#and thinks all of it is pointless and nothing will ever change

[radiaking]

We all….agree that Lucy would be like. The player character right? Coop and Maximus are both romanceable companions right? Coop at the end of s1 is just a quest giver right?!

[timelordsandkittens]

all right, maybe I'm an asshole, but I watched guardians of the galaxy 3 last night and my main takeaway is "well what was the fucking point"

[hypnowave]

.

[butchvamp]

sigh

[chaotic-history]

I will die on this hill

[bohope-chic]

God I hope Blitzø gets a concussion or something and is down for the count for the rest of the season

[neuromantis]

aw2 gave me perhaps, one of the most important realizations of my life. just now. "how do you run from an idea?"

the world i created when i started writing. i liked it. and i liked my characters. they were real to me. but. i could escape there. but i couldn't live there. with my family and friends and loved ones, the only ones i've had then.

i needed to stay outside and keep writing them. i could never join them. so i kept writing. every day i would write more of it, obsessively. and with that came a realization of the genre of the story it was shaping up to be.

i keep calling it "automatic writing", because i really never felt like i was in control of it. ideas just used me as a conduit. the story was telling itself. and it wasn't. a nice story. not one with hopes or happy endings.

i once told someone a long time ago that i couldn't stand writing anymore because i loved those people. loved their world. but if i made more of it. they'd have to suffer for it. so i quit. i kept meeting new ideas and characters and i only wrote down the barest of outlines. because the narrative would inevitably doom them, there had to be no narrative anymore.

i think what also made me stop it, was meeting Adam. a guy i knew like 10 years ago who suddenly messaged me. he re-sent me my own message to him from 2013. "well what about the fact that perhaps there IS a god, but he just specifically hates you?"

the last couple of years made me accept it. Adam is me. N(adam)ian. The one who made it all. The one who set up the rules. The one they'd be suffering for. And I don't want to be that. So I chose to leave them. They don't let me. But at least I can not write.

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Minho x you

Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

genre: friends to lovers

warnings: asshole date, nothing happens but reader thinks her date might follow her home

This night has been terrible so far. Your friend convinced you to go out with one of her colleagues to get over your crush for Minho, and you knew it was pointless, but she insisted so much you have lost the will to fight. So you wore a nice dress and a minute before you left the apartment, the guy texted you saying there was a change of plans and to meet two hours later and at a different location. Is the dating scene like this for everybody? You haven’t dated anyone for a long time, a bit because of how things ended with your last boyfriend but mostly because of the raging (unreciprocated) crush for Minho.

Minho’s now one of your closest friends, but you never actually gave up on your feelings for him. It’s almost comfortable, safe in a way, to love someone knowing things won’t change but won’t end either.

But for the sake of shutting up your friend, you are now in a very shitty situation. The guy is pretty, you’re mature enough to admit that, but he’s a major asshole. Even ignoring the last minute change of plans, the fact that he arrived 25 minutes later and apparently the new location is a nightclub. His hands have been on you the moment he introduced himself and the more you try to put some distance between you two, the more he’s all over you. You could just leave, that’s true. It’s also true that this guy is very set on never leaving your side and he’s so pushy you’re certain he wouldn’t hesitate to follow you home.

You wonder when Minho is going to be here so you can at least leave the club and have him keep you company, when you feel a hand grabbing your wrist. You turn to find the hand holding you belongs to Minho himself and he’s looking at you with a surly expression, teeth clenched and a frown between his eyebrows. “We’re going home.”

His voice is cold and firm, you’ve never heard him speak to you like that. Your date notices the scene and turns to Minho. “Woah dude, she’s mine tonight.”

Minho’s cold stare rests on the guy and at the same time your friend makes a step to place himself between you and your date. “She’ll never be yours, not tonight, not never. She belongs to me. Dude.” The last word was spat through Minho’s teeth, mocking and a bit cruel.

Words die on the guy’s tongue when Minho gets into his face and says something too quiet for you to hear.

A moment later he’s gently pushing you away and through the crowd, towards the exit.

“Well, that was intense,” you joke when you’re safe on the sidewalk.

“Don’t you ever put yourself into a situation like this. Ever again.” He’s on your face, almost screaming the words at you, anger contorting his face.

You can understand he was worried, but you don’t like the way he’s talking to you.

“Ya, Minho! Do you think I wanted that?” You raise your eyebrows. “I didn’t call you so you could scold me! I called you because I trusted you to help me, I know I was in a shitty situation!”

“And yet you still got into this situation!” He rebuts, and in this moment you hate him a little.

Why is he judging you like this? Why is he blaming you? Sure, you were a bit too naive but it’s not like you consciously decided to put yourself in a potentially dangerous situation.

“This clearly wasn’t what I expected.”

“No? You’re the one who decided to go to a club with a man you didn’t know. And you came alone! Was bringing a friend too easy?”

“Fuck you, Minho!”

You stalk away, towards the direction of the bus stop. Why is he mad at you now? He’s never been mean or cruel to you, despite what lots of people say about him, he’s a caring friend.

You can hear his footsteps getting close and you almost laugh at the thought that comes to your mind: you are always so focused on him, you can now recognize his footsteps.

“I parked in the other direction.”

“Then go the other direction. I don’t need you here. Sorry I bothered you. I won’t be your problem anymore.”

“You are my problem.”

“Oh, so I really am a problem to you.” You can believe him. All this because he had to come get you? You didn’t think it’d be such a hassle.

“Yes. You’ve been my problem since I met you.”

“You’re being so fucking cruel tonight, Minho.”

“I am not- can you stop walking?” He asks, sounding exasperated. You stop and face him, one hand on your hip and your lips pursed in disapproval. “So you can tell me more about how I’m a problem?”

“I didn’t say a problem.”

“You said exac-“

“I said MY problem! Emphasis on my. Because you’re not other people’s problem. And I don’t want you to belong to other guys, don’t want them to call you theirs! I want you to be mine.”

You stare at him for half a minute, silent and still. Putting aside the fact that he’s repeating the fact that you’re a problem, you try to read between the lines.

“Is this a fucked up way to tell me you have feeling for me?”

“Yes.”

This is ridiculous. Really ridiculous. Your crush has feelings for you. And the most backwards way of confessing. Well, considering he is Minho, it’s pretty in character for him. Still ridiculous, though.

“I didn’t know you decided to go on dates.” He says it like a second thought.

“I didn’t.”

“You were on a date.”

“Doesn’t mean I decided to go on dates.”

“Means exactly that.”

“Jesus, Minho. Can you ever drop something?”

“Not when it’s about you.”

This asshole. How can you find his otherwise annoying answers amusing?

“My friend insisted so much that she wore me down, so I accepted this date with her colleague. So, as I said, I haven’t decided to go on dates.”

“Good.”

“You can never be normal, uh? Always with a weird answer.”

“You like weird.”

“I do.”

“You’re normal. I like normal.”

He likes normal, and he likes you. And he tells you so in a Minho way at least another ten times in the following minutes, during your way home.

You say goodbye and you’re about to get out of the car, when he puts his hand on your arm, an hesitant expression on his face. “No more other guys, right?”

You smile softly at him. “No more other guys. There hasn’t really been another guy since I met you.”

His smile is all you need.

[raggedyflowers]

One piece men reacting at you flinching away

summary: op character reacting at you flinching away (maybe there’s gonna be a part 2 ??)

character: luffy, zoro, sanji, law x fem reader

cw: fluff, mention of past abusive relationship, some cry, a lot of forehead kiss

Luffy:

so luffy is always hyperactive and so funny to be around but sometimes he doesn’t have the conception of personal space

you usually love be around him and his energy is contagious

but sometimes he moves so fast and so suddenly he jump-scares you

the first time he did that, you had jumped on the sport and flinched away

of course you knew you he would’ve never hurt you, but that was it was an instinct from a past relationship

Luffy stared at you with open eyes

“why do you do that?” he asked you

you had laughed nervously “I don’t know”

Luffy maybe wasn’t the most academic-smart person in the ship, but he could read you very well

he didn’t say anything, he just put his arms around you and hugged you so close you couldn’t breath

but he was so nice

your eyes watered but you hugged him back

“Don’t worry, y/n” he said to you. “I gotcha”

Zoro:

you knew it would’ve been tiring training with Zoro, but it was fun anyways

(especially because you cloud look at him exercising shirtless without any reason)

he was a righteous mentor and you really wanted to be good (for him)

you have no problem when you two trained with swords, but he did catch you off guard when he lifted his arms to pass you a battle of water

he flinched away and almost fall off the chair

he took some seconds to understand what had happened

but then he grabbed you by yours arm and helped you sat again

“What was that?” he asked you

“What was what?” you asked back nonchalantly

“Why you flinched away?” he insisted

but you shrug and said nothing

he didn’t insist after that but something changed after that

from that day he was more cautious with you, more — sweet?

he didn’t make any suddenly movement when you are around and glared when the others did that near to you

you never said anything about that, but you noticed everything and your heart throbbed a little faster every time

Sanji:

Sanji was the sweetest man you ever met

he always brought you flowers and cook everything you asked him

he was so different from the idiots you dated before

but the old habits are hard to die, especially when some brainless jerk had hurt you so much in the past

Sanji would’ve never hurt you, never.

so he was pointless flinching away when he lift his arm to grab sometime behind you

“My love, what —?” he stared laughing at your reaction before understanding what happened

he turned serious immediately

“My love” he cupped your cheek with his hand “are you alright?”

“yes” you answered. “it was nothing”

but he didn’t buy it

“Y/n” he questioned you. “Did something happened for you to react that way?”

he shook your head but your eyes watered thinking about the past

Sanji wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close to him and staring petting your hair sweetly

“It’s alright, my love” he said to you, kissing your forehead. “Nothing bad is gonna happen when you’re with me”

you said nothing, just stayed there accepting all that love

Law:

apparently the banters with Law was your love language

but expect from that, your newfound relationship with him was incredibly sweet and mature

you did actually talked about your past, the good and the bad, the mistakes and the past relationship

he knew everything and was so incredibly great with you that you could finally relax in this new relationship

but still the first time he raised his voice with you in a tens situation and you flinched away from him, he eyes filled with horror

you had been cold with him for the rest of the day and then runner away to hide in your shared room

he reached you late that night, knowing it was better letting you have your space

“Y/n-ya” he said to you with a calm tone. “Can we talk?”

Law was clearly sorry for what had happened between the two of you and you made space for him on the bed

“Can we talk about it later?” you asked him

He nodded “What do you want me to do?”

“Can you just hold me for a moment?” you shyly asked him

Law said nothing, but just laid down near to you and wrapped his arms around you

you hugged him back, knowing you had to talk about that later

but for the moment that was enough: having Law’s arms around your and his lips pressed on your forehead

“I’d never hurt you, you know?” he whispered when he though you fell asleep. “I will always protect you”.

[unformula1]

part 2 for that lando fic plzz 🙏🙏 ill patiently wait 🥹

promises - 2 (ln4)

part 1 || lando reaches out to you, and you seek the closure you need (3898 words) a/n: this one is pretty long so take a break mid read if you need. i also spent SO LONG trying to find the right way to close this. if theres any feedback dont be afraid to share. || masterlist taglist/thanks for supporting lol: @unknownmystery22 @hlhl99 @landorris @aleatorio1234 @sopanngon @abq46 @notsoordinaryatlas @hadesnumber1daughter @milk-en-suggarrr @daemyratwst @artsucker12 @pancakes4nina @cmleitora @krishasworld @chicanecharm43381310

“Lando?” You audibly spoke.

Your finger hovered over the notification for a few seconds as you stared blankly at the screen. 

Why would he text you? And more specifically, why now?

You quickly sat back down on your couch, taking a deep breath and mentally preparing yourself. You didn’t even know why you were so stressed about this.

You opened the notification and sat there as the app took what felt like forever to load into the DM.

landonorris: hi, remember me? hope you do :) i’m coming back this week, do you wanna meet up.

Oh. Oh.

You gave yourself a few seconds to process everything, placing your phone face down on the couch. 

Lando Norris just DMed you.

The Lando Norris. 

The Lando Norris who used to be friends with you

The Lando Norris who cut ties with you

“Okay.” You whispered to yourself as the air in your apartment grew tense. You picked your phone back up.

This was so stupid, why were you thinking so much about this? This was still that little kid at the playground who talked about taking over the world with a racing kart.

You stared at your phone, the message glowing on the screen back into your eyes. A small part of you wanted to be bitter, say no, reject him. For all the lost years that you two could've had, for the unfulfilled promises that he probably threw away in favour of his bigger ambitions.

You sighed. Deep down, nothing would ever come between you and Lando. You liked to believe you two would still be as close as you two were back then. Your emotions were feeling all too complex, all too messy. 

You typed in your message and sent them as quickly as possible, before you’d second-think yourself.

hi lando. it’s been a while. i’d love to meet up again. send me the details.

You internally cringed at yourself before switching off your phone. 

Now it was just you, and your thoughts.

You missed Lando but he made all those empty, bland, pointless promises only to ditch them all to fly towards his ambitions; and it took you forever but eventually, you came to peace with it. 

It was probably the hardest thing you had to do, you couldn’t just forget 10-ish years of friendship, some of your purest moments with Lando, your toughest and your wildest moments. You basically grew up with him, and watched him grow, and somehow now you had to live without it.

You never left the town you two grew up in, it never felt right to abandon your entire childhood. Never felt right to abandon Lando. So you stayed, you got your own apartment, your own job. You also visited the playground a few times a month, just for the feels, or when you desperately needed someone to talk to.

No one came close to Lando. Or rather, no one would ever come close to what Lando made you feel. If he was the standard, everyone else fell short.

Sometimes, when things got tough, you’d visit the playground again, sitting at the exact same spot and looking up at the moon, then everything would start flowing back in, all the wishes, the stinging feelings.

But anyway, Lando was gone and that was something that you couldn’t change. 

Your phone chimed again, snapping you out of your swirling thoughts, prompting you to pick your phone back up.

landonorris: i’m free this weekend so i’m coming back if that’s okay landonorris: we have a lot of catching up to do.

You took a deep breath. It wasn’t worth dwelling on the negatives, you could sort that out when he arrived. It was always better to talk about these things in person… right?

He sent you another message.

landonorris: and i have an apology to make

You froze. Oh shit.

You blinked a few times, concerned that your eyes were playing some trick on you.

They weren’t.

You opened the DM on a slight impulse. Looking at the messages, you didn’t really know what to reply.

i’m excited to see you again 

i’ll pick you up at the airport

You settled on liking the message about an apology, at least he would know you weren’t just conveniently ignoring it.

It took some time but it dawned on you the gravity of it all. It was years of disconnection that would culminate in a few days, and it would probably determine if this friendship would continue.

You never thought that one day you’d be messaging Lando again, let alone agreeing to meet up with him. It just felt so unreal, like you were in some sick fever dream, but it wasn’t. This was real.

No normal person would’ve done this, but you and Lando didn’t have a normal relationship, it was both of your childhoods. So this made sense. Right?

It held something in your heart, because you wanted this to continue, you were still that child who never wanted to let Lando leave the airport and never come back. However, you also didn’t know if this was right, more empty promises were only going to hurt you even more.

You took a deep breath.

You were ready for this.

—

You were, in fact, probably never ready for this. You couldn’t mentally prepare yourself for this. How could you?

You were in the taxi on the way to the airport, as you stared at the chat messages. You had messaged each other back and forth for this whole week, nothing more than simple, surface level messages and the occasional “remember when”. Something always felt weird, pretending the years of no contact never existed.

You looked out the window as the giant buildings upon buildings graced your eyes. You hadn’t been here in forever, not since Lando left. You never really needed to leave this place.

You held onto the gift you got for him, which were cookies, the ones your parents used to make for you and him. The ones he loved and always begged for more. You hoped he still liked them.

Around your neck was the necklace he gave you all those years ago, which you still kept by your bedside, just for old-times sake. You hoped he still had his one.

You exited the taxi and walked through the automatic doors of the airport. The gush of air conditioning rushed against your face as you stood there. It wasn’t even peak season and the place was packed. 

You double checked the gate which Lando sent you before making your way over there, gripping tightly onto the packet of cookies. You spent hours finding the perfect packaging for it, maybe you were a perfectionist, or maybe you just wanted it perfect for Lando.

You took some time, since the place had changed a lot since you last came here, but you found the gate. You leaned against a nearby pillar, holding onto your gift for him pretty tightly, almost creasing the packaging. 

You waited patiently for him as your mind reminisced the last time you were here.

His tear stained eyes looking into yours as he hugged you tightly, promising to stay in touch. Then he turned around and left, looking back at you a few times as you couldn’t bear to watch him go.

You dreamt about it a few times, and times where you’d run after him and not let him go, or where he’d stop, turn around and come back to you, choosing not to go. Then you’d wake up.

Now, it was really happening. You would watch him walk out the gates of the airport, not into them. He wouldn’t disappear into the crowd, but he’d be running towards you. Hopefully.

You glanced up at the flight board.

LANDED

You pushed yourself up from leaning on the wall, straightening your posture, taking a deep breath as you waited behind the railings near the exit of the arrival hall. The minutes crept by slowly, your eyes kept darting around, constantly fiddling with your fingers. 

This was real. You were about to see Lando again, after who knows how many years.

Your foot tapped against the marbled floor incessantly, and you felt your fingers tangling and untangling themselves as a large crowd of people flooded into the arrival hall. You felt your breathing grow shaky as the nervousness engulfed your beating heart.

With their luggages, people exited the arrival hall, running up to their family, giving them tight hugs, or those being gifted with flowers. You glanced over at them, smiling slightly at the pure joy that filled the area. As the seconds slowly crawled by, your heart rate increased, thumping hard against your ribcage, you could feel the vibrations around your body. 

Why were you even nervous? You told yourself and closed your eyes, taking constant breaths in and out.

You opened your eyes slowly.

And there he was, in all his glory.

Lando Norris.

Lando’s curls had definitely gotten more curlier, and he grew himself a stubble, which you vividly remember him always being unable to. His face had grown more mature since the last time. 

However, his eyes were still that same brown-blue glistening.

He looked over at you, finally noticing you as you zoned out just looking at him. He smiled, and made a subtle wave. He held his luggage in one hand, having a duffle bag strapped around the handles, and in his other was a black hoodie.

You snapped out of your daze and waved back at him. He picked up his walking speed, rolling his luggage over to the exit of the arrival hall, before snaking around the railing. He wasn’t running, he was brisk walking over to you.

And now you two, were once again, face to face. It would never hurt less, just remembering the last time they were doing this, Lando would be turning away and walking off, disappearing for the next decade or so.

But that was last time. This was now.

Lando placed the hoodie onto the top of the duffle bag, opening his arms slightly. You stood there for a while, your eyes trailing all over Lando.

Then you released your emotions, you felt the tears slowly spill out as you sprinted into his arms, embracing him tightly. Your arms clasped around his body, keeping him in your embrace. You felt his arms slowly come around your body as well as he hugged you back.

You could hear some ‘aww’s in the background of it all but nothing mattered more than this. 

It was years upon years of missing him, and now you had him. It took you two a few long long seconds before you pulled away from him, wiping away the remaining tears on your face. It was clear he cried a little too as he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his face.

“Hi.” Lando said after a deep breath. His voice felt so much deeper, so much more different than last time. Only now do you catch his necklace, he remembered, he kept it with him, he’s wearing it. 

Then once again, it felt like nothing ever stood between you two, like the sky could fall and you two would still stand with each other.

“Lando…” You said, trying to sound confident but your voice faltered slightly.

You hand him the packet of cookies and he receives them with visible marvel. His hands felt soft against yours as he took the packet of cookies, placing them in his duffle bag. 

“Well uh…thanks.” Lando said, rubbing the back of his neck, “My hotel isn’t ready for a few hours.”

“We can talk later.” You blurted, “We could eat first.”

He nodded.

The cab ride was silent, too silent for your liking. It made you think again, deeper this time. You genuinely missed Lando, sure you “moved on” but you could never replace Lando. You reminisced again, the same recurring dream you had for the first few months, when you didn’t know if you could see Lando again. The same nightmare which haunted you when you two stopped talking for good.

Lando shuffled closer to you, which pulled you out of your thoughts. He yawned and looked at you, flashing a really subtle smile, running his hand through his curly hair.

He looked at you knowingly, like he knew all your thoughts right now. You smile back, hoping it doesn’t come off as shaky and uncertain. His head slowly falls down towards your shoulder, and you don’t stop him.

His head is now resting comfortably, hopefully, on your shoulder as he shifts even closer to you. You catch a glimpse at his face, it’s peaceful, like nothing in the world could hurt him, like when you two were kids. His breathing is constant, the rise and fall of his chest is tranquil. 

—

As both of you wait outside the restaurant, Lando says, “Actually, I’m not hungry.” 

You turn to look at him.

“Could we maybe just… take a walk.” Lando suggests.

You shrug, you didn’t mind anything. 

“With all your luggage?” You ask.

“Yea, I don’t really mind.” He says.

“Sure.” You reply.

Both of you walk away from the restaurant, walking in some general direction. 

And now, in the endless constant motion of the world, it gave both of you a moment, a moment to talk.

He takes a deep breath, fingers tapping on the handle of his luggage, “Sorry.” His voice softens.

You nod, knowing you couldn’t postpone this for much longer.

“I missed you.” You say after a pause, “I missed you a lot.”

Lando’s head drops as he wipes away what seems like tears.

“I know…” He says, his voice shaky, “I shouldn’t have-”

This was a really bad place to have a breakdown, you tell yourself, even though you felt the growing urge in your body to just let everything loose.

“I can’t stop thinking about how horrible it was.” Lando says, clearly he is letting himself loose, “I didn’t mean to lose contact with you, I know that must’ve hurt you.”

You nod again, not really sure if you should respond to him.

“It’s been haunting.” He says, “I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t… no, I should never have left you alone.” He says, “I made all these stupid promises to you which I never bothered keeping and… and it just… you didn’t deserve any of that.”

Lando’s hands are slowly gripping harder and harder onto the necklace around his neck. 

“You basically grew up with me and… I shouldn’t have let anything make me forget that.” He takes a deep breath, “But I did, and I know I hurt you.”

You feel something warm bubbling in your body. It was so stupid, how all you needed was this moment, and it happened on a sidewalk of a randomly busy road. You shut your eyes and take it all in.

“And I know it took me too long to realise that, and I’m sorry that it took me that long.” He says, his voice shaking as time went on, “I’m here now, and please… let me fix it.”

The silence for a few seconds prompts you to speak up.

You gently hold the hand that was gripping his necklace. You feel him loosen his grip.

“You know, when we were still kids, you used to tell me how you’d take over the world and all that…”

Lando’s face darkens as he nods.

“And guess what,” You smile slightly, “You did exactly that, and I’m so… so… proud of you, and nothing will ever come between that.”

Tears brim in Lando's eyes and you don’t know how much longer you’ll last.

“I couldn’t ask for anything better for you.”

Lando slowly falls into your embrace once again, you catch him and tightly hold onto him.

Between sobs, he says, “Please… please I’m sorry, I’ll fix everything.”

You gently pat his back, “You don’t have to fix anything.”

Sure you were bitter about him leaving you alone, but this was Lando, this was the same kid at the playground, and you would never forget that.

Because at the end of the day, you weren’t mad at Lando, you never were, you just missed him. You missed knowing that Lando would be there for you, and that he would stay with you.

You spent all those years just wishing on something new, wondering where it all went wrong and where you went wrong. How all of this fits into the grand scheme of things in your endless dramatic cycle of your life.

The closure was here.

Lando kept holding onto you tightly.

“I promise.” He says, “For real this time.”

For real. 

Years of unfinished stories and failing to find closure in yourself and here it was, presenting itself in the open. You hug him back, and sob softly. You couldn’t care less about what anyone else passing by was thinking. This was just about you and Lando.

“I think we should go somewhere.” You say.

He looks at you and he knows.

—

You sat on the ground next to him, the wooden base of the slide had been repainted. He leaned against you. 

Those years which felt magnified because of your unhealed wounds suddenly felt so small. Only there to serve as a point in time to bring both of you closer to each other.

“I found no one. It was lonely out there.” Lando admits, “No one came close, I was always trying to find something new, something fresh, but everything led me back to…”

He fiddles with his necklace.

“You.”

You feel everything coming into place, like the grey skies overlooking your life were finally moving over, letting the sun peek out from behind them. You closed your eyes and looked up into the sky. 

This was it. This was everything. This was all you asked for.

Your recurring nightmare became insignificant. It didn’t scare you anymore.

You shifted yourself so you were lying on the floor, which was probably dirty but it didn’t matter. Lando positioned his head so it was laying on your chest, so he felt the restful rise and fall of your breathing, and you felt… at peace, for once.

“I’ve been waiting...” You say, unable to finish your sentence as your voice cracks.

“And I won’t let you go, ever again.” 

— — —

And he was right. He never let go.

You and Lando spent the weekend, which felt like forever, to fix it. Lando spent it all to fix every scar, heal every wound and nurse every bruise he ever inflicted. He held onto you and never dropped you once, keeping his promise.

Lando took you out the whole weekend, rediscovering your stories, and your childhood. He kept you close, never leaving you. He rewrote the haunting past, making sure he never messed up this time.

The once unfinished chapter that stood high above you, the once daunting task was now closing, the final line was being written in the darkness of the years left alone. The emotional baggage was dropped in the past and the pages of your story stopped burning up. 

Lando was here now.

You brought him out in the evening, taking him to his favourite spot, by the edge of a hill overlooking the city. You sat there with him, holding some Chinese takeout.

“You forgive me?” He asks.

“Yes.” You reply, “I do.”

“I…” Lando hesitates, “Yea… that’s great.” His voice is unusually soft.

“You know…” You inhale and exhale deeply, “I remember the night after I realised you weren’t going to text back.”

Lando stiffens up, “Sorry.” He mutters.

“It’s okay now…” You say before continuing, “I went to the playground and stood there while it rained, and wondered what I did wrong.”

You don’t know whether right now was a good time for this but you started so you had to finish.

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong.” Lando says as he looks into your eyes, “It was all me who messed up.”

You pat his shoulder.

“Yea… but back then, I felt like I didn’t hold onto you enough, didn’t work hard enough for you to stay. So… that was it for me.” You admit, “I wasn’t ready to lose you so I cried that night, alone.”

You feel Lando’s guilt from a mile away.

“But-” You lean backward, supporting yourself with your elbows, “today, when we went to the playground, I think we fixed that.”

Lando’s face brightens up as he lifts his head. He fixed something.

“I think… you…” You couldn’t find the words, “You’re back.”

“I am.” Lando says, “And I’ll fix it all.”

In the night sky, you laid down next to him, on the ground. The hurting stopped, all that stopped today, in that playground where you two grew up, where you went to all those dark days, and where you left all the emotional baggage.

The skies illuminated the sky and reflected off Lando’s eyes. It was beautiful, he was beautiful. Under the bright sky and the night breeze, Lando was at peace with himself. So were you.

You scooted closer to him and he laid his head in your embrace, both of you laid in the grass. And right there was where everything felt alright, like nothing would change again. Just like when they were children.

Just like last time.

“I love you.”

—

The time had to come eventually. You were back at the airport.

You hugged him tightly once again, this moment felt no better than the last. The hug is laced with rewritten years of friendships and the closure of every dark page in your stories, to be happier, to be better. It was for everything and every minute you two lost now filled in with the memories of this weekend. This closure. He sobs on your shoulder, he never wants to let go.

But he has to. Both of you take a step back. 

“If it helps you.” You say, “You fixed it.”

Lando wipes the tears away, giving you one of the purest smiles you think you’ll ever see in your life.

“And for you…” He says, “You’ll always be here.” He points to his heart.

“I’ll never let you hurt again.”

You smile, embracing him again.

As he’s about to leave, you take the necklace off and hand it to him. He look at it, and hastily takes his one off, swapping your necklaces.

“To rewritten love.” You say.

He nods and puts the necklace on. 

“I’ll see you around.” His voice cracks a little.

“Promise?”

He tears up again, “Yes… Yes I promise.”

You look at his sparkly brown-blue eyes again, coming to peace with everything. As he enters the boarding gates, he looks back at you again, smiling slightly at you as he waves. You wave back, holding onto the necklace again.

He walks off, disappearing into the crowd once again but it doesn’t feel empty this time. It’s closure, it’s settlement, it’s resolution. You watch his plane take off, hearing the roar of the engine before it fades into nothing.

It was a promise.

A promise that you would keep, even as you moved out of this city, to another place. A promise that he would keep even as he reached greater heights.

Because a promise was made and a promise will be kept.

END.

i hope this hit expectations, i dont think there will be a part 3 lol

[10yrsyart]

Luke 15:7, "There is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God than over ninety-nine others who were righteous and haven't strayed away!"

i was thinking about this verse recently and wondering.. how different it would be if people could see just how important they are to God. so important in fact that the Creator of the universe, an everlasting Being, came down Himself to experience death to set us free from Death. if you were the only human needing redemption, He would have gone through it all just for you.

it's up to you to accept or reject this payment on your behalf. there's no way to pay it yourself, you can never be "good enough" to make it to Heaven. He took on your punishment for you and only His sacrifice absolves you from it. if you reject Him, He will honor that decision, and you'll spend eternity separated from Him and all joy, light, and happiness. not because He's cruel, but because all good things stem from the Lord. there is no life without Jesus Christ.

the experience of the man in this comic is actually based on many testimonies i've listened to. people cried out to Jesus, and either saw or felt His love and were changed. don't wait! you have the entirety of Heaven cheering you on, longing for you to join our family. the hole in your heart can only be filled by the Holy Spirit's Presence. don't reject your opportunity to experience God's wonders forever, in a reality far greater than Earth could ever hope to be.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life." (John 3:16)

transcript:

Saint 1: Quick! It's happening!

Man: (sighs)

Demon 1: Things aren't gonna get better, y'know? At least you're not believing in a fairy tale like them.

Demon 2: Reality, not delusion!

Demon 3: Only you can change your life. You're the master of your own destiny!

Man: I've tried everything, but I still feel empty...

Demon 1: Better than being trapped under a bunch of religious rules forever. Is that what you want?

Demon 2: You're worth nothing. You don't deserve any help.

Demon 3: Worthless, worthless~

Man: I'm so sick of this. It's all pointless.. I just want it to stop...

Demon 1: Yes, it's pointless!

Demon 2: Even if you call, no one will answer!

Demon 3: You might as well end it now. There's nothing in your future-

Man: Jesus!

Saint 2: HAH!

Saint 3: Yes!!

Demons (all): NO! No No No No No No No

Man: If you're real, prove it to me! I can't do this. Help me, I need you!

Saint 4: Yeaaaah!

Saint 5: That's right!

Saint 6: I love this part!

Saint 7: WOOOH! YESHUA!

Man: ..Forgive me.

Jesus: (smiles) Welcome home, My son.

Saint 8: He did it!!

Saint 9: Yes!

Saint 10: JESUS!!

Saint 11: Atta boy!

Angel 1: HAH! GOT'M!

Saint 12: Did you see that?!

Saint 13: A new family member!

Angel 2: Hallelujah!

Angel 3: Praise Yah!

Saint 14: Thank You.

Saint 15: I can't wait until he gets here!

Heavenly voices: Our Lord Jehovah! Hallelujah! Praise Yahweh forever! Holy Holy Holy. Yeshua our Savior! Is the Lord God Almighty.

Saint 7: WOOOH! YESHUA!!

God the Father: (smiles)

Man: ...I don't feel empty.

[lych33dragoncookie]

Alright. Chapter 6. Boy do I have some choice words about this one.

Let's start small, though. With Spice being a fucking freak.

Look, I'm a Dragon Ball fan. I'm easy to please with this kind of thing. You give me a character who is really weird about fighting and I'll hoot and holler about it all day long. This isn't a generic "Villain plays with their food, this ends up being a terrible mistake later" situation; Spice could have killed her right there and then, much like Flour intended to do with Dark Cacao when his soul jam was stolen, but here? Nah. He wants to coke this woman up for a chance at a good fight with her and her in specific. Weirdo. I like him.

Smoked Cheese continues to be really really good this update, by the way. I couldn't be any more glad to have him here.

He's blunt. He knows how to strike a nerve, how to push someone's buttons; just because he's undeniably on the side of good, that doesn't mean these inherent traits of his' are gone. They're being repurposed, the same methods going towards a better end, he's still undeniably him, no one else would speak up to the queen like this, he knows what makes her tick, and he's using that to drag her off of the ground and bring her back up. I'm absolutely loving every bit of it.

This chapter also does a really good job of accentuating the sheer contrast Golden Cheese and Burning Spice have as rulers, with the former having outright raised her closest subjects, keeping them on an equal level, and providing for them with no hesitation or restraint, while the latter keeps his subjects in line through fear and nothing more.

Specially because, later on, it's shown that it's not at all empty threats...

He fucking killed her.

This is entirely unprecedented. I don't think we've ever seen anyone kill another character, NPC or not, onscreen. Elder Faerie didn't so much die from being murdered or anything, as much as he gave away his own life force and all that stuff to White Lily so she could deal with Shadow Milk This isn't that. This is a character being unceremoniously, ruthlessly killed, even if it wasn't a playable one. A cookie, no less; not any of the little animals, who despite their sapience wouldn't have had the same sort of impact, no, he instantly reduced this one cookie to nothing without any hesitation or remorse, and threatened to do the same to her grieving followers immediately after.

Golden Cheese keeps her followers by giving without any restraint, while Burning Spice keeps his followers by letting the threat of destruction loom over their heads constantly, willing to take from them the moment he gets an excuse to, or just because he feels like it.

And, speaking of him; while this update didn't give us a glimpse on how he started, that "first kingdom" that he ruled and presumably saw wither to dust, we did get to see something else.

His breaking point.

Admittedly, I feel like if one were to observe just these 2 story chapters, cutscenes alone, they'd get the wrong impression. If we look outside them, we're well aware that Burning Spice was once a benevolent figure, and that even now he avoids thinking about the first kingdom he ruled. With that context, these lines make a lot of sense.

Despite being the herald of change; time, change itself, was not kind to him. Burning Spice shows us the inherent pain of the idea of immortality. Of how futile it would feel to get attached to absolutely anything, knowing it'll all just wither away sooner or later, and you'll outlast those very things. After an innumerable amount of time, seeing entire civilizations rise and fall, over and over again, becoming more and more desensitized and numb to it all after the great pain of that first loss, it's no wonder it would all end up feeling utterly pointless. Why get attached if it'll all become nothing eventually? If by getting attached, you're just leaving yourself vulnerable to the pain of loss again? Why have any interest in this newly sprouting life if it'll all just wither away like all the ones before? Life, unfortunately, is limited. Fleeting. And while that already causes great pain to those possessing mortal life, at least they too know that it won't be forever. That we're all on the same ground, and that we can make the best of the time we have. But if all you have is time, time that nothing else around you has, then...

Eventually, without a strong will and the right philosophy, it will drive you mad. And that's exactly what happened here. Life may be fleeting, something irreplicable yet completely limited; but just as there will always be life, there will always be a way for that life to be extinguished. Life is unrepeatable and unique, but destruction? If you find pleasure in destruction, you always have something to look forward to. The feeling caused by razing everything to the ground is perfectly replicable, something that can't be taken away from you. It's immediate, final, and requires no pain or attachment. Empty and unfulfilling, yes; but painless and addictive.

There is no greater pretense. There is no long term. There is no end goal.

It's just all about getting addicted to the thrill of senseless, heart-pumping violence. If there's always something to destroy, there's always something to look forward to, after all; something no one can take away from you.

... Of course, this isn't to say any of this is correct. Obviously not. The complete improbability of a scenario where one cannot die of old age aside, this is the complete opposite of how you should approach this. You can keep reminders of said fleeting life, find attachment to things that will last just as long as you, make sure to never forget all the experiences that immortality has allowed you to form, and value what you have in the moment, making sure to let its memory and purpose live on through you. Something a certain someone else will, most likely, embody as her long, long lifespan continues.

Ok, this was all meant to be one post, but I have too many images to put here, and Tumblr really doesn't like that. So...

1/2

See you in like, another 30 minutes or so. Idk.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM NORMAL PEOPLE *  assorted dialogue from the book by sally rooney, some lines slightly changed to suit a roleplay format, adjust as necessary

i'm not a religious person, but i do sometimes think god made you from me.

i have a sense that real life is happening somewhere far away, happening without me, and i don't know if i will ever found out where it is or become part of it.

no one can be independent of other people completely.

life offers up these moments of joy despite everything.

he probably won't come back.

what we have now, we can never have back again.

for me, the pain of loneliness will be nothing to the pain i used to feel, of being unworthy.

we've done a lot of good for each other.

people can really change one another.

you should go. i'll always be here. you know that.

generally i find men are a lot more concerned with limiting the freedoms of women than exercising personal freedom for themselves.

most people go through their whole lives without ever really feeling that close with anyone.

life is the thing you bring with you inside your own head.

even in memory, i will always find that moment unbearably intense.

i have never believed i'm fit to be loved by any person.

yes. that was it. the beginning of my life.

it's funny the decisions you make because you like someone.

your whole life is different.

i think we're at that weird age where life can change a lot from small decisions.

if people appear to behave pointlessly in grief, it's only because human life is pointless, and this is the truth that grief revealed.

i don't know what's wrong with me.

i don't know why i can't be like normal people.

it feels powerful to put an experience down in words.

people are a lot more knowable than they think they are.

there's always been something inside me that men have wanted to dominate.

i want my life to mean something.

a lot of the literary people in college see books primarily as a way of appearing cultured.

that's the only part of myself i want to protect, the part that exists inside you.

there's something so corrupt and sexy about it.

i wish you didn't have to go.

i wish you could stay the night.

life offers up these moments of joy despite everything.

literature moves me.

it almost sounds sexual.

you learn nothing very profound about yourself simply by being bullied.

it's time you'll never get back.

time is real. the money is also real.

we've done a lot of good for each other.

the snow keeps falling.

hopefully i have changed, you know, as a person. but honestly, if i have, it's because of you.

he does have immaculate taste.

it's not like this with other people.

[name], would you ever fuck off?

you lean in expecting resistance, and everything just falls away in front of you.

i would lie down and die for you at any minute.

sometimes, someone will make eye contact with me, like a bus conductor or a person looking for change, and i'll feel shocked that anyone can actually see me.

we could be in a room full of people and my eyes would always meet yours, just to find that you had already been looking.

there's something comforting about it, something good about feeling sort of numb, detached from it all.

it was different with you, didn't have to play any games with you. it was just real.

no one is ever gonna hurt you like that again. everything's gonna be all right. trust me.

i love you, and i'm not gonna let anything like that happen to you again.

we have done so much good for one another.

[thelightsandtheroses]

everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]

Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck. Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar. Notes: So much appreciation for encouraging me to write this fic goes to @trulybetty for listening toand supporting my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games led to this idea I couldn't let go of. Fic title isfrom the Noah Kahan song of the same name.

It’s starting to weigh on you.

You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.

Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.

The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.

That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.

“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.

The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.

“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.

“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.

It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.

“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”

The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.

He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.

You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.

“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”

“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.

“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.

“Pity.”

“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”

“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.

“You’re Joe, right?”

“Joel,” he corrects instantly.

“Joel, right. Sorry.”

“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.

“It’s only your first shift.”

Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.

He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.

You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.

“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.

“I’ll say.”

You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.

You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.

This isn’t just a job for you.

“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”

“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.

Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.

Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.

Life had different plans for you thought.

“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”

”I’m -“

The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.

“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”

He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.

You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.

Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.

He’s calm, polite even for the most part.

He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.

There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.

“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.

“Nah, I say when I’m done.”

“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.

“Look, just pour me -”

“You’re done.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.

“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.

“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.

“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”

He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.

Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“

“That, Miller, that was nothing.”

You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.

“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”

Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.

You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.

You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.

You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.

Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.

“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”

“The odds are the odds.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”

“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.

“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.

“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”

“Maybe.”

“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.

“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.

“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.

“I could eat.”

”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”

“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”

“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”

Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.

You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.

“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.

“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”

“Call me Joel. Please.”

“Okay, Joel.”

You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.

It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.

He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?

“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.

The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.

The place is falling apart.

“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”

“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”

“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.

“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.

“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”

“The door.”

“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”

“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that

“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”

“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.

“What sort of contractor were you?”

“Building, just the general type.”

“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d expect so.”

Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.

He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.

You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.

You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.

You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.

“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.

“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.

“Ah. Say no more.”

“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”

“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.

“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”

“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”

“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”

“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.

“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.

”You’re welcome.”

“Do I need to make a speech?”

“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.

“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.

“Exactly.”

“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”

Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.

“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”

“That a challenge?”

He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.

You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.

“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”

“You hit the bar.”

“Standard night on the job.”

“You hit it with your head.”

Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.

“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.

It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.

“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.

“Oh.”

“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”

“’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”

“I’m -”

“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”

Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.

You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.

“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.

“Are you on the lam?”

“What?” He asks incredulously.

“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”

He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”

“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”

“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.

“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this … it’s, I don’t know.”

You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.

“We can talk about it later.”

“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”

So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.

“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“

“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”

“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”

“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.

“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”

He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”

“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.

“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.

The balance has shifted and something’s changed.

The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.

And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.

“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.” “You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.” “Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.” “Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.” “Don’t do yourself down.” “Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”

You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.

He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.

You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.

He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.

“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.

The Rattlers are.

“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”

“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”

“They cause trouble when they’re here?”

You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”

“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.

You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.

Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”

“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”

Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.

You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.

“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”

“Well,” Owen begins.

“Leave.”

“Look, Miller, it’s not -”

“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”

Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.

“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”

“Please,” you say quietly.

For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.

“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.

You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.

People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,

Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.

Then a flash and searing heat.

That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.

Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.

You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”

There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.

“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”

“Got me.”

“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”

“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”

“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”

”It’s fine, Joel.”

“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.

You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.

“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”

You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.

His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.

There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.

“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”

He turns out of the bar.

“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.

“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.

“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.

“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.

“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”

“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”

“You know the town I live in.”

Joel chuckles mirthlessly.

“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”

“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”

“It would be harder with the blood right now.”

“Just a tad.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?

He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.

You’re friends.

That’s normal, right?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”

“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”

“I should have -”

“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.

“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.

“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.

Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”

No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.

He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.

Joel stays with you the whole time.

You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.

“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.

“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”

This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.

You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.

“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”

“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s really good.”

“Nah, not really.”

You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.

“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.

“That would be great, thanks Joel.”

There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.

There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.

This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.

You do have feelings for Joel.

It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.

It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.

You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.

He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“Why?”

“You have that serious thought face on.”

“I have a serious thought face?”

Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”

“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Joel frowns then. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”

“That should be illegal.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I might just leave now.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya.”

He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.

“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,” you say boldly.

“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”

“I do. I do want.”

Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.

You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.

“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”

His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.

He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.

He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.

You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.

He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.

You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.

There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.

There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.

Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.

The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.

Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.

He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.

You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.

You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.

He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.

You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.

“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.

You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.

He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.

You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.

He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.

He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.

You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.

He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.

You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.

He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.

The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.

Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.

You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily

You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

You feel like you could stay here forever.

Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.

You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.

He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.

Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.

“I promised tea, didn’t I?”

“We did get sidetracked.”

“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.

“I agree.”

The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.

“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.

Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.

“That wasn’t exactly what I thought was - I didn’t turn up for this specifically, you know? It wasn’t intentional.” Not that intentional.

“Would you have been wearing a trench coat if it was? Seduce me properly?” There’s mischief in his eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”

He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”

“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”

“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.

It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.

“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”

“Nope. You?”

You shake your head. “How about that?”

“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?“

“People still do that, right?”

“Yes, but - I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?

“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

“Leave?”

“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”

“There’s always some trouble.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”

“But this isn’t usual?”

He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”

Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.

“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.

“I think there could be,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.“

The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.

Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure.”

You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”

“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”

“I want to play tonight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.

“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”

“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”

You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.

It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.

The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.

It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.

You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[sexydoffyman]

20 YEARS LATER

genre: fluff

characters: König

A/N: P.2?

P.2

You had known him since his early childhood. No one would believe you if you said that he was once shorter than you. You went to the same little kindergarten and the same school. You were always taller than him until you both turned 13 his growth-spurt hit and you were never able to outgrow him ever again.

You even went to the same high school together. You were so excited to be there with him. The first few weeks were great, but for some reason, he started distancing himself away from you. You never understood why, and even after years of trying to reach out to him, it was pointless. Gradually, you stopped contacting him at all.

It has been 20 long years since he last talked to you. A normal man would forget about everything that happened between him and someone who he hasn’t talked to in 20 years, but König never forgot. He remembered everything. Every little detail about you. You were the only one in his life that he ever cared about. How could he forget?

He got bullied a shit ton in high school. He never let you know that he was hurt. He always bottled it up inside. He felt as if he would put so much weight on your shoulders if he did. At that time he was still talking to you as if nothing was happening. He thought of you as his best and only friend. That’s why he got so angry at himself when he realised he had fallen in love.

All the insults he got were getting to him. He looked at himself one day and decided to never talk to you again. He wouldn’t be able to change his feelings for you. He thought that you deserved someone better. He thought you deserved someone who could stand up for themselves, someone who had something interesting about them that wasn’t just their height.

For 20 whole years, he has been thinking about you. Every day he wondered, what you looked like now, have your interests had changed, have you found a partner, have your dreams gotten shattered or have you managed to pursue them. Every damn time he wasn’t thinking about work, he was thinking about you. How would life be if he never left?

He wasn’t supposed to get deployed for another few months. This left him constantly deep in his thoughts. He was walking around his hometown like he always did when he had free time. He loved to look at the trees. Every season had its ups and downs, but the trees were always so beautiful.

He kept walking around only to be met with an “Excuse me.” He turned around to see a familiar face. “Hey, I just moved here and I have a lot of free time. Do you know if there will be anything exciting happening or if there are any places that could cure one's boredom?”

“There’s a pond where I’m heading right now. I go there to feed the ducks and swans.” He responded. “Can I tag along?” He thought for a moment still shocked to see you after such a long time. “Yeah, why not.”

[mikareo]

⌗ TWO SLOW DANCERS ₊ ˖ ་. gojo satoru x fem reader (1.2k)

⊹ ⠀⠀why doesn’t he love you?

contains; angst, rejection, reader just wants to be loved, gojo's kinda a dick, mitski did this to me, not proofread author's note; i'm thinking abt the guy who didn't want me rn sorry

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur, your voice nothing above a faint whisper. Fear of judgment is laced within it, something you can’t help but wish you could get rid of. “It’s going to sound ridiculous, and if you think so you can just ignore me.” He’s going to ignore you.

However, Gojo sits up straighter. His eyes are intending to focus on you. “Nothing you say is ridiculous. I’m always here to listen.” You want to believe him so badly. There’s nothing else in the world that you wish for. All you need is a confession, him reciprocating the depth of your feelings, but you know that’s impossible. If he felt the same, he wouldn’t have started seeing that girl; no matter the fact that she’s wonderful for him, amazing, and kind. If she’s so amazing, what are you doing wrong? What is it about her that you can’t compare to? You know you’d be perfect for Gojo. He’s your best friend. He’s the person who knows you better than anyone, so why is it that he doesn’t love you the same way you love him? It doesn’t make sense. 

What are you doing wrong?

“...am I difficult to love?” You feel like you already know the answer. It’s a pointless question that’s been eating you up inside for years, ever since you first met and he instantly treated you as a friend when you wanted to be loved by him. “I know it’s silly, but I feel so helpless.”

Without realizing it, your words flow from your lips like a river streaming downhill. Not even the largest dam could hold in your insecurities. “I try so hard, everyday to be kind and patient and perfect; but no one seems to notice. Is there something that everyone else has that I don’t? What am I missing that makes me invisible? Why do I feel so stuck while the world keeps moving and progressing and making changes that I can’t keep up with? Why don’t you love me?”

There it is. 

There’s the question that you’ve swallowed down for the past ten years of knowing Gojo Satoru…and somehow…

…it seems that he already knows the answer. 

“I do love you.”

In half a second, your heart beats faster. It swells with an overwhelming pink feeling that practically causes it to burst. You almost see stars. In your imagination you’re flying through the night sky, weaving constellations together as you hold Gojo’s hand and ask him what he’s wishing on that shooting star, oh so close to you. So close, yet so far. So far, that it never reaches you; because nothing is ever as it seems. It isn’t a wish racing your way, it’s a meteorite. A meteor thats target is the home in your heart that you’ve made so lovingly for your best friend. The flaming rock finds your weakest point and begins to wither it away into nothing but hopeless shreds of dreams. In a half a second, you’re on the top of the world. In a half a second, your world is destroyed. 

“I just don’t love you in the way you want me to.”

You’re a fool. You knew this was coming.

“I can’t imagine my life without you.” Shut up. Why can’t he just shut up? You don’t need these filler words, these empty statements that he’s only saying to make you feel better about your worthless self. “You’re such an important part of my everyday.” Shut up!

It’s so hard to hold in the tears. Your dam already burst— but instead of a river, it seems that you’ve got an ocean of feelings. This ocean is polluted, though. It’s littered in trash and oil, after years of wanting something that was never yours. Other men have thrown their waste in your waters and Gojo’s always been the one to clean it up. He’s always made you laugh…made you smile…made you believe that everything is going to be okay as long as you trust him. Now, you’ve made the mistake of trusting him with your heart; when he’s never cared if it shatters. 

“Please don’t say those things to me.” It’s pathetic, the whimper shaking from the tip of your tongue. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Gojo isn’t even replying to you. He’s simply staring with the most pitiful look in his eyes, as if you’re a dying animal that he’s just shot with a rifle. How do you make him stop looking at you like that? You’re better than this! Just suck it up and smile!

Somehow, you find yourself laughing. “Don’t worry about it, Satoru. I’ll be fine, it’s just a silly little crush.” You’re lying. 

It’s so obvious you’re lying. 

He’s never been a crush. If he was a fleeting crush, then you wouldn’t spend your nights thinking of how you made him smile earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know his favorite place, song, and movie at the top of your head. You wouldn’t imagine his face whenever you picture your wedding day— at the end of the aisle, smiling at you with tears in his eyes. If he was just a little crush, it wouldn’t feel like your entire world is ending. 

“I know you’ve liked me, it’s a little obvious.” He shrugs. “I just assumed you’d get over it?” 

He knew? He’s known all this time?

There’s a war raging between your heart and your mind. It’s a battlefield with logic on one side and love on the other. The rational part of you knows that he can’t help his feelings. He can’t force himself to reciprocate something that he’s never felt before. That’s unfair to him, and you can’t make him love you…

…but the other half of you can’t accept that. 

After all these years of waiting for him. Years and years of watching your closest friends find love, be loved, and experience all of the firsts that you’ve always wanted to experience with him by your side. He doesn’t love you. You’ve known Gojo Satoru since you were ten years old. You’re twenty now and still so delusional that you believe he can feel the same way. Why can’t he, though? Gojo knows you from front to back. If there’s anyone in the world who could write an encyclopedia titled with your name, it’s him; and he still doesn’t love you. You’re the person who’s been there for him through countless breakups and temper tantrums. You’re the one who he trusts most in this world, yet he will never…ever…want you back. 

Someone is writing the story of the world. Someone is tying the strings of fate, the line of destiny, or whatever you want to call it; and that someone isn’t on your side. They never have been and they never will be…

…at least not in the case of Gojo Satoru. 

“I’ll try my best.” A phony smile graces your face and you’re now realizing that he’s never once called you beautiful. Yet, you still want him. Perhaps it’s human nature to wish for the things that are terrible for you. “You don’t have to worry about me, Satoru. I’ll be fine.”

Yeah, maybe in ten years. 

“I’ll be able to forget about this.”

You don’t think you will.

“I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

Your feelings are an inconvenience.

“It’s nothing.”

It was love.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹