#am feeling pretty bitter rn

[o0o0thorn0o0o]

I wish I could have but even a fraction of Orihime’s imagination… Couldn’t think of anything better than Ichigo being a secret agent, haha.

Wanted to post one final thing before my break, and I guess I wanted a soft sketch or something which then turned into a mini-comic of sorts. Speaking of break…:

It’s time for my (planned ^^;) annual month-long break. Feels so soon since my three-month…hiatus, but ah, what can I do?

I’ll still be here, like last year, but not as frequently and won’t be posting much of my own work if at all. Nothing digital, that’s for sure. Again, tryna take a break from my iPad for better habits and focus on other stuff rn. Maybe traditional sketches, but I said that last year, and how’d that turn out? Eheh…

[mars-ipan]

experiencing any level of joint pain for longer than a day or two has only reinforced my belief that ppl with chronic pain are actually the strongest motherfuckers on the goddamn planet

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (3) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

//

it’s been almost three weeks since you last saw him. 

so, when you walk into the clinic, flushed cheeks and tucked-in hair and all—yoongi’s first thought catches him off guard. 

oh, i missed you. 

your absence crept into him slowly over the past few weeks. it filled in all the small gaps of his days with a quiet ache he had never noticed until now. it’s weird to say the least. 

when you spot him, a small and hesitant smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. yoongi smiles back, fuller than you expected. it’s still a casual smile but his eyes tell all. 

"hey," you say, voice soft as you approach him.

your fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap of your bag. he notices and reaches over to take your bag. 

you let him. 

"hey."

he tries to sound professional, though he knows he’s already failing. his voice is laced with excitement and nervousness. "let’s head to an exam room, yeah?"

then, he gestures down the hallway, and you follow.

as you two walk, you clear your throat. 

“where is everyone?”

“nam joon and jin have an online doctor's conference so they’re in jin’s office. hobi has a patient, jimin’s his nurse, and taehyung’s on his lunch break.” yoongi answers you like he reviewed for this. 

“and jungkook?”

yoongi blinks at you before placing his hand on your lower back and guiding you through the 3rd door to the left. 

is it bad he wants to be dismissive? is it bad that he’s a little annoyed you’re asking about jungkook while literally in the midst of finding out if you’re pregnant with his child?

doesn’t matter.

yoongi is mature. he answers you patiently—only really annoying himself.

“he’s my rn. told him my patient requested a private exam so he’s on a break too.” 

the room’s quiet when you two step inside. just the soft hum of the vent and the door shutting fills the silence. yoongi helps you sit on the exam bed. you don’t say anything, letting the crinkling paper under you shift as you settle in. yoongi gathers his supplies, his eyes darting toward you between movements.

“so... how’ve you been?” he asks, rolling up his sleeves. 

it feels like such a weak question. like it’s too small for all the things yoongi actually wants to say (because it is).

“fine. a little... tired, i guess?” you forces a tiny laugh. “and you? how’s work been? the space is really well done. i think the last time i saw it was during the final renovation process.”

“it’s nice, isn’t it?” yoongi states pridefully. 

“aren’t you into interior design? i’m gonna guess you controlled the overall aesthetic.” 

yoongi chuckles at you lightly. “we decorated a gingerbread house together once 2 years ago and you can never let that little discovery go, huh?” 

you stick your tongue out at him and swing your feet. “you’re pretty obvious with things you like.”

yoongi stares at you, eyebrows lifting in quiet surprise. 

you’re pretty obvious with things you like. 

your words hang in the air, sinking into him with a weight he hadn’t expected—he hadn’t prepared for.  he tries to play it off, mouth twitching into a half-smile, but he can feel his face warming.

there’s a small silence, and he can feel his heart picking up speed. his brain racing through all the ways he’s been maybe—not-so-subtle.

the way he leans a little closer when you talk.

how he remembers every little thing you mention— stupid things like how you prefer your coffee bitter. 

it hits him all at once.

he’s not fooling anyone. 

but for some reason; he hopes to fool you. even if it’s just a little while longer. as complicated as it sounds, he isn’t sure how much more risk he can put your friendship at. 

his throat tightens, and he clears it.

“...guess i am,” he murmurs, unable to hide the quiet honesty in his voice.

you stay quiet.

a little unsure if your friendship always had these silent gaps in between or if it’s because of the tension between you two right now. you attempt once more. 

“so… work?”

“work? oh… it’s the same, mostly.” he shrugs, tying a tourniquet around your arm. his fingers brush your skin for just a second longer than necessary. “though it’s nice to have an interesting case now and then,” he teases, his lips quirking up just slightly. 

“oh, so i’m interesting now?” you tease, trying for lightness. although, your voice shakes a little.

you hope he doesn’t notice. 

he does. 

“well... always have been, if i’m honest,” yoongi snickers. “blood test first and then we’ll do a urine sample. i can have the blood test result by tomorrow.”

“okay,” you say as you shut your eyes.

yoongi then slips a needle into your vein with practiced ease. once you feel the pinch, you flutter your eyes open. 

they meet yoongi’s and for a fleeting moment—he feels his chest tighten. 

as the vial fills with blood, yoongi realizes this is the closest you two have been in weeks. 

there’s something unspoken about it but very understood when he reaches for your free hand and squeezes it. you gulp and offer him a small smile. 

when it’s over, yoongi gently places a bandage on your arm. his fingers brush your skin again, lingering just a (another) second too long before he steps back.

"all done," he says softly, but he knows they’re only just beginning. “ready to pee in a cup?”

“more than ever.” 

with that, he laughs and takes your hand. yoongi helps you down and reaches for the sample cup. his arms wrap around your waist ever so gently as he guides you out of the exam room and into the washroom. 

yoongi waits for you outside the washroom door.

yoongi watches you pace, the linoleum tiles squeaking under your sneakers. 

"it only takes a few minutes," he says, tapping the test strip on the countertop, trying to sound as calm as he can. you’re nodding, but your hands are twisting the hem of your shirt. 

the clock ticks away the longest three minutes of your lives.

yoongi's eyes dart between the test and the silent tension builds up between you and him. when he glances at you, you’re staring at the counter. 

like you’re bracing yourself. 

like you already know. 

then, the lines appear. 

yoongi’s throat tightens, fingers hovering over the little strip with too much gravity for its size. his throat feels dry and suddenly he’s all out of words. he’s speechless as the results speak for themselves. 

but then, he can feel your eyes on him—waiting, hopeful, and terrified all at once.

“___,” yoongi breathes. “it’s positive.”

a moment passes.

"oh my god,” you choke. “hyemi is gonna lose her shit."

yoongi drives you home. 

he takes the rest of the day off actually. he excuses himself and lets jungkook know something came up. no one catches you two leaving the clinic together. 

now, here you two are. 

sitting in his car, parked outside your family home. the weight of the news hangs in the air. it’s not heavy—but it’s not exactly light. it’s… different. it’s more good than bad—actually, it’s not bad at all.

both of you sit there, still processing the reality of it all. 

“i want whatever you want,” yoongi finally says, breaking the stillness. his gaze is focused on you, sincere and adoring. 

you nod, accepting his words. 

“this is what i want,” you say simply. though your voice trembles with a mix of excitement and disbelief—you mean it. “look, i know my baby fever is batshit crazy and the whole time we fucked i was literally such a freak, but this—this is so precious, you know? new life. are you fucking—oops, sorry baby—” you pat your stomach.

“yoongi, this is ours.”

you shift something in yoongi. 

his heart flutters at the word. 

ours. 

it plunges his heart and engraves itself; ours. 

there is no other way to act or feel. 

the thought of being a dad feels surreal. it’s like something out of a dream. he’s always wanted to have a family.

okay, fine.

is the status of their relationship ideal? no. but the reality of a baby, their baby, makes his heart race.

and so what if he isn’t prepared? so what if this wasn’t what he expected? so what if a first date would’ve been a better idea? the questions flood his mind, but they quickly fade as he looks at the way you look at him. 

hopeful. 

excited. 

scared shitless. 

joyous. 

the joy on your face igniting something deep within him. 

he wants this too. 

even if it feels overwhelming. even if it isn’t ideal. even if it means navigating through a literal lifetime with you from here on out.

yoongi’s gaze softens.

“we’re doing this... together. this is ours.”

“together,” you echo, a wide grin spreading across your face. your eyes tear up from all the emotions and the rushing feeling of relief. with soft tone, you murmur; “ours.”

you two look at each other, unable to read one another. all you know is that this isn’t as scary as you thought it’d be. yoongi’s eyes are kind and the way he reaches to squeeze your upper thigh makes you feel safe.

“you know what? i’ll be the first to say it,” yoongi laughs. “congratulations, mama.” 

your eyes widen and you burst into laughter. 

your laugh fills his car, bright and full of life. you can’t help but to lean in and wrap your arms around him. you hold him tight. he holds you tighter. 

when you pull away, you two lock eyes. 

the air feels thick with anticipation. yoongi’s heart races as his eyes shift from yours to your lips then back to you. you’re looking at him with an expression mixed of excitement and vulnerability. he can’t help but admire the way the light catches in your gaze.

time seems to slow as you two hold each other’s stare. both of you are caught in the moment.

for a heartbeat, it’s just you and yoongi.

two people on the brink of something new and beautiful. yoongi leans in a fraction, drawn by an invisible thread, while you tilts your head slightly. your lips part and the urge to close the distance grows stronger. 

but you blink. 

and yoongi hesitates. 

the tension cuts. 

you pull away first and sit back. yoongi clears his throat and does a double take. then, he thinks; fuck it. 

he leans over and unbuckles your seatbelt. 

“should i walk you to your door—”

“no, no,” you insist. “yes, i’m pregnant with your child… but we don’t have to act like—”

“act like what?” yoongi huffs. “am i not allowed to care for you?”

you shrug. 

"___, you're literally carrying my child—"

“you know what? i’ll be in touch regarding child support,” you tease, a mischievous glint in her eyes. with that, you open the car door and step out. 

yoongi rolls his eyes. 

“you’re ridiculous,” he replies, shaking his head but unable to suppress the smile spreading across his face. then, he unbuckles his seatbelt and jogs around the car. he shuts the car door for you. 

you give him a look. 

he mimics it. 

then, you scrunch your nose and accept what’s happening.

yoongi walks beside you, fingertips lingering and all. he tells you that he’ll let you know what the blood work says tomorrow. he tells you to let him know if you need anything and not to worry about anything health related as, in his words; “no discussion needed. i got it.”

all you do is nod and try your best to stop your heart from fluttering so much.

[thelastofhyde]

the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 12.9k

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

read on ao3. series masterlist. next chapter.

Distaste is not new in the life of Joel Miller.

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

If anything, he’s made himself more empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel's unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. As if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the German Shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

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

Frank is quick to shush him.

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

There you sit, parallel to him.

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

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

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

“You, sit. No one should have to clean up the food they made.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To envy a creature that licks its own shit off its ass is a new low for Joel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With you as its protector.

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

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

But I could keep you safe.

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

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

He never imagined her working in a bank.

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

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

But you weren’t smiling.

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

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

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

“-Could fix it, you know. I’m good with my hands.”

He almost chokes on his own breath.

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

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

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

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

“Your watch, it’s broken.”

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

You pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. Confusion.

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

“I don’t keep it for the time.”

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

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

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

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

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

Nature falls silent.

Skies grow dull.

You juggle sadness.

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

Joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-N’t tell me you’re a virgin.

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

A protest rings true in his head and his ears.

Was gonna say. Knew you were young, but not that young.

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

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

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

Neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“Not much to miss?! Sweet Christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” He’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken Tess. Each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. There’s no need to bother opening his eyes, Joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “I’d give up a hand for some head!”

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

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

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“It bores me!”

“It bores you!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does so, regardless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re the one to blame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

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

You take up no space of this room.

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t like you, Joel.

Those words stop him from trying.

He tells himself it’s for the best.

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

The refrigerator.

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

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

She never lived long enough to get either.

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

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

Beneath the light, you shrug. “Could ask you the same thing, Texas.”

He curses Tess for teaching you such a nickname.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t like you, Joel.

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

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

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

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

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

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

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

You may leave your marks emotionally, but Joel’s will always be physical.

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

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

He scoffs, “I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not one bit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s his turn to respond with a hum.

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

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

Even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“No, unlike you I don’t care what you think about-” Joel tugs on your hair once more.

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

“You’re hurting me,” you whine, Joel growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t specify.

He doesn’t need to.

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

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

You say nothing. Joel pulls harder.

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

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

“Who said anything about an offer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe in, you breathe out.

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

Inhale, exhale.

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

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

Where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

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

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

In and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

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

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

His fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he does the same.

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

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

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

“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever- Oh!”

A tongue meets skin.

The knife clatters onto the counter.

You lurch forward.

His hand pulls you back.

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

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

‘Could keep ya satisfied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a perfect excuse you are, for Joel to remaster the arts of lust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, the oven door is made of glass.

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

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

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

“D’ya touch yourself, Sol?” You don’t answer him, but that’s okay. In a sweet change of pace, Joel Miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “Yeah, bet ya do. Late at night, right? Once you’re all alone in bed. Ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hears you before he sees you.

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

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

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

So instead, it sends you.

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

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

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

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

“No worries!” You’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. He can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “Oh, actually, that’s why I came out here, I was looking for Tess-” Of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “Hold on!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he tries again, louder.

“Why don’t ya like me?”

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

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

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

"Answer the damn question, girl.”

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

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

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

Joel says nothing.

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

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

“A dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

His feet remain glued to the ground.

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

“She ain’t my-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t like you, Joel.

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

Till then, he needs to find a dress.

[knavesflames]

halloooooo !! I’m not sure if requests are open but if they’re not it’s okay if you don’t write this. I wanted to ask if you could write an Arlecchino x reader (fluff, can be fic or headcanons or anythint) where reader is insecure about her face ? Like they don’t think they’re pretty enough bc of their friends and stuff. Thank you !! Take your time and have a nice day <3

I needed something like this rn so I’m almost glad it took so long for me to get to (though I am sorry, i have been so busy) a lil hard to be positive right now but i tried my best!!

Word count: 707

Contents: fluff, insecure reader

UTC!

Your friends are beautiful, handsome. They truly are. Your girlfriend, Arlecchino, is stunning too. It seems everyone around you has the perfect face, looks utterly amazing. You find yourself admiring them whenever you’re around them. Yet, you, yourself, are not any of those things. Not in your own mind. You can’t even look at yourself in the mirror, at least, not recently. You find your eyes burning with hot tears the second you catch a glimpse, and you find yourself growing bitter at the sight of anyone who doesn���t look like you. At least before it got so bad you could joke about how you wanted to be them, and now jealousy has given way to hatred, even if they’ve done nothing wrong.

It isn’t like Arlecchino hasn’t noticed, either. The way your makeup mirror has been flipped around so you don’t have to see yourself, or the way you purposely avoid looking towards any reflective surface, even during intimate activities. And if we’re honest, Arlecchino loves to make you look at yourself while you’re coming undone because of her, except her recent advances have been met with a firm ‘no’.

She can’t figure out why you suddenly began acting like this. Any mention of either your frame or your face turns you angry and silent, with your fists clenching. You aren’t angry really though, you’re just sad. Sad you won’t ever look like the people you wish you could look like. Devastated at the thought that Arlecchino will one day see sense and leave you for one of them. The thought of that hurts you so much you begin distancing yourself from her, too. Arlecchino, at first, is confused. She, for the life of her, cannot understand any of this. Yet, the day comes where you can’t even bring yourself to look at her while she speaks to you, and she can’t seem to keep herself quiet anymore.

“Look at me,” she snaps. She tries not to lose her temper with you, not when she knows there’s a clear reason why you’re acting the way you’re acting, but you’re not saying anything, you won’t even look at her.

You feel your own jaw setting, all of your negative feelings bubbling up for no reason. Unfortunately this time, she seems to be the target. “Or what, you’ll leave me for someone prettier?”

Arlecchino doesn’t flinch, but her expression, the one that’s usually so graceful and emotionless, crumples into a frown of pure disbelief and confusion. Her voice this time comes out as a quiet hiss. “What? You doubt my affection for you after all this time? Is that what this is about?”

When you go to argue back, and your voice breaks into a cry, she softens as much as someone like Arlecchino can soften. “I see,” she murmurs, sitting down next to you. Her hand softly lands on your knee, squeezing it gently. “This again, is it? I have told you countless times—“

“It doesn’t help. I still feel this way.” Your attempt at a venomous response does nothing but highlight how you’re feeling, the exact opposite effect you wanted. Still, you sniffle, your hands curled in on themselves as you talk. “No words will help that I want to rip off my own skin because it feels like I am the ugliest creature to ever walk the earth, or that I feel like I have been created for the universe to be amused at my torment.”

“Yet to me, you are a creature full of beauty and grace. You are wonderful, your face is, too. Do you not think I would have left if I wanted to?” Your response to her words is silence. Unfortunately for your brain, she has a point. She could leave in a heartbeat, you couldn’t stop her if you pleaded. She stays, though. Doesn’t that say enough?

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you are a descendant of a goddess. So, how dare you speak about yourself in that way? I did not fall for your friends, or some girl on the street. I demand nothing but the best for myself, and that is exactly what I have. Next time you feel this way, you come to me.”

[just-jordie-things]

Hiiiii I love all your writing sooo much !!!!!!!!! Pls can you do No.26 with Yuta I am so obsessed with him rn..... the brainrot is too much

i'm obsessed w/ jealous kisses in party settings 26: Jealous Kiss **aged up characters!!** **cw: yuuta calls you a slut but it's in a hot way. also it's not full smut but this is smutty asf. i got quite carried away. this shit is delicious. ___

yuuta is so friendly. it was something that had attracted you to him when you first met, the way he'd gotten you both lost in conversation like you'd been old friends, how polite he was, you were drawn to him right away.

but you're realizing now that you were not the only recipient of this kindness.

"you're gonna break that cup"

you jolt from your frozen stupor, turning to look at yuuji, before looking down at the red plastic cup in your hands. it crinkled in your grip, parts of it jutting out at sharp angles that could snap the plastic if you kept it in the vice of your hand.

"oh" you mumble to yourself, relaxing your grip, before throwing back the drink and swallowing the bitter alcohol hard.

yuuji's eyes widened in astonishment at your bold displeasure. he'd come over to you because you were hanging out by yourself, and this was a party, so he thought he'd come keep you company. but as soon as he was within a few feet of you, he could practically feel rage emanating off of you in thick waves.

"you uh... you okay?" he asked as your jaw locked up, your teeth gritting together roughly.

you turned towards the pink haired boy again, your features brightening as you gave him a pleasant smile along with your attention. but the smile didn't reach your eyes. they remained hard, an anger buried in them that yuuji didn't understand but was frightened by.

"course i am," you say, your tone as chipper as your fraudulent smile. "it's a party"

you take another swig of your drink, yuuji's eyes following the jerky movement with concern.

"you just seem, uh, a little upset," he says, raising a hand to the back of his neck nervously. "did something hap-"

"you wanna dance with me?" you ask him suddenly, before he can finish his question.

he blinks, eyes wide in surprise, but yuuji's a good friend, and he supposes his intentions when he came over to you had been to make sure you were having a good time, so he nods back at you with a smile.

not needing more confirmation than that, you grab him by the hand and drag him into the living room where the music is the loudest.

coincidentally, you strut right past yuuta and whoever the chick was that he was talking to. you don't pay him any attention as you brush right past him, towing yuuji behind you, right on display.

you do, however, feel his eyes follow you as you walk off. they burn into the back of your head, but the sensation fades away quickly. you assume the glare is being targeted at your new dance partner, now.

yuuji's fun to dance with. you're kind of surprised when it turns out he actually has a sense of rhythym, and he also seems to know all the songs blasting through the speakers, singing along with glee while he twirls you under his arm and spins you around.

you've never really let loose like this, but your jealousy had mixed beautifully with the alcohol in your system and dancing seemed to be just what your body needed.

your hands run up your body, into your hair, throwing it to the top of your head before letting it fall as the beat you're feeling yourself to drops, and you even find yourself singing along with yuuji.

and poor yuuji, he thinks he's doing you a service with his company. he'd just thought you were bored at a party, and as a good friend was happy to dance with you if that's how you wanted to enjoy your time. he has no idea that when you press the front of your body into his and throw your arms around his neck that you're pretty much putting a mark on him. he thinks you're enjoying yourself! he thinks you're feeling the wonderful music of shakira as you grin up at him and roll your hips from side to side.

sure maybe he should have found the sensual move a little out of character for you, but it's shakira! and he can't argue that hips don't lie is a beat you just have to roll your body in tune with. so sure, he's matching your movements with his hands on your waist.

but his intentions are nothing but respectful! and honestly, yuuji's having genuine fun with you. he's never seen you so carefree before, you were always the reserved upperclassman he'd honestly been a little afraid of when he first met you. like maki, there was a confidence about you that told him you could be a force to be reckoned with. so to him, he was happy to get to know you better.

unbeknownst to him, yuuta was across the room with something buzzing through his bloodstream that he could only describe as violent. he didn't know yuuji all that well yet, but he didn't feel like he needed to know more than what he was seeing right now.

and right now, his girl was grinding her hips against yuuji's, while her hands carded through his undercut and then into the longer strands of pink hair.

when this little performance first began, yuuta tried to pay it no mind, and continue the conversation he'd been having with a girl from the kyoto school, but eventually his attention just couldn't be torn away from you, and he had to apologize to her before she walked off to the kitchen for another drink.

he'd remained glued to his spot at the wall with the other non-dancers and people trying to mingle, watching your every move as you danced with yuuji like you thought that was okay.

yuuta's not a possessive person- of course not! you weren't exactly his, perse, but he knew you had to admit that the lingering touches and longing eye contact had meant something. he knew that you knew there was something more than friendship between you- and now here you were twirling yourself under yuuji's arm, and pressing your back to his chest.

his last straw should've snapped long before now, but the slow drag of your hips, and ass, against yuuji was just far too much, and yuuta's moving before he can think through what he's even going to do when he gets to you both.

you turn again, throwing your head back as you belt out your favorite line of the song, and you miss the way yuuji's face is flushed from just how loose you'd let yourself become, because over his shoulder you see the holder of the attention you really craved coming towards you in fast strides.

your eyes meet over yuuji's shoulder, and you slither your hand across the back of yuuji's shoulder blades just because yuuta's clearly watching you now, before you turn your focus back to your dance partner.

you give him a wide grin, taking note of his pink cheeks and nervous smile.

"thanks for dancing with me," you say, still rolling your hips to the beat. "but i'm parched, so i'm gonna go"

yuuji nods back at you, and you stand on the tips of your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek before heading off through the crowd. your eyes lock on yuuta's from across the room before you're heading for the stairs. he picks up his pace to follow you before you can escape from his sights.

the boy you left is standing still on the dance floor, completely lost by what had just happened, but hey, he wasn't complaining.

"you know you're gonna die, right?"

he jolts as he turns around, seeing maki behind him, nobara giggling under her arm.

"w-what?"

"yuuta's going to kiiil youuu~" nobara drunkenly sing-songs, sending maki into a fit of giggles too.

meanwhile, once you're upstairs, you're pushing into the first open door you can, finding yourself in the bathroom. you barely had time to catch your breath from your eager dancing before the door is swinging open again. not to your surprise, yuuta's entering the bathroom, too.

"yuuta!" you gasp in a mock-scolding tone, although a smirk of intrigue curls on your lips. "i could have been peeing!"

the door's shutting behind him with a swift kick of his foot and the loud slam make you jump a bit. however the slam of the door is nothing compared to your surprise when yuuta's towering over you, grabbing you by the waist in a fast, rough movement. your breath hitches in your throat, which is what makes you squeak when he's pressing you back against the sink's counter.

"what the hell was that?" he mutters in your face, and he's practically glowering down at you, but it's making you weak in the knees.

he's so close to you that your senses are flooded by him, the smell of his cologne and the rum on his breath wafting in your nose, and you have to fight to keep your eyes focused on his.

"what was what?" your voice lilts as you tease, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

it's safe to say he doesn't find it cute, or maybe he does. either way, he's lifting you by your hips and planting you on the counter, only to pull you close to it's edge. and either way, he's man handling you, and you're falling for it.

moving like it's second nature, you rest your arms around his shoulders. you want to run your hands in his hair, you want to grab him by his neck and kiss him fucking senseless, but you don't. you're too curious to see just how riled up you'd gotten him by dancing with yuuji, and so far you quite like where it's going.

"you know exactly what i'm fucking talking about" yuuta snaps back at you, his hands grabbing you by the thighs, tugging you again until you're chest to chest, your legs hooked at his hips.

you want to catch your breath, but you'd have to take in heavier breaths, and you don't want to give him the satisfaction of making you pant so easily.

"i don't think i do, yuu," you feign confusion as you peer up at him from under your lashes. "but you must've followed me for a reason"

you tilt your chin up at him as you present him with a sweet smile that he wants to wipe off your smug face.

his hands grip tight at your thighs in an attempt to channel his anger, but as he leans into you, only to stop before giving you what you wanted, he can't help but run them up your legs and back to your hips.

a small whimper dies in your throat as you try to tilt forward enough to kiss him, but one of his hands snatches you by the nape of your neck, drawing you back before you could be successful.

your brows furrow as you pout.

"you grind on yuuji and expect me to kiss you?"

you smirk up at him with pride.

"so you are jealous," you muse. "i wasn't so sure,"

yuuta's fingers twitch and flex against your waist.

"yuuta, i would've happily danced with you," you tell him, fluttering your lashes again, just to be a tease, just to remind him again of why he was really here. "but you were so busy with that girl, and yuuji was there, and, well, he was more than happy to keep me company-"

"if you don't stop fucking talking about itadori i swear to god (y/n) i'll-"

"you'll what?" you ask breathlessly, your eyes glittering with excitement, and mischief. your pupils are blown wide as you stare up at him, and goddamnit you're so pretty when you're acting so needy for him.

yuuta hates this game, he really, really does, but if he gave in to you this easily, how would you learn your lesson?

"so what, i talked to one person and you think it's okay to be act like a slut with the underclassmen?"

"you were being a slut first" you mumble back pathetically.

"well for the record, that girl was asking for maki's number. she's gay," yuuta tells you, and now your face feels hotter than before, because that little piece of information made this whole thing a little embarassing. maybe more than a little. "and while we're on that record, you're not allowed to dance like that with anyone. ever"

he mutters it into your ear, warm breath fanning over your neck in such a blissful sensation that you're shutting your eyes and rolling your head back lazily.

"okay" you breathe out, compliant to any instruction he had for you.

"and after this, you're not going to talk to itadori for the rest of the night" yuuta says, ghosting his lips over the side of your neck.

despite trying to keep some of your resolve, you can't keep your hands from grabbing his shoulders, gripping onto them for dear life.

"okay" you repeat, your chest rising and falling as you try desperately to catch your breath that you hadn't had control of since you'd gotten to this bathroom.

"you're going to stay right with me for the rest of the night, since clearly you need someone to keep an eye on you"

he punctuates his last rule by pressing his open mouth against the side of your throat, kissing and sucking at your skin slowly. you hum through a soft moan, feeling your heart beat in your ears at the new sensation.

when yuuta deems the mark on your neck warning enough to itadori and the rest of the party-goers that had watched your little display of a dance, he pulled away.

your hooded eyes meet his for only a moment before he's slamming his lips into yours. you both moan at the sudden impact, and your hands finally grab at his neck, pulling him further, further against you until your legs are crossed at the ankles around his hips, and he's making you lean back with how his tall stature towers over you.

between heated kiss you're panting for breath, moaning in pleasure as the tension that had been growing between you finally, finally snapped. one of his hands is tangled in your hair, keeping your lips firmly on his, not that you'd ever pull away from his intoxicating mouth, and the other is pushing up the hem of your shirt so that he can grip the bare skin of your hip.

he bites experimentally at your bottom lip, smiling to himself with satisfaction as you moan into his mouth, your hips stuttering up against his. he rolls his tongue over the now sensitive plump of your lip before he's pulling your hips into his again, grinding into you shamelessly.

"yuuta~" his name rolls off your tongue in a moan so pretty you have him whimpering into your mouth, before he's reaching to tilt your head back so he can deepen your kiss further.

yuuta licks his way into your mouth with abandon, dominating over yours before you could even try to return the favor. he maps out your mouth like he's a lost man, and when he pulls away, there's a lewd string of saliva connecting your mouths.

he takes a proper look at you now, at your rocking hips, your heaving chest, disheveled hair, swollen lips, and finally, when you open your eyes, he thinks your blown pupils and heavy eyelids have him at another loss of air.

you give him a lazy, drunken smile, before you're fisting the material of his shirt to pull him in close again. you prod your nose against his before giving him a long, slow kiss. your hands relax against his chest, before smoothing down his abdomen. you just barely ghost over the bulge in his pants before he's pulling out of your kiss and tugging you against him before your hands can wander further.

you pout up at him prettily, and he can't believe what he's about to say.

"not here," he mumbles into your mouth, before stealing a kiss. "later"

you whine into his mouth as you chase his lips before he could go too far. you're making it hard on him, that's for sure, but this whole thing started because you clearly get a kick out of making him suffer over you, so this shouldn't come as a surprise to him.

"we should go back," he sighs into your mouth, sloppy kissing you with his open mouth.

your hands are pulling at the hem of his shirt, before they explore the skin underneath. he's shuddering under your touch, and it takes a great effort to remind himself of why he can't hook up with you right here in this bathroom. who's house was his again?

your fingertips drag over every inch of his skin as you nibble playfully on his bottom lip. he hums in pleasure at the feeling, understanding now why you had seemed to like it so very much.

did he lock the door when he'd come in here?

"fuck- okay- we have to-" he tries to the best of his ability to pull his lips off of yours, but they're addicting. rum and cherry flavored, soft, hot. "baby- we have to go back"

you sigh in irritation, but ultimately give in as you lean back, your back hitting the mirror behind you. yuuta's also huffing as he begrudgingly pulls his hands off of your hips.

you look at each other for a minute, taking in the other's swollen mouth and blown pupils. you both know if you leave the bathroom like this, everyone will know exactly what happened.

(you forget that the love bite he'd left on your neck is damning evidence enough)

your legs are shaky when you finally slide off the counter, but yuuta's arm is a firm presence around your hips as he pulls you out of the bathroom, keeping you completely tucked against his side.

it seems all of your peers' eyes are on you as you both make your way down the stairs. the rest of the party is in full swing, but those who know the both of you follow your movements with wide eyes and open jaws.

you pay them no mind, whispering into yuuta's ear to let him know just how much you'd like to dance with him now. your lips brush his earlobe before you plant a kiss at the spot on his neck just underneath it. yuuta agrees to the offer instantaneously.

however unbeknownst to you, his eyes are focused on a certain pink haired boy that was staring right back at him.

yuuji swallowed nervously while yuuta let you press a sweet trail of kisses down his neck, blissfully unaware of yuuji's watchful eyes- you were blissfully unaware of anyone in the room. the younger boy could see the red and purple mark on your neck and he'd known exactly that it's purpose had been served as soon as he saw it.

he was quick to find megumi and leave the room to hang out in another part of the house. he was too afraid of the warning looks yuuta would send him while he danced with you.

but of course you were happily lost in the feeling yuuta's hands on your hips as he followed the push and flow of your body rocking to the beat.

and poor yuuji spent the rest of the night thinking he was hiding from yuuta, when in reality the two of you left that party after only one dance, feeling your tension would be better released in the privacy of your car. ____

a/n" y'all i got CARRRIED AWAYYY JESUSCHRIST also i can't write smut i'm too awkward at it but if anyone wants to make a smutty second part to this or their own smutty rendition of this PLS do and PLS tag me bc. like. i need it now. i had hips don't lie on repeat for so long while i wrote this bc it was just too good for the move and the tension.

xoxo ~ jordie

[adaptacy]

i am obsessing so hard over gale. like, i kid you not, i started out HATING him cause he was eating my artifacts and seemed completely useless in battle. but then i started a second playthru with my bf and i was like 'well im romancing astarion in my main so i GUESS i'll go for the other pretty boy'

....

it was the start of a very, very, very extreme brainrot fest.

so! as I learn more abt him (im in the shadow cursed lands rn, haven't had the sex scene with him yet so i dont know his character super well/im not super confident in portraying him) take this little snippet of wizard angst cause he needs a hug and i wanna give it to him :)

-------

“I reckon it’s sweet.” 

“Sweet?” 

“Sweet,” he clarified. “And smooth. Dare I say… simple. I must admit, I was somewhat befuddled with the absence of a necessity for complexities; you required no books, no training, no vexatious intricacies– it came naturally.” He remained fixated on a point off in the distance, perhaps watching the quiet rippling of the lake, just off the camp’s coast, undisturbed by the activity that usually stirred during the day. 

Peace was a mercy, and an uncommon one, but you felt it, here, with him. Like the eye of the hurricane that stalked you throughout Faerûn, the bloodshed and chaos that ruled your everyday life was far from absent, but it was silenced. Screams that echoed in your ears were muted, momentarily, granting you a glimpse of life before your adventure, before the hunt, before the cult, before the illithid’s influence. It would be short, but the fact that it occurred at all was a miracle. 

“Like wine.”

“Wine?” You chuckled, shifting a little closer, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulder, further warming you. 

“I predicted bitterness. A bite, or a sting. I’ve read stories about flavorful affections such as these. Stories. Can you believe it?”

“With how much reading you do? I can,” you hummed, resting your head against his side. 

“Tales, I believed them to be. I’ve seen love. Red love. Irascible, fractious love. Impotent, paralyzing love. Love like a raging sea. A love that I trusted. A fool I must’ve been.” There’s a short, woe-rooted chuckle that escapes him followed by a thin exhale out of necessity, out of defense. You knew who he was referencing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mention the name. “Any sane soul would regret it.”

“Do you not?”

“There’s little time in this life– certainly, it offers no such room for regrets. I’ve wasted too many moonrises pondering the past.” His fingers graze your arm, and you allow your eyes to fall closed. “Many a wondrous thing I’ve witnessed. More than a man of my caliber should deserve. In a single lifetime, I’ve experienced more than a library's worth of literature could possibly cover.” He smiles, you can hear it in his voice. “From a mage’s best dreams to a direwolf’s worst nightmares– I’m sure I, myself, couldn’t have asked for a more thorough tour of what this plane, and a few others, have to offer.” 

“And yet there’s more.” Your remark is a light-hearted one, as you are sure everyone will have more to reflect on the closer you get to the cure you seek. 

But he sighs. A quiet one, restraint tightening his lungs, and you feel unease. “Amongst it all, I have even discovered what I once argued impossible. Simplicity. A priceless simplicity.” This time, when his arm moves, it brings you closer. He craves the contact, the connection struck between you. “Simplicity in love, of all things.”

Your eyes open to find his gaze no longer on the quiet riverbank, and instead on you. There’s a bruise on his left eyebrow, and a cut on the bridge of his nose. He’s pretty, even with the wounds, but you know they sting. A part of you feels guilty for seeing such beauty in his suffering. Deep down you know there is no Gale without suffering. 

At a glance, that’s all there is; a bruise, a cut, and a solemn smile. An exchange of pity for one another. Even for yourselves. An agreement, silent but strong. 

On further investigation, his eyes hold an unnatural glisten. Only then does it register.

“Gale…”

“It’s what’s best.” You sit up slightly, but you’re met with a gentle hush, and his smile grows, the dimples on his cheeks fired by an unknown audacity. “I’ve come to accept it. It is the decider of my fate– it always has been.”

“There are other ways,” you push out the words, and you find the bite, the sting, that he mentioned. In love, you find the pain. 

“Never did I imagine the world outside my tower to hold such beauties. Such contagious fragility. There are no books on this subject. No studies on this exchange of power. What is a puppet to do when he loses his creator? His puppeteer? When he can no longer stand, no longer dance, no longer perform? When obeying is all he knows, what does he do without direction?” 

He doesn’t sit up, he doesn’t stir. He looks back out to the waters. For guidance, maybe. For peace. For life. You’re left with no choice but to settle with the tide. A hand comes to rest on the dark imprint below his neck, desperate to find answers where the weave fails. 

“I have found simplicity. And, perhaps, that is the final step. I never imagined growing old. I suppose it isn’t meant to be.” He breathes, and you can feel the steadiness of his lungs. He isn’t scared. You can only wonder how long he’s contemplated this decision. “You see me. You look past the strings, my love, but that doesn’t mean they don’t still linger. I am but a man; I am no hero, I am no god. But if your safety is the only accomplishment I ever succeed in, I will lie satisfied in my earthly rest.”

“A few more days,” you whisper, pleading. 

“I only ask of you one thing.” Gale inhales, his heart pumping against your palm, pressing closer to his skin, desperate to feel him, to feel more than the orb, to feel more than Mystra’s design. You find his humanity in the tear on his cheek, the hair on his chest, the irregular mock of his heart’s rhythm. You find his humanity in his love, in his hopeless compassion, in his unwavering loyalty. “Don’t let that damned vampire even think about touching me.” 

He chuckles, and you do too, pulling yourself into his chest, hugging him close. He repays the affection, lips on the top of your head, his every breath lingering on your scalp. The peace remains, but you fear this may be your last serving of merciful tranquility.

You only hope it isn’t Gale’s. 

[kerubimcrepin]

LIVEBLOG: Wakfu Season 4, Episode 7

Grandpa piss, being a part of the Remote Viewers Division doesn't prevent you from being a deadbeat. KILL him Eva.

What were YOU doing at the devil's sacrement, King [insert name here] Sheran-Sharm!

I love women who are tortured for an eternity and then die in some way that will not kill them in a way that matters #signaliscore posts

Man haha I wonder if this might be saying something about Yugo (and Joris, but that goes without saying on this blog)

I have seen people criticize this moment, but let me be the devil's advocate: after seeing years of fans saying that Flopin is the boring twin, or that Eva has no backstory, them getting a problem-causing grandpa is literally so good.

And I think I understand why Flopin did this, since he says himself that he actually feels like the boring twin... I understand why he felt like going with this man, to learn about this guild, and where he comes from.

[starts hacking up blood] you know what other duo of demigods in this franchise had a twin who felt like they were living in the shadow of their sibling and his wonderful white fur—- [is shot by animal control]

I loooove comparing all the characters in this show, because it's genuinely a good way to approach Krosmoz, since Tot likes exporing the same themes (immortality/family) over, and over, and over, and over. And what I can say rn is: man, having normal parents makes jealousy-based plots much more tame. Atcham went in a "I want to be great like you, so I need to end you, you don't care about me like I care about you anyway" direction instead of a "I want to be great like you, so I'm gonna leave and work on myself, and then we can stand side by side someday"

I do think he is going to hurt his sister in some major way with this decision and in the end it will be a bitter, or bittersweet memory <3 I believe in the power of toxicity <3

To elaborate on the thing I said about titles, Astra is the ruling queen (to be precise, she is the daughter of the king of Bonta who was mentioned in seasons 1-2 and OVAs, who seems to have passed away); while her wife is either queen-consort, or a princess-consort.

However, Wakfu kingdoms may have worse, weirder rules than real life about inheritance.

The reason I am not getting my panties in a twist about the same-sex aspect of this (besides me supporting toxic royal yuri + being against homophobia or whatever) is that this is a magical universe, idk. they could adopt or get magically pregnant. It's literally a non-issue for me. UNLIKE PEOPLE NOT UNDERSTANDING THE CONSORT SYSTEM AND—-

Joris is present in all the kingdoms as Yugo's emotional support mediator/ambassador, except for Brakmar. I assume they simply do not let this fucking man into their palace, and rightfully so. He's literally a Bontarian narc. He'd use that chance to steal documents or some shit.

Btw I find it so funny how he keeps the same neutrally haunted look.

If a Bonatrian political leader goes for a week without wanting to start genocide against a people who isn't into the main 12 gods, they start getting the shakes from withdrawal.

I imagine living for hundreds of years and experiencing unimaginable suffering would make one pretty averse to being bossed around by some random guy who was born into wealth and has not known a second of grief in their life.

I feel it is important to point out: Joris was the one who made sure the meeting with Astra happened. He also felt this was important enough to try and organize meetings with other kings and queens. This is a dangerous situation.

As always, absolutely nobody listened. Nobody ever listens.

As I was saying, I imagine living for hundreds of years and experiencing un—-

I think the fact that Joris went with them has to say something about him. Yes, it is probably his sense of responsibility — he doesn't exactly want bad things to happen...

But also it explicitly puts a wedge between him and the Bontarian government. He values Yugo more.

[tossball-stick]

personal kieran headcanons 😋

tagging: @aintan0driscollnomore

hiii im here to ramble about my kieran hcs. these r all my personal ones. i hope u enjoy :3

i am not gonna he/him this guy for the whole post so first things first to get it out of the way: i think shes trans!! yeah i think shes a trans woman who just hasnt realized yet. a long life of hardship has left her in a perpetual state of "im probably actually a woman but im going through life ruining trauma so i cant deal with that rn"

therefore....... i think her spending more time with the women is to be one of the girls. its the closest shes gotten, im sure, im sure its probably the first time shes even properly been around women, socially, in years, even.

i like to think her and bill eventually start warming up to each other. a shared history in the army makes her sympathetic towards him, to a degree. i can imagine her listening to him pour his heart and soul out about dutch and feel a little bad for him. especially the closer she gets to the ladies, the more of a safe space she has away from bill, should she desire. it works out.

before the vdl gang very rudely starved her, she was actually a little thick around the middle. in aus where shes allowed to eat reguluarly for a good while, i think she needs to fill back out

i think shes flat out lying about how significant her role with the o'driscolls was. i think she was actually pretty notable in the gang, maybe even being close to colm. other posts have explained this much better than i could dream to.

i also think she doesnt exactly hate outlaw life!! people often forget thst her time in the army "didnt end well," and that after the army she joined another gang that later abandoned her. she seems to lean towards gang life, as well as horse management. interesting!

while she actively pursues mary-beth for the most part, i think she has crushes on most of the other ladies. i think she'd even admit grimshaw is mighty pretty for her age, and that she'd be fooled to find out grimshaw was as old as she was.

very inexperienced with dating. just has never really been around women much, as i ssid before.

i think she has a bitter crush on arthur. gets all huffy about finding him handsome. maybe has asked him for a dance while drunk once. i like to think he obliged her but realistically i doubt it

i think "fishing" is moreso just an excuse to look out at nature and enjoy it, as well as an excuse to ride around on branwen, though dont get me wrong, i still think its one of the few connections she has left with her father.

i think in an ideal world sean would be her outlet to have the childhood she never quite got. based on their campfire interactions, despite the violence, they seem to think not poorly of each other. irish immigrants 🤝

i think shes a bit more cruel and tricksy than people give her credit for, but i dont think shes a horrible person or anything. shes done bad bad things. she doesnt feel good about much of it i imagine. i think her phrasing of "the o'driscolls gave me a choice: ride with them or die" as more along the lines of how the vdl gang members view dutch as having saved their life yknow. kiersn only went to the o'driscolls for food and safety to survive, otherwise she might not have had any.

i think she would tbh respect pearson!! she isnt sick of his navy stories like the rest of the vdl gang is, and the navy is highly respected amongst the rest of the military. i think she would humor him a little. plus, he feeds her. a+ in kierans book.

[kineticallyanywhere]

Matt "I can and will remind everyone that Link is REALLY wierd about Normal with like no real explination at this point" Arnold out here like "let me see if I can underminine my entire point in this character arc defining interaction" and I unironically love him for it Link is SUCH a messy b word rn

(this turned into a long response, let's talk Fascinating Character Flaws!)

I dont think it's so much that he's weird about Normal, if I'm understanding what you mean by 'weird', especially in this episode. I feel like it circles back to what I keep thinking about, which is his newest teen fact. the one where he-- does this count as poisoning? he made other children ill in a fit of jealousy for anyone having any time with his dads.

listen, I've had many homeschooled friends. At one point in college I was the "actually went to public school" member of the friend group. People can go in and out of homeschooling and be... not whatever the heck Link has going on. I was excited for him when that fact started, like, "oh he was part of a cohort!" until uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!

(the following are thoughts that I'm still developing in my head as I type and probably after I post)

whether it's due to the overprotective parenting or just Link's nature or a Symptom of a Condition (op has their own Condition but is not a psychologist) Link's got an issue with like. not getting what he wants? not usually in super obvious ways, it's not spelled out, he doesn't throw tantrums or anything. unless you count the thing at Normal about Normal not wanting to do "cool plans." and most of the time he doesn't want anything complicated, his wants have been pretty straight forward and in line with what anyone would want in these circumstances. he wants people to not die is the big major one, he wants to not feel betrayed again, he wants his friends to stop fighting, he wants to get this over with NOW. and he's been going through so much of not getting what he wants (COMPLETELY REASONABLE THINGS TO WANT, IN THIS CASE. TRAUMATIC THINGS TO NOT GET) that he seems to not know what he wants at all anymore.

like, his understanding of the world has been rocked so bad that he's pretty sure all those things I just listed just aren't things he can have. in the past whenever he needled his parents or acted out or did certain things he'd get what he wanted. not to say that he's spoiled but uh... okay yeah I am saying that a bit. but mostly in the ways that it keeps him from developing the coping mechanisms for when you ask something from life and it punches you in the teeth instead.

So in a world where he doesn't know how to get what he wants and maybe he isn't sure what he even can want, he's kinda just shutting down internally. In the mean time, he may as well make sure his friends get what they want, and then maybe at some point he'll want something again. so, in a way, what he wants is to feel and want something, so that "wants what he wants" part of him snapped out again at Normal with "well at least you're feeling something." in other words, "you have the thing that I want right now, and I'm gonna sound pretty bitter about not having it myself" which is an effed up thing to say when that thing he's having is a mental breakdown.

Link. Buddy. Bud. Kiddo. Pal. you need Help.

tl;dr and conclusion: imo for their mental health the party should split into Link & Taylor and Scary & Normal again for an episode or two. Norm and Scary for hopefully obvious reasons; and Link and Taylor because while Taylor is unquestionably a rich kid spoiled for material goods who is very good at wanting things, he is also a kid who's mom knows how to say "No. Absolutely Not. Give me the knife right now I don't care what seppuku is" and who's dad left an emotional void for over a decade that he is clearly adept in coping with and he could give Link some pointers.

also because it would be a cool callback and parallel to early episodes to do those pairs again. see how they've changed and stuff

[melodianaartist]

Okay so I watched the wicked movie and here are my thoughts just b/c I expressed some expectations on here before and I want to capture the feelings I have rn

The context for this is that I am a big fan of the musical and have seen it 3 times

Also I did not watch it in the OG English voice so I can only speak on the performances in song and body language really.

The movie really profited from the additional time tbh. Especially in the oz dust scene. In the stageplays I have seen it’s a very short moment, like less than a minute maybe before Glinda joins in and even then it’s kinda played for laughs because she imitates Elphie‘s much dorkier dance moves. This..god. The way it shows how anxious Elphie is/makes us look through her eyes. Her hiding her face in shame. And then the tenderness with which Glinda touches her and wipes away her tears. I got goosebumps.

I will say from what I got from the acting Erevo + Grande‘s performance of the girls is pretty innocent. Elphie feels more helpless for the majority of the movie than the more bitter and sarcastic vibes I got seeing it on stage. Likewise Glinda could have shown more loathing but maybe this comes from the German voices. I don‘t hate it, its just something I noticed, not necessarily negative though.

Speaking of acting. Ariana Grande really surprised me. Is as worried for her but she is really good. My jaw was on the floor at the very last part of popular. The growls! The energy! It’s there! Glinda is there and she is fun, thank god.

I can‘t articulate how and why but the opening sequence is so hype. But there is no heterosexual explanation for those shots of Elphie and Glinda from her memories. The two bathed in sunlight?? Also them looking each other in bed in popular.

The burning Elphie straw thing??? Oh my god???

Her flashback is interesting. Elphie was basically raised by animals, which explains her connection to them even more. Wish we had seen more of Jess’s but the flashback shows so much of the family dynamic.

In regards to Nessa, she remains firmly a side character but there a lot of little things that enrich her. How the Oz staff touches her and infantalizes her without consent. How she notices that Boq is looking at Glunda. How she wants a new start (which sucks for Elphaba but I can‘t fully blame Nessa either for wanting a social life). How she never steps in when Elphie is in trouble but Elphie doesn‘t even seem to expect it. How her father seems so so protective of her which leads to her not noticing Elphies struggle.. it’s good.

The constant hair toss from Glinda is amazing.

I‘m sold on the animals in general but not on dr dillamond. I think there is something to be said about how gorgeous the broadway costume(s) are and how it adds an extra sense of wrongness when dr. Dillamond starts making goat noises when it’s humans in costumes. But I get it, they are supposed to be animals and with movies you can actually have a talking goat. Do love how animals seem to be a part of Oz‘s world though. Their presence is much more felt and so the threat feels real.

I was expecting Dr.Morrible to act nice (at first obviously) but I didn’t expect her to be THAT nice. Like I was genuinely astonished. Also a theme of „malicious“ people touching our main cast without consent seems to be present because she literally had Elphies Face in her hands at some point.

I will never particularly like Boq (the trope of the yearning devoted loser guy pining for a popular girl obviously not into him is just lost on me) but they humanized him a lot by showing his perspective and also how nessa might have started to think how they are similar with not being able to see.

FIYERO. First of all I like that they show him having a friendship with the horse, it establishes him bedient in the side of animals. But also I have never seen a man dance this sluttily. Dancing through life was like a fever dream. I was half expecting him to start stripping.

I slightly dislike that elphaba was eaves dropping on dillamond and listening to something bad instead of beeing told as much. I mean yeah it’s nice to se either animals and the visuals were cool but I think it establishes their connection a bit more…the hoof holding was really cute though.

I vaguely remember a huge ass syringe beeing used on the cub in the stageplay?? They cut that out. Cowards./lh

Look I know it’s mostly CGI but the Emerald city was just so cool. It was just so grand. I grasped my friends hand when Idina and Kristin appeared. It was so good and I believe the prophecy was never mentioned in the musical but it makes sense that it‘s established because yeah huh why did they appear so readily.

I am and have always been a big fan of the oz head/mask especially on stage. This is nice too.

The monkeys gaining wings and the reveal that it was just not Chestiry who got them is one of my favorite moments ever in musical history cause it’s so horrible in the London production. This was kinda meh. Though I guess bonus for showing us why they work for the wizard at all.

Madam Morrible turning so quickly was really cool. Same with the wizard.

Oh yeah the wizard. He is just fun. Nothing outstanding but a good solid pathetic failwife idiot. Malicious puppy energy. I despise him.

Him handing her the figure for his glorified doll house and the doll house in general + it beeing green meaning he accepts her as she is (if she is of use to him) is good also.

The defining gravity sequence. Oh my god. It was insane. The emotions. Her jump. Her nearly falling to her death. Her inner child who was always ostracized becoming her broom with which she can fly?? I cried. The whole sequence was so so good. Her cloak flying in the wind. Madam Morrible immediately using the moment to her advantage. The feeling of freedom? The vocals??? I was feeling. After the movie ended I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach/pos. I was left reeling. It was so so good.

[fandoomrants]

Sooo, just a small comment on some of the things I loved in the finale of PJO.

There are obviously gonna be spoilers here soo...

-The fight between Percy and Ares!!! I loved the wave and now it was a subtle way of showing Poseidon was indeed beside him.

-The scenes between Percy and Luke!!! "Look, you didn't want to be a half-blood...". I loved the addition of these flashbacks of Luke teaching Percy to fight.

-Olympus! Omg, it was so pretty!!!

-Percy immediately being a total little shit with Zeus, I loved that!

-Poseidon showing up to protect Percy!

-Percy understanding only the word for "father" in Ancient Greek. He knows it because of Sally!

-"Ares is a moron."

-Overall the whole exchange between Percy and Poseidon. It really is a big step from him being all bitter and it was a bit corny but I liked it still.

-When Percy reveals Luke is the Lightning thief!

-Luke not fighting Percy at first. I have thoughts about the whole thing but I'll put them later on.

-Luke snapping for a moment and attacking Percy only after he mentions his father.

-Annabeth and her dagger!

-"Wait, your name is Percy!" And later "I don't think so", This was sooo hilarious. Especially when you think about how he initially tried to lie to him he's his dad. I'm pretty sure Dionysus knows his and everyone's name very well, he just likes being a jerk.

-"Some place called Disneyland", tbh, I feel like Annabeth won't be thrilled. I certainly wasn't and I was still am pretty childish as a kid.

-Grover's license!

-Their pact! That was so cute!

-"What did you dream of?" "Grandpa.". For a moment there I was like "What!? Are they tring to make it look like it was all a dream or that they're trying to make it as if Sally doesn't remember!?" but a moment later I was like "Nope, that's Percy Jackson, of course he'd refer to Kronos as his grandpa even tho he's his biggest enemy rn"

-Blue pancakes!

-When Percy and Sally were leaving the apartment, Percy's last narrative and the rain outside!

-The devastating moment when I thought we're not seeing Gabe turned into a statue but juuuust in case skipping the credits (call it a feeling or sth) and...

-GABE TURNING INTO A STATUE!!!! I'm honestly so happy! I'm not even mad Sally didn't do it as it was implied in the books. But she was divorcing him! I know he wasn't portrayed as bad as he was in the books in the TV show but I still believe he was emotionally abusing and he was still a jerk even tho it was toned down. Also, he was such an annoying, whiny bit-$(#..

...

That's all I can think of rn, even tho I believe there were other things too.

Now, I gotta admit I've read the book a looong time ago so I don't remember everything in great details but I noticed lots of the changes in the episode and throughout the whole season. I still enjoyed the show a lot, tho. Most of the changes made sense and like... Come on, it's an adaptation! And Rick Riordan was involved in the process so I believe he knew what he was doing with all these changes.

Tbh, I liked the first two episodes a lot, then idk, the third, maybe fourth too, were a tiiny bit meh to me but overall, I loved it and loved the last couple of episodes! I have mixed feelings for some things like them knowing about Medusa, the Lotus casino and other stuff but again, I trusted the process and it worked! It's only 8 episodes and there was a lot to happen there so I can see why these changes were needed. Figuring all out would have taken them a lot of time. Also, it was as much for new fans as it was for new ones so of course some things had to be made differently. For example, how the whole thing about who would betray Percy was done.

I've been watching lots of videos and posts of new fans who haven't read the books and I was cackling like an old hag at their assumptions how it was gonna be Grover or sth. And you just can't convince me that episode 7 and Annabeth getting caught by one of the roots wasn't with the exact purpose of making people think "Oh, they are friends now, what if it's her?" It was really well-played. And let's not forget how everyone was like "Luke! Babyboy, so precious." Can't wait to see everyone's reactions now... (Luke is still these things, even though he is "bad guy")

Speaking of Luke, again, haven't read the books in a while but I somewhat don't remember him and Percy being that close and being such good buddies. Idk, might need to read them again but even though I didn't mind that dynamic too much, I really thought this is more like how Luke and Annabeth should have been. I feel like we needed more interactions between them. Also, Luke speaks randomly about her twice, first telling Percy about her and calling her "my little sister" and then last episode giving that example with the spiders (nopee, I don't believe itt, she won't crush it, she'll scream and run unless it's a huge spider, then she'll fight it because of her bf) but she barely (if not ever) mentioned him? Yeah, she mentioned Thalia but almost nothing of Luke?? How are you gonna convince me that was her hero!? She should have been broken by his betrayal much more than Percy! Also, they kinda made Luke somewhat of a big softie, I thought it was because then his betrayal would have been more devastating but nope, there wasn't some kind of a 180° turn in his behaviour. Wonder why, to make him more relatable or? I want to see how his further actions are going to play out in this scenario...

Anywayy, all in all, I enjoyed the show a lot and I hope there is a next season. I want to see how the story will proceed on the screen (and I hope the changes we keep getting aren't anything too essential).

[godtier]

so i wasn't gonna make a separate post about this but @sapphire-weapon had a post (that i reblogged a few days ago) in which someone mentioned that they think it was a missed opportunity in RE6 for jake to not have spoken to wesker. i had a p long conversation with sirea about it and my thoughts about that sentiment, but it was also nearly 3 AM my time when that happened so i dunno if i was even articulating my thoughts properly lmao

and yes... this is technically a meta post and i know i said i was gonna do the mmx meta post first... but this one isn't gonna be nearly as long (i hope) and i gotta get the brainworms out before i die

(quick edit note: i reworded the list item below from saying he was "likely a drug addict" to "likely a recreational drug user" because i feel like that better encompasses what i'm trying to get across

(another edit note: i made another post regarding jake's usage of drugs that stemmed from this post! it's marked as mature bc of drug usage, so it won't show up in tag search. if you're interested in that, look here!)

so the idea that wesker being alive in OG RE6 would have brought an opportunity for jake's character is kinda, imo, antithetical to the purpose of jake's character in the first place.

when we meet jake, we know a few things about him, right off the bat:

he's a mercenary

he's likely a recreational drug user or at least heavy/risk-taking user

he doesn't give a fuck about anything but making money

his whole character journey is going from this selfish, money-focused dickhead to someone who actually cares about doing something good, just because it's the right thing to do. at the start, jake refuses to simply give his blood away when sherry mentions needing it for a vaccine. no, he wants a cash payout. 50 million dollery-doos for a pint of his blood. by the end, he lowers the price to a mere 50 dollars. one could argue that was symbolic and he actually didn't care if he was paid or not, but that's neither here nor there.

but why was he like this? because his childhood was shite; his mother was sickly, he had no father figure, and by 15-ish, jake had to learn how to hustle to keep food on the table. and by "hustle" i mean "do a bunch of mercenary work and killing people." and when shit went south with his little group of mercenaries (their entire group was sold out by a heel-turner), jake basically went "fuck alla y'all" and lost all sense of conviction or morals.

during the game, he expresses his bitterness for his father, wesker, pretty clearly. even though his mother still loved wesker, tried to raise jake to respect him despite never knowing him, it didn't matter to jake. he hated that guy. well, really, who doesn't?

we're not gonna talk about excella rn ok

jake's entire character arc is built up around this hatred as well as a subconscious fear of becoming his father. the fear part doesn't show up until later in the story, after he and sherry were captured by the Big Bad's organization. they were both experimented on for several months, during which jake overheard the researchers talking about his father, wesker. this gives jake a sort of "explanation" as to why he is the way he is; he takes the "nature" side of the nature vs nurture argument.

ofc sherry scolds his ass and basically tells him "grow up and take responsibility for your actions."

and here's the thing... this fear, narratively, works just fine without wesker being there.

(since this got obscenely long, pls continue below for the actual explanation lmao)

jake eventually comes to the conclusion that yeah no it's definitely up to him to not become wesker, not his genetics. he does this without wesker being there. that's the entire point of his character journey. in order for an interaction with wesker to even matter or have any sort of impact on jake's character arc, his character arc as a whole would need to change.

see, imo, wesker being there diminishes a lot of the power of that journey. in the game, he isn't there for jake to scream at, to question. all those thoughts in his head that might be circulating around, like why he left his mother, why he did what he did, etc, cannot be answered. this is not a bad thing in a character arc as this is shit that happens to people all the time. people don't always get the answers they may want from family members because those family members are dead. they have to learn to move on without those answers or they have to rely on people who knew that person to fill in the blanks. this is what jake already does in game. he has to rely on sherry, and by a smaller extent, chris, to fill in those blanks for him.

but we as players, observers of the narrative, already know the answers to some of those questions. why wesker did what he did, primarily. anything else is only pertinent to jake and him knowing those answers doesn't change anything for his character arc as it is.

if wesker was there in the game, what would that even add to jake's narrative? a scene where jake yells at his dad? asks him "why did you leave?" when wesker wasn't even aware that he had a kid in the first place? remember: wesker had no fucking idea that he had a child. there would be no reason for wesker to even believe jake in the first place. sure, there could be a scene where he goes "well i'll be damned, ig he really is my misfired chromosome," but... then what? what does that add?

you could argue that wesker could use jake, maybe try to manipulate him into doing shit for his plans, but... that wouldn't work with the way jake's characterization is mapped out. his entire characterization would have to change for this to work in a satisfying way.

jake already hates wesker without ever meeting him. he would not willingly participate in anything wesker offered to him. he already knows that wesker nearly destroyed the world multiple times and had a hand in destroying an entire city. even if jake has no moral compass at the start of the game, by the time he learns about what wesker really did, who he really was, he's already showing that he does have one, it was just dormant up until that point. he's clearly disgusted by what wesker did. what foothold would wesker have that wouldn't immediately result in it just falling flat?

given how wesker is, i could see him perhaps belittling jake, maybe saying "wow you suck for being my spawn," or something during a fight with the intent to rile him up. would that work? no, not narratively nor not in the way jake is characterized. again, jake doesn't want to be like wesker. why would insulting him and saying he's not "as good" as wesker expected him to be motivate jake or even anger him? it shouldn't, because jake doesn't want to be anything like wesker. if anything, it may annoy him, but that's kind of a lame reaction, right?

if anything, the most i could see culminating out of this would be jake standing over wesker after he's defeated again (because it's resident evil and obviously wesker can't win) and having a "wow idk what i was worried about" moment. that's it.

but he doesn't need that. having a scene like that cheapens the weight of him figuring that out himself, without wesker there as "proof."

because the point of his story, of his character arc, is that he figures that out on his own (and with the help of sherry and the events he witnesses) because he has to. he doesn't need wesker there to spoon-feed that to him. he figures that out by working with sherry, by seeing the effects of the C-Virus on everything that it infects. wesker being an abstract entity in his life is enough, because the frustration of not seeing him, not being able to put a bullet in his skull himself, fuels the rest of his journey.

this is where i think that people who make these observations or criticisms (primarily those who think that jake's character would have been improved if wesker was there) need to understand the difference between what's good for a character as a person and what's good for their arc.

interacting with wesker would be good for jake as a person, in that he would no longer need to wonder about it. the answers would be spelled out for him, and he wouldn't have to do any wondering about the what-if. he wouldn't have any doubts left that he'd need to untangle.

but in doing that, it cheapens his arc; it would do more of a disservice to it, imo, than anything else. it would make his journey more formulaic and boring.

it would also clutter up the already cluttered narrative of that game. you have him not only struggling with his heritage, struggling with the fear of becoming his father, struggling with needing to be the "savior" by giving his blood, struggling with his moral compass, but now also struggling with seeing his father for the first time in person?

it makes his arc top-heavy. in that scenario, you could easily replace him with another, completely new character who has zero ties to wesker and the story wouldn't change in any meaningful way. the reason why it works the way to does now is because wesker is already dead. it creates that internal conflict, that internal frustration, that jake has to learn how to deal with since he cannot take that frustration out on his father in-person. he has to make peace with that struggle in other ways.

now, that's not to say there aren't ways that adding wesker into the story of RE6 that don't disrupt that balance. primarily, when it comes to a potential RE6 remake, the writing team can (and hopefully will) rework aspects of the entire game to make the plot more streamlined. this could include adding wesker in and redoing jake's characterization and character arc entirely.

this would be the only way i could see it working out. if jake's entire motivation was changed, his entire backstory was tweaked, then wesker being around could probably work! an interaction between them could be made to make sense and not bog down the rest of the plot as a result.

sirea also mentioned to me in our conversation that adding wesker in to RE6 remake could actually help streamline the plot and i do agree with that. she mentioned that all of the main characters have a tie to wesker in some way, which is absolutely true. having him there would neatly tie their campaigns together in the plotline and make the game as a whole feel less disjointed and messy.

this is especially true when we consider there are 4 fuckin campaigns that all run alongside one another and intersect at random points. it gets so fucking difficult to page through and figure out when certain things happen in the plot. you'll see them happen in order in chris's campaign, for example, then you go start leon's campaign and have to start over again and try to remember what happened at the same time during chris's campaign and so on.

now imagine that not with just two campaigns but four. it gets gross quick. sure, there are parts where the characters run into each other and that helps ground a general timeline in your head, but as far as time elapsed... it's so fuckin hard u guise

there's a reason why it's so hard to summarize the plot of RE6. it's because there is just so much going on in that fucking game.

anyway, that's my rant/sort of meta analysis about why i think wesker didn't need to be in OG RE6 and probably would have made jake's entire arc stupider than it already was

[momocicerone]

has tumblr ruined me for discord?

so i am not very active here, but ... i'm not awfully active on discord either? and i've found it very hard to find new social circles on discord over the years. i've tried everything under the sun: fandom servers, friends servers, anime servers, gaming servers, girls only servers, support servers, chilling servers... nothing sticks.

fandom servers, they are usually big and .. um. no. just no. controversy and gatekeeping hub is not my place. friends servers: ppl get lives, and the chat dies, that simple. anime servers is fandom server on steroids, plus always a 15 year old creep trying to get in your pants (sometimes the 15 year old is 25. sometimes he's 35. it matters not, nor it makes any difference). gaming servers are, um first of all there is 1% game talk, 45% who wants to join for a game rn?? and 54% feet gifs and waifu sexy art.. i did not sing up for -- this is not what i,, . girls only servers are very good, very mindful very demure but also no vent rule and i'm sorry i'm a bitter bitch who needs to moan about my work sometimes. chilling servers are way too chill like hello anyone active??

there's an (imo) obscure type of server which is adult servers (hold up NOT adult as in XXX or anything like that but like, grown up people servers who chat about their jobs, hobbies, cats and spouses or lackthereof ）and i've joined a handful of them but i can tell you right now that 90% of them feel like high school. and i didn't even have that kind of high school experience growing up so it's kinda ironic witnessing these popularity contests and gossip happen in real time. I think i'm used to fandom hierarchy and BNFs and i understand the logic of people with talents who give for a community being popular so the whole... using pretty privilege to build up relationships is absolutely bizarre in my eyes. I am an adult, i do not understand other adults.

Needless to say I feel like 98% of the new relationships i managed to forge in the past years, since i joined discord in 2017, are desingenuine. Granted, almost every single one of them has fallen apart as expected.

I review my friendships and I realize the longest and most meaningful started here on tumblr and some of them on the fanfiction community, even when we have long lost our shared interests, the friendships remain intact, if no stronger.

perhaps what im trying to say is that through tumblr and writing we were able to accidentally find more alike people than by entering social settings which intended purpose is to make friends. is it because blogging to the void is infinitedly more personal and lets us show ourselves more? i've gotten in so much trouble because of my tumblr humor getting misunderstood in discord chats, i stopped making self deprecating jokes altogher. I am also kind of morbid, ngl, which i guess doesn't help my case.

am i just a weirdo in denial lmao?

i don't feel lonely, per se. I could catch up with a handful of people if i wasn't the lazy mf that i am. but i am bored. i am bored to death. to oblivion. and i refuse to engage in conversations with people with clearly disengenuine intentions, even if it's to entertain a joke.

will i ever meet another one who matches my energy, or learn to break that energy apart into moderate pieces that i can hand out of my friends?

[obligitory-fma-blog]

I watched the final Netflix adaptation of FMAB. Here’s some of my notes

- “Y’know, I don’t think he has any need for his dad.” Hoenhiem. Uhm you left him he kinda did for a while so idk why you’re being bitter now

- YOOOOO SIG AND IZUMIIIIII

- RAHHHH I LOVE THEM

- Okay the fighting is better this time, less choppy

- Izumi’s actress is ON POINT I LOVE HER

- “I was never much of a proper parent to either of those boys” Ya don’t say. (I’m not a Hoenhiem hater, but I am a Hoenhiem critic.)

- “Maybe you should’ve told them goodbye and talked to them before leaving. Maybe then their grief wouldn’t have taken over.” SAY IT IZUMI

- “I reorganized your insides lol” Hoenhiem you could tell Izumi before you did that?? Creepy man.

- Still didn’t use the music from the original :(

- Okay Ed should be covered in blood after falling into it but he isn’t, just his head bandage. Wtf is up with that??

- GIRLIE I CANT WITH ENVY RN WTF

- WTF IS THE CGI OF THE HUMANS ON HIS MANE (?)

- EW IT GOT WORSE

- Okay how tf did envy knock them onto a stone platform that was LITERALLY NOWHERE TO BE SEEN UNTIL NOW

- Mustang and Riza my beloveddddd

- The actor for General Hakuro is pretty good tho, very weird, but good

- Girlie you walked into some weird shit

- Mustang girlie I luv you so much tho hope you slay this movie

- Oh hi Father

- “Daddy…?” -al “DO I LOOK LIKE YOUR-“ -father

- Also highkey the actor for Envy is really good too

- “How do you know Hoenhiem?” “Technically he’s our father” TECHNICALLY HAHA

- Ed is like “touchy no no, no touchy”

- Girlie you are a creep HANDS OFF THE LITTLE GUY

- Ed’s just like >:/ wtf get off

- WHY ARE YOU PETTING HIM???????

- I feel violated just watching this

- YEAH LING SAVE HIM

- YOOOO WERE GONNA SEE GREEDLING :D

- Ew that’s fuckin goopy (philosophers stone)

- It looks like melted jello ewwww

- Okay idk if seeing greedling is worth it for this shit

- Why is his mind blue???

- Wait did we see greed lose his body in the first one or….

- I don’t think we did???

- Uhhhh idk and I don’t wanna go check because the first one is bad

- Lowkey he’s fine as hell tho

- Mustang looks so damn done lmao

- HE’S SITTINF LIKE THE SHINJI MEME WAIT

- LMAOOO THATS SO GOOD

- okay okay it’s time for me to get my Mustang being a dad moment don’t fail me now movie

- Stfu Bradley no one cares

- WTF WHERES MY MOMENT HELLO

- ARE WE NOT GONNA GET THE 520 CENZ PROMISE??

- I HATE THIS

- Okay Ed, Sig, and Izumi get to interact now :D

- Okay so now we’re getting the scar brother research moment? Outside of Briggs? Cool? I guess?

- Oh hi greedling

- Okay so apparently father killed greed cause he disobeyed him but that’s all we get for that.

- Also this story set up just doesn’t and will never work as well as the first one, so much stuff is intertwined in different events and mixing it all up like this just makes it so confusing and that’s part of the reason why this just doesn’t work

- But I’ll ignore it for the sake of things

- OLIVIER :D

- Mustang and Riza checking in on their kids :D

- I’m so normal about found family

- 5 minutes in Briggs and Ed is already in trouble. In character stuff

- Also we gonna talk about his automail or we just gonna skip over that for plot reasons

- OLIVIER I LOVE YOUUUUUU

- WOMEN ARE HOT

- am I bi

- YESSS ICE QUEEN ICE QUEEN

- “How’s Alex?” “He’s good!” “…shame.”

- Okay sloth looks less weird than I imagine

- OLIVIER WITH THE BOMB :D

- Love her what a Queen

- Still wish they used the original soundtrack I will forever be mad about that

- SLAYYY OLIVIER YASSSSSS

- please marry me

- YEAHHHHHH

- Okay Ed just kicked sloth off of briggs? Girlie even with automail I doubt he could kick him that easy

- So Olivier doesn’t suspect Ed of anything? Out of character, #notmyicequeen

- Also turns out Hakuro and Raven are both the same person in this version??

- Oh Hi Winry

- “If I step out of line, they’ll do something to you.” Awww baby protect your gf

- YEAHHHH OLIVIER AGAIN :D

- “I won’t let anyone do whatever they want in here!” SAY IT GIRLIE YEAHHH

- please I’m begging you marry me

- on my KNEES

- They could not have casted her better

- Bb girl it’s so hard to understand you when you’re so fine I can’t focus

- Okay now Drachama is attacking Briggs

- When Sloth goes back in the hole Raven/Hakuro looks like a grandpa when he’s told he can leave the nursing home for the day to play golf and if that isn’t a summary of the entire us government idk what is

- AWWW WINRY HAS A CHARM ON HER BAG THAT LOOKS LIKE DEN :D

- Sorry Olivier, but it’s so hard to focus on this serious scene with your luscious lips and beautiful face

- She would murder me for saying this all but IDC IF TJAYS HOW I GO THATS HOW I GO

- Alphonse!! :D

- Hoenhiem is like “hUH???”

- He didn’t know about Al’s body????

- Okay bestie :/

- Father of the year fr

- Can’t even keep up with the fact that his son doesn’t have a body smh

- Okay Xerxes time

- ED IS THE SAME ACTOR FOR YOUNG HOENHIEM???

- Okay I get why

- BUT OKAY THEN IG

- Okay cool Xerxes sequence

- “Everybody is dead” lol cringe get good

- Sorry I have the humor of a middle schooler

- Oh hi Greedling

- Am I bi cause THIS MAN

- Okay now it’s Al!Pride time just out of nowhere for no reason?

- “So you’re gonna try and beat me then?” -Pride

- “… nah you’re freaky lol” -Hoenhiem

- Hi again Al

- “Don’t insult my son bitch” okay we love that

- “Okay, let’s all go beat the dwarf in the flask :D” -Hoenhiem

- “NO ONE FUCKING ASKED UGH” -Ed

- MUSTANGGG LOOKIN SPIFFY

- Still mad we don’t get the 520 cenz promise

- AHHHH BLACK HYATE

- LUV HIM

- Also seeing Mustangs team all together is so slay :D

- “Don’t die while we overthrow the government y’all.” -Mustang

- Oh great bad cgi soldier things

- YEAHHH MUSTANG SAVE YOUR SON!!

- Okay good Envy and Mustang will fight :)

- Now it’s time for CRAZY MUSTANG :D

- BURN THE BITCH BURN HIM

- ED LOOKS SO SAD AND CONCERNED :(

- YEAH RIZA STOP HIM STOP HIM

- YEAH ED STOP HIM

- “GIVE IT TO ME FULLMETAL NOW! OR ILL BURN OFF YOUR LEFT ARM!” ANGST ANGST ANGST

- “JUST TRY IT! GO AHEAD! ILL THROW DOWN WITH YOU NOW!” YEAHHHH SAVE YOUR DAD!!

- “YOU PLAN ON STANDING AT THE TOP OF THIS COUNTRY LIKE THAT?!” CRYINF SCREAMINF RAHHHHH

- “YOU KNOW THIS ISNT WHAT YOU WERE STRIVING FOR” PARENTAL!ROY AND ED PEOPLE WE ARE GETTING FED TONIGHT

- YEAH RIZA AND SCAR STOP HIM :D

- The way Ed got ready to fight when Mustang looked like he was going to snap at him I :,)

- “I am a giant fool forcing you all to act this way.” HUG YOUR WIFE AND SON

- “Lieutenant, please lower your gun. I’m so sorry” GONNA CRY NOW

- I still wish we got the 520 cenz promise and I will never not be bitter about that

- I don’t care that it’s not the point of this IM STILL MAD

- OOP BYE ED

- AWWW MUSTANG CALLING FOR ED BEFORE HE GOES :,) WERE GETTING FED GUYSSSS

- Okay I don’t like the fight between Bradley and Fu as much this looks more like stage fighting :/

- That’s the only one so far I didn’t like tho so….

- How tf is Riza gonna survive tho the weird doctor guy isn’t here

- DONT LOOK DIRECTLY AT AN ECLIPSE GUYS WHAT???

- Also those do not go that fast either

- I got to see one and it was really slow but fun ig

- Idk I was like 13 so

- Anyways

- YEAHHH ED HELP YOUR DAD!!!!

- Okay I wish they added colored contacts for this or smth so it’d be similar to the series and make more sense but eh… who knows

- ED YOU GOTTA KEEP HELPING HIM HE CANT SEEEEE

- or get revenge that works too

- Okay cgi for the absorbing god scene is cool

- Alright who’s ready to fight god?

- Am I hallucinating or is the actor for Al also the actor for god!father/Dwarf???

- IM NOT THATS HIM

- OKAY IG

- All the actors for this are really good actually. I can tell they have passion for this. I appreciate that.

- Okay it’s time for Ed to almost die for the 5000th time

- YEAH MUSTANG FUCK HUM UP

- YEAH EVERYONE!!!

- POWER OF FRIENDSHIP YIPPIE

- Also someone get Ed. Or don’t

- Nah cause the creepy guys gonna get him now

- AL

- THIS SCENE WILL NEVER NOT BE SAD TO ME

- DONT TOUCH THE CHILD WEIRDO

- It’s funny cause when I got into this I was younger than Ed and now I’m older than him. Fixation really be lasting a while. It’s the neurodivergence isn’t it.

- YEAHHH NOW WE GET HIM BACK TO HIS BODY :D

- I can’t even tell if it’s good because the series is good or if this is actually a good movie

- Oh hi greed I forgot about you lowkey

- But you’re hot so hiiiiiii <3

- “YOU DARE DISOBEY YOUR FATHER?!”

- “ITS A LATE-STAGE REBELLIOUS PHASE IM GOING THROUGH!”

- Iconic.

- And get punched idiot

- OKAY TIME TO BRING BACK AL

- YEAHHH HOENHIEM TAKING RESPONSIBILITY

- “Let me at least do something fatherly in the end” AHHHHH

- “STOP BEING A DUMBASS DAD” AWWW ED

- “You finally called me dad 🥹” I CANT VISIBLY REACT I DONT WANNA DISTURB MY ROOMMATES BUT AHWHWIWJEVRI

- “I was always a human to begin with. All is one, one is all. Even if I can’t use alchemy, I have great people in my life. My precious friends and family.” STILL THE BEST QUOTE FOREVER

- YEAHHHH RIZA AND MUSTANG WILL FIND A WAY TO GET HIS EYESIGHT BACK

- AWWW WE GET A TRISHA AND HOENHIEM SCENE

- YEAHHH THE BROS COME BAVKKKDHIHZHW

- AND WE SEE HUMAN AL WITH SHORT HAIR

- AWWWWWIEHJEIEHWHWH

- IM NOT NORMAL ABOUT THIS EVER

Conclusion: yep. This got me in the heart, even if it isn’t the show itself. Still stuff that bothered me. But overall, this series of movies is not so bad. Not so great, at times, but not so bad. Honestly, I think they did the best they could and that’s really all I could ask for. And it was nice seeing them all in live action. For this movie, an 8/10. For the series of movies? 6.5/10. Not remotely comparable to the original series, but still a worthwhile watch and something I’d recommend if you want a recap of the series but don’t have time to watch it all again.

Let me know if you all want notes on the first one! I watched it a long time ago but I’ll do it again for y’all. Much love guys <3

[idyllic-affections]

DON'T.... BECAUSE KAVEH'S YOUNGER!SIBLING BEING ANGRY IN THEIR STEAD.. im so sorry for swarming ur inbox but ydbihsjakdas

i could just IMAGINE their arguments about it

"she's our MOTHER, you don't disrespect her like that!"

"yeah, but she ABANDONED us!"

"she didn't abandon us-"

"YES SHE DID! she ran away and left us here, in sumeru, because she was hurting. i know."

"she deserves to be happy-"

"but what about us? what about me? what about you? she sounds SO much happier with our step siblings, and she doesn't even visit us! you can't keep defending her!

you can love her all you want, i don't care. you say she's our mother, but she's been absent ever since dad died."

"you have to understand-"

"I DO UNDERSTAND! and you took care of her when she was sad. you took care of me because she was sad. you were a child too, and you were more of a mother to me than her!"

"don't say that-"

"just because she's my mom doesn't mean i have to like her!"

kinda projected here but good god this makes me wanna explode. i like to think kaveh's younder!sibling has been going through that "rebellious teen phase", but it's not a phase, it's just how they are after growing up with a pretty absent mom and dead dad. they see how much their brother suffer, they 100% wanna help him, but they're going through it too yk??

imagine how frustrating it is for them whenever kaveh talks about their mom and he always says nice things about her but they could see the sheer bitterness, guilt, and melancholy in his eyes. they can't help but hate her for not being there for them (i like to think they're maybe an infant or very very young when it happened) n making their big bro, their parental figure, go through this horrible mess.

n they just kinda grew up with that hate w/o telling kaveh bc they didn't wanna add into his plate of problems. but the hate slowly manifested with other stuff until they went from 'not wanting to cause trouble for kaveh' to 'i cause trouble because i can't control myself and i need to release my anger on something else'

so ya i think kaveh's younger!sibling would be temperamental n people see them kinda like a bully, opposite of kaveh :( even if kaveh raised them kindly, i think reader's hatred to their mom saved them from copying kaveh's self destructiveness...

which caused kinda of a strain in their relationship when reader became a teen

(on the flip side for some reason i think reader would get along with alhaitham more (which would hurt kaveh tbh) bc alhaitham's mentality clashes so much against kaveh's n it's probably what reader needs more... they probably preferred alhaitham's "you're allowed to get angry at things you felt was unfair, even if she's your mother" than kaveh's "she still loves us... she just- she just needed to move on to be happy. she deserves it.")

sorry i kinda developed a whole reader here and maybe this is incoherent blabbering im gonna hide now >q< feel free to ignore !!

NOOOOO NO DON'T HIDE I AM HEARING YOU OUT SOO MUCH RN WE ARE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH

ohhh the strain that would come as a consequence of that rage and pain... sigh. parentified kaveh is so real, honestly, because with how bad faranak's mental health became, she definitely would not have been able to raise her youngest child. kaveh would be the one to raise them. kaveh would be the one they ran to when they scraped their knee. kaveh would be the one to kiss away their tears. kaveh would be the one to help them with homework and little things like that.

it would always be kaveh.

(and i think faranak would be painfully aware of the way they no longer come to her for comfort and consolation, but i don't think she would be able to feel bad about it until years later, because she's already so... fucked up. she would just be glad that someone was nurturing her child, even if that had to be kaveh.)

i think [name]'s anger would be a good and important testament to how well kaveh really raised them, though.

(but of course, it would also prove dangerous and self-destructive which i mention a bit further down in the post!!)

one who values themselves is one who feels angry when mistreated.

and [name] is fucking livid, for both themselves and kaveh. [name] is aware of faranak's neglect. because kaveh taught them to love themselves more than he could ever even hope to love himself. kaveh raised them well, even if that responsibility never should have been his in the first place.

so it honestly hurts them both when they fight like that.

"don't you dare disrespect her, [name]. you have no idea what she did for us." "what she did for us?! what the hell-- kaveh, she left us for some random fucking guy neither of us have ever met! how can you not see what's wrong with that?!" "do not talk about her like that. she did her best. doesn't she deserve to be happy, [name]? doesn't she?!" "oh," they'd scoff, "so 'her best' is abandoning her kids, parentifying her oldest son, and running from her past like a fucking coward?" they would roll their eyes and turn away at that point. "no, kaveh. she doesn't. neither of us are, so why does she deserve to be happy?" they'd then leave.

and consider this dialogue somewhere in there:

"she isn't my mother. she didn't raise me. you can like and defend that woman all you want, but she never was and never will be my mother."

they care so much about what kaveh went through for them. they are so painfully aware of the sacrifices he made to raise them. you know how parentified oldest siblings are usually the only ones aware of the abuse and neglect, whereas the younger siblings they raised think their parent is an angel who did no wrong? it's the opposite here.

and [name] getting along better with alhaitham in their teens... you are so right. they would.

i can imagine them fighting like this in alhaitham's home, and when [name] finally gets pissed off enough that they just leave to cool down, kaveh also retreats and stays in his room for a bit. but a few minutes later, when he comes back out, alhaitham is gone.

he left after [name], because a pissed off teen out wandering alone in sumeru and possibly sumeru's wilderness is unsafe.

(i feel like [name]'s anger could translate into ambition. hmm. pyro vision [name], maybe?)

kaveh knows they get along better with alhaitham nowadays, and i think it hurts him so much. but... he also does want what is best for them, and maybe. just maybe he is not best for them anymore.

(little does he know, they cry a lot to his roommate about just... wanting their brother. but not being able to open up to him like they used to because he'll only keep making excuses for their mother. and he'll only keep hurting himself in the process. and they don't want to see him destroy himself.)

alhaitham would validate their feelings more than kaveh would. he believes they should be pissed. he's not good with tears and feelings in general, but he is rather decent when it matters. and it very much matters when it comes to kaveh's mentally and emotionally wounded younger sibling.

i think alhaitham is better for them at this point in their life. and, you know, i feel like... in a way, he could help them learn to be less destructive. because also i feel like [name] is self-destructive in their own way, too. they get pissed and push away the people they love (aka kaveh). and they're hurting themselves in the process, but it's in a less obvious way than how kaveh is hurting himself (all the overworking, constantly doing everything for everyone, etc etc).

alhaitham is so blunt and straightforward and it would be refreshing compared to the mental gymnastics kaveh does to justify what faranak has done. and honestly, the factual truth is that [name] is allowed to be angry. alhaitham knows that and he's very clear about it.

and hear me out--

[name] enrolling in the akademiya, but instead of the expected darshan (kshahrewar or something similar)... they enroll in haravatat. just a thought.

they're probably just kind of mean in general compared to their brother, and i think that comes as a surprise to a lot of people, but i mean... who can blame them?

they need to go to family therapy HELSPDKDHSKGA