#curious if anyone will know what this is even from

[tuttle-did-it]

My friend! I would not stone you, I would not eat you over this. You may very well be right about all of this. We're having a conversation, it isn't about who is right. Everything you're saying is valuable and important. I don't know if you're right. I don't know if I am. We're going off what we have, and that's cool. I am always interested in anyone's thoughts, especially if they are different from mine, as long as there is no screaming and bullying going on.

We are both looking at this what-in-the-ever-loving-fuck is happening on this absurd planet right now, and why is the most powerful country imploding, and why does this feel like we are all in 1933 Germany? We're all lost. It's cool. I like hearing your thoughts.

So, I was very curious about some things you said. I went to look up some stats. Here's what I found. (apologies for the numbers. I am NOT a numbers person. I am dyslexic, dyspraxic, and numbers bounce around a page for me. So bear with me, here.)

According to this site https://backlinko.com/tiktok-users#us-tiktok-users-by-age 55% of TT users in the US in 2024 were between 18-34. (This site didn’t talk much about teens. But that’s 55% of known users who are Voting age. So this is NOT just teens. Only a combined 14% of users are 55+. Similar but not exact numbers here https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2024/12/20/8-facts-about-americans-and-tiktok/ that use it, and this one says about 63% of teens say they use TT. I can only assume that combined teens+ under 34 is about 80%+ of their base. And this is exactly why I think he wanted TT shut down in the first place. The boomers and silent generation are already supporting him, 45 is able to control what information older people get through Faux news and Facebook because of Zuckerberg. He’s able to get all the unretired adults of voting age (20s-60s) through twitter because of Musk. For the people under 25, or even under 30, he didn’t have nearly as much control over the one app that younger people use. Silencing the younger generation is precisely what I meant. This isn't just about how fast posts can spread. This is about WHO is getting information he doesn't want. This is about shutting down anyone he cannot control. (get ready for some revolting and frankly soul-breaking stats, here:) According to https://apnews.com/article/election-harris-trump-women-latinos-black-voters-0f3fbda3362f3dcfe41aa6b858f22d12 60% of white men and an unbelievable 53% of white women supported 45 in 2024 (sorry for lots of numbers here, it is what it is.) 51% of voters over the age of 65 voted for him; 47% for Harris. 52% of voters between 45-64 voted for him; 46% for Harris. 47% for him, 50% for Harris for voters 30-44. 47% voted for him, 51% for Harris in 18-29. The ONLY age groups where 45 was beat was in the younger generations. And that happens to be in the age group that is the highest TT users of voting age.

You want to silence these kids? Stop them from sharing facts? You shut down their app.

You want the kids to stop protesting about Israel? Shut down their app.

Stop them from calling out misinformation on other platforms? shut down the app.

You want the kids to stop getting news about what fuckery 45 is up to? Shut down the fucking app.

You want to stop kids who are legally allowed to vote from getting access to voting places, registration places, and places where they can learn if they’ve been taken off the register? Shut down the app.

You want to make it impossible to find out anything beyond the propaganda? Control the media. All the media. That is precisely what he is doing. And, even better: you want to be the hero for 're-instating the app' that you demanded was shut down? shut it down and then say you're going to ignore the law and let the kids have it back. See, kids! I'm on your side! You better support me from now on, or I'll take away your app again.

Agree to your note about American education system, and the dangers and problems of social media in general. But I think what is far more dangerous is having all four of the most influential social medias under the power of one psychopath who compliments Hitler on being a good person. Whose best bud-- literally today--- did a Nazi salute in front of the world to see.

I have NEVER met a country that was SO under-educated, over-inflated importance and so unaware of the absolute catastrophe they are causing not just to themselves, but also to the rest of the world. And I fucking live in Britain— the home of the Imperialist coloniser who rapes countries, destroys their governments, sucks countries with resources dry and then abandons them with no recovery plan. Like, I am used to absurdities. But America? Not a patch on Britain. Which is terrifying.

As for the form of the different social medias… I’m going to be honest… I don’t think it matters. Yeah, a 30 second video with misinformation probably spreads around faster than a tweet. But if 45 has control of the people who control twitter, Facebook, instagram and TT… honestly, I do not think it will matter where the misinformation comes from. Not now. Not that he’s got them all in his pocket. People don’t read blogs anymore, they get their info on social media. If four out of the four most used social medias are controlled, it won’t matter. He can control the oldies from Facebook. He can control the 30s on insta. The 40s-50s on twitter. And now, he can control the teens and the 20s on TT. It just doesn’t matter — not now. All that matters is that he controls them all.

We’re both Europeans, so we are probably thinking more about the apocalypse this is going to cause to not just to america, but everywhere else— far more than many Americans ever think about this stuff.

We can see what's going on from the outside-- because, as stated, they just use social media for news, and now all 4 SM sources are under this man's control.

As they are in the most powerful country in the world, they don’t always see (or care about) the ramifications of all if this on their own country-- let alone the rest of us. If they are not marginalised people (POC, queer, disabled, immigrants, neuroatypical, etc), they don't even have to think about it.

They get all they ‘yay america! We’re the best!’ And see none of the chaos and destruction their own votes cause. If they’re not impacted, they don’t seem to care. Which is somehow worse to me, but that’s neither here nor there. Honestly, even if they are impacted, they just seem to blame immigrants and people of colour, queers and disabled people sooooooo....

Reminder for when he “saves” it. He was the one who wanted this, and now he gets to be the hero and win favour with young constituents. Don’t give him the credit for fixing his own problem.

[zhelin-thames]

Death’s Gentle Touch

@demonic0angel thank you for letting me write this.

Ps. This is not a dead silent ship but a dead on main ship. I am way too much of a dead tired, dead on main and dead serious fan🫣, so..... Srry😇

Danny hadn’t planned on staying in Gotham for long. The city was overwhelming, a swirling mess of emotions, crime, and shadows that never seemed to sleep. But something about it called to him—a faint pull in the back of his mind, like the restless murmur of ghosts who hadn’t yet crossed his path.

And then he started noticing them.

The kids.

Each one had a presence that whispered of death’s touch. Not full-on ghostly, but close. Too close. It tugged at Danny’s core, a strange mix of familiarity and concern. The first was a quiet boy, barely seven, with hollow eyes and a haunted expression. Danny found him huddled in the shadows of Crime Alley, shivering and alone.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision. He couldn’t leave the kid there.

And so, the warehouse became home.

The old building wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but Danny had poured what little ecto-energy he could spare into reinforcing it, patching up leaks, and making it livable. Inside, it was surprisingly cozy. Rugs covered the cold floor, mismatched furniture filled the space, and shelves lined with books and trinkets added a sense of warmth.

Within weeks, Danny’s little family had grown.

Five kids now called the warehouse home, each one with a story that left Danny seething with quiet rage. Abusive parents, neglectful guardians, and the harsh streets of Gotham had taken their toll on each of them. Danny couldn’t fix the past, but he could offer them something better: safety, warmth, and the promise that they’d never be alone again.

One of the kids, Sam, was from one of Gotham’s elite families. He’d run away after his parents’ cruelty pushed him too far. When Danny had found him, Sam had been too weak to argue.

It was Cassandra Cain who stumbled upon them.

She’d been tracking a lead on a missing child—the wealthy parents had finally reported Sam missing after weeks, though their concern had seemed more for appearances than genuine worry. Her trail led her to the refurbished warehouse.

Cass slipped inside silently, her every movement a shadow. What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

Danny was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a tattered storybook in his hands. The five kids were gathered around him, leaning against him or huddled close, their faces rapt with attention. Danny’s voice was soft, animated, bringing the story to life.

“...and the brave knight faced the dragon, not with a sword, but with kindness.” Danny smiled, looking down at the youngest child, a girl clutching his arm. “Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is try to understand someone else.”

Cass didn’t move for a moment.

The scene was so achingly peaceful, so pure, that it seemed impossible in a city like Gotham. She could feel the protective energy radiating from Danny, the way the kids seemed to trust him implicitly. It wasn’t just a man taking care of children. He was their anchor, their safe harbor.

Still, she stepped forward.

Danny looked up, his glowing green eyes meeting hers. For a second, Cass tensed, ready for a fight. But Danny’s expression softened, and he raised a hand in a calming gesture.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You must be one of the Bats.”

Cass tilted her head, curious but cautious. “Who... are you?”

“I’m Danny,” he replied simply, closing the book. “And these are my kids.”

Her gaze flickered to the children. Sam had tensed at her presence, but Danny placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“They’re safe here,” Danny continued, his voice calm but firm. “I promise. I know you’re probably here for him.” He nodded toward Sam. “But he ran for a reason. And I’m not about to let anyone hurt him again.”

Cass reported back to Bruce and the others. The revelation sparked an intense debate in the Batcave.

“He’s just a kid himself!” Damian snapped, glaring at the screen showing Danny’s image. “What gives him the right to take in strays like this?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Tim muttered, earning a scowl from Damian.

Bruce, arms crossed, studied the footage Cass had captured. Danny’s protective aura was undeniable, as was the bond he’d formed with the children. “We need to know more about him,” Bruce said. “His intentions, his background, his... abilities.”

Jason leaned against the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re just mad someone’s beating you at the whole ‘adopting strays’ thing, B.”

Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Jason, perhaps we should focus on how best to ensure the children’s well-being.”

When the Bats finally confronted Danny in the warehouse, they were met with calm defiance. Danny stood his ground, the kids huddled behind him.

“I get it,” he said, arms crossed. “You’re the big, bad vigilantes of Gotham. But these kids? They’re not just cases or numbers. They’re people. And they deserve better than what the system gave them.”

Bruce stepped forward. “We’re not here to take them from you. But this isn’t sustainable. You’re their age. How do you plan to provide for them long-term?”

Danny hesitated, then sighed. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Jason, watching the exchange, stepped closer. “What’s your deal, Danny? You’re not just some random guy.”

Danny met his gaze, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jason smirked. “Try me.”

The Bats weren’t ones to leave mysteries unsolved, and Danny wasn’t about to spill his life story to a group of masked vigilantes without some trust first. It took weeks of cautious interactions and reluctant cooperation for things to come to light.

It was Jason who finally got Danny to open up.

One night, after dropping off a bag of supplies Bruce had insisted the kids needed, Jason stayed behind. He found Danny on the roof of the warehouse, leaning against the railing as he stared at the Gotham skyline. The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city.

“So,” Jason began, hopping onto the ledge beside him. “You’re not just some ordinary kid with a big heart. What’s your story?”

Danny let out a long sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

For a moment, Danny said nothing. Then he raised his hand, letting a soft green glow surround it. “You ever hear of Amity Park?”

Jason frowned. “The town with all those ghost rumors? Thought it was a bunch of tabloid nonsense.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not,” Danny said, his voice quieter now. “I grew up there. My parents were... ghost hunters. They built a portal to another dimension—the Infinite Realms. Something went wrong, and I ended up... connected to it. Half-ghost, half-human.”

Jason blinked, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “Half-ghost? Like, you died?”

“Sort of.” Danny’s tone was light, but his eyes reflected the weight of the experience. “It’s complicated. I didn’t plan to stick around Gotham, but then I started noticing these kids—how close they were to death, how much they’d suffered. I couldn’t just leave them.”

Jason studied him for a moment, then nodded. “You’re a weird guy, Danny. But I get it.”

Danny smirked. “Thanks, I think.”

Each child Danny had taken in had their own struggles, their own pain that had led them to him.

Sam: The son of a wealthy Gotham family, Sam had been raised in luxury but at a terrible cost. His parents cared more about appearances than his well-being, and the pressure to be perfect had been crushing. When Danny found him, Sam had been wandering the streets, bruised and desperate for escape.

Mia: A street-smart girl with a sharp tongue, Mia had grown up in foster care, bouncing between homes that never cared for her. She’d survived on her own for months before Danny found her, stealing food to survive.

Leo: Barely six, Leo had been abandoned in Crime Alley. He didn’t speak much, but he clung to Danny like a lifeline.

Ella: A bright-eyed girl with an affinity for art, Ella had been living in a condemned building with her older brother, who’d died protecting her. Danny found her crying over his body, her face pale and haunted.

Max: A quiet, thoughtful boy who had a near-death experience after falling into Gotham River. His brush with death had left him sensitive to the supernatural, and he’d been drawn to Danny almost instinctively.

Danny had given them all a second chance, teaching them to trust again. The warehouse became their safe haven, a place where they could heal.

Despite their initial skepticism, the Bats couldn’t deny that Danny was doing good. Bruce offered resources to help with the kids, on the condition that Danny let them monitor the situation.

“I’m not looking to turn this into a charity case,” Danny had said. “I just want what’s best for them.”

“And that’s what we’re offering,” Bruce replied evenly. “Whether you like it or not, we’re invested now.”

Danny found himself working with the Bats more often, whether it was coordinating efforts to help other at-risk kids or teaming up with them during ghost-related incidents.

Cass became a frequent visitor, quietly helping with the children and bonding with Danny over their shared love of storytelling. Tim couldn’t resist asking questions about ghost tech and the Infinite Realms, while Damian begrudgingly admitted that Danny wasn’t as useless as he’d assumed.

Jason, however, became Danny’s closest ally. The two shared a mutual understanding, both having faced death and come back changed.

Years passed, and the warehouse evolved. The children grew, some eventually striking out on their own while others stayed close. Danny became a pillar of the community, the once-abandoned warehouse now a thriving community center.

Jason remained a constant presence in Danny’s life. Their friendship deepened, and somewhere along the way, it turned into something more.

The wedding was a quiet affair, held in the Infinite Realms. The guests were a mix of humans and ghosts, an unusual but fitting reflection of Danny and Jason’s lives.

Sam, Mia, Leo, Ella, and Max—now young adults—stood by Danny’s side, their smiles bright and proud. The Bats, dressed in uncharacteristically formal attire, watched with a mix of fondness and exasperation as Jason said his vows.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance at a family,” Jason said, his voice steady but soft. “But with you, Danny, I found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

Danny smiled, his eyes glowing faintly. “And I found a home—in Gotham, in these kids, and in you. You’re stuck with me now, Jason.”

As they exchanged rings, the Infinite Realms shimmered around them, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond they’d forged.

And as they stepped into their future together, hand in hand, they knew they’d face whatever came next—together, as a family.

Over the years, Danny and Jason’s “kids” grew into remarkable young adults, each finding their own path while staying connected to the family they had built together.

Sam: The Voice for Justice

Sam’s upbringing in Gotham’s elite circles gave him unique insight into the city’s upper class. As an adult, he used that knowledge to challenge the corruption ingrained in Gotham’s wealthy families.

By day, Sam became a successful lawyer, taking on cases for those who couldn’t afford proper representation. By night, he used his connections to help Danny and Jason uncover and dismantle illegal operations hidden behind Gotham’s polished facade.

Despite his serious demeanor, Sam never forgot the kindness Danny showed him. He often visited the community center to mentor at-risk kids, giving them the guidance he wished he’d had.

Mia: The Protector

Mia’s sharp tongue and street smarts made her a natural fighter. She trained with Cass and Damian, honing her skills until she became a formidable vigilante known as Specterblade.

Unlike most of Gotham’s protectors, Mia embraced her ghostly side. Danny taught her how to channel ectoplasmic energy, giving her an edge in combat. She patrolled the streets with a ferocity that even Damian respected, targeting human traffickers and abusers with relentless determination.

Though she worked in the shadows, Mia also took an active role at the community center, running self-defense classes for women and teens.

Leo: The Guardian of the Realms

Leo’s quiet nature hid a deep connection to the Infinite Realms. Over time, his near-death experience evolved into a unique ability to sense disturbances between dimensions.

Danny noticed this early on and trained Leo to become a Realmwalker, a protector of the delicate balance between the mortal world and the Infinite Realms. Leo embraced the role, splitting his time between Gotham and the ghostly dimension.

He became a key figure in handling supernatural threats that even the Justice League struggled with. Though he was often away, Leo remained fiercely loyal to his family, returning whenever they needed him.

Ella: The Healer

Ella’s love for art evolved into a passion for design and restoration. She studied architecture and urban planning, eventually becoming a key figure in revitalizing Gotham’s neglected neighborhoods.

Her ghostly sensitivity gave her a unique perspective on spaces and their emotional resonance, which she used to create safe, welcoming environments. The community center was her first major project, and she expanded its reach with satellite locations across the city.

Ella’s gentle spirit made her a comforting presence in the family, and she often acted as the mediator when tensions ran high.

Max: The Tech Genius

Max’s brush with death left him fascinated by technology and its potential to change lives. He became a brilliant engineer, blending ghost tech and human innovation to create devices that pushed the boundaries of possibility.

Working alongside Tim, Max developed tools to help Gotham’s vigilantes fight crime more efficiently. He also created gadgets to help people with disabilities, inspired by the struggles he witnessed during his time on the streets.

Despite their busy lives, the kids never forgot their roots. They visited the warehouse-turned-community center regularly, helping Danny and Jason with new initiatives and staying connected to the city that had once failed them.

Max was the quiet brain behind many of the family’s operations, preferring to let his work speak for itself.

Family dinners were a chaotic but cherished tradition, with everyone gathering around the table to share stories, tease each other, and reaffirm their bond.

In their own ways, each of Danny and Jason’s kids carried on their legacy of hope, proving that even in a city as dark as Gotham, second chances could bloom into something extraordinary.

I might make this a series and show each kids journey. Hope you guys liked it.

[satellite-evans]

Le petit prince

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Summary: “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.”

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

This is something that popped into my head and I couldn't help myself. It is not my best work and I am not quite familiar with Charles but I tried my best lol

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It was an unspoken truth that the entire world seemed to be in love with your husband. His charming smile, his effortless elegance, the way he carried himself both on and off the track—all of it made him irresistible to anyone who laid eyes on him. And while you couldn’t deny that you adored these traits about him, they weren’t the reasons you fell so deeply in love with him.

No, it was his mind. His wisdom, his insatiable curiosity about the world, and his eagerness to share what he learned with you were what truly captured your heart.

Charles had an intellect that burned brightly beneath the surface of his public persona. He wasn’t just a racer; he was an observer, a thinker. The books he read, the documentaries he watched, the podcasts he consumed during long flights or lonely hotel nights—all of them painted a picture of a man who was deeply intrigued by the world around him. And it was so unbelievably attractive.

Unlike some men, who might lord their knowledge over others or diminish their partner for not knowing something, Charles shared his discoveries with a kind of boyish enthusiasm that made you want to listen, learn, and engage with him. It was as if every fact, every little piece of knowledge, was a gift he was excited to give you.

“Did you know,” he said one evening as you sat together on the balcony, the skyline glittering behind him, “that octopuses have three hearts? Two pump blood to the gills, and one pumps it to the rest of the body. But when they swim, the one pumping to the body stops. Isn’t that incredible?”

You leaned closer, resting your chin in your hand, completely enthralled. “That’s amazing, Charles. I didn’t know that.”

“I thought you’d like that one,” he said with a smile, his green eyes sparkling in the soft light.

Moments like these were your favorite. He was entirely himself with you, not the Formula 1 superstar the world admired, but the curious, tender-hearted man you had fallen in love with. He got as much joy from sharing these tidbits as you did from hearing them, and your enthusiasm only encouraged him.

You first met Charles in the most unassuming of places: a quiet little bookstore tucked away in the streets of Monaco. As a resident of the city, you often found solace wandering its hidden gems, especially the ones that felt untouched by the glittering extravagance Monaco was known for. This bookstore, with its creaky wooden floors and the faint scent of aged paper, had become your haven whenever life felt overwhelming. You had gone there on a whim, craving the comfort of an old favorite book, The Little Prince. Little did you know, that same book would change your life forever.

As your hand reached for the single remaining copy on the shelf, it collided with another. Startled, you looked up and met a pair of warm, hazel-green eyes. The faint scent of aged paper and leather bindings filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of a distant conversation and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards as other patrons moved about. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the gentle warmth of the bookstore wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. Charles. Even then, you knew who he was. It was impossible not to. But what struck you wasn’t his fame or his looks—though those were undeniably striking. It was the way he immediately stepped back, smiling apologetically.

“C'est à vous,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Je vous en prie.” ("It's yours, I insist.")

“No, really, it’s okay,” you replied. “I can wait for another copy.”

But Charles wouldn’t hear of it. He purchased the book and handed it to you outside the store. “Only if you’ll let me buy you a coffee to make up for the trouble.”

The coffee turned into an hours-long conversation, one where you discovered a man who was so much more than the glamorous image the world saw. You spoke about everything and nothing—books you loved, your favorite childhood memories, and even silly debates like whether croissants or pain au chocolat reigned supreme. Charles shared stories about growing up in Monaco, how the roar of engines had always been a part of his life, but so had the quiet afternoons his mother would spend reading to him. He confessed his love for history, the way he found peace in learning about the past, and how it sometimes felt like the world moved too fast for him to keep up. You, in turn, told him about your passions, your quirks, the little things that made you feel alive. By the time the conversation ended, it felt as though you had known him for years, not just a few hours. He was kind, attentive, and curious about your thoughts on everything. By the time you exchanged numbers, your heart was already a little lighter, a little fuller.

Your relationship grew in the quiet spaces between his chaotic schedule and your own life. And yet, no matter how hectic things got, Charles always made you feel like you were the center of his world. He’d call you from far-flung locations, sharing the things he’d learned that day, whether it was a new French word he’d picked up or an interesting fact about the city he was visiting.

“Did you know that Kyoto has over 1,600 temples?” he asked one evening, his voice crackling slightly over the phone. “I wish you were here to see it.”

“Me too,” you said softly. “But tell me everything about it. What did you see today?”

And he did, painting vivid pictures with his words so that you felt as though you were right there beside him.

When Charles proposed, it was as though your entire world had crystallized into a single perfect moment. He took you back to that little bookstore where you first met, leading you inside under the pretense of looking for a book. But when you turned around, he was there on one knee, holding out a ring and looking at you like you were his entire universe.

“You’ve given me more than I ever thought I could have,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “A love that feels like home. A reason to keep learning, growing, and becoming a better man. Will you marry me?”

Through tears, you managed to say yes, and he swept you into his arms, laughing with pure, unfiltered joy.

Now, years later, you found yourself sitting together in your cozy living room, the remnants of his birthday party scattered around. Everyone had gone home, leaving just the two of you to share a quiet moment. Charles picked up the last gift, the one you’d been waiting all evening for him to open.

“Let’s see what this is,” he said, glancing at you with a playful smile. “You’re more excited than I am.”

“Just open it!” you urged, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

Carefully, he peeled back the wrapping paper, revealing the familiar cover of The Little Prince. For a moment, he just stared at it, his expression unreadable. Then he opened it and saw the inscription you’d written on the first page:

To my prince, who taught me that the most beautiful things in life are felt with the heart. Joyeux anniversaire, my love.

He looked up at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You kept it?”

“Of course,” you said softly. “It’s where it all began.”

Charles set the book aside and pulled you into his arms, holding you as though he never wanted to let go. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he whispered into your hair. “Thank you for loving me, for seeing me, for being you.”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek. In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It was just you and Charles, two hearts intertwined, finding solace and joy in each other’s presence.

And as he kissed you, slow and tender, you realized that you’d never need anything more than this. Because with Charles, you’d found your forever.

[mssorceressupreme]

You Belong With Me | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: it almost felt like unrequited love to you, until you agreed to go to the Yule ball with George, causing his twin brother to get jealous.

Warnings/tags: jealousy, arguing, dancing in the rain, kissing in the rain (when's it gonna be my turn), mutual pining, fred longs for you <3, ending is soo fluffy

———

The cool autumn breeze swept across the courtyard as you and Hermione lounged on a stone bench, basking in a rare moment of calm amidst the Yule Ball frenzy that had overtaken the castle. The two of you were deep in conversation, discussing something far removed from the glittering event.

Hermione was talking about her fascination with ancient runes, her voice animated.

“I just think it’s incredible,” she said, her fingers tracing an invisible symbol in the air. “Languages so old they’ve shaped magic itself. Imagine being able to read something no one else in the room understands.”

You smiled, leaning back against the bench. “I’ll stick to words I can actually pronounce, thanks. Besides, isn’t it enough that half the textbooks at this school might as well be in a foreign language?”

Hermione laughed softly. “Fair point. But honestly, there’s something thrilling about deciphering mysteries.”

You were about to respond when Cho Chang appeared, her face lit up like a thousand fairy lights. “Guess what?” she exclaimed, plopping down beside Hermione, who immediately brightened at her arrival.

“What?” Hermione asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

“Cedric asked me to the ball!” Cho squealed, clutching her hands together.

Your grin mirrored hers. “That’s amazing, Cho! He’s one of the most sought-after guys in school. Everyone’s going to be jealous.”

Cho flushed with delight, her excitement infectious. “I still can’t believe it. He just came up to me after Charms and asked. Like it was nothing!”

The three of you giggled, and soon the conversation shifted to the ball itself—who would ask whom, what dresses to wear, and how the hall might be decorated.

“Have you two thought about who you might ask?” Cho asked, leaning forward with a curious glint in her eyes.

Hermione glanced away, suddenly absorbed in adjusting the clasp of her cloak. “I—I don’t really know yet,” she mumbled.

Your stomach twisted slightly at the question, though you kept your face neutral. “No one in mind,” you said lightly, though your heart was screaming a different answer: Fred.

The thought of him filled your mind, as it often did lately. His quick wit, the sparkle in his eyes when he was planning a prank, the way his laughter could light up the darkest of days. You could barely imagine him asking you, but the hope lingered all the same.

Cho giggled, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Well, whoever you pick, you’ll have to tell me everything! It’s all anyone’s talking about in Ravenclaw Tower.”

The conversation drifted to Potions, which happened to be our next class, but your mind remained on Fred. Would he ask someone else?

___

The next afternoon, the library was quieter than usual, save for the occasional scratch of quills on parchment. You were deeply engrossed in your Potions notes when George slid into the seat beside you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a grin, tossing a book onto the table.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you be off plotting your next big prank with Fred?”

He clutched his chest with a dramatic gasp. “Ouch. I’m perfectly capable of studying, thank you very much.”

You chuckled, turning back to your notes as he whipped out his textbook.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm of studying, punctuated by George’s occasional quips and your amused replies. It was comfortable, even fun. Halfway through, he leaned closer, his tone suddenly earnest.

“So, the Yule Ball,” he started, tapping his quill against the table.

You looked up, curious. “What about it?”

He grinned, though there was something tentative about it. “Well, I was wondering if you’d go with me.”

Your heart stuttered. For a split second, you pictured Fred’s face instead of George’s, and disappointment flooded your chest.

But then you saw the hope in George’s eyes and felt a sense of guilt. He was lovely in his own right, and you couldn’t imagine saying no to someone so kind.

“Sure,” you said after a moment, offering a small smile. “I’d love to Georgie.”

He was one of your closest friends after all, how could you say no to George? Besides, at least you wouldn't be attending the ball alone. ___

Later that day, you found yourself in the Great Hall during study period. The long tables were packed with students working on essays and assignments, and the low hum of conversation filled the space. You sat with Hermione, Harry, and Ron, your quill scratching against the parchment as you tried to focus.

The doors swung open, and your heart skipped a beat as Fred entered, his presence commanding the room without even trying. His tie was slightly askew, his hair tousled in that effortlessly handsome way of his.

You quickly looked down at your parchment, forcing yourself to concentrate. But then Fred sat across from you, and ignoring him became impossible.

“Looking forward to the ball?” he asked casually, his eyes meeting yours.

You managed a nod. “Yeah, should be fun.” If you went with me.

George, seated beside you, grinned and announced loudly, “Right?We’re going together!”

The group erupted in congratulations. “So, you two, huh?” Ron teased, his eyebrows waggling.

You forced a smile as the attention turned to you and George. Across the table, Fred’s expression fell, though he quickly masked it with a laugh.

"You two? That'll be entertaining. Best put extra protection over your toes Y/N, George isn't exactly the best dancer."

The laughter around the table grew louder, students chiming in with their own quips and jokes about the Yule Ball. You tried to join in, but your focus kept slipping back to Fred.

Every time George leaned closer to you or made you laugh, Fred’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against the table in a steady, agitated rhythm.

George, oblivious to his twin’s mood, grinned and nudged you with his elbow. “You’ll see, Y/N. Fred might think he’s the charming one, but wait until you’re spinning across the dance floor with me. I’ll have you thinking I invented the waltz.”

Fred scoffed audibly, folding his arms. “Yeah, right. And she’ll probably need a Healer for her toes by the end of the night. Smooth moves, George.”

George chuckled, brushing off the jab. “Jealous much, Freddie?”

That struck a nerve. Fred’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. “Jealous? Of you? You’re dreaming, mate.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like it’s a crime for her to have a decent time at the ball.”

“Decent time? That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t even sit still during dinner without knocking something over.”

George’s grin faltered, his tone sharpening. “What’s your problem? You’ve been acting like this since I asked her.” He asked, loud enough for only him and Fred to hear. But George, knew exactly what was up.

“Maybe my problem is you jumping in when you knew—” Fred stopped abruptly, clenching his jaw as if he’d said too much.

The table grew quieter as Snape walked by, making sure students were doing work without chatting away, a few heads turning toward the brewing tension. Your heart raced as you glanced between them, unsure whether to step in.

“Knew what, Fred?” George pressed, his own temper starting to rise.

Fred opened his book, a little too harshly, his voice low but laced with frustration. “Forget it. Enjoy your ‘decent time,’ George.”

Not long after, you all found yourselves immersed in studying.

Moments later, Fred tossed a note to Ron, saying “Get a move on, or all the good ones will have gone.”

Ron groaned. “Who are you going with, then?”

Fred didn’t reply. Instead, he rolled another paper ball and lobbed it at Angelina, who turned to Fred, mouthing "What?"

He asked her to the ball. He asked her to the ball. When she nodded in response, your chest tightened painfully.

You felt your chest constrict as you watched the exchange. He asked Angelina. The words echoed in your mind, drowning out the noise around you.

You buried your face in your parchment, pretending to be absorbed in your work, but Hermione’s hand on your arm told you she saw right through you.

Fred glanced at you briefly, his gaze almost apologetic, but you refused to meet his eyes. Instead, you leaned closer to Hermione, trying to block him out.

Whatever, you were going with George anyway, why did Fred matter.

___

The night of the ball arrived, and you met George at the entrance. He was charming as ever, complimenting your dress with a sincere warmth that made you feel beautiful.

“You look stunning,” George said as he approached, his grin warm and genuine.

“Thanks, and you look very handsome” you replied, offering a small smile as he led you inside.

The Hall was breathtaking, transformed into a winter wonderland. But as your eyes scanned the room, they immediately found Fred, your heart faltered at the sight of him with Angelina. He looked devastatingly handsome in his dress robes, his hair neatly combed, though still with that familiar unruly edge.

Fred caught your eye for a fleeting moment, his lips curving into a faint smile, but he quickly turned away. You forced yourself to smile and focused on George, determined not to let your emotions show.

“Let’s say hi,” George suggested, steering you toward his twin.

Fred’s eyes met yours as you approached, and for a moment, everything else faded away. But then he turned to Angelina, jealousy flashing in his gaze before he quickly hid it.

The night went on, the music swelling and laughter filling the air. You danced with George, smiled for the photos, and laughed with friends, but your heart wasn’t in it. Fred was never far from your thoughts, and you couldn’t stop glancing his way.

You sat at the table with George, Lee and Oliver, having some punch to hydrate yourselves after all that dancing.

Across the room, Fred’s gaze kept finding you, a flicker of longing evident in his eyes, though you never noticed.

When he wasn't looking, your eyes found him, and when you glanced away, his gaze found you.

You watched as he laughed with Angelina, something stirred inside you, wishing that was you. Around the room, couples were dancing happily, laughter echoing throughout the room which you drowned out.

You always knew you liked Fred, but this was the first time your emotions felt stronger than ever. You'd never dare admit it, but your heart ached for him, and tonight was the tipping point.

Turning to George, you excused yourself for some air, slipping out into the courtyard as tears welled up.

The first raindrops began to fall as you sat on a bench, cold air biting against your skin as your tears slowly spilled over despite your efforts to hold them back.

You didn't care about the rain; you just sat there.

___

Back inside, Fred’s eyes followed you as you left, a slight frown played upon his lips as he watched you scurry out.

“Go,” Angelina said softly, nudging him.

“What?” Fred asked, startled.

“She likes you, Fred. And it’s obvious you like her too, I see the way you look at her. Stop being an idiot and do something about it.” She chuckled.

Realisation dawned on his face, and without another word, he ran after you.

The rain was pouring by the time he found you. Without thinking, he took off his blazer and held it over your head as he approached. You looked up seeing a tall figure tower over you, holding a blazer over you.

He got soaked, but didn't mind one bit, as long as it kept you dry.

“Mind some company?” he asked, sitting beside you, now extending the blazer over his head too, leaving the two of you huddled under his blazer together.

“Fred, just go,” you said, not looking at him.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Crying, no less.”

You turned to him, your heart breaking all over again. “Shouldn’t you be with Angelina?”

Fred shook his head. “There’s nothing between us." He continued, "You do know that she has a thing George, right?”

“Then why didn’t you—” You stopped yourself, unable to finish the thought.

“Because I was too much of a coward to ask you,” Fred admitted, his voice raw. “George knew that, so he stepped in, he just needed to push my buttons that git. But it’s always been you. Only you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world stood still.

“Fred...”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “You’re the one I’ve wanted all along.”

Tears welled up again, but this time they were different. You laughed softly, shaking your head. “How did the wrong twin ask the wrong date to the ball?”

Fred chuckled, his hand reaching to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

You leaned closer, and Fred closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that made everything else fade away.

The kiss was as sweet as his words were, you tasted a linger of punch he drank from earlier, "Mhm, sweet." You giggled. He smiled into the kiss, before leaning back in for another kiss, removing the blazer from above so he could hold you closer to him.

Fred pulled you closer by the waist, holding you like he was going to lost you. "Merlin, you're the most beautiful girl to ever exist." He complimented sincerely.

You blushed, looking down, "Stop it..." you scoff but bit back a smile.

His inspected your face, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, smiling as he did so. The look of love. And you into his, those warm hazel eyes you always dreamed of, finally looking at you in this light.

The soft hum of music floated through the night air, carried from the Great Hall to the quiet courtyard. The sound of a slow, enchanting melody was muffled by the rain but still audible enough to make your heartpace increase.

“They’re playing a slow one now,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

His hazel eyes warmer than the rain, a playful yet nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Dance with me.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated, standing up and holding a hand out to you. Raindrops clung to his hair, the dim light from the castle casting a faint glow around him. “It’d be a shame to let a good song go to waste.”

You stared at his hand, your heart fluttering as you hesitated. “Fred, it’s raining.”

“All the better.” He grinned, his usual confidence creeping back into his voice. “Come on, Y/N. You’re already soaked, and we’re already out here. What’ve we got to lose?”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re absurd.”

“And yet, here you are, sitting next to me.” He wiggled his fingers, his hand still extended. “Now, are you going to make me stand here looking like a git, or are you going to dance with me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile spreading across your face. With a sigh of surrender, you placed your hand in his, letting him pull you to your feet.

The rain was cool against your skin as Fred tugged you closer, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other still holding your hand.

You hesitated, unsure of where to place your free hand, and he chuckled, guiding it to his shoulder.

“There,” he said softly. “Not so hard, is it?”

The music from the hall swirled around you both as he began to sway, leading you gently. You stumbled at first, unprepared for the sudden closeness, but Fred’s grip was steady, his steps smooth and sure.

“You’re not bad at this,” you teased, looking up at him.

He smirked. “Told you. Miles better than Georgie.”

That made you laugh, and the sound seemed to light up his whole face. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the music or the rain.

The world around you blurred, the rain and the music creating a cocoon of quiet intimacy. Fred twirled you unexpectedly, making you gasp before pulling you back against him, his grin wide and mischievous.

“Show-off,” you said breathlessly.

“Only for you,” he replied, his voice softer now, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere.

You looked up at him, rainwater dripping from your hair, and for a moment, you forgot about the ball, about Angelina, about anything else. It was just Fred—Fred with his warm eyes, his heartfelt grin, and his hands that held you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Fred…” you started, unsure of what you wanted to say.

But he stopped swaying, his hand gently brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “It’s always been you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in like the rain soaking through your clothes. “Fred, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I just…I needed you to know.”

For a moment, you stood there, staring at him, the music from the hall swelling in the background. Then, without thinking, you leaned up on your toes, closing the space between you.

The kiss was soft and slow, rain falling around you as if the world had stopped for just the two of you. Fred’s hand cupped your face gently, the other still resting on your waist, pulling you closer. When you finally pulled back, he was grinning, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, how’s this for a Yule Ball memory?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing.

You laughed, your cheeks flushing despite the cold. “It’s perfect.”

“Good,” he said, spinning you one last time before pulling you back into his arms. “Because I don’t think I’m letting you go anytime soon.”

And as the rain continued to fall and the music from the Great Hall drifted through the night, you realised that, for once, you didn’t mind getting soaked.

[witherby]

Please help a starving Anon..... I need more Mother Hen Hal from you...The way you write him and the characters are so good and perfect(idc if anyone disagrees), i am dying../silly/nf

It can have anything you wish to add, maybe a sprinkle of hurt/comfort (let's not forget the queers(BatLantern) too/verysilly)/lh

Yeah, you can absolutely have more mother hen Hal!!! This one is a little early in the relationship, pre-Flittermouse, and Dick-centric.

The Littlest Wayne: Mother Hen (Dick)

"B! Thanks for coming to get —"

Dick stops and tilts his head as the window of the Lambo rolls down. It's not Bruce, here to pick him up from a celebration at Titan's Tower he was just a smidge too drunk to drive himself home from.

It's Hal.

"Hi, kid," he greets. "Bruce was asleep when you texted. I told him to chill out and I'd get you instead."

"Oh, hi," Dick says, a little off-kilter. His grin only wanes a little. "Yeah. Okay."

He walks around the car and climbs into the front passenger seat, brows furrowed. It's the first time they've been alone together since Bruce told the boys that they started seeing each other.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Have you eaten in a while? Might hit a drive-through before we get back. My treat as long as you don't tell Alfred."

Dick nods slowly, staring at Hal like he can't quite figure everything out. Hal just shoots him an easy smile, then focuses his attention on the road.

They're quiet for a while, the radio playing some top 10 hit softly through the speakers neither one of them recognizes. When Hal pulls up to order them some food (and how curious that he knows Dick's usual) then waves away Dick's effort to pay, the man can't help but say something.

"You don't... have to do that."

"It's like thirty bucks, champ. I've got it," Hal chuckles.

"I don't mean the food."

Hal looks at Dick curiously. It's probably the fact that he's still pretty sloshed, but he feels especially vulnerable in the car with him, and can't quite keep his thoughts to himself.

"You don't have to pretend to care about Bruce's kids just because you're dating Bruce." Even as he says it, he knows it was mean and dismissive. Dick chews on the inside of his cheek and can't figure out how to take that back, so he stops talking.

Hal doesn't respond. Dick can't make himself look at Hal's face, so he fiddles with the Nightwing charm dangling off his cellphone.

"Here's your meal, sir. Enjoy," says a fast food employee. Hal thanks her quickly, then pulls into a parking lot and kills the engine. Dick listens to him rustle through the bag and sort out what belongs to whom for a minute, then gently takes his portion from him when it's offered.

"Hey," says Hal. Dick pretends he's too preoccupied with opening the sauce packet for his chicken nuggets to look up. "Okay. I'd probably be a little skittish after dropping a bomb like that, too. So, just listen for a sec, okay?"

"Kay," he mumbles through a mouthful of fries, trying very hard not to feel like he's eight years old and sitting in Commissioner Gordon's office, waiting to find out if Bruce will assume guardianship and take him home, waiting to see if he'd be accepted or rejected.

"I think Bruce is it for me."

Hmm. Okay, not the words he expected to hear, but Dick is listening.

"You've probably heard that from his exes before. Something about Bruce is just...captivating. He's got his own gravitational pull, and I'm not interested in getting knocked outta orbit."

Hal pops a couple fries in his mouth. Dick sees his shoulders shrug in his periphery.

"I'm in love with him, is the point. Have been for a few years now, but I didn't think it was reciprocal until that battle in Coast City. But Bruce isn't just Bruce, is he?"

Hal reaches across the center console to gently squeeze Dick's knee.

"He's Bruce, and Dick, and Jason, and Tim, and Damian. He's got a whole gaggle of wonderful sons I'd love to get to know."

"We've worked together tons of times before," Dick says. He's barely picking at his food, too busy trying to figure out Hal's point.

"Sure. I've worked with Nightwing a lot. But that's not all you are. I don't really know anything about Dick Grayson, and I'd really like to."

Hal pulls his hand away and picks up his burger to take a bite.

"All this to say...I know you guys are mostly grown. You're used to having one parent and don't really need another one, and, damn, I don't know the first thing about any of that. But I'm in this for the long haul, and you can rely on me. I don't want any of you believing you're just an afterthought to me. Okay?"

Oh. Oh.

In lieu of an answer, and also because his throat feels too tight to speak, Dick just nods and goes back to eating. They finish their food in silence and Hal gets out to dispose of the trash, then turns the engine again to take him the rest of the way home. As he parks and they leave the garage, Dick throws his arms around Hal. He pretends the stinging in his eyes is some weird effect from the alcohol when Hal hugs him back just as tight.

"Goodnight, kid," he murmurs. "Go take a glass of water and some ibuprofen to bed with you for that hangover in the morning."

"Yes, mom," Dick snorts, teasing, but he detours to the kitchen with a shy little grin anyway.

[woozinhos]

omgg hii can you write a fluffy smut of hoshi surprising his gf by coming home earlier for his break from military 🥹

Notes: You’re gonna wanna read this one just trust me it’s long got smut and fluff and you’ll love it hehe also sorry I put hoshi instead of soonyoung

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

Smut below the cut

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

You're in your shared apartment, relaxing on the couch and minding your own business when suddenly, you hear a knock on the door. You get up from the couch, a bit curious as to who it could be, and make your way over to the door. As you approach the door, you think to yourself who it could possibly be. Maybe it's one of your friends? Or a delivery person with a package? You're not expecting anyone, so it's a bit unexpected.

You reach the door and take a deep breath, preparing yourself for whoever is on the other side. You turn the handle and slowly open the door, peeking out to see who it is. You see Hoshi standing in front of you, a cheeky grin on his face. He's dressed casually, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, and his hair is slightly messy.

"Surprise," he says, holding his arms out for a hug. You're completely taken aback by his sudden appearance. Your eyes widen in shock and disbelief as you take in his presence. You stand there speechless for a moment, unable to form words as your heart races with excitement. Hoshi notices your shock and chuckles, amused by your reaction.

"Aren't you going to hug me back?" he teases, stepping closer to you.

You snap out of your shock and throw yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms tightly around him. You bury your face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent as you hold onto him like a lifeline. "You're really here," you whisper, your voice slightly muffled by his hoodie. "I can't believe it." Hoshi laughs softly and runs his fingers through your hair, soothing you.

"Yeah, I had a day off," he replies, holding you close to him. "And I wanted to spend it with you." You pull away slightly to look up at him, a mixture of happiness and confusion on your face. "But you didn't tell me," you pout, lightly punching his chest. He grins at your pout and catches your hand, holding it in his own.

"Sorry, baby," he says apologetically. "I wanted to surprise you. I know how much you miss me when I'm gone." You huff in response, but you can't help but smile at his explanation. "You're lucky I love you," you say, intertwining your fingers with his.

He smirks and squeezes your hand.

"Oh, I know I'm lucky," he replies, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your neck. "I'm the luckiest man in the world to have you as my girlfriend." His breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine, and you let out a small gasp. He notices your reaction and starts placing soft kisses along your neck, trailing up to your jawline. He continues to shower you with kisses, his arms wrapped around your waist possessively.

"I've missed you so much," he murmurs between kisses, his lips moving to your ear. "You have no idea how much I've thought about you every day." You melt into his embrace, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you as he confesses his feelings. You can hear the longing in his voice, and it only makes you crave his touch even more. "I've missed you too," you whisper back, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He pulls back slightly to look at you, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I kept a picture of you in my uniform everyday. It was the only thing that kept me sane," he admits, taking your hand and placing it over his chest. "Your picture was always with me, reminding me of what I was fighting for." You can feel his heart beating rapidly under your palm, and you realize just how much he truly cares for you.

"You're my reason to come back home," he says, his gaze intense as he looks at you. "You're my home." Tears well up in your eyes at his heartfelt words, and you can't help but feel emotional. You throw your arms around him again, holding him tightly as you fight back the tears.

"You're my everything," you whisper, your voice cracking. Hoshi holds you just as tightly, rubbing your back soothingly. "And I'm yours," he whispers back, his voice filled with affection. "Always and forever."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜��・.・✫・.・

The sun sets, casting a warm orange glow over the city. You and Hoshi spent the entire day together, catching up on each other's lives and making up for lost time. You went to your favorite restaurant for dinner, laughing and talking over delicious food. After that, you took a walk in the park, enjoying the cool evening breeze and the company of one another.

Now, you're back at the apartment, cuddled up on the couch watching a movie. Hoshi has his arms wrapped around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. You lean against his chest, feeling completely content and relaxed. The movie plays in the background, but you're not really paying attention to it. You're more focused on the sound of Hoshi's heartbeat and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, letting out a soft sigh.

"I could stay like this forever," he murmurs, nuzzling into your hair. As the movie continues, Hoshi's kisses on your neck become more frequent and more intense. He trails his lips down to your shoulder, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake. He begins to suck and nibble on your skin, marking you as his own.

"God, I've been craving you so badly," he growls, his hands roaming over your body. "I've been dreaming about this moment for weeks." He pulls you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips. His grip on your waist is firm as he looks up at you with lust-filled eyes.

"It's been too damn long," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips. "It feels like forever since I've had you like this." He pulls you closer, grinding his hips up against you, making his desire for you even more obvious. You let out a gasp as you feel his hardness beneath you, and you can't help but grind back against him in response. "You're driving me crazy," he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck once again. "I need you, baby."

"You have no idea," you whimper, your breath hitching as he nips at your skin. "I've missed the way you touch me, the way you make me feel. I've missed your hands all over me, claiming me." His growl turns into a low, possessive rumble as he hears your words.

"Mine," he whispers, his hands roaming down to your thighs. "All mine." He lifts you up slightly, and in one swift motion, he lays you down on the couch beneath him. He captures your lips in a rough, passionate kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth and exploring every inch of it. He dominates the kiss, claiming you with every swipe of his tongue and every bite of your bottom lip. Hoshi's hands wander down to the hem of your shirt, tugging at it impatiently. He breaks the kiss, his breathing heavy as he looks down at you with lustful eyes.

"Take this off," he demands, his voice husky and deep. You immediately comply, lifting your arms up so he can take off your shirt. He practically rips it off of you, throwing it to the side and gazing at your now exposed chest. His eyes roam over your body hungrily, and he licks his lips.

"Perfect," he breathes out, leaning down to kiss your collarbone. Hoshi continues to undress you, his hands moving quickly as he removes each article of clothing. He kisses and nips at your skin as he does so, leaving love bites all over your body. Once you're completely naked beneath him, he sits back on his knees to admire the view.

"Fucking gorgeous," he says again, his eyes roaming up and down your body with hunger and adoration. As he removes his clothes, you notice how toned and muscular his body is. He's gained a bit of muscle from his time in the military, and it's clear that he's been working out. You can't help but stare at him, your eyes drinking in every inch of his physique. "You look so good," you say, your voice filled with admiration and desire. "You've been working out a lot, haven't you?" Hoshi smirks at your compliment, his chest puffing out slightly with pride.

"I've had to," he replies, flexing his muscles for you. "Need to keep myself in shape for you, sweetheart." He moves closer to you again, hovering over you with a cocky grin on his face. "Do you like what you see?" he teases, his hand tracing a path down your stomach.

"Because I know I like what I see," he adds, his hand moving lower and lower until it's resting on your inner thigh. He gently pushes your legs apart, making room for himself between them. He positions himself comfortably, his eyes never leaving yours as he leans down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is slower, more sensual. His hand slides up your thigh, slowly caressing the sensitive skin and making you shiver with anticipation. "I can feel how much you want me," he whispers against your lips, his hand now resting on your hip.

"You're so wet for me, baby." You gasp as he slowly enters you, your body adjusting to his size. He lets out a low moan, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

"So tight," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he holds himself still. He gives you a moment to adjust, his body tense with restraint. He wants to move so badly, but he's being patient, wanting to make sure you're comfortable first.

"You're doing so good, love," he praises, his breath hot against your ear. "Taking me so well." He starts to pepper your neck and jawline with kisses, his hips slowly beginning to move in small circles. You can feel every inch of him as he moves, your walls clenching around him with each rotation. He groans louder, his hips picking up speed as he starts to thrust in and out of you.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he says, his voice strained with pleasure. He continues to kiss and suck on your neck, leaving marks that will surely be there for days. He's possessive, marking you as his own as he increases the pace of his thrusts. He bites down on your skin, muffling his moans against you. "I've been thinking about this nonstop," he growls into your ear, his voice deep and raspy.

"Every day, every night. All I could think about was how I needed to feel you around me, how I needed to hear you moan my name." He thrusts harder, his hips slamming against yours as he says your name like a prayer.

"You're all I want," he confesses, his eyes locking with yours. "No one else can compare to you." You feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body tensing up with every word he says. He notices this, and he grins, his pace becoming more punishing.

"Are you gonna come for me, baby?" he asks, his voice dripping with lust. "Are you gonna come all over my cock?" You can barely speak, too overwhelmed with pleasure to form words. He knows he has you on the verge of climax, and he's relishing in it.

“Cum for me," he demands again, his hand moving down to rub your clit in circles. "I want to feel you tighten around me." Your body obeys his command, and you arch your back as you reach your climax. You cry out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure wash over you. He follows soon after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he reaches his own release. He buries his face in your neck, muffling his moans as he spills inside of you. He slowly continues to thrust, riding out both of your orgasms.

He's panting heavily, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his climax. He lifts his head from your neck, looking down at you with a satisfied expression. He gently pulls out of you, collapsing onto the bed beside you. He immediately pulls you into his arms, holding you close to his chest. He nuzzles his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice filled with emotion.

"My soldier," You say back to him , his grip on you tightening. He kisses the top of your head, a soft smile on his face.

"You're mine, and I'm yours."

[quandlesannees]

This is a classic terf -exclusionary rad-fem as well as a DARVO response, and I'll break down why (but I do admire your exclamatory language and usage of the thesaurus! ):

a) Didn't say you called me a man. I am a cisgender woman (therefore to you the most Woman TM a woman can be), have a degree in gender studies, something you conveniently left out, which means that, even though you don't like it, I've read my stuff and an accredited university gave my "pretentious asshat"-self a degree that makes me a literal expert in the field you claim to operate from by the technical definition of the word. Just as it is a classic Zionist response to claim that people who do not support Zionism are anti-semitic, so is it the rad-fem's immediate response to claim that anyone who disagrees with their opinion is a misogynist. Again, you're making real feminists look bad. Also, imagine being a misogynist in a doctorate level Gender Studies discipline hahahahaha. It's like having a creationist in evolutionary science or a flat-earther in geology. That would be hard AF.

Incidentally, I'm curious: what precisely is self-important in my post about Gaiman? Where did I mention myself at all except to say I explained to a friend? Is it because I used words that are very big for Elmo and you got defensive? As a Master's student, you should be fine.

If you had actually read your Andrea Dworkin, as you claim you have on your blog, then you'd know she actually was a trans ally, both in practice and theory :

I can also refer you to some of her theory if you'd like. I'm sure you're a fan because she was a Zionist though, hence the highlighted emphasis.

b) My father's family is Palestinian and my mom is Italian-Jewish, so you've struck out once more with these weird accusations (Classic DARVO). Where did I say any of these things you're accusing? You're floundering, babe. Israel stole land from Palestine the same way that Europeans stole land from Native Americans (a cause I'm sure you're supportive of, as intersectional rad-fems were), and England stole it from Ireland. But ok, to analyze your words, let's do it. In your posts, you refer to Palestinians as Hamas (as a unit) and claim that Zionists have a right to Israel, by definition, this makes you a Zionist.

The classic definition of Zionism as proposed by Gorny 1987, Shapira 1992, and Slater 2020 (among many) is the claim that Jews had a historical right to the land which outweighed the rights of the Arabs to their native land. As a result, Zionist jews have a moral responsibility to enact settler colonialism at the expense of the Palestinians, and other Arabs as we now see with Lebanon. Israeli historian Yosef Gorny argues that the establishment of a Jewish demographic majority is a foundational aspect of Zionism and depends uniquely on expelling Arabs (Gorny 1987): "[T}he desire for a Jewish majority was the key issue in the implementation of Zionism, implying a basic change in the international standing of the Jewish people and marking a turning-point in their history. The significance of this demand, and of the untiring endeavour to realize it in various ways, lay in the annulling of the majority standing of the Arabs of Palestine. The roots of the Jewish-Arab confrontation, therefore, are embedded in the incessant process of disturbance of the status quo ante as regards national status in Palestine." The Zionist cause is defined by a reduction of Palestinian identity as a means to define itself, both socially and biologically. One cannot be a Zionist and like Palestinians. It is oil and water. That's like saying someone loves fascism but supports women and minorities.... According to Israeli historian Simha Flapan, the view expressed by the proclamation "there was no such thing as Palestinians" is a cornerstone of modern Zionist policy and has affected many Israeli laws (Flapan 1979).

You've written in a former blog post (that is your 'solution' to the conflict, supposedly) that Palestinians need to create a "secular government". Israel is not considered a secular state by the technical definition, so I'm assuming in your two-state solution towards the act of settler colonialism, Israel should give up faith in government? Is that acceptable to you? ("Israel is consequently an ethno-national state that is not a secular state". (Guy Ben-Porat, Bryan S. Turner. The Contradictions of Israeli Citizenship: Land, Religion, and State. Routledge, 2011. p. 12) and "Israel cannot be considered a secular state" in Sebastián Cote Pabón, Secularism and Democracy in Israel: Military Service as Case Study. Middle East Policy, Vol. XXVI, N°3. 2019. p. 1.) You also say: "I would expect no objection from Israel (or little objection) since this is what they want and it is Palestine that has rejected statehood." Ah yes? Is that why Israel’s Knesset voted to reject Palestinian statehood on July 18th, 2024? (https://edition.cnn.com/2024/07/18/middleeast/israel-us-biden-knesset-vote-palestinian-state-intl/index.html)

You're so far up Israel's genocidal arse, that you're practically a settler colonialist of Netanyahu's intestinal tract.

However, since you care so much about National Socialism and Zionism, feel free to take this quiz to figure out which hate-fueled political party said which genocidal quote about which hated ethnic minority (it's much harder to discern than you'd think): https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSd1c-_56yYGTJNit_GjUB-th5C8M4SKapOibN8vsmicakWNCA/viewform

c) If you had a Master's in science then I'm sure you would know how to write and argue a lot better than you have (due to having to write and argue the thesis), as well as learn to not be as reactionary and attack-oriented as you are. For example, I'm sure you'd have a much better mastery of hyphen usage. Also you tend to start sentences with "Do you hate XYC enough to [insert bad faith argument here]??????" This is not an argument. It's you being inflamed and attacking with an explosion of anger, not because you care, but because you enjoy getting angry for anger's sake in the name of claiming moral superiority. Perhaps you should have taken more rhetoric courses. This once more proves you are a performative feminist of which I've warned in my original post.

If this is the future of science, then I am worried. Do they teach you in your Master's classes how to to argue with someone by saying they should have been aborted? I am a professor at a university and I'd be ashamed if you were my student and this was how you were acting out in the world. Given that you're a rad-fem and they're historically active on the topic, I'm getting the vibe that you're quite sensitive, caring, and thoughtful to the history of abortion. You're clearly so kind and understanding to rape victims in the flesh, of which we have evidence here right now. Do you tell other rape victims they should get aborted too? You act so strongly from a well-informed place of kindness.

Also, what is Judith Butler's ilk? Gender-affirmative theorists, maybe....?

d) Girl.... you're literally making this a bad faith conversation because you have not a leg to stand on. You just admitted that you just cherry-picked to get something you could be mad at because I said your post was vaguely disingenuous. Big yikes.

Since you're a TERF, I believe you rose to the occasion for the sole purpose of protecting fellow TERF JK Rowling and not because you care about rape victims (clearly), women's rights, or the horror that Gaiman has inflicted on vulnerable people. Hence why you're so upset.

JK Rowling is different but also bad because of the following:

JK Rowling has enabled rapists to continue their abuse by hiring them (Gary Oldman is only one example). Where was her outrage when Oldman hit his former wife in the face with a phone? Or when Johnny Depp abused Amber Heard? This is especially sad because Rowling herself is a victim of domestic abuse. She cares about women when it's convenient and she can use them as a tool for her agenda. In a different way, this is similar to Gaiman, who only cared about women's rights to lure vulnerable women to him. They are performative but reveal their real colors when pressed.

She also praised your favorite REAL anti-semite, Elon Musk, and, with him, has harassed and led a campaign against respected athlete Imane Khelif, because she (an Arab) was better than her white European opponent and didn't look like a delicate, fragile white woman. Therefore, she led a campaign of harassment that made Khelif's life hell during a time of great success in her career.

She has also enacted indirect violence by donating to terf agencies (https://www.outfrontmagazine.com/jk-rowling-donates-to-anti-trans-organization/; https://www.scottishdailyexpress.co.uk/news/scottish-news/proud-jk-rowling-donates-70k-32149025), which actively harm trans people by denying them healthcare, legal protections, and the sheer dignity of life. This is an active form of hatred because she is funding these efforts with money that is used to hurt people. If we can follow the train, she is hurting people, albeit more indirectly.

Did JK rape someone? Not that we know of! Does she actively use her money and influence to enact realized and active legal, medical, and social harm against a group that she decided she hates and must eliminate? A group that has one of the lowest life expectancies because of suicide and homicide, as well as poverty risk factors? A group in which the suicide rate was 6.8 times higher for transgender women than cisgender women? Absolutely yes!

Am I pretentious? Maybe. Am I an asshat? Potentially. Am I an anti-semite? That would be hard considering my mom is Jewish and I went to the synagogue earlier (maybe I should ask my rabbi). Am I (and my lovely mother) anti-Zionist? Abso-fucking-lutely. I'll wear my anti-Zionism with pride.

Stop using women as tools to further your Zionist and TERF agendas.

Tl;dr for everyone except this silly goose:

Looking back, it's insane how spoiled we were by J. K. Rowling's unmasking.

The signs WERE all there from the beginning, from interviews to her personal life to the work itself. So when the mask finally came off for good, our eyes were shot open to all the red flags.

And a lot of folks keep expecting that same revelation every single time another beloved artist turns out to be a bastard. But here's the thing; Rowling is an outlier. Most predators are nowhere near as unsubtle. And everyone telling you all these "solutions" to make sure you don't get hurt again are in willful denial of this

"Don't trust charming people", "don't trust people who declare themselves allies of this or that cause", "charisma is a red flag". All of that may be true, but lemme tell ya - it won't save you.

Because here's the uncomfortable truth: there were zero signs. I followed Gaiman for years, both with his work and here on tumblr. Never noticed a single red flag - and looking back, I can't think of a single sign. And the same can be said for all of you.

It is possible to commit no errors and still lose.

[amazingdeadfish]

Who wants some biblically accurate shadowpuppet dates

Continuation from this post

[bweeeb]

PUPPY EYES

Synopsis: When Pedro doesn't take you to the awards ceremony for his new movie, your relationship starts to go downhill with the thought that maybe you're too young to give him everything he needs.

Warnings: nothing major, angst, couple with problems, Pedro and you are 26 years apart.

Career, projects, new movies, memories, and that topic that always left you unsure—was it negative or positive anticipation when people brought up relationships?

It wasn’t news to anyone that five months ago, when you and Pedro made it official that you’d been secretly seeing each other for a year, people started digging into every little detail. And a few months ago, the age difference between you two didn’t bother anyone in your social circle. Both of you were adults who knew exactly what you were doing with your lives.

Even your parents, who had initially been surprised by the man 26 years older than you, eventually came to accept your choice. So it shouldn’t bother you or anyone else anymore.

"So, I don’t think you’ve ever openly talked about your relationship with Pedro Pascal after making it official. Is it okay if we discuss it?"

The podcast host smiled at you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh, shrugging.

"Why not?"

"How did you two meet?"

"We worked on the same movie, so we were constantly together on set. One thing led to another."

"And you never thought, like, ‘Wow, he’s way too old for me,’ since there’s a significant age gap?"

"Twenty-six years, isn’t it?" Another host interrupted.

"Didn’t he say in an interview that he wouldn’t date anyone with more than a 20-year age difference? Doesn’t that make you curious about what changed?"

"Well, when we met, I didn’t think much about it, and I don’t think he did either. Yes, he mentioned that he wouldn’t date someone with a 20-year age gap. But I’ve always had a thing for DILFs, and he’s definitely one. One thing led to another, without either of us realizing it."

Your cheeks flushed as you spoke honestly, your eyes briefly catching your publicist’s approving thumbs-up from behind the glass.

"I think it’s much more about connection than anything tangible, you know? Our age difference is almost unnoticeable in our day-to-day life now."

"Pedro is, what, around 50 years old? Let’s not pretend it’s entirely unnoticeable." One of them chuckled, and you narrowed your eyes, frustrated at how your words were twisted.

"You’re young, clearly with the body of a 23-year-old, while he’s middle-aged. I think people are just curious about what made you stay." The other one chimed in, leaning toward the mic. You smiled politely, glancing between the camera and the hosts.

"Maybe the real question is what makes him stay. He had a firm opinion, and suddenly, it changed. Pedro has the purest and most beautiful soul in the world. He laughs at his own dad jokes, he shows me things I’d never imagined because he’s from 1975, and he’s a man with a capital M who treats me like the last rose petal in the universe. So, honestly, if he ever agrees to do an interview with you, maybe you should ask him what makes him stay.

"After the podcast aired, what you thought would be a calm discussion turned into a social media battleground. People twisted your words and intentions.

"A man taking care of a child—what nonsense."

"Really, ask him why he stays because she’s unbearable."

"Did she call his jokes ‘dad jokes’? Who does that to their boyfriend? RUN, PEDRO!"

"She’s just after his money."

"The most boring woman in the world is with the hottest man alive. How does that even happen?"

"She has nothing to offer him. Relax, ladies, it won’t last three more months."

"Dakota Johnson seemed interested in him; I wouldn’t be surprised if he ditches this corn husk for her."

"If I knew he was into younger women, I’d have listed a hundred better options than Y/N."

"Wait, guys—he didn’t even take her to the Gladiator premiere. How serious do you think this is?"

It was exhausting. Even though you avoided reading the comments, they popped up everywhere, and all the therapy you’d done to maintain a stable mental health seemed to be slipping through your fingers. But Pedro couldn’t know, so you plastered on a sweet smile whenever you saw him, even as doubts began to creep in.

Maybe you really were the worst option for him. Maybe someone older, with similar experiences, would be better. Someone more mature, less bubbly and silly.Sitting in the car, you stared blankly out the window as Pedro talked about the Gladiator premiere—the one you hadn’t attended because you weren’t invited.

"Hey, are you okay?" It wasn’t that you weren’t listening. You just didn’t have much to say, so you let him keep talking.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Go on."

Your smile didn’t falter, and you silently thanked yourself for being a good actress.

"No, you’re not fine. What’s wrong?"

"Of course I am. It must’ve been surreal, babe. Even Dakota Johnson was there, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s wrong with you?" His eyes left the road momentarily to glance at you. You shook your head.

"Nothing. You’re just imagining things." You leaned over, cupped his face in your hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips before pulling away.

"Eyes on the road, old man."

"Okay, but I thought I was your daddy."

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as if offended. You loved that about him—the way he was so expressive and dramatic, some might call it embarrassing, but you found it endlessly entertaining.

"You know when you’re my daddy," you said with a mischievous smile, swallowing the rising bitterness in your throat. That night was the last time you slept at his place. Over the following days, you insisted on being dropped off at home, and Pedro didn’t argue. He simply observed your strange behavior.

At first, he thought you might be pregnant and unsure about what to do. But then he remembered you weren’t the type to hide something like that. He considered that maybe you were overwhelmed with your new projects, but you usually loved talking about them. And then, his thoughts landed on your relationship. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t pinpoint anything.

Five days later, the two of you were at a dinner with friends. Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

"Hey, Y/N, why didn’t I see you at the premiere? I thought I’d catch a glimpse of you in a glorious dress," Lux, Pedro’s sister, asked.

Your cheeks burned, and your heart raced with nervous discomfort. Were you supposed to admit you hadn’t been invited? No. Your mom had taught you better than that.

"I…" A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you shifted uncomfortably in your chair. You didn’t dare look at Pedro beside you, though you could feel his guilty puppy-dog eyes on you. You wouldn’t give in.

"I had some things tied up with the script for the movie. It was a hectic week."

In reality, the script had been finalized, and even if the writer had faced complications, you’d have found time to support your boyfriend and contribute new ideas to the director.

"Ah, really? What a shame. I hope everything’s okay now," Lux said.

"Oh, it’s all sorted," you replied, forcing a smile.Your smile faltered briefly when Pedro’s hand tried to find yours under the table. Clearing your throat, you stood up, announcing that you needed to use the restroom.When you returned, Pedro was chatting with one of his friends, and you were grateful he was too preoccupied to bring up the earlier conversation.

"Wow, did you do something with your hair? It looks blonder, or is it just me?" Hazel, one of Pedro’s friends’ girlfriends, asked politely.

"Yeah, I did. Amelia’s amazing," you replied.

"Oh my gosh, give me her number, please. I need something this stunning."

"Of course, I’ll even book you an appointment if you want."

"It’s impressive how an older man managed to snag someone as beautiful and sweet as you," Lux teased. Normally, you would’ve laughed it off, but everything felt different that night. You chuckled falsely, smiling as you’d been doing all week.

"Oh, come on, stop that," Pedro said, sounding uneasy. He could sense your odd mood.Of course, you were acting strange.

Everything had been strange lately.

Later, in the car, your gaze rested on your hands in your lap while you felt Pedro’s eyes boring into the side of your face.

"Honey—"

"If we could not talk about this now, I’d be much happier. Can you just take me home?"

"You know I want to—"

"Pedro."You turned to him, tired of pretending. Your voice was tense, and he immediately understood how serious it was. You never called him by his name. "Stop." Your tone wasn’t angry or annoyed, just lifeless. That terrified him. Women didn’t usually scare him. At nearly 50 years old, he thought he’d learned to handle these situations.

"I’m sorry, okay."

His gaze returned to the road, while you looked out the window, waiting to get home.

As you were arriving, you realized he wasn't taking you to your house but to his instead. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh and covered your face with both hands.

"What are you doing?" The words came out muffled as you felt him slow down.

"Going home."

"This is the way to your house."

"My house is your house, darling."

"You know what I mean," you whispered, exhausted.

"I thought you didn’t want to go. That it would be too much pressure for you, that... that you wouldn’t want people talking."

You heard him lament, and biting your lip, you sniffled. You tried hard not to act childish in the situation, looking up and taking a deep breath, reminding yourself not to let the tears fall.

"I know," was all you managed to reply before your voice broke.

"I... I just need to think for a bit."

"Think... right. Think about what?"

"Can you please take me home?" Pedro nodded at that and drove to your building. For the first time, he felt a strange haze between the two of you.

"Thank you." Even in the awkwardness, there you were, sweet as ever. Pedro could never deny how much he appreciated that about you—the way you always thanked everyone for everything. You were so pure. "Anytime." You opened the car door and stepped out, but before you entered the building, Pedro got out and called after you.

"I'm sorry. And I love you." That’s what he said before you turned to look at him with sad eyes—the same expression you wore when you thought he had forgotten to pick you up for a date, only to find out he was planning a surprise trip to Chile.That night, Pedro went home with his tail between his legs. When Lux called him in the morning, he couldn’t have felt worse.

"You look like one of the infected from The Last of Us. Gross."Lux teased as Pedro rubbed his face with his left hand."What do you want?"

"Wow. Rude."

"Sorry, I didn’t sleep. Just tell me why you’re calling me at six in the morning."

"I was thinking about how you said Y/N was acting strange, and I agree. Last night, she was quieter than usual. Pero luego empecé a preguntarme: ¿la invitaste al estreno? Porque se puso muy rara después de que lo mencioné y estaba revisando los comentarios..." ( But then I started wondering—did you invite her to the premiere? Because she got all weird after I brought it up, and I was checking the comments...)

"Ya te dije que no revises los comentarios. La gente está loca". (I already told you not to check the comments. People are insane.)

Pedro rolled his eyes, sighed, and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. You and Pedro had talked about ignoring online negativity countless times. Neither of you usually cared about it. You weren’t starting now, were you?

"Lo sé, lo sé, pero se están portando fatal con ella. Y al no invitarla, la gente pensó que la estaban dejando de lado". ( I know, I know, but they’re being awful to her. And not inviting her made people think you were sidelining her.)

Lux sounded worried, almost angry.

"Eso es ridículo. Yo nunca haría algo así. Ella lo sabe. "(That’s ridiculous. I’d never do that—she knows that.)

"La compararon con Dakota Johnson. No es justo, son completamente diferentes. Dijeron que te cansarías de la 'niña'. Sabemos que es más madura que la mayoría de las mujeres, pero aún es joven". ( They compared her to Dakota Johnson. It’s not even fair—they’re completely different. They said you’ll get tired of the ‘kid.’ We know she’s more mature than most women, but she’s still young. )

Pedro propped his elbows on his knees and sighed. You had never acted immaturely. You never made rash decisions or threw tantrums over small things. You never picked fights or complained about work or friends. People didn’t know anything about your relationship—how could they?

"¿Crees que está preocupada? "(Do you think she’s worried)

"La mujer está intentando mantener la compostura y alejarse antes de que la abandones, como todos han estado diciendo". (The woman’s trying to hold herself together and pulling away before you ditch her like everyone’s been saying.)

Lux sighed and continued,

"Deberías haber escuchado cómo habló de ti en ese podcast. Nadie más sería así, no como ella. Haz algo. ( You should’ve heard how she talked about you on that podcast. No one else would be like that—not like her. Do something. )

Fuck. Pedro thought. He’d be stuck working all day, knowing you were likely asleep now. As the day went on, you ignored his missed calls. Not as an act of immaturity but because you needed personal space. You planned to talk to him eventually, but your phone felt like a weight you couldn’t bear. Instead, you threw yourself into work, ensuring every detail was perfect.Later, your group decided to go out for dinner, and you joined to keep your mind occupied. You loved them all but remained mostly a listener. Exhausted from a sleepless night, you struggled to follow the conversation, though you smiled at their stories.After dinner, you excused yourself to the restroom. As you washed your hands, you overheard two women talking in mocking tones.

"Do you think it’s a PR stunt?"

You frowned, listening as the other responded,

"It must be. I mean, it’s all over the news, and she’s playing the sad little girl role."

"Yeah, right? He used to call someone 25 a kid, and now he’s with a 23-year-old? Ridiculous."

"Did you see the photo of him with Dakota at the bar?"

"What? When?"

"Today, about an hour ago. She was kissing his cheek, and even if it’s for the movie, I doubt it. They weren’t even working."

"Think he’ll trade her in?"

"She won’t last ten days."

You grabbed your phone and opened Twitter. The first thing you saw was the photo of him and Dakota. He had that drunken smile on his face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. You weren’t the jealous type, fully aware of how PR worked in Hollywood, but it still stung.You washed your hands, turned to face them, and said,

"At least I’m more than a nameless extra without a single line. The only roles your venomous tongues will land you are in adult films, and not the Pearl kind—cheap, disgusting ones. Have a good night.

"With that, you left, hailed a cab, and went home. Fighting back tears, you repeated to yourself, Don’t cry. It’s just a picture. You ignored him all day, so stop acting like this.But for the first time, you cried over something like this.

Your head ached, and with the tip of your nose red, you picked up the phone and called him—without thinking too much, without wrestling with your thoughts. You just did what you felt needed to be done.The first call went straight to voicemail, and even though the thought of not wanting to humiliate yourself for him crossed your mind, you ignored it, knowing you were the one who had lost ground first. On the second call, your phone was answered, and the muffled sound made you swallow hard—he was out of the house.

“Hey.”

Your voice came out low, and you heard some murmurs on the other side, blending with loud conversation.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice called from the other side, and you grimaced. “Uh, hi. Is Pedro there?”

“Uh, he’s kind of busy right now,” she said.

“Busy…” you repeated softly. “Who are you?”

“Carly.”

Carly? Who the hell is Carly? you thought immediately.

“Then tell him I called, Carly.”

“And you are…?” The mocking tone in her voice irritated you, and your expression was far from pleasant.

“A friend. Tell him a friend called.”

“Great.” She hung up without saying anything else, and you wrapped yourself in your own cocoon of blankets that didn’t warm you like Pedro did.Suits was playing on TV while you avoided going to bed, eventually falling asleep without even realizing it. Around 3 a.m., frantic knocks on your door startled you awake, making you look warily down the hallway. The doormen usually informed you of anyone coming to your floor.

Cautiously, you peeked through the peephole and saw him there, rubbing his face with his two hands, five times bigger than yours. You stopped, stepped back from the door, and sighed before opening it. Once you unlocked the door’s security latch, you looked at him and almost closed it again upon seeing your reflection, still wearing his shirt.

“It’s late. What are you doing here?” Your voice came out softly, and you saw Pedro stammer as he raised his hand in a nervous tic.

“A friend?”

“What?”

“Why did you say you were just a friend, sweetheart?” Pedro asked, stepping forward. You didn’t step back, only shrugged and gave a disheartened smile

.“She said you were busy. I thought it would be more… convenient than saying something else.”

“You’re something else. You’re my girlfriend. And my fiancée. And my wife. And I don’t care if you want to be the mother of my kids when I’m a hundred years old.”

He’s so drunk, you thought.

“How much tequila did you drink, Pedro?”

“The whole bottle.” He laughed, moving closer and gently touching your face. He’d always been gentle; being drunk didn’t change that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re breaking up with me.”

“I won’t say anything to you while you reek of cheap booze and cheap women.” You closed the door behind him and stepped away, heading to the hallway and your closet to grab a towel and clean clothes for him.

“Take a shower. If you sober up, we’ll talk.”

Pedro knew what you were thinking—that he’d gotten mad, drunk with his friends, and gone out with women named Carly. But he hadn’t done anything other than stare at the karaoke machine, hating every second he wasn’t there to mock what he was hearing.

“Everything’s cheap,” he laughed, following you.

“You know what isn’t cheap, Pedro? My patience. I haven’t slept well in over a week, and now it’s almost four in the morning, which means it’s been twenty minutes since you showed up at my door, and I don’t know why the hell you’re not naked yet.”

Your words left your mouth, and Pedro smiled at you.

“One day without you, and I forget how hot you are when you’re bossy and sleepy,” he slurred, making you laugh softly as you turned on the shower and pushed him into the bathroom.

“Don’t fall in there, please.”

Fifteen minutes after you pushed him inside, your eyes were heavy, and the strange way your body associated his presence with a different kind of rest annoyed you. Without realizing it, you fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in your blanket. It was as if your body said":

— Oh, it’s okay; Pedro’s home, so we’re safe,— but was your heart safe?When he saw you asleep there, the tequila had only left him dizzy—nothing a cold shower couldn’t fix. He approached and carried you to your room without thinking twice, whispering as he looked at your face:

“I’m so sorry, my preatty little thing.”

He laid you on the bed, and as he was about to leave, he heard you murmur:

“Stay. Please.”

Without hesitation, he lay beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both in a cocoon where it was just the two of you.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you?” you murmured, burying your head in his neck and feeling his hands trail up your back.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you, sweetheart?” he emphasized, and you sighed.

“I’m scared of losing you when you realize I’m too young, too naïve, and haven’t even experienced half of what you have.”

“I don’t even know why you’re thinking that. I’m the one who’s old. You’re perfect, intelligent, hot, and extremely talented—a young woman who fell into the arms of an old man like me.”

“Yeah, but I think maybe one day you’ll want someone your own age, someone like Sarah or any of your exes. I think it’s okay if you get bored of me, start feeling ashamed, and—”

“Stop. Stop that.” Pedro cupped your face, pulling it from his neck and making you look into his eyes. Your hands rested on his chest as you stared at him, and with a disheartened smile, Pedro caressed your face, clearly upset. When had your relationship reached such a fragile state?

“I didn’t take you to the premiere because the press is cruel. They’d talk about you, probably reinforce the rumors, and talk about me—call me a disgusting creep. I was going to take you, but all of our advisors told me not to risk exposing you in a bad light. I… I would never feel ashamed of you, for God’s sake. Look at you. A woman of any age wouldn’t hold a candle to you in a million years.”

Sniffling, you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pedro sat on the bed, hugging you back, his hand resting gently on your waist.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. Whatever was written about you was a lie. God, I don’t think I even know how to live without you by my side anymore.”

You laughed, and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You don’t need to worry either. Other men lost their appeal the moment you wanted me.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.”

His hand traveled to the back of your neck, his large fingers running through your hair.

“And who was Carly?”

“A friend of the group.”

" And why did she have your cell phone?"

" It stayed on the table because I focused on looking at it for five to five minutes waiting for you to send me a message. "

“And the photo?”

He knew what you were referring to, and when he took it, he hadn’t expected it to reach you before you two made up—if you made up.

“It was to promote the movie, sweetheart. Dakota’s engaged.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Hmm, alright.” You looked at him, tracing your fingers from his hair to his beard until they stopped at his mustache.

“Stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. It makes you irresistible.”

“Like this?”

He did it again, and you laughed, kissing his lips immediately after.

“Mm-hmm, like that.”

You murmured against his lips as he smiled at you, and you whispered,

“I love you.”

“I love you more, sweetheart. Just you.”

Pedro pulled you close, laying you back against the soft mattress, kissing you as if it were the last moment of your lives. At least, that’s what both of you hoped.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

I apologize if there are any mistakes in this writing. I didn't proofread it with the best eyes.

Requests are open

[historiawon]

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT

You, Rafayel's bodyguard, ask if you can commission him to sketch your next tattoo.

Based on this post. Can also be found on AO3 :)

Tags: gender neutral reader, getting closer (professionally as well as casually), reader is NOT an artist, rafayel is NOT a numbers guy, bickering, close proximity, lots of eye contact

Kindly read under the cut!

They say, ‘Strike when the iron is hot.’

The mantra repeats excessively in your mind as you watch over Rafayel, the person who employed you as his bodyguard. Because the current chances of Wanderers attacking the Mo Art Studio is low (never zero), you give your mind permission to wander. A little. Just a little.

Your mind wanders as far as a few weeks ago: the request at the tip of your tongue. That will later be inked to your skin.

As they say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ You’re standing a few feet away from a brilliant artist. This is your chance.

You cough. “Excuse me.”  

“I have a name,” Rafayel says, as he brushes past you to rummage through his box of tools. He takes out a scraper.

“Right. Rafayel?”  

“What’s up?” He returns to his stool.

“I have a question, and please indulge me: what do you think about doing commissions?”

“Commissions?” Rafayel repeats, as he scrapes the dried pigment off the canvas. “Like, other people paying me to paint for them?”

“Yes.” 

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you for a split-second before returning his attention back on the painting. He calculates a precise location before scraping again. “In your dreams. I don’t paint for anyone. I don’t even speed up my painting process for Thomas, even if he asked.”

“Even if it will earn you extra income?”

“And extra work! I already work hard enough to finish original pieces as they are.”

You nod and remember the instances of him submitting a painting late. “True. I suppose that your original works already earn enough to support you. . . and Thomas, ‘cause you pay him,” and me, as your bodyguard, you add as an afterthought. Wait, does he even pay me?

(You make a mental note to clarify that later; you have a more pressing concern right now.)

Slowly, Rafayel puts down his scraper and turns towards you. “You want me to paint something for you, is that it?”

“Hm.” You try to be vague. “No, I was just curious.”

“No, you’re not ‘just curious.’ There’s a follow-up question to it; I know.”

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you exchange a prolonged and loaded eye contact. Your breath hitches at the full attention. His pupils glance at your throat before looking back at your eyes.

Y/N, I know, his gaze seems to say.

Your steady look asks: You know?

With a nod, Rafayel’s expectant gaze answers, Try me.

We’re going off topic, Rafayel.  

“Ha! You blinked first!” He exclaims in victory then raises a hand as if to stop you from opening your mouth. “Yes, Y/N, I know a staring contest wasn’t what we were doing. But I know you have a follow-up question.”

“I do, but I was planning to take this slow. I know we have…” you gesture to the space between the two of you, “professional boundaries. I’m not in the position to ask for commission requests yet. It’s not even open.”

“So considerate,” Rafayel teases, but his gaze on you softens. “That’s cute.”

“Still, right?”

His ears flush pink, like he can’t believe what just happened. In a snap, he changes back to his usual self and touches his ear. “Just shoot your shot. Time will pass whether you ask me now or later.”

“My follow-up question was about if I can avail your services for an art commission. You can just draw; no colors. I’ll pay. What’s your price?”

“Assuring me straight up that you’ll pay? I like that in a customer!”

“We’re going off topic, Rafayel.”  

“Hey! What’s with the accusatory tone?” He says as he rubs his ears. The pink turns to red. “You’re no different. You went on a roundabout way just to ask me for a piece! You can just say,” he straightens his posture—highly reminiscent of your current posture that was earned from your job as a hunter—and imitates your tone, “‘Hey, Raf, can you make this for me? I’ll pay!’ Simple. Done.”

You break character and scoff. He chuckles at your reaction.

“Yes, but that was more of an opening rather than ‘off-topic.’ I’d rather know if you accept commissions or not before I ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s polite.”

You bite back a grin when he makes a face. He apparently notices the way you hold back a smile—he glances at your mouth once and his ears turn red. Again. Redder than that dried pigment he’s been scraping off. “Whatever. I can be polite.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.”

“It was implied,” he whined.

You adjust your expression back to a more neutral and respectful one to stay on track of the topic.

“So, how much will a sketch cost?”

“Hmm,” he looks at the ceiling and puts a finger under his jaw, which stains his skin with color. He seems too used to it to bother reacting. “Given that I’ve earned my spot in the industry, it would be, I don’t know. . . a lot?”

“Right. Do you have an exact amount?”

“Oh, cutie, I gotta be honest with you…” Eyes on the canvas, Rafayel scrunches his face with some hard-to-decipher smile. He picks up his scraper and scrapes off a small piece of dried pigment in the corner of the piece. A huge chunk of dried powder falls out. Yikes. “I don’t really know much about the numbers aspect. Will you bother Thomas with a hypothetical question? Don’t tell him I’m considering to give you a commission! I don’t wanna deal with his lectures.”

You make a mental note.

“Sure. I will do that. Do you want me to pay you directly? Since I imagine the price will be a lot, I can pay you in installments, if you accept.”

“Wow,” he drawls, tone impressed, “You thought this through.”

“Mm. I’m serious about this.”

Rafayel’s adam’s apple moves as he fixes his gaze at the canvas with intensity. “I’ll decide depending on the drawing. What do you want me to sketch?”

You imagine your budget, yet again. “Depends on the price.”

“Y/N,” he drawls. “We’re going in circles! Off-topic!”

“I was hoping you would sketch a tattoo for me.”

At that, Rafayel whips his head towards you so fast. The crack of his neck is loud enough for you to feel bad.

“What?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Is your neck OK—”

“For—forget my neck. Off-topic,” he repeats, with his eyes almost teary on you. “Repeat what you said.”

“A tattoo. Just a small one. Under my ear.” At his stunned silence, you continue, “Well, it’s not every day that I can talk to a talented artist. I’m taking my chances and I’ll pay you, I promise. If I’m unable to pay it in full, then you can take money off my sala—”

“You—you want me to draw a tattoo?”

“Yes. For me.”

“I’ll draw it? Are you sure?” he almost chokes on his words.

“Yes, it would be an honor.”

“’An honor’—oh my god. No, it would be an honor to me. Not to you, to me.” Rafayel fans himself with his collar. “Wha—what—what kind of tattoo?”

“I was thinking of a sunset.” You feel a little unprepared at Rafayel’s reaction. His eyes are wide and mouth agape. No amount of spotlight could top the nerve-wracking feeling of someone’s full attention on you. “Like… I don’t know how that would look good, but… preferably, uh, you know those sketches that are made in a continuous line? Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Does that look good? Any professional, artistic opinion?”

“Whatever you want,” his voice cracks again. You wince. “It’s a tattoo, silly. It’s supposed to be personal.”

“The mere subject is personal. I don’t mind much about the artistic style it takes to get inked on me, as long as it fits the way I look.”

“On your neck, huh…” he mutters. “I’ll help. Let’s make it perfect.”

A pause. Rafayel stands up from his stool and tears off a piece of paper from a sketchbook. “Uh, you might want to sketch what was in your mind. Then I will modify it, if you’re unsatisfied with what you made.”

“I just said I don’t mind ab—”

“A tattoo is personal. You should draw and I’ll check.”

You wave your hands away from the paper. “Ah, no! I already tried. I’m bad at drawing. That is why I need your help.”

Rafayel avoids your gaze and leaves the paper on the stool. “OK, um, I’ll be back. Let me wash my hands first—”

“You don’t have to do it now—” you say, but the man is already brushing past you to wash his pigment-stained hands (and face). He belatedly locks the bathroom door behind him, and you can hear muffled screams from where you are standing.

What’s up with him? You wonder. Is this what happens when you strike a hot iron? You didn’t think you would go this far.

_

Rafayel returns as if you didn’t hear his muffled screaming. “Who’s gonna do your tattoo?”

“I found a tattoo shop at Linkon city. They said we’re allowed to bring designs of our own.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and crosses his arms. “And you think they can imitate my genius?”

“I hope they can,” you indulge him a compliment. His ears flush pink—you can see it with the short distance between the two of you.

“How much is it?” You ask again. “Hey, does asking for your opinion have a price?”

“Geez. Why do you keep asking me about money and prices? I literally said I’m not a numbers guy. Don’t go back to the circle, Y/N.” He widens his eyes at you.

“I don’t know; you might be similar to a legal counselor. Don’t they charge clients per session?”

“We’re going off-topic, Y/N,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t know about other artists, but I’m not charging you for asking. Actually, you know what? Pay me with a favor instead. Don’t ask Thomas about a price! You’re commissioning me with a favor!”

The mental note in your head falls down like a ripped-out post-it. “Oh, OK! Thanks?”

“And no, my opinion is for free. You might never ask me for it again if I said it costs something.”

You shrug. “Possibly.”

“So let’s—” Rafayel looks around the room. “Sit down. Your legs must ache from standing all afternoon.”

You sit down on the couch he gestures to. It’s a little relieving on the leg area. Meanwhile, Rafayel tugs his collar with a nervous swallow as he sits next to you. In his hands are two pencils and an eraser shaped like an octopus.

“So, sunset?” He asks awkwardly.

You look at his eyes and smile. “Yes. Sunset.”

“OK. Sunset.”

“Uh-huh. Sunset. Should I get the paper you ripped earlier? And the sketchbook so it can be on top of something?” You say with hands already outstretched.

“So chivalrous,” he teases, but the frown on his face makes the teasing come off as awkward. You playfully scoff to avoid embarrassing him. “Yes. Please start.”

With the paper and sketchbook on your lap, you draw the first line.

The second. The third.

Then regret it.

“Yikes.”

“Hm?”

When you look at Rafayel, he no longer looks flustered. Replacing his awkward eyes is an intense, focused gaze. You instinctively cover the “drawing” with your palm, but Rafayel’s warm fingers pulls it back.

“This will be my tattoo.” You try to avoid feeling awkward.

He studies the drawing for a few beats. Then intently at your neck.

“Press your ear like this. I want to see the space where this will go.”

Awkwardly, you turn your head and press your ear forward to fold it.

“Is it this ear?”

“Yes.”

“Portrait?”

“Yes, portrait. I want it to be visible.”

You hold the pose for a few more seconds. Rafayel’s silence is making you feel more and more flustered. He exhales, mind in mid-thought.

“What do you think? As an artist?”

“I won’t answer that,” he says earnestly, “but do you want me to change it?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I mean, that’s what the entire conversation earlier was about, anyway. A talented artist to draw my tattoo. Hopefully.”

“I’ll make a few suggestions.”

Rafayel does not take the paper on the sketchbook away from your lap. Instead, he uses the second pencil and draws on it.

This is weird.

The warmness that radiates from him—from his close proximity with you—feels quite comforting. You suddenly remember the mattress of the bed when you used to live with Grandma. It just… it felt nice. You feel your upper body lose its tension.

Plus, you can see the violet strands of his hair up close. It’s a pretty color. Maybe violet will be your favorite color, from now on.

“Here, check this out—”

You snap out of your thoughts, but you do not make it obvious.

Rafayel created two sample tattoos, following at least two of the three lines you drew. It seems like the base for his modification drawings.

“What do you think?”

Your heart starts thumping in your chest like a lion in its cage. There’s a… there’s a rush of excitement in your stomach and in your throat. This is pretty. This is genius. Rafayel is able to turn something amateur into something great and you can’t help but be amazed. “That’s infinitely better, wow!”

“Are you sure? We can do better than that. I mean, this one’s stroke is out of line…”

“Sure, but these are pretty as they are! I must owe you a huge favor for this ‘commission,’ right?”

Something changes in Rafayel’s eyes. He looks a little sheepish. “Actually.”

“Yes?”

“I know what favor to ask of you now.”

“Tell me. Strike while the iron’s hot,” strike while we’re on the topic!

“How open are you to having me as your tattoo artist?”

[juchioris]

No Yandere Simulator: Undine Eisner

(excuse the traditional art, I don't have the digital drawing skill, lol)

I'm sending Undine out to play with the neighbours' kids!

Category: Potential Rival - will investigate murders and murder attempts (turns up after murder and failed attempt) - will try to protect everyone (after failed murder attempt: guards the intended victim, no matter who it is) - will intervene in fights if she comes across them (tries to stop the fight, so no one gets injured/killed) - will try to stop a murder attempt, if she walks in on it (fights the attacker and tries to capture them) - will sneak/run away, if someone has a gun (Undine knows what she's made of and that she can't win against that)

In this AU, she moved with her family from Germany to whereever this school is, while her friends stayed back in Germany, so she is on her own at this school (still in contact with them though). Her family is actually political very right and hates foreigners, so they also hate to be foreigners, but one parent got such a great job opportunity here, you know: money. At any rate, Undine tries to be a "good" foreigner and "integrate" (assimilate). So, she prefers to get into fights (only with "bad guys" who "deserve it", of course) after school, to not be bad at school by breaking the rule against fighting there.

Other "values" taught at home are racism and queerphobia. With the bad influence of her parents instead of the good influence of her friends, Undine believes in these "values" much more. By mouthing off about her outdated and cruel points of view, Undine has ruined her own reputation at this school.

Her desire to be heroic and popular (even stronger in this AU) is constantly thwarted by herself. It's not just that she ends up discriminating students in her mindset to look down on differences to put herself higher, she also comes across as annoying, ignorant and patronizing when she tries to help people with little daily struggles (because there are so little big stuggles at this lame, mundane school).

While it is unclear, if Jade really has a romantic interest in Undine (as rumour has it), he is certainly interested in the contradiction between her heroic kindness and her villainous rude side and the resulting "entertaining behaviour". Undine is curious, if the rumour is true, but won't ask Jade outright. She wouldn't risk to get rejected by someone she doesn't even have a crush on. Goes against her pride.

In an AU, where she is not at a disadvantage with others having magic, but she herself not, Undine is pretty strong. She won't admit it, but her motivation to get stronger in the Martial arts club isn't just her wish to be heroic and save people, but also her less heroic lust for power (which physical strength is).

Her close friends call her "Dini" - but she doesn't have any close friends at this school. Undine has some kind of frivalry with Yuu Quinn (OC of @vvyvernicus), where they hang out together because most other people avoid them due to bad reputation, but they bicker and mock each other most of the time and Undine has the immature need to compete with Yuu Quinn over every little thing. But yeah, Undine does care about Yuu Quinn, so if anyone does something bad to her - it's personal and Undine will come for this bad guy with extra rage.

I hope Undine isn't too problematic with her discriminatory ways, but I thought if murder is okay, then her misdeeds should not be too hardcore for the AU. Undine can change and learn to be a better person - with some good-influence-friends, patience and learning from mistakes it's possible, even in this AU.

No Yandere Simulator ? (TWST AU)

AU Information:

This AU takes place similar to Yandere Sim but with Twisted Wonderland but Taro is Azul and Ayano is Quartz. Her goal is to eliminate… AZUL ASHENGROTTO. Yeah, her goal is actually to kill Azul and NOT the rivals. The rivals being your OCs/sonass and they have to protect Azul from Quartz and her dumb elimination plans.

More info on Quartz + Tweels info

Q&A for OCs!!!

This is an AU just for fun!! lol I just had a silly idea. Here’s a template if you wanna make your own oc into the AU (rival or not)

ALSO THEY DONT KNOW IT'S QUARTZ bc she's just a nobody girl

Bro you can tell I was hella lazy with Azul idk he’s too much

Rival List:

Romeo by @skrimpyskimpy

Shuu by @oya-oya-okay

Chiyo by @inotonline

Sable by @twsted-void

Jovie by @jovieinramshackle

Finn by @thehollowwriter

NPC/Non-Rival List:

Elfie by @quartzelfgf

Higashikuramori Shin by @liyuviq

Jade Leech

Floyd Leech

Rizy by @rizdoodls

Yuuki by @theolivetree123

Joseph by @readsrandomstuff67

Yuubeni by @bunniehunn

Yuya by @cheerleaderman

Shuu and Silly by @sillybillymillyrilly

Superstar!! By @imafrealinrainbow478484

Viz (Vizzie) by @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

Yuhua by @distant-velleity

Nyx by @blackcat101

Gia by @ramshacklerumble

Yuuko by @silkkorchid

Moch by @thatsadguymochi

Faye by @faerieluvss

Yukana by @babyghoul138

Antoinette by @antoinettedoodles

AJ by @karamatsuboy-aj

Evelyuu by @h0neybane

Paloma and Hydris by @mhedusard

(Let me know if I made a mistake lol)

[chanrizard]

BANG CHAN'S INTERVIEW FOR HARPER'S BAZAAR KOREA

translation © channie_says

Q: with HOP you have achieved your 6th consecutive debut at No.1 billboard US chart in the first week of release. Billboard charts and the album sales can be important but as the leader of the team and a producer, Bang Chan, I wonder if there are other ways to measure the success. What else do Stray Kids need to show next?

BC: "it's yet to happen" "we have a long way to go" is what I usually say when people around me tell me that we have grown so big.

I even hear things like "stop being humble, you don't need to do that anymore" but I couldn't do that. Success is a thing that is still far from us. We'll keep on running. Our direction is decided but the destination is still unknown. The goal that everyone knows, I'm curious about what's next/beyond that. We want to go till there.

Q: Stray Kids is like the personification of energy to me. Not only in the songs and performances of each of you but also the growth since your debut till now. You have reached here by taking one step at a time and running without resting. What is the source of your energy?

BC: if you observe every member, you'll see that everyone has something burning inside them. That hot ember burns vigorously when we are on stage. STAY also fuels it continuously. (laughs) Honestly the flames can get weaker as time passes by, but if a flame dies out in our team then it gets reignited quickly because there are 7 remaining flames! We're busy keeping each other warm.

Q: what form does straykids' pride take?

BC: it might be cringy but I think loving the members and being understanding towards each other. I really think of us as real brothers.

Q: is it closer to friendship than teamwork?

BC: Uhm, it's love more than friendship. Should say, if teamwork can be consciously matched, for us it just comes from the heart.

That's why we can understand (each other) even if we make mistakes, and want to evolve with each other. I think that's the most important thing. Sometimes i wonder too, how can we be like this.

Q: do you have an answer to that?

BC: recently I thought "shouldn't we be a little more mature" but then another part of me was like "do we really need to, tho". When we are together we're still like kids in their teens because we're too busy constantly teasing each other. As the oldest, I get subjected to it the most. It's really childish but I like that childishness. That's how real friends are. Forcefully pretending to be mature according to your biological age is boring. In the future too, we'll keep being childish like we are.

Q: maybe the answer could just be that you all haven't grown up but leader Bang Chan seems to have a really heavy burden on his shoulders. What sense of duty does Bang Chan feel now?

BC: I don't know if l am doing well as a leader. Since i don't know, I'm working harder to do better. I have to produce too, and take care of the members too...the pressure is a lot. It's an obsession. I'm trying to accept it these days. even if the members' emotional state synchronizes, there's times that I pretend to not know/ notice it. If I see it then I would want to fix it and take care of the members but that's my obsession and everyone is an adult.

They might not even like it if I step in. I'm trying to consciously put "members can do well on their own" in my head. It's gotten really better if I compare it to when we debuted (laughs).

Q: Your nickname is 'bangbeoji' (bangfather) right? That sounds like a problem my dad who has raised children might have (laughs). Were you a strict leader during your trainee days?

BC: l feel really sorry about treating the members coldly back then. My trainee life was really long, I was the only one left as all my close friends debuted, left, new ones came, and left again....after going through such situations repeatedly, my personality changed drastically. I didn't wanna get hurt anymore so I decided that I wouldn't get closer to anyone. It was the darkest time of my life. l was worrying thinking 'now what will happen with my life' and that's when the members appeared in front of me.

Q: you're really strict with yourself, aren't you?

BC: I'm the type to point out and worry about the smallest things that don't even matter. When I watch back our performances, I always think "why did i do it like that" and I'm almost never satisfied with myself but what will I do if I only like myself. It's good if I like others too. I can't become a self-centered person.

On top of that, music/songs doesn't have an answer. Even while producing I try my best and work hard and make constant improvements based on the reactions that I saw while letting people listen to it, that's the type of person am. I haven't lived long but while living I have found that there's a lot of people I'm grateful for. Company employees, members, family, friends... I want to thank them all.

To do that, I think it's really important to make a result that will satisfy everyone a little more.

Q: we wanna know Bang Chan's playlist.

BC: honestly from the position of someone who has to continuously make songs, it's hard to listen to others' songs. I always end up listening with intent. These days I enjoy listening to sounds from the outside. Sounds of the city, car sounds, sounds of kids running around and playing in the playground.

Q: are you gonna end up wearing a bucket (on your head) later like ryuichi sakamoto? (laughs)

BC: I have even done things like that in the past like just tapping my elbow with a microphone and carefulylistening to the sound it makes. Since I arrange the songs myself, that's why I wonder if there are any unique sounds.

Q: the things bangchan is thinking of these days, feeling these days too, those will come out in the world as your work someday, right? with that, I'm curious of what you're feeling these days and what has been on your mind recently.

BC: what were my inner thoughts recently... (musing out loud) uhm...I'm feeling 'confused'

Q: I expected it to be 'excited like a kid' or 'calm like a saint' but that was unexpected.

BC: these days I'm very confused internally but didn't wanna let that confusion out, I hate to influence other people with negativity for no reason. For this feeling to calm down, I have found that the way is maintaining a calm state. I think the members say "eh? why is that hyung like this these days" after seeing that. (laughs)

Q: that's why you also have started boxing in the new year?

BC: when l took my first lesson, I felt really good. It felt good to focus on something without any useless thoughts for 1 hour. Boxing really feels like meditation to me.

Q: what's making Bang Chan confused?

BC: the fact that people are all different. Really different. I knew it already but it came to me like a new thing. This person is like this, that person is like that. I can't fix them, and there's no need to fix them so I not understand it? No, but still I should... that's what it's like inside my head these days.

Q: you described it as "confusion" but Bang Chan right now seems to be in the middle of putting a lot of effort into understanding the world or people no matter what.

BC: I feel like I came here for mental counseling (laughs). Yes, you're right. As I said I'm not really a self-centered person but still I'm trying to live for myself these days.

Q: you set foot in the entertainment industry at a really young age, leaving your home, austrailia. if we count your trainee years too then it has been 15 years. What keeps you grounded when you feel shaken?

BC: the members. I don't want to become a person they feel ashamed of. I want to hear the members say things like "that hyung is genuine" "that hyung is cool" the most. I'm really childish. (laughs)

Q: l got a hint from"that hyung is genuine". It's said that psychologically, the compliment that makes a person the happiest tells about what they think of as the most valuable thing in their life.

BC: me and the members aren't very expressive/good at expressing ourselves. I don't know what they think but I want to be a reliable and trustable hyung to the kids. I think I might have the need to feel acknowledged a little after all.

Q: if you look at the things you've done till now, it doesn't feel like success came to you really quick but you're still very young. What kind of adult/man do you want to become?

BC: first of all, I wanna be with the members for a long time. I think it'd be really funny to become grandfathers (old men) and say "it was like that back in the days" but honestly I feel like I'm always stuck at 25.

Q: you're forever 25.

BC: yes, I want to keep on living as a 25 year old but reporter-nim*, what does growing up even mean? *joking*

Q: from our conversation today, it seems like you're in the midst of that process Bang Chan-ssi. Accepting things you can't change, knowing how to let go, listening carefully to other people's opinions. On top of that, you said earlier that you are confused in the process of trying to understand others' world, that's essential.

BC: it's not something that happens naturally? then I might really be growing up (laughs)

*reporter felt weird without a "nim" and there isn't really another way to make it sound respectful and not monotoned because ENGLISH FUCKING SUCKS but anyway (translator's note)

[kykyonthemoon]

7 Days the mini-series

About this series: ✈️

Day 05: Sunshower

I was used to just him and me, always together. However, as we grew older, our own worlds expanded, and more people came.

I didn't think about it until one day.

That day, I headed to Caleb's school after class. We went to school and returned home together day by day. There was going to be a volleyball tournament between high schools in the district, so he often had to stay after class to practice. I chose a good spot in the grandstand, and finding him among the players on the field was not a problem to me at all.

Whether it was studying or playing sports, I loved seeing him putting all his mind into it. Occasionally, he would glance towards the stands, then smile when he saw me there. When he scored, I wouldn’t hesitate to stand up and scream: “YAYYY!!! CALEB YOU'RE SO COOL!!!” And every time, his teammates would constantly make fun of him till his ears turned crimson.  While in the stands, the girls in the upper grades would glance and me and whispered:

“Who is that girl?”

“I don’t know. She must be crazy about Caleb…”

“Who wouldn’t like him? Caleb is so handsome, and kind!”

“OMG!!! He’s staring at us!!!”

A few seats ahead of me, the females began to conceal their faces and laugh among themselves. I had no idea why my stomach felt uneasy. I sat down and remained silent throughout the practice that day.

Of course, Caleb didn't understand what upset me so much. Even I could not know what it was. I was too young to start dating, yet old enough to acknowledge the most beautiful emotions of my youth were blossoming. Every afternoon, I waited for Caleb at the sports court before we came home together. And every afternoon, I caught him surrounded by so many other girls.

There was no doubt how popular he was at school. I should be happy for him, since he was everyone's favorite. Yet why could I not get rid of this uncomfortable feeling in my heart? Was it because I was used to being the only one by his side? Was it because I disliked the idea of sharing him with anyone else?

That day, after his practice, I saw Caleb talking to a classmate. She was proposing that they take a stroll home together, it seemed. My fists clenched, head bowed, I walked away. There was a tint of soreness on my nose.

After a while, I heard Caleb calling my name. My feet didn't stop, they wanted to go even faster. He caught up with me and took hold of my wrist.

"Pip-squeak? You didn't wait for me today?"

His naïve expression infuriated me even more. I pulled my hand away from him and replied:

"Go home with her."

Every step I made now vented the path that had done nothing wrong. Caleb casually strolled beside me and said:

"Who? Is there anyone else other than the two of us?"

He took notice of my silence, then pulled my hand to stop me. “Come on. Tell me, what have I done wrong?”

The radiant smile on his lips forced me into the situation where I failed to keep my poker face. I pouted and gave him an unkind cheek squeeze, saying:

“Stop smiling.”

“On't ou ike it en I ile?" (Don't you like it when I smile?)

Caleb said as I rubbed his cheeks to let out my sulking though he did not do anything wrong. That very moment, it began to rain, even though the golden sun was still shining brightly.

“Oh, a sunshower?…”

“This is also known as fox rain. Legend has it that when it’s both sunny and raining, it’s the time for the fox to welcome his bride. But our Gran said that this type of weather indicates a quarrel between the Sun God and the Rain God.” Caleb explained and turned to face me. “It seems that you are mad at me too, pip-squeak. I'm not sure what I did wrong, but... could you kindly forgive me??”

I didn’t answer right away, yet the smile on my lips gave him the answer. I held his hand in mine and we continued walking on the long path.

“Caleb… Will you… date someone else in the future?”

“Huh? Dating? Why are you curious about it?”

“Well… I was just thinking… When I grow up a little more and you’re not with anyone, I… I will be your date... Is that alright?”

Our hand squeezed, he grinned, as bright as the sun and the rainbow in the rain in front of our path home.

[oharaslove]

We’ve always seen Grumpy x Sunshine when it comes to Miguel and Reader. Today I present you with Grumpy x Grumpy

Reader who never showed a smile towards anyone in the Society. 

Miguel who notices them in the group meetings. Every Spider has a sense of humour, they smile through the pain, but you didn’t. You were always with a serious expression. You were integrated, at the same time though, you seemed closed off. Not letting anyone come close. 

Miguel who takes interest. There is only one place for a Grumpy person in this lab, and that’s him. Or at least, most people say he is grumpy, not that he believes it 100%. 

Reader who enjoys spending time by herself, recluding to the rooftop of the Society. A place that, weirdly enough, no one frequents. 

Miguel who looks for Reader in the common spaces, but doesn’t have luck. He didn’t exactly know what he wanted with you, but there was something pulling him towards your person. Did he want to be friends? Was he just curious? No idea.

Miguel who has to admit to Lyla what he is doing, having to accept her teases. “Oooohhh Miguel has got a crush” At which Miguel rolls his eyes. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even know you! How could he have a crush? he definitely has. If it were any other Spider, he would probably not care, but you. You had something. 

Lyla who, after an uncountable amount of mocking, takes pity on Miguel and reveals your location. Miguel who sees you through the security camera, sitting at the edge, dangling your feet. 

Miguel who marches towards your location. No plan in his head. He was just going with the flow. His body guiding him towards what it wanted. You

Reader who is startled by the sudden sound of someone opening the door to the rooftop. Who the hell comes here?. You turned around, spotting Miguel silently watching you from the doorway. You turn around again, rolling your eyes. Whatever. 

Miguel who approaches you. What the hell has he come here for? It’s been a looong minute since he has spoken to a woman, other than work stuff.

Miguel who just stands there, looking off at the distance, while keeping an eye on you from time to time. He was just testing the water, yeah. 

Reader who finds it weird, but let’s it happen. Miguel is the leader of the society after all. Besides, you knew (or at least heard) that he was “grumpy”. Problem, you didn’t know if he really was, or like you, he was misunderstood by everyone. In doubt, better keep quiet. 

Miguel who after a while, decides to go. That was embarrassing enough. But don’t get confused, he would come back, he just needed a plan. 

Miguel who, the first week, just stands there, getting comfortable with your presence, hoping you do too. Until….

“You know you can sit, right?” “Uh… I-” He stutters, not expecting you to talk. You scooch over, even though there is plenty of space. Miguel sits, rather close. He enjoys the view now, but most importantly, the heat emanating from your body. He sighs, step 1 down. 

Days turned into weeks. Now, you two were comfortable. Not yet talking much, but sitting next to each other, enjoying each other’s company while enjoying the skyline. Miguel hadn’t realised how much he needed this, relax. After a day being cooped up in the lab, this was a nice change. You would share food with each other, a lovely and quiet picnic between two friends? A boss and a worker? Co-workers? He had no clue, but whatever it was, he liked it. 

But… he wanted more. He felt the need to know you better. So.. that’s how the conversations started. About whatever, whoever… didn’t matter. What matter was that step 2 was down. 

Step 3 was by far the hardest one. Make you laugh. At least a small giggle or a smile, Miguel would be happy with either one. 

Granted, Miguel wasn’t good with jokes either. He didn’t know how the other Spiders did it. But thankfully, as a man of science, he knew how to achieve a goal. 

Miguel who spends quite some time observing the other Spiders. He never had a reason to, but now, he did. He thought that you would like it if he was funny, like the others. Yeah, surely, why wouldn’t you?

Miguel who writes some jokes and practises how to deliver them, over and over again. Lyla was having a blast. The big, “bad”, “grumpy” leader of the Spider Society, creator of Nueva York, was mad about another person. 

Miguel, nervous af, goes to your spot. After meeting for quite some time, you two develop a routine. Always at the same hour, same place. 

Reader who is already there, waiting. You really enjoyed meeting with Miguel, you felt he was the only one who understood you. 

Miguel who slowly approaches you. He could feel sweat dribble from his temple, down to his neck. 

Miguel checks the paper on his hand. Yeah, these jokes would do. 

Miguel who, after a peaceful chit chat, feels comfortable enough to start trying with the jokes. They were awful, to say the least. 

“How would you describe Spiderman’s perfect home? The world wide web!”

Miguel who after every stupid joke watches your reaction. At first, you are confused, but as jokes go by, he can see you trying hard not to smile. 

“What is–” “What are you doing?” you said, your lips tugging up into a smile. you were so adorable. “What do you mean?” “The jokes” you clarify, your smile widening. “I– I was trying to be funny, like the other Spidermen. People seem to like them. I–” “Don’t” you interrupt, your tone and expression serious. 

Miguel wanted to be swallowed by the Earth. He scrunches the paper and fists it. This was all a waste— “I like you just the way you are” You confess, making Miguel snap his head towards you, eyes wide like plates. 

“You– you do?” He must have misheard you. “Mhh” you mumbled, nodding. “Just,” you bite your lip, debating if you should say it or not. “Just be my Miguel. The one you’ve always been” And you smile as bright as the sun, warming Miguel’s hug. 

“Your Miguel” he repeats in a trance. You nod, biting your lip, trying to suppress the smile that had been printed on your face. Nothing could wipe it now. 

Miguel mirrors you, smiling from ear to ear. He looks at his clenched fist, the paper sticking out. He looks at you and laughs, throwing the paper into the city. “I’ll be your Miguel then” He scooches closer to you, giving you the opportunity to lean on his chest, as he rounds your body with his arm. 

“Yeah, my Miguel” you sighed, closing your eyes and melting into his touch. His warm body and heartbeat lulling you to sleep. 

Miguel who kisses the top of your head, before resting his cheek against it. He sighs, step 3 and goal down. 

To the world, you were two Grumpy people. But between you, days were spent between laughs and giggles. Kisses being interrupted by smiles. Just seeing each other made you happy. Life was warm, yellow and red, all together. It didn’t matter how the rest saw you, just that you two were happy and in love. 

[atangledfate]

Miles gave Belle a comforting pat on her shoulder. It was true that not everyone knew Rouge as well as he and sonic did. She was trouble, and you could only trust her so far as you could toss her. But when things were tough she was always on the right side of things. He trusted her in this, and did not believe she'd screw them over when it came to GUN and it's new leader. he had a feeling this guy was bad news for everyone involved.

" Ah it's fine Belle i know how she comes off, and truthfully you should always be a little wary around her. But when the shit hits the fan i believe she's always on the right side of things... unless it involves the chaos emeralds then she's defiantly untrustworthy hah! "

Sonic snorted a little thinking back, the blue hedgehog had his fair share of issues with her. But he was on miles side here, she was rotten to the core Rouge! but she had to live on this world to, and Sonic believed that under all the sass and devilish motives was someone willing to do the right thing when it counted.

" Yea... took alot of bribes for me to get her to promise not to try and swipe the Sol Emeralds... "

He snorted finding it funny!

" But at the end of the day she always does right by us... heck she even saved Jewels museum collection from what she told me. The Rogues tried to make a quick getaway... and she cut them off at the pass. Course she even returned them... without anyone asking--- that said Miles is spot on, if it has to do with a chaos emerald or a rare gem consider her an enemy of the state! hah! "

Lanolin shook her head at Sonic and Tails defending Rouge like that. She personally didn't trust her, and wouldn't put it past her to rob them all blind. Still she did believe the two that she could be an ally when the world was in danger. but likely for selfish reaosns. Her eyes turned though at Blaze's motion to follow and she made her into one of the private offices. She was curious about what Blaze had to say but she didn't like what it implied.

" So he Survived? I wish i could say i was surprised... But he's every bit as dangerous as Eggman. He likely had some kind of back up plan if things went sour. Still i dislike that he attacked you... he had to be after something... "

She didn't know why he'd be so brazen as to strike at Blaze, knowing she was so powerful. She didn't like not knowing why he attacked her in the first place.

" When this GUN situation is over we should probably inform Sonic and Tails at the very least... I... also want to tell Surge but i have no idea how she might react... and right now that feels like a bad idea "

Miles had such a smug smile on his face at the notion anyone could monitor Rouge. That bat had been a thorn in GUN's side since day one. On some level they had brought her on to keep an eye on her and, tried to black mail her. But it was the worst thing they could have done. She used her access to dip her sticky fingers in all of GUN's dirty little secrets. She knew how far she could take it and what she could and couldn't say. But Miles had no doubt Rouge was already in deep and finding answers for these new players.

" Oh i'm sure GUN thinks the same as you Princess... But ... if that were true they'd have nailed her to the wall years ago. She's very good at what she does... and i don't just mean flirting... "

sometimes people forget that Rouge was a spy among spys. Still he'd send a coded message, either way he probably wouldn't hear back for awhile.

" Heh, Rouge has no love of GUN, she works for them out of necessity. I trust her... and i know she won't get caught... i have confidence in her. "

The Sheep turned her head to the fennec and back to the Princess. She didn't much like talking about them when they could hear. She was fairly sure Kitsunami had keen enough ears to hear them. She respected them enough not to throw any ill shade in there direction. She'd keep it to the facts of the story and, leave her feelings on the sidelines.

" Well... I Only know what was in the reports so--- take what i say with a grain of salt. I wasn't there, but i've heard the story from amy and the others. "

She explained as she gave the Princess a sideways glance.

" Starline was a sort of Fanboy for Eggman, but he and eggman had a falling out. So in a bid to take the power for himself, he opted to create his own ideal heroes. Obviously he used Sonic and Tails as bases ... but instead of mechanical doubles, he used a combination of bio, and cybernetic technologies. "

She explained but looked rather dour after that, as the truth of Kit and Surge was a rather sad one. She knew just enough to find her heart strings tugged. How she wished she could do more then just be sympathetic to there plight. But at the end of the day, she knew they wouldn't want sympathy.

" So he kidnapped something like 100 orphans, homeless... you know people who wouldn't be missed. From what Miles put in his assessment report... was only the two who survived... We aren't exactly sure what he did to them, but the end result is Surge and Kitsunami. Each able to keep up with and in some cases surpass our greatest heroes "

Sure Surge might fall short of Sonic's speed but, a battle was about more then just speed. She beat Sonic in stamina, and strength and raw determination couldn't be discounted. How Miles beat Kit was still unknown because he was such a power house in her mind.

" Well you can guess how things went...Starline was killed by Eggman, Surge... well i imagine she was bitter, angry, and found a new toy of eggmans. Long story short she tore up downtown... fought sonic and tails... who had to team up with eggman just to stop them. We thought they were dead, but then they showed up asking for a place to stay. Considering the circumstance... it wasn't entirely there fault... The Director wanted to give them a second chance to prove they weren't just weapons of starline. "

" I've worked with them for awhile now... i think deep down the genuinely want a life for themselves. They were victims of starline...no different then Shadow was a victim of GUN...i ... believed in them both... i hate how this is all ending..."

[lillaydee]

Head Over Heels Part 2

Jackson!Joel / Reader

Special Guest Appearance by a Certain FBI Agent who may or may not look a lot like Joel.

You left the loneliness of your home and headed to Jackson with Joel and the teenage girl he was with, hoping your new life would be less lonely. You should've stayed alone.

WARNING:

Non-canon Compliant, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Loneliness, Trauma.

MEGA WARNING: Descriptions of Attempted Sexual Assault.

@copperhalfcent @joelalorian @vickie5446 @peelieblue @nandan11

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 1

---

You watched as Ellie stomped her way into the single bedroom by the kitchen, rather than the very girly one upstairs she had used the last time, slamming the door behind her. Joel looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, stopping in the hallway, opening a door, before walking on, opening another door and closing it behind him. You heard some shuffling and the thud of a backpack being thrown on the floor before a small squeak of a bed followed. By the time you dragged your own feet upstairs, there was no sound to be heard from the room across from the only open door on the second floor landing.

He had taken the master. You guessed this meant this was your room then. The girly bedroom, along with the ensuite that was attached. You closed the door behind you and threw yourself on the dusty bed. The house seemed different now, compared to the first time you stepped in it months before. You remembered wishing you could stay; press the restart button on your life.

But now…

**********

The first couple of weeks on the road was actually okay. Ellie was the definition of a curious child – having grown up in the QZ orphanage and then sheltered behind the walls of the FEDRA school. Every single thing, things that you didn’t even think were odd or out of the ordinary were ‘awesome’ or ‘cool’ to her. You had been worried that things would be awkward, but there was no such thing when Ellie was around. So many questions. So many wonderment. She asked you about your life before the outbreak, asked how old you were, your family, what exactly a secretary did, Bill and Frank, your brothers, if you had a boyfriend, the questions were endless.

Joel drove and drove. Didn’t speak unless Ellie asked him a direct question. You didn’t even know if he listened. He got flustered when Ellie found Bill’s… special magazine, begging her to get rid of it. You smiled to yourself when you saw the magazine, one of the ones that distracted Bill so much during a supply run that the two of you narrowly escaped with your lives intact, way in the early days, when it was just the two of you. You remembered him trying to hide them from you, blubbering that he got them for you when they fell out of his shirt.

Sure Bill, the men on men magazine was for your private entertainment. He looked panicked at your implication. You just rolled your eyes and told him it’s not like you had anyone to snitch to, Bill.

When Ellie fell asleep, he asked what you were smiling about, shocking the living crap out of you that he actually spoke to you, using words that didn’t involve needing to stop to refuel, change drivers or have a bathroom break. When you told him about it, he actually let out a small huff of a laugh, making you startle.

“What?” he asked, “I laugh.”

You shrugged, “All evidence so far to the contrary.”

You couldn’t say for sure, having your head turned towards the views outside your open window, but you thought you saw his head turn and looked at you for a while when you said that. Of course, when you turned, his eyes were dead straight on the road, his face serious again, all traces of that tiny laugh gone.

Meals were basically canned foods and MREs – Bill had found a stash and insisted they be saved for last, should it come to that. Ellie was shocked at how much food a soldier was given for one meal, the three of you basically flat out on your backs after sharing one. Frankly, you were more shocked that none of you got sick from the twenty years old food, but you supposed those years had somehow strengthened your stomach linings with steel.

Every now and again, you saw a different side of Joel, particularly when it came to Ellie. When she fell asleep in her sleeping bag, he would lay a folded blanket under her head, tightening the bag around her to make sure she wasn’t cold. When she went for a bathroom break, he stood guard with his back towards her, standing way too close for the teenager’s liking, humming to himself when she told him to, so he couldn’t hear her do her business. Whenever he thought he heard or saw something, his body automatically shielded hers. Even the way he reacted to her seeing the less than PG pictures in those magazines gave you a glimpse of the Joel before. The single parent Joel. The one with the teenage daughter.

With you, though, he was a different person altogether.

You were cleaning yourself in a stream when you stopped to make camp, using a small towel to cleanse your body without taking anything off. You had gone down as Ellie and Joel were setting up camp, intending to get water for the night. The bubbling and running of rushing waters had muffled the surroundings, overwhelming your senses. You thought, why waste the water you were bringing up to the camp when you could just clean first and bring more water for the two of them to use? You were dipping your head in the water when you heard a scuffle, immediately getting your gun, only to see Joel sliding a knife across a man’s throat, another already dead from what seemed to be a stab wound to the chest, Ellie standing by the trees with a gun in her hands, her back to the both of you, checking for other threats.

He barked at you to get back to the camp with Ellie, grabbing the gun from her, quickly rinsing his knife and parts of his body with water from the stream. He put the fire out, grabbing everything from the camp and practically tossed you and Ellie back into the car and driving off. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he was angry at you. Ellie didn’t say a word, realizing that this was not the time for one of her puns.

You didn’t dare speak. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so strongly you could hear his skin stretch. His jaw was clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind. His breathing was so heavy, his eyes focused on the darkening road ahead. No one spoke for what felt like hours. You got out of the car when he stopped every hour to refuel, gun at the ready, as he quickly poured gasoline into the truck, very quickly jumping back into the car once he was done.

During the last refuel, Ellie whispered to you through the slightly cracked window, telling you she was hungry. You dug your hand in the bed and got her some of the energy bars you made, handing them to her and shoving a few more in your pocket, taking a bottle of water with you back inside when Joel dumped the fuel can back in the truck bed.

You took an energy bar out of your pocket after a few minutes of driving, peeling the baking paper off the sticky meal and broke it into two pieces, handing one half to him as he drove. He ignored you, pointedly turning his body the other way, driving with only his right hand.

“Joel don’t be stupid. I know you’re mad at me, but you hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Eat it. You can yell at me later. But eat, Goddamned it, we don’t need you passing out while driving,” you snarked at him, annoyed that he was being so egotistical to prove a point.

His head snapped towards you, his eyes sharp, his nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m mad at you? ‘Mad’ doesn’t begin to explain what I’m feeling Elena! What the fuck were you thinking? You didn’t tell us you were going to the stream. You were so distracted you weren’t watching your surroundings. Those people were not infected, Elena, they were men. Do you have any idea what they could’ve done to you if Ellie hadn’t noticed you were gone?”

“I was getting us some water, Joel, I just wanted to clean up a little bit. Is that so wrong?”

“None of us smell like lavender, in case you haven’t noticed, but is that worth the risk sneaking off without telling us? They could’ve killed you, Elena, worse, they could’ve…” he stopped talking, turning his eyes back on the road, taking a deep, annoyed breath, eyes closing momentarily, a shiver visible on his body as he controlled his anger at you.

“I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen again. You can leave me at the next camp if you feel I put you two in danger, but please, Joel, eat something.”

He ignored you, but you swore you could see his eyes flashed with something in the darkness at your words. There was a few seconds of complete silence in the car, save for the sounds of the engine as he sped through the night.

A loud, crunching noise broke that silence, both you and Joel jumping a bit at the suddenness of it all.

“Sorry,” Ellie mumbled through crunches. “I’m so hungry.”

You were still holding the half of the energy bar out to him, your other hand feeding your half to yourself.

“Joel don’t be stupid. Eat the fucking food,” Ellie sighed out loud.

You could see Joel’s resolve waver, snatching the bar out of your hand and eating it, his face still dark with anger. You finished your half before breaking the other one in half and handing one part to him, which he took. You passed the water bottle around for the three of you to drink before settling in your seat, telling Joel now he could seethe at you in peace. You won’t bother him again.

You fell asleep sometime later, your sleep only lightly disturbed by what was obviously a dream – one where a soft-faced Joel was caressing your face lightly and wrapping a blanket around your body. You woke up with the car in the bushes, Joel sleeping soundly in the driver’s seat, hugging his jacket close to his body, Ellie in the back seat with a blanket of her own. You placed the blanket you didn’t remember putting on yourself on Joel, before quietly leaving to boil some water for his coffee using one of Bill’s camping stove, a pistol in one hand at all times. You stayed right by your door, not wanting Joel to scream at you again. You filled the thermos for him, before taking a cup for yourself. You made breakfast next, pouring the instant porridge mixtures you and Frank made into the small pot enough for the three of you to eat while driving, dividing the contents into thermal mugs before packing the stove away so you could leave as soon as possible.

The sun was nearly up, and you were bursting for a pee. So you went to the back of the truck to cop a squat, pistol still out just in case. You felt the truck sway, before the door was wrenched open, Joel’s heavy footsteps and breathing followed.

“I’m right here, Joel, don’t come back here, I’m peeing.”

He cleared his throat, and you could hear his feet turn, but he didn’t go back into the car.

“What did we talk about last night? Why didn’t you wake me? It’s not safe, I told you that.”

You pulled your pants back up, Joel standing by the driver’s door, facing away from you. Funny enough, without seeing his face, you could see his grumpy expression, thunder-filled, annoyed at you. Again. You rolled your eyes and went to wake Ellie, telling her to go pee so you could get moving.

Ellie staggered out and went into the bushes next to the car, while you got your gun, going to the bed of the truck to watch out for threats for Ellie, telling him his coffee was in the thermos, and their breakfast was on your seat. He stood there, just staring at you, not that you noticed.

“You should do your business too, we should move soon. I’ll keep watch,” you told him.

He didn’t move until Ellie came back. He kept quiet after that, grumbling to himself when you insisted on driving, but let you drive, he and Ellie quietly eating their breakfast as you drove along.

He whisper-yelled at you when you got into hiding after the whole initial incident at Kansas City happened. You came out of hiding to help when he got overwhelmed trying to defend Ellie alone. He had insisted that you and Ellie go into hiding, but it quickly became clear that he was losing. So you came out to help him, sure that Ellie would be safe where she was. Another guy surprised you, and although you managed to take care of him yourself, Ellie was the one who shot the guy overpowering Joel when your gun got kicked out of your hands. Joel finished the guy himself but was far too angry at you for leaving Ellie alone to talk to you after.

Sure Joel, let yourself get killed, why don’t you? Cause obviously that would’ve been the better choice. The two of you were his responsibility, he argued. He needed the two of you to be safe. And how could he protect the two of you if he was dead, you fired back, to which he just glared at you before huffing an exasperated breath and walking ahead to check on Ellie.

He kept telling Ellie she was too young to see something like that, to do something like that. The two of them went to a corner and whispered among themselves, Joel giving in and letting her have a gun all to herself. He spent the rest of the day ignoring you, and you, him. Ellie went back and forth between the two of you, trying hard to keep both the adults who were supposed to keep her safe from killing each other.

When Henry and Sam joined the three of you, Joel kept with Henry, and Ellie with Sam, and for a while, Joel seemed happy to see Ellie with someone her own age group. You could tell then, he was starting to care a lot for her. As was your lot in life, you stayed behind them, the tagalong, just listening in on their conversations, too used to being pointedly ignored by Joel by this point. Heck, being ignored by him was a hell of a lot better than being yelled at.

Despite everything, the two of you seemed to work well together when the army of infected attacked, you helped make sure Ellie was alright on the ground, being there with her, weaving and fighting through them all, making sure she was alright, Joel protecting her from his spot, shooting the infected you couldn’t see as you fought others off her.

That night, Joel asked Henry and Sam to join the three of you, and Henry happily agreed.

You woke up before them the next morning, going out to scavenge for anything you could find for the road, now that there were more of you to feed. You came running back when you heard gunshots, opening the door to a panicked Joel pointing a gun at you, immediately lowering it when he realized who it was, Henry and Sam dead on the floor. Ellie shook uncontrollably when you held her tight, stammering the events of what happened to you and Joel, who was at a loss for words.

She was quiet for days after that, staying close to the both of you, doing what she was told without any arguments. And all the while, Joel remained quiet with you, only speaking when necessary. He spoke to Ellie, though, telling her about his dreams to have a sheep farm, and her about wanting to be an astronaut.

With you, Ellie was more interested in the books you had read, movies you had watched. You were reading your very tattered copy of the Lord of the Rings, the only book you chose to bring with you from home. Your brother Will used to read it to you growing up, and you waited eagerly for the movies to come out, you told her. Such a shame the outbreak happened before the third movie was released, it would’ve been a great movie, you thought. If only cordyceps were generous enough to delay their plans to take over the world another three months.

You only had the first book with you, choosing to leave the other two back home – they were not exactly travel sized. You would do anything to have them back, though, you told her. They were your favourite books, mainly due to the memories it brought.

You told her about the Chronicles of Narnia, shocked that she had never heard of Aslan. You told her you would look for the books, she simply must read them. 

She slept close to you at night after the incident with Henry and Sam, clutching onto your jacket while at it. You heard her mumble Sam’s name in her sleep a few times, sometimes a Riley, other times Tess. Every now and again, you thought you could see Joel looking at the two of you. When it was your turn to stand watch, you often caught him lying awake with his eyes on you, closing them only when he knew you caught him watching. You wondered if he still thought you were going to harm the teenager, slightly offended at the thought. He had known you for 15 years, and still, he didn’t trust you enough to have his and Ellie’s back. You chose to ignore him, not wanting to worry Ellie about it with more bickering.

You looked at his sleeping form one more time, and of course, his eyes were opened and on you, his lips twitching and you could just see him take a deep breath before settling his head further into his backpack, closing his eyes again.

**********

When you got to Jackson that first time, Tommy greeted you enthusiastically, finally meeting you after hearing about you from Tess all this while. He had never visited, Bill was far too weary to have two men visit – he wasn’t even happy Joel was privy to the place at all, even after 15 years. Maria took you to the house across the street from theirs, showing you around. Three bedrooms on the second floor – two with bathrooms attached, one bathroom at the end of the corridor. It was obvious the owners had a girl, the bedroom painfully girly. One single bedroom was on the first floor, a bathroom right next to it. There was a garage, a nice-sized garden too. Whoever lived here had money.

While she had you alone, she kept asking you if Joel was making you stay with him, if he was coercing you somehow, if you were being held against your will. She seemed to have a certain… opinion of him, telling you of the stories she’d heard from Tommy about her brother-in-law. She tried to ‘get you to see reason’, but you told her she was lucky if she hadn’t had to do what they had to do to survive, and if she was thankful to have found Tommy, maybe she shouldn’t judge the man responsible for him being alive. He travelled all this way to find Tommy, convinced that he needed rescuing. And while you were glad that he didn’t, you had no doubt that Joel would’ve done anything, including giving up his own life to keep Tommy safe.

She seemed to back down after that, staring at you a while, deciding whether or not she liked you. You didn’t know if she did, but she seemed to let her judgment of Joel go while she was with you. She told you where you could find Joel, the town bar, called the Tipsy Bison, taking you to the back door. You needed to ask him the plan for the next day. You were about to go in when you heard Tommy say your name.

“So, that’s Elena, huh?”

You didn’t hear Joel answer, but whatever he did seemed to confirm it with Tommy.

“I see what Tess meant. She’s real pretty. Are you two… uh…”

“Don’t be stupid Tommy. What would I do with someone like her?”

“Hey… I was just asking…”

“Well don’t.”

You turned around and left as quietly as you could.

God. Even with the way he ignored you throughout the journey here, barked at you when you didn’t do things to his liking, drew a much deeper breath than he needed to when he got impatient with you, you couldn’t deny – you were still crushing hard on him. You even wondered, after the few instances that he let out what passed as a laugh with you, if he would ever feel the same way for you one day.

Well… there you go. You didn’t have to wonder anymore. You had your answer. You heard him, loud and clear. The idea of him being with you was a stupid one. You heard him say so yourself.

Right. Of course it was.

You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a little at your own stupidity. Get your head out of your ass, Elena. The man closed his heart when his daughter died, and now, his partner of more than 15 years died. What were the odds that he would ever look at you as anything other than Bill and Frank’s neighbour?

You were here because he didn’t want the responsibility of leaving you alone to die. And he needed a woman to help out with Ellie. That’s all.

And now, you had arrived at this place. Maybe you could come back here once the whole thing with Ellie was done. Start over. Make friends. Get a job. Live out your life. Have a purpose again.

You went back to the house, running into a freshly showered and dressed Ellie who was going to Maria’s. You were bone tired, so you decided you were going to take a nice, hot shower and rest. Power up for tomorrow. You went into the master bedroom. Maria had left you some clothes to change into. She must’ve had the same idea as Tommy, seeing as she left the clothes for him next to yours on the bed. Your heart ached a little at the insinuation, given what you just heard, but hey, you repressed this for 15 years, you could do that a little longer; until you got over this stupid feeling you had.

As much as you had decided to try and get your crush on Joel over and done with, you couldn’t help but weep a little in the shower. 15 years you had a crush on this man. 15 years you cried every time he left, knowing that he would never want you. He had Tess, who was nothing short of wonderful. And he didn’t even acknowledge her as his girlfriend. Bill told you he referred to her as his. That’s all. His. The word girlfriend didn’t even make it out of his lips. 15 years he ignored you, so why the fuck would that change now? You must be some kind of stupid for still crushing on him.

Enough. Stop. Delete. Restart. Reset.

You wrapped the towel around your chest and stepped out into the room, only to find Joel standing next to the bed, staring down at the clothes Maria left for him. He stared at you for a second, before seemingly realizing it was you standing there in a towel, quickly turning around, grabbing the clothes and leaving, muttering a gruff apology as he did so, going into the bathroom in the corridor instead, slamming its door behind him. You rushed over to shut the bedroom door, shaking your head to get the stupid fantasy you used to have about him out of your head. The fantasy that he would tear the towel off your body and ravage you. Now that you knew what he really thought of you, you needed to grow the fuck up and get that out of your stupid, vapid brain.

You got dressed and threw yourself on the bed, closing your eyes, willing the tears not to fall again. Enough, Elena, enough.

But your mind betrayed you. Your nap was filled with dreams of you, Ellie and Joel living in this house, him sharing the bed with you. A family. A real one. With neighbours and everything. You woke up in the dark, disappointed in yourself. It’s okay, you coaxed your heart. 15 years was a long time. It’ll take some time, but you will get over him. You just needed some time.

You’ll finish your mission, then come back, restart.

And you will get over this stupid crush on Joel Miller, the man who thought the idea of you and him ever being together was stupid.

**********

That night, as you were repacking your pack, you heard Joel and Ellie yell at each other from the room across from yours. Apparently, he had asked Tommy to take her to the Fireflies instead, insisting that he would do a better job. Ellie had protested, understandably. She didn’t know Tommy from Adam.

And then, you heard her mention Sarah.

Shit.

Joel stormed out after that, slamming the door across from yours. You heard Ellie sob. You waited a while before going to her, holding her close as she cried her heart out, telling her that he was just going through some stuff. He will see sense. Let’s wait until tomorrow, okay?

“Are you going to leave me too?” she asked, not looking at you.

“Never.”

The next morning, Tommy came to get Ellie. You stepped out too, telling him he’s not taking her alone. He nodded, leading the way to the stable. Once there, Joel was waiting, telling Ellie he was giving her a choice. Ellie didn’t hesitate, immediately dumping the bag of supplies into his arms, going to the horse he was about to steal.

As you were saddling the mare Tommy had lent to you, Joel came over, cleared his throat and gruffly asked if you knew how to ride. You grew up in the suburbs, you told him. You took horse riding lessons. It’s been a while, but you knew what you were doing. You promised Ellie you wouldn’t leave her, so you won’t. If he’s worried you’ll slow them down, feel free to leave you by the roadside, you won’t hold it against him, you said, pulling on your horse’s rein and walking out, leaving him standing there alone before he could say anything back.

You remained quiet with Joel throughout your journey, just standing by looking out for threats whenever you stopped. Ellie seemed to have forgiven him rather quickly, laughing and joking with him as he taught her how to shoot. The journey was not as long, being on horseback, and those two merrily chit chatted throughout. Once you got to the university, though, all chatter stopped.

For a place that was supposedly a port for the Fireflies, it was quiet. Far too quiet. Eerily so, despite the monkeys that roamed. And of course, upon finding the information you needed, your luck ran out.

You will never forget the way your head went cold when you saw the piece of broken bat in his torso. You wanted to yell at him to leave it in, but it was as if all the clamping up you were so used to practicing around him overpowered you. You watched helplessly as he pulled it out, blood gushing from the wound. You helped him up onto his horse with Ellie, and told her to ride, turning around to shoot as many as the men that came running after you, cursing yourself when two managed to escape.

When you turned around again, Ellie and Joel were way ahead of you, Ellie screaming for you to come along. You caught up to them, riding hard until the horses were sweating before slowing down when you came to some housing area. You let Ellie and Joel ride in front of you, looking around, gun at the ready, just in case anyone or anything jumped out at the three of you. As you were looking behind you, you heard a loud thud, turning around to see Joel on the ground, his face ashen.

You needed to get him out of there. You told a teary Ellie to get her gun out, going into the nearest house, finding an old mattress, dragging it out as fast as you could, Ellie coming to help you as soon as she saw you. The two of you rolled him onto the mattress, tying it to his horse before slowly riding into the most discreet house you could find, practically dragging his body down into the basement before going back to cover your tracks before bringing the horses in and closing the garage door. You went back into the house to Ellie scrambling around, looking for something to help Joel out with, tearily telling you he told her to leave him there and go back to Jackson. She found a spool of thread, a needle stuck to it.

You told her to calm down and follow you back down to the basement. You took out the small first aid kit you had with you, courtesy of your neighbour Bill. You cleaned his wound as best as you could with what little you had before wiping the needle with an alcohol swab, stitching him up as best as you could as he silently screamed from the pain, holding on to Ellie’s jacket for dear life. This won’t help much, you thought. He needed antibiotics. You didn’t have any. But this’ll have to do for now. You will go out and find some once he’s settled. Please be a skin wound. Please don’t bleed internally. Please don’t die, Joel. Please don’t die.

After stitching him up, you were relieved to find that he was no longer bleeding. He needed rest. You were not worried about hydration, there was plenty of snow on the ground. You needed to hunt. The rations won’t be enough if he had to recuperate and survive. He needed the calories to heal. Think, Elena, think.

You couldn’t sleep that night, or the night after that, or the night after that, watching him like a hawk, Ellie sharing the mattress with him to keep themselves warm. Every now and again, he opened his eyes, watching you as you sat right next to him, worry written all over your face. It was never for long, though. His eyes would close again as soon as you noticed he was awake.

Hmph, even in this condition, he didn’t trust you enough to have his and Ellie’s backs to properly rest.

The next day, you told Ellie to watch him as you went around scavenging the nearby houses for medicine. It was all in vain, and you knew it as soon as you walked into each and every one of them. You had done enough scavenging to know the potentials a new location held. Food and medicine were always the first to go. Clothing and blankets next. Especially in areas as cold as this. You did gun down a rabbit, boiling it in a house a few streets over to avoid detection before bringing the meat back to Ellie and Joel.

The third morning you were there, his temperature skyrocketed. His wound, as you feared, was infected. You told Ellie he needed penicillin. Antibiotics. You were trying to remain calm, but the lack of sleep and the avalanche of worry was getting to you. Joel was a constant in your life after the outbreak, despite his indifference to you. You couldn’t let him die. Not like this. You wet some rags with snow and placed them on his head, trying to get his temperature down. You gave him some 20 year-old Tylenol from your kit, hoping they would help, but with the infection still raging, all they did was reduce his temperature for an hour or so, before he was shivering again. At one point, he shivered so badly, groaning and whimpering in pain, you laid next to him and covered part of his body with your own, hoping to stop his shivering at the very least, not daring to start a fire to keep him warm in case it alerted others to your location.

With how tired you were, you fell asleep, your head on his chest, your arms wrapped around his torso, desperately trying to keep him warm. You dreamt that he woke up and wrapped his arms around you, caressing your hair as he did so. You woke up almost instantly after that, Joel still asleep. It’s strange, you thought. Your body felt the remnants of his dream hug and caresses. Wow, you must’ve been really tired if a dream seemed that real to you.

You didn’t hunt the day before, snowfall too heavy for you to go out. Your rations were gone, both you and Ellie surrendering your portions to Joel, hoping that they would help him fight the infection. You turned to pick up your gun, wanting to go hunting.

But your gun was gone.

So was Ellie.

Shit. Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!

You couldn’t leave Joel alone. How long had she been gone? How long were you asleep? Which way did she go? You went outside, realizing that she had taken one of the horses. You followed the hoof prints to what was the main road, seeing how far she had gone, knowing you couldn’t possibly catch up to her in time, not without leaving Joel in a vulnerable state.

So you went back inside, worry clouding your head, and waited.

And waited, and waited, and waited.

You wanted to scream at her when she came back, but she excitedly told you she got the penicillin, handing them to you, dropping the leg of deer she was carrying. All you could see was the antibiotic, giving Joel the shot he needed, telling Ellie with a stern voice to stay with him, to never disappear on you like that again. She reasoned that you were too tired to go out, so she did it for you. You were asleep, and you needed rest too. Let her do what she could.

All you wanted to do was knock some sense into her, what if she was followed? What if she was attacked? What if she was taken? Killed? A slew of horrible imageries invaded your mind, before abruptly stopping, looking her in the eyes.

Where did she get the penicillin?

She was silent for a beat, but ultimately told you about the guys she ran into after killing the deer, the ones who were looking for what could only be described as the three of you. You wanted to knock her head into the wall, but she told you it was snowing again, and the hoof prints would be covered. She went a ways away, she said, you should be okay for a few more days.

In truth, you were devastated. You had let two of the men escape. They alerted their camp, and now, the men were looking for the three of you. And Ellie just led them back here.

It’s not like you could do anything. Joel was weakened. You now have food, and Joel received his first dose of penicillin. Make the best out of a horrible situation. You sliced the deer meat into thin slices, taking some a few houses over and roasted them before stripping them down into threads to make it easier for Joel to eat.

After a few more dosages, Joel’s fever receded. The wound was drying. Not fully, but enough to give you and Ellie hope. The whole time, you were uneasy. You knew those men would track her down. You knew they were coming. You kept telling yourself to think on the brighter side, but you couldn’t.

You were a few houses over, boiling some of the meat when you heard hooves. You put the fire out and ran back, only to see only to see one of the horses gone again.

Ellie! You wanted to yell but saw someone sneaking over. You ran inside, waking Joel up, dragging him into hiding. Ellie, he whispered, she had gone to divert the men, he told you, showing you the knife she had given him. Let’s get you hidden first and I’ll go find Ellie, you told him, guiding him behind one of the nooks in the basement.

There was a flash of something in his eyes, but you had no time to decipher anything. The man you saw was slowly making his way downstairs. You put yourself in front of Joel, your own knife out, hoping to God this man was really as malnourished as he looked, and that you had the chance to overpower him, even if it was only to stab him. You knew it was a vain effort, but you needed Joel to be okay. He could protect Ellie better than you ever could. So if you could weaken this man before Joel could come in to help, it would be better for him.

You stabbed the man in the kidney when he walked past, pulling the knife out to stab him again, but he had turned and came at you, snarling. You managed to stab him one more time in the stomach before he swungthe butt of his rifle to your head, and then all was dark.

**********

When you woke up, your head was throbbing. You were still in the basement, only you were on the mattress Joel was lying on the past few days, a blanket wrapped around your body. No one else was there. Not Joel, not even the man. Certainly not Ellie. You sat up, disoriented for a bit, slowly getting up to a standing position. Your gun was next to you, so was the knife you used. Your pack under your head. You gathered everything, slowly walking up the stairs, trying to get your bearings. There was no one in the house, and when you went out to the garage, none of the horses were there. It was hours after you blacked out, you realized. It was nearly dark, and it was morning when you went to boil the meat.

There was something sticky on your face. You swiped your hand on it, realizing you had blood all over. You went to the nearest car, swiped the snow and dirt off the side view mirror and looked. There were bloody handprints on both sides of your face, and a massive bruise on your forehead. Right. The guy had hit you on the head with a gun. Whose bloody handprints were those? And why weren’t you dead? Where’re Joel and Ellie?

You sat on the snowy ground, taking some snow and cleaning your face off the blood, icing that bump on your forehead, gathering your thoughts. Once you calmed down, you noticed a massive lump of clothing by the garage. It was the man. Dead.

It was then you realized what happened.

Joel went after Ellie.

He had left you behind. Injured and alone.

---

Part 3