fuck was going on as night falls again, another day in this new world. Forever changed.

He doesn’t need his brother to say it, that she isn’t alive, that Joel had held her and felt for a pulse for hours afterwards, intermittently pressing fingers to neck just to be sure. He doesn’t need Tommy to tell him that even if she had been, they’d buried her two days ago, and she certainly was now.

A wave of grief pulses through his chest again. That’s the only time the numbness abates, just those little moments where love washed away too soon, overpowers.

“Joel—”

Joel isn’t listening. He’s thinking of blue eyes opening six feet under the ground, inhaling dirt, panicking, confused about how she ended up there, suffocating, and Joel had been the one to put her there.

A new wave of emotion passes over Tommy’s face.

“She was gone.” His hand lands on his shoulder.

Little brother who he’d always looked out for and played third parent to, or maybe he was just the second.

“You’re right,” Joel nods, his throat constricts again, glassy pearl of grief swelling against his skin until it feels like it might burst. “I know.” His voice cracks right up the middle.

Joel still hasn’t washed her blood from his fingers, it feels like the last moment of loss, the very last thing he can hold onto.

He still believes in the world, then. That he can hold onto for a second.

And then, him and Tommy are at the border to a quarantine zone a few days after that. Joel still has his kid’s blood staining his t-shirt. Someone checked him out at the triage center, and wiped away the blood before he could stop them, told him he sprained his shoulder.

How did that happen? And did it matter, if he couldn’t feel it at all? He doesn’t feel pain or hunger or anything else, just wave after wave of grief. He doesn’t even feel angry.

But then they’re there, truck confiscated, in the processing center to the Austin QZ, with backpacks and the clothes on their back and a promise that they’d be able to get a letter to his mother when he is waved in and Tommy is not.

Then, the anger sets in and the world changes in his mind and he sees it for what it has become. The thing that took Sarah and wrought hell and wanted to take more.

It would not happen again.

He argues with the officers and gets angry, the kind of angry that used to follow him before Sarah arrived and mellowed him out. They won’t hear sense, even though taking Tommy would be the same as taking Joel. They have most of the same skills. His brother is better than him, anyhow.

But maybe that’s the problem. Similar skills and one with ideals.

“It’s all right, Joel, I’ll figure somethin’ else out. I’ll head to Arlington.” He never would have let that happen, not then, not at that moment, but if he had, he knows he never would have seen Tommy again.

He’s on the knife’s edge of being restrained when he walks back through the gate to his brother’s side.

It’s a relief.

Not again.

They never find their mother; they never get to send a letter.

He makes the choice for them, even though Tommy tells him to go on. “They wouldn’t have me now, anyhow. We’re better off this way.”

Joel doesn’t hear any arguments and eventually Tommy stops trying.

It’s the same kind of change that would bloom dangerous and righteous in St. Mary’s twenty odd years later. The same kind of relief when he finally finished his terrible task, choice made, crisis averted, for the time being.

Tommy came to resent Joel for the choices he tried to make for both of them, so it’s no wonder Ellie would one day, too.

When Joel dies, when he’s dying, when he’s being beaten to death, and his mind finally parts from his body and the pain fades—he thinks of that moment, Tommy staring at him through that fence.

He thinks of Sarah, her tiny frame in his arms, the way she was so small when she died and when she was born. So fragile against his chest, baby hair like yellow fluff, both times.

He thinks of Ellie, smiling at him, fearlessly leaping from great heights and scaring him half to death, thinks of dinners together before everything went to hell, thinks of hats on dinosaurs, books about space read aloud, the desperate clawing, asking to stay close when he could feel her slipping away.

He thinks of Tess, how she wanted to lie low and take a break, after. He thinks of that bite on her neck and the sprawl of her broken body on a chilled marble floor.

Joel never got enough time with anyone.

Reviled, always, for what he would do for them.

And still he would do it again and again and again.

The nine iron comes down on his shoulder, the reverberation of it echoing through his body, the vast cavernous, cancerous space of it. Pinging off ribs and around the blackened, singed accordion of his lungs, sluggishly billowing open and closed, like the end of a song he never knew how to sing.

What kind of hell did he end up in? Inflicted with a beating he can no longer feel; slow; the end long overdue.

A merciful one, maybe.

A deserved one, maybe.

But it is the end.

Violent, like it should be. Like it had been for so many others. The way he had made it for so many others.

Sarah, bleeding in his arms. Her eyes blank and unseeing and the fear that he had buried his blood before her time, that somewhere in the earth she still writhed. Undeniable, then, that it was his fault.

Ellie, machete raised above her head, bringing it down, over and over, blood on her face and then crying in his arms. He would never be able to say what he said to her then to soothe her, his skin frozen cold against hers, sweaty and tacky with fear and adrenaline.

The fire had felt much hotter than it was against the cold, her body fitted into the cradle of his. She was so little against him. Just a kid. He would be, and was, sorry about that for the rest of his life. What she had endured alone, that she had had to save him.

Again.

The point of no return, a fate sealed in blood.

Tried to deny it, even after he decided to take her to the university. Muttered promises he had to fulfill, or else.

Or else, he’d lose what little of his soul he might have left.

Well, I’m not leaving here without you.

With Sarah’s picture in his pocket, he had kept that promise.

He cracks an eye open, and there she is.

Maybe he should wonder why she’s there, be afraid that she is. But all he is, is glad.

See you around.

A promise to try her hand at forgiving him, and here she is, trying.

Ellie's voice.

He wishes he could hear her. She’s looking at him, and that’s fine. He misses her and wishes he would have said that.

Joel blinks, once, slowly, the image of her flickers. The little girl that hadn’t wanted to go anywhere with him, had wanted to stay with her friend Marlene, the leader of the Fireflies. He sees the child Tess had looked him in the eye over and said look, I get it and nothing else, because what else was there to say? Tess knew about Sarah, and Tess knew him.

Terribly transparent, a horrific liar.

He feels the weight of her in his arms through the thin cotton of that hospital gown and then the warm press of her palms shoving him away. All the heaviness of his sins, the break of teeth against untruth, the hard skin of lies. He hears the wracking sobs, the betrayal. A flare of real pain accompanies it, washes cold like a wave across a shore.

And still, he’d do it again.

If he had to, and even if he didn’t. Because it matters. Ellie matters.

The pit of love inside him, that saving, healing, mellowing thing that shouted in colors of grief and made him smile again, play the guitar again and sing again, that made him miss in a way that stung a little less.

Her grave, without a marker.

Dirt on a little body that they couldn’t even put in a pine box. Tommy crying, Joel silent. He’d done his howling.

When Ellie pushed him away, held him at arms length and decided she hated him for the choice he made for her, even if no one was going to have one either way, there hadn’t been howling, either.

There was nothing to mourn after all.

She lives, she breathes. She is safe and has other people to support her.

He wondered, after, when they got back to Jackson and she stopped talking to him, if all that love had only ever gone one way, choked in an artery that spilled out onto the wrong avenue, like everything inside him had been built backward.

Maybe she stopped caring about him, but there had been love there once, and that’s all someone like him could ever hope for.

Just a split second, of being enough, of being the right thing at the right time and making the right decision in the right way.

He sees the decisions lined up, like glass bottles on a wall, like he was a kid with a BB gun. Sarah and Tommy and Tess and Ellie. Maybe if he’d done one thing different or everything different, things would have ended up different and better.

Maybe they would have all gotten to make the choices they really deserve.

He blinks again and the little girl is gone, replaced with the woman she grew into. The one he’s proud of and keeps tabs on, because that’s his kid and that’s what a parent does.

There are tears, and he can hear her a little. Her voice is breaking. He wants to tell her it’s okay.

That’s what he does, tries to do anyway, make sure everyone and everything is okay. He did that, too, even when she didn’t know it. Made sure she came home and got enough and listened with pride when people said she was doing well.

But this is the end and the executioner’s blade is raised high.

Joel twitches, reaching, fingers curling, wants to say it, but he can’t. His own blood pools cold and sticky beneath his head.

He's tired.

He’s sorry that she has to see.

Sorry that it takes him so long to die.

He doesn't regret anything.

He would do it all over again.

Thanks for reading if you got this far 💕 Would love to know what you think!

[okdeedee]

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Frankie is in his early 40's, around 42/43, Jude is in her late 30's, around 37/38. Jude has mid-length hair - other than that, I've tried to keep Jude as a blank canvas in terms of ethnicity/eye & hair colour. This is so you can imagine yourself as Jude, if you'd like to. If I miss anything, please kindly let me know. Images are for aesthetic purposes only, no direct reference to Jude.

Word Count: 120K - give or take... it's novel length. 👀

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

WARNINGS/TRIGGERS: Survival/mentions & descriptions of a plane crash/death/drowning/starvation/dehydration/malnourishment/injury/sickness & illness/depression/PTSD/drug use/drug addiction/mentions of loss/sorrow/angst/brief mention of miscarriage/bleeding/blood loss/cheating spouse - I promise it's not all doom & gloom.

EXPLICIT: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral both M & F receiving/hand job/masturbation - all the good stuff.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: This is a story I wrote a long time ago, and have re-edited for Frankie. It's a story I have poured a lot of love into, and probably one of my favourite things I've ever written. I really hope you enjoy Frankie & Jude's story. 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

This will probably be around 50 chapters. I'll add as I upload. New chapters will be added on a Sunday starting mid January 2024 - Please ensure you're following me and switch on notifications so you don't miss out on this story.

MAIN MASTERLIST

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We've seen Pedro Pascal in a sling. What the heck happened to him?

DIEGO LUNA | 75th Emmy Awards red carpet (2024)

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Super duper long Andor post bc it’s Diego Luna’s birthday today and Faye Marsay’s tomorrow!

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I want to share this thot that peaks its head up every Tuesday and Friday now and then.

I love audio erotica (ironic since I have misophonia, but idk what to tell you.) and because I live in the Pedro Pascal Pit every thot comes back to him.

Mr. Din "bedroom voice" Djarin as an erotic audio creator, Modern AU.

He takes lots of odd jobs, sure, but things have gotten even more out there since the pandemic. Everything was remote and he had to find some new jobs when others shut down. Cue the erotic audio business.

He likes the anonymity of it. It's something he can do in between other jobs and he finds he enjoys creating the scenes and stories to go along with them. He's flattered by the response he gets and becomes comfortable with the mic, his voice, and his favorite toy.

Where the reader comes in could go two ways:

From the beginning meet-cute, where Din frequents their place of business (I was leaning towards a cafe.) to use their free wifi. He writes a lot of scripts there; the ambience and good coffee helps.

There's something about the handsome regular, something that's familiar about him when he places his order, that you can't put your finger on, until it's just you and him in the shop and you can overhear his phone convo clearly. This is the most you've heard him talk and after he says a couple of certain words it hits you: he sounds just like your favorite erotic audio creator.

Idk how it would develop from there, but I really like the idea of that shocking moment of "I'm pretty sure the hot regular is the same guy whose voice I get off to regularly."

The other way it could go is with an already established relationship where I don't have to worry about how it happened, cos it just did.

You know about Din's audio side job, and you like to listen to his audios when he's off doing even more jobs that take him out of town.

You talk about them together and even pitch him scenario ideas sometimes.

Then he offers for you to help him with the Foley work (to get a more authentic experience for the listener of course).

(Yes, "overheard" audios and audios with partners are a thing, but I like the idea of this restriction more.)

Basically it's Din narrating the scene and using your body to create the accompanying sounds, but you have to stay quiet so your voice doesn't end up on the recording.

Just like, all his focus and attention on you. His eyes watching your every move, but he has to keep near the microphone so it picks up his voice in just the way he likes. He has to keep a certain distance, even when his hands hold you close and his cock is buried deep inside you. 🥴

[okdeedee]

sweet child o' mine | masterlist

neighbor!joel x f!reader | ao3 | playlist

joel miller has lived next door - since forever. you've been a pain in his ass - since forever. one drunken night changes everything - forever.

please check out individual chapter content warnings before reading!!! this series features adult content and themes which may be triggering.

series warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), unplanned pregnancy, discussion of a car accident & dead parents, emotional cheating & some minor/one major instance of physical cheating, smut, angst, fluff.

main series

pt. i

pt. ii

pt. iii

pt. iv

[okdeedee]

help the miles tellerification of my Late January 2023 is NOT ideal

(know that i am not 21 now. i just went on a date with a 31 year old at 21.)

36 vs early-mid 20s is technically not the most age appropriate but it sure is more appropriate than the crush i have on pedro pascal.

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my bingo card did not have a miles teller moment on it .. kind of slay but ummmm yeah . are we surprised? another man with dark hair and very kind big brown eyes. seems i have no more criteria.