#for those i tagged if you don't wanna do it you don't have to

[a-fucking-tornado]

Tysm for tagging me!

That's a hard one since having superpowers is something I've always wanted though I know it's not possible. Probably mind reading or mind control though (my self-insert OC doesn't have those powers for nothing after all...)

OWLS. LOTS OF OWLS.

Also drawing since I'm always creating OCs and can't draw them :( but also acting and dancing

I don't want kids, but I was to have one, I'd probably adopt (and only one cuz I really can't deal with kids (saying this as a teenager-))

I can't choose since I absolutely love social studies, language and arts and I'm starting to like science (especially biology) ;-; all I know is that I hate math

Hatchetverse (I'm counting this as a show bc of NMT) bc I wanna invoke the Lords in Black take over the world

I'm not really a collector, but I used to buy post cards from everywhere I went to

Anything caramel or coffee related >:33

Vanilla > Chocolate > Strawberry

Be more chill (no pun intended)

Question time!

What's your favorite thing laying around in your bedroom? (I can't choose just one but my headphones, this painting my friend gave me for my birthday last year and Pallas (the owl plushie my parents gave me for my birthday this year since I can't have a real owl))

Do you have Spotify? If so, what was your #1 song in 2024? (Mine was 2 Minutes Notice (mildly embarrassing but yeah)

What grades do you usually get/got in PE in school? (3/5 or 4/5. Literally the only subject that brings down my GPA)

What's your longest streak on any app and are you proud of it? (I have a 222 day streak on Reddit and no T-T)

What's a book you plan on reading this year? (I want to finish Circe so badly but I haven't had the chance (nor the patience) to sit down and read)

Favorite Greek god(s)? (Apollo, Hermes and Hecate)

What's your favorite haircut? (Mullet or wolf cut :33)

Favorite gum flavor? (Watermelon)

What's something you really regret buying and why? (I bought a 30€ bad quality Husk ears headband bc I felt guilty for not buying it ;-;)

Are you a picky eater? (Kinda. I like eating most stuff but if there's something I don't like in my food I will literally refuse to eat)

Tagging: @richieshusband @guskinnie @sunflowergamer6 @sabrine-bree-the-bravery @dingus0401 @colorfullaudino @moreover-clover @gayspacewizardsandassassins @autistic-katara @somebodysaidimpulsive @this-machine-runs-on-coffee @stargazing-with-friends @horny-lil-art-hoe @faenemy @purplexedd @flufallo @tinybitofhope @ender-of-the-sender @infpvee @biscuits-spooky-diner @ashes-onthewind @immyh @psychicbluebirdmiracle @theinfamousmaybelle @rosegoldenatlas @rayofmfsunshine1201 @imobsessedwiththeatre @chaia-does-art @zippyskyfalls @twomanyfandomshelp @the-beloved-genloss-niki @goddess-of-bubblegum @g0blinm0d3 @tripleatechie @the-eclipse-is-in-me @musicalfan78 @icantbelievemyeyes749 @bluexjayy @aria-upside-down @ilov3b00kss0much @poppy-petals18 @percabethlvr @kyli3e3 @salubriousbean @ace-aussie-asshole @improcrasinatingrightnow + all my other moots!

Ten questions to ask a mutual

Instructions: prev asks ten questions and you answer them, then ask ten new ones and tag ten people to keep the chain going! I’ll go first

What is the weirdest thing you’ve eaten? (For me it’s the time I accidentally drank ants)

do you like purple or green more? (For me it’s a 50/50 I love them both)

what is your favorite two color color combo? (For me it’s purple and gold)

are you a cat or dog person? (Dogs 100%)

what is your favorite painting (Miranda by John William Waterhouse)

Mountains or beaches? (Mountains)

what’s your favorite dessert? (Lemon bars)

are you right or left handed? (Right but I used to be left handed)

salty or sweet? (Sweet)

summer or winter? (Winter)

I’m tagging 11 people but it’s whatever

@wra1th-k1ng

@bladevoyager

@tragedyanddust

@kindred-spirit-93

@urfavgreekmythnerd

@sickneurotic

@ry-diggity

@we-are-but-dead-stars

@thestarryfalls

@tamaruaart

@hermesmoly

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner

@pedrospookie made the cutest fucking mood board for this fic, she also gave me so much inspiration for this! Let's all thank her for her perfect brain.

Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose

Rating: explicit -

kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions besides having hair long enough to hold and fall into your face, the reader is actually crazy, talks to herself- hears little voices in her head. You gotta know this going into it)

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.

w/c : 9k (whoops)

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

warnings/tags: non-con/dub-con/ altered mental state(?) throughout the entire thing. stockholm syndrome, violence (reader and Joel both get hurt) Joel is an unwilling participant... or is he? cockwarming, unprotected P in V, dirty talk- more to come.

authors note: Hey! I know a lot people get icked out by the idea of non-con or dub con, and that's fine, but I like it, so I'm gonna write this. I don't think any of this should be acted out ITRL. DON'T KIDNAP PEOPLE!! This is your last and final warning just so everyone is aware of what's going on. this is unbeta'd, poorly proofread and probably incoherent. I love you all so, so, so much.

The weather is finally starting to change, it's not as hot as a pigs asshole anymore, and you wake up feeling refreshed, rather than sticky and sour from sleeping in a pool of your own sweat all night long.

The first thought that comes to your head though isn't the changing weather, or how you'll eventually need to break out your warmer clothes soon, nope— you don't give a shit about any of that.

It's just Mister-man that you're thinking about.

He might be the most pretty thing you've ever seen. With his shoulder length, brown and gray curls, and his patchy facial hair that matches so nicely. The thought of how rough and scratchy it would feel against your tongue makes your spine tingle.

Mister-man is a big boy. Hefty, broad, and looked so strong whenever he came into the mall.

You've been watching him for a while. He comes around every three or four days snooping in all the stores for supplies.

It's like he doesn't even know you're here…or if he does, he doesn't care. Rude! You're a pretty girl!

He's just coming to take our stuff, just like the rest of the monster-men out there. If he finds us, he might wanna take-

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" You put your hands over your ears, even though those voices just get louder when you do that.

Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…

Yes, he would. He's a man.

"It's too early for this," You grumble, sitting up in your bed.

The mattress store is nice and clean, just how you left it last night before you crawled into bed. You think about how it would be alarming if it wasn't exactly how you left it before you went to bed. You did your nightly walk-through to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and that there weren't any extras hanging about.

As you get dressed, you think about what the dark voice was about to say. You know exactly what Mister-man would try and take from you if he found you. What all the other men in this fucking place want from you.

It's hard to make any of that matter as you skip to your hiding spot in the rafters above the food court. That's where he always enters from, even though the easier entrance with less glass and boards to climb through is on the other side of the mall.

It's a good thing you set up a trap there too, if he comes in through that entrance, at least you'll hear the snare go off and hopefully get to him in time to get his gun and knife.

Mister-man is a creature of habit, he doesn't like to switch things up, Sug. He'll come through this door.

He might. He might not. Mister-man might be playing your game better than you, kid.

"Well then, it's a good thing I thought of everything," you murmur, climbing up the discarded scaffolding to get into the rafters.

It's not scary up here, you like the thrill of knowing if you made one mistake—

Goner!

Splat!

"I've never fallen though!" You giggle, settling in to the perch just above the now blown out glass doors. It's a comfortable little spot, and you've arranged some blankets and pillows from the mattress store up here so you can nap if you want. There are some snacks, and bottles of water in case you have to stay up here for more than just a couple hours, keeping an eye out for Mister-man.

People must have stayed here in the mall during the outbreak, or right after because the doors are boarded up the best they can be, and the tables and chairs from the food court are set up all around like a barricade.

It was perfect, less work for you to have to do, and no one else bothers to come in here anymore— it's either too far, too hard to get too, or not worth the pay out.

Not for our lovely, handsome, soon to be perfect, Mister-man; the reason he comes every week is so sweet.

You wondered why he kept coming back when there really isn't much to scavenge anymore: every single store had been picked through before you got here, and you went and took the last of whatever anyone else didn't want or need and squirreled it away in a nice hiding spot.

Mister-man came every three or four days-- so that he could sit his ass in a comfortable recliner for a couple hours.

Remember that time he took a nap?

"Of course I do! How could I forget?!"

It's the cutest thing, and you love to watch him relax. Rest. Let his guard down for a little while.

"Slept like a lil baby that day," you mumble, feeling the heat spread up your neck and behind your cheeks. It's impossible to not smile at the memory of Mister sleeping in his chair, arms behind his head, snoring loudly.

His hair was real soft...'n he smelled so..

Why does he let us get so close? It's gotta be a trap.

Oh shut up, maybe he wants us to get close!

"I don't think he can hear me too good," you breathe out to the empty mall. The sun is starting to shine directly in your eyes— which means Mister-man will be here soon. "Always lookin' over his left shoulder. He never looks over his right, me thinks he can't hear outta that ear."

Mister has been coming for a couple months. He first started when the snow started to melt. And he kept coming through the spring when everything was wet and soggy, and he'd traipse mud through the mall like this wasn't your house!

That's how you knew he had been there though, so you waited to see if he'd come back-- and he did.

Mister-Man kept coming, even when the summer got so hot it was almost unbearable. Venturing outside was almost dangerous, but Mister always came.

Just to sit in his chair.

The air is filled with the sounds of birds singing, and insects buzzing in the lazy, summer heat. The mornings aren't too bad anymore, but the afternoon is still sweltering.

The late afternoon's are even worse when the heat finally settles, and everything gets sticky, and feeling all wet even though it's not wet outside! It's hot, but the air feels thick and damp somehow.

Awh, looks like he ain't coming today, Sug.

Good-fucking-riddance.

"He'll show up. If not today… tomorrow…or the next day. Or next week! He always comes, sillies. Gettin' me all nervous for nothin—"

Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.

Mister-man is coming. You can hear him before he even crawls through the hole in one of the boards. He has to slide the table he sets up every time he comes and goes.

Once he's upright, brushing himself clean of any debris that he might have picked up on his crawl into the mall, he starts to walk.

It's not hard to stay quiet, you know exactly where the spots that creak are, and where things might break and fall apart if you were to put too much weight on them.

It's easier to follow him around as he slinks through the abandoned shopping center than you thought, as long as you stay on his right side. You've been watching and learning, and had a long time to figure him out.

Mister is so cute, walking real slow with his back to the wall, his head on a constant swivel. You wanna call out to him and tell him it's just the three of you in the mall.

He continues to sneak very quietly.

Can't hide from us.

"He sure can't," you giggle, almost silently.

Mister-man pauses, and looks over his left shoulder, as if something caught his attention. He looks all around, head twisting in either and all directions. At one point, he looks right up at where you're standing.

It's like he's looking right at you, like he can see you flitting through the rafters right above him.

Mister-man just shakes his head, as if he was hearing things, and continues onward towards the furniture store.

Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.

"He sure can't."

Mister doesn't make it inside the furniture store today, unfortunately for him.

When Joel wakes up, his head is fucking pounding and— he's upside down. Shit.

Not again.

"What the fuck?" Joel croaks, his hands feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as he tries to lift them from where they're dangling over his head. His shoulders hurt, and his back aches. His ankles feel like they're on fire.

There isn't much he can do but hang here, waiting for his vision to un-blur and for the throbbing in his head to go away.

Probably get gutted like a pig.

Finally, after blinking a million times, Joel can see things clearly.

You- a young woman- with a gun in your hand, another strapped to the outside of your thigh, and a fucking machete strapped across your back.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Joel shouts, his hands now easily flying to the holster—It's empty. The pack he had been carrying on his back is gone too.

Joel watches as you look at him like he should already know what you're doing: a half smile plastered onto your pretty lips, the crinkle at the corners of your eyes, your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, couching in front of his pack.

"Lookin' through your stuff," you croon to him.

Joel's blood boils. What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck are you? How did you manage to get him all strung up, hanging from the ceiling?

He says nothing as you stay picking through his backpack, taking out every single thing he has in there. His map, compass, the backup flashlight, the gas-mask— which you're putting on?

Why? There weren't any spores in here— were there?

"This thing is fuckin' cool!" Your voice is muffled, and you stand up straight. Then you hold your hands out at your sides, and spin in a circle.

"Hey!" Joel barks at you, flinching away from the revolving barrel of your pistol with each rotation you make. "Stop swinging that thing around, would ya'!?" Joel shouts as you continue to spin.

You stop suddenly, and stare at him through the big, dark lenses of his gas mask. "You know all about swinging around, don'tchya?" You giggle at him.

Joel literally swings back and forth as you say this, very slowly spinning around as he sways, and the throbbing in his head only makes him more angry.

"Cut me the fuck down, keep what'chya want— I don't got time for all this," Joel grumbles, lifting his head so he can look at the rope tied around his ankles. It's a good knot, and without a knife, Joel isn't going to get down on his own, not without his knife.

He reaches behind him to feel for it on his belt—

"Lookin' for this?" Your still muffled voice questions Joel as his fingers brush across the empty space on his waist where his knife would be.

He tips his head almost all the way back, and then to the side so he can see you— and is greeted by the sight of you, still in the gas mask, and now, holding his knife by the blade with your thumb and index finger. All he can do is sigh, close his eyes and wonder how a trip to sit in his favorite recliner led to this.

"Now, I ain't really wanna hurt'chya— I was hopin' you was gunna say knocked out long enough for me to cut'cya down and—"

Joel doesn't wanna hear anymore. "Just cut me the fuck down— people are gon' come lookin' for me if you—"

You apparently don't wanna hear what Joel has to say anymore either, because you start to talk over him. "—we're just gunna go—"

Joel doesn't care, doesn't want to listen to your muffled voice— he wishes you would take his stupid, fucking gas mask off and talk to him like a normal person. He's gotta be able to barter with you somehow. "—don't let me go. If it's food 'n water ya' want, I can get ya' some—"

The two of you are just talking louder, and louder, until the both of you are shouting over the other, neither one of you actually hearing what the other is saying.

"—let me go!"

"—stay forever!"

The two of you stop and stare at each other in silence for a moment. Joel can't really comprehend what you just said, "Stay forever?"

"Yep!" You exclaim happily.

Did he say that aloud?

"You 'n me, together forever, Mister-man," you sigh dreamily at him.

It's not what you say, it's how you say it— like you really believe what you've just said. Like…it was something you had been thinking about, for a while.

"Huh?" Is all he can say, still slowly swaying and spinning. He has to turn his head almost completely around before he whips it to the other side, he wants to keep his eyes on you at all times. You seem un-fucking-predictable.

"Ain't'chya so excited!?" You squeal, and it makes Joel's head ache.

"Gon' fuckin' strangle you once I get down from here," Joel half grumbles, half chuckles under his breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching you rummage around for something in his bag.

"That's why I gotta do this," your muffled voice sounds sad as you pull something out and whip it behind your back, hiding it, and that makes Joel nervous.

"Do what?" Joel tries to see what you pulled out of his backpack.

"Gotta close your eyes," you shrug your shoulders, and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

Joel blinks at you, just staring at him through the gas mask. He's not completely unsettled by the sight of you in a gas mask, he's seen women wearing them plenty— it's the fact that you have him completely at your mercy and he can barely see your fucking eyes.

He's so fucking stupid for coming out here alone all the time, Tommy and Ellie both warned him- both told him that something would happen to him out here. He'd hurt his back— or worse. And no one would know where to find him- because this was his secret hideaway. A place to escape the responsibilities of being a dad, a grandpa, and a big brother.

Joel loves Ellie, JJ and Tommy more than he ever thought possible— and loves that he got to be around them everyday— it was just starting to be a lot.

If Joel had the means to move that recliner into his house in Jackson, he would have— but it's too big, too heavy and way too fucking far.

Now look at him, upside down!

"Ya' ain't gunna wanna see it comin'." You give Joel a small warning. "Please just close them," you whine, starting to nervously dance on your tip toes.

"No." Joel growls, arms still crossed over his chest.

"'Kay!" You exclaim, running over to Joel. "Warned ya'!" You pull the brick Joel had put in his pack for emergencies.

"Wait! Wait—"

Cripes-all-mighty, Mister-Man is heavy as hell!

It takes everything you have inside of you to drag him to the mattress store. By the time you get there, your shirt is soaked through with sweat, your hair clings to your forehead and the side of your face. Every muscle aches and feels as if it's being torn from the bone it's clinging to.

Huffing and puffing, you drag him through the sea of mattresses until you get to the staircase that leads into the basement office.

"Sorry, Mister-Man," you grunt and push him down the stairs—

He's fine! You lined the stairs, and the bottom where he landed with mattresses a couple days ago-- after you brought his favorite recliner down here. All by yourself. Did it just for Mister-Man, because you want him to be comfortable! You want him to feel nice, and relaxed, and safe here with you.

Once you have him nice and secure to his chair— you wait.

He hit his head pretty hard when you snared him— you didn't think of that part. Then he had to go and wake up! Like a dumb idiot! He could have just stayed asleep, then you wouldn't have had to hit him again!

Thank goodness for that brick he keeps in his backpack, which, what the fuck is that about? It's a good weapon, but it's heavy, and made his backpack harder to carry than you would like to admit.

You were also lugging that giant of a man around, ya' did good, Sugar.

Yeah, ya' did good, kid.

You wrap your arms around yourself and sigh, "Thanks."

You wanna tell the voices in your head that you love them, but you don't really always love them. Sometimes you hate them, and wish they would shut up, and sometimes they don't talk when you need them to— finicky fuckers! And they almost never see eye to eye, and it's exhausting. So you just say thanks.

Mister-man is so pretty up close. Even more pretty than you could have ever thought or dreamed of. He doesn't look like he's shaved or cleaned up his beard in the last couple days, and his hair was combed back away from his face when he got here today— but now it's a mess, matted to his forehead in drying blood, falling into his eyes.

"Shit," you whisper, taking in the sight of him all beat up—

Sug, you gotta clean him up— make him pretty again.

The sweet voice is right!

Mister-man looks so sad all bloody and a mess.

"I'll be right back," you murmur and press a gentle kiss to his forehead through his blood stained hair, and then double check all of the ropes around his wrists and ankles. 

He's secure, time to go get him lookin' nice again. 

When you come back, your bag is filled to the brim with supplies from the the multiple stores that still have things inside them. You got him a comb, and a spray bottle that you already filled with clean water. You were able to find some clean clothes that look like they'll fit him. 

He's also awake. 

"Hi, Mist—"

"Let me go." 

"—er-man!" You finish through the interruption. "I'm gunna clean you up now, and then we can have dinner. 'Kay?"

Mister-man stares at you.

"Oh!" You rip the gas mask off and place it on his lap. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to steal it. I promise." You cross your heart with one index finger. 

"Let. Me. Go." 

You wince with each barked word. "I. Don't. Wanna." 

"If I ever get outta here, m'gon' fuckin' kill ya'," he growls. 

You frown, pinch your eyebrows together and mock his thick, country twang. "M'gon' fuckin' clean ya' up real good, 'n then me 'n ya' can have fuckin' dinner." You growl back at him. 

"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"

"Why!? So you can kill me?" You shake your head at him, giving him a small smirk. "Not gunna happen, Mister." 

His eyes go wider than you've ever seen them, as if he might be nervous. "What th'fuck you gon' do to me then, huh?" 

"Clean. You. Up. Then. Have. Dinner. Did I say it too fast the first time, or can you really not hear too good?" You cock your head to one side, and look at him quizzically.

"Th'fuck did ya' just ask me?" Joel feels his chest going tight-- this hasn't happened in fucking years. It can't be happening right now.

"I talk real fast sometimes, and I don't realize it, and so sometimes all my words come out real jumbled to--"

"'Bout my hearin'?" Joel's working overtime to suck the air in, to bring precious oxygen to his brain. His head is still pounding, and now he can't fucking breathe, and he can't even imagine what kind of sick, twisted shit you're going to do to him.

Joel watches your eyes drop to the ground by his feet, and it's almost like you pull your body in on itself somehow, retreating into a place where you're trying to hide from him in plain sight. "I been watchin' you when you come in here... just act like you can't hear all that good outta your right ear," you say in a voice so small Joel can barely hear it.

"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.

Who the fuck are you? How long have you been watching him? How come he's never seen you before? Never even seen a trace of another person around here, just the stray raccoon or possum.

Joel's blood boils when you nod your head at him, still unable to look him in the eye. "Ya' should be ashamed. Whatever it is ya' wanna do to me is probably fucked--"

"I'm not ashamed," your voice snaps, and finally you lift your head to meet Joel's gaze. "Not even a little."

"Actin' like it," Joel's voice is snappier, and louder, and it makes you flinch.

"Maybe a little embarrassed--"

"Ashamed, fuckin' embarrassed, same fuckin' thing." Joel rolls his eyes at you.

"Not really," you shake your head from side to side and raise both of your eyebrows at him. "Not at all, actually."

"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"

"Would you shut th'fuck up..." You mock Joel. "I'm tryin' to do somethin' nice for you, and you keep telling me to shut the fuck up!"

"Do somethin' nice f'me?!" If this wasn't almost thirty years after the fucking apocalypse happened, Joel would think he was on some hidden camera show.

"Yeah!" You hold out the supplies you had brought back from wherever the fuck you had run off too while Joel was unconscious.

"Doin' somethin' nice would be lettin' me go, sweetheart." Joel switches his tone- does something he wouldn't normally do in a situation like this.

Your eyes light up. They crinkle in the corners a little, like they did the first time he saw you, but you're not upside down this time. The corners of your lips are trying to curl up, but you're actively trying to stop them.

"Don't call me that, 'less you mean it."

With the comb, water bottle and first-aid kit in hand, you take your place behind him and inspect the wound. 

It's a surface wound, but dirty from the brick and still very bloody. 

It's a painstaking process, because you don't want to be the cause of his pain anymore. Not ever again if you can help it.

Really, that's up to Mister, but he'll find out on his own soon enough! He just has to play nice, be sweet and kind— be the Mister you want him to be, and he'll be perfectly happy here with you. Life here with you in the mall could be perfect! He just needs to be perfect. He's almost there, he just has to keep his mouth shut. 

He's not quiet, not at all. He hoots and hollers at you to stop, to let him go, that he's gonna gut you like a fish if he ever gets free from here.

The way he talks, his voice feels like the deepest note on a piano, or the thickest string being plucked on a guitar. It vibrates in the spaces between your ribs, and forces all the air out of your lungs when he talks.

He's taking your breath away... how romantic.

The sweet and airy voice in your head is right, he is taking your breath away. You wish he would stop saying those mean and terrible things to you-- they're making you hurt inside, where your stomach is.

Guilt. You should just kill him right now--

"Hurt him?"

Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.

Look'it those big brown eyes. Like a baby cow. All wet 'n big, kinda scared lookin'.

Ugh, shoot him right between those beautiful brown eyes, kid. You can do it.

He ain't hurt you yet, Sug...

Because she tied him up--

As she should, she's gotta feel him out a little, make sure he's really not gonna hurt her.

How is he ever going to hurt her if he's tied up?

"Okay, enough!" You almost shout-- there they go! Never seeing eye to eye, making things harder than they needed to be!

"I'll yell all I fuckin' want," Joel does holler, loudly. So loud. He's going to draw attention.

"Do I need to get the brick again?"

Joel stops shouting.

He really can't hold back the pained sounds coming from his throat as you attend to his wound.

You're being so, so gentle!

He's acting like a giant baby.

"M'hurtin' you?" You mumble as you drag the damp cloth along his forehead carefully, cleaning the moderately large gash you left there with the brick. It's swollen, and bruised now... you feel so terrible.

He'll forgive you, Sugar.

Mister-man doesn't say anything, he just flinches away from your touch for the millionth time.

"M'sorry, didn't mean t'hurt you this bad." You slowly start to work the comb through his hair, spraying it down with water when you needed to. You're careful to never pull on his hair too hard, and work the tangles out meticulously so you don't bring him any more discomfort.

"Got'chu some medicine." You reach into your pocket and pull out two white pills.

"I ain't takin' nothin' y'give me, fuckin' crazy bitch." He grumbles.

Mister watches you walk around to the front of him, and kneel between his legs.

"S'just regular," you hold your hand up to his face so he can inspect the pill on his own. "Nothin' strong like they had in the QZ's," it's a gentle explanation as he studies the medicine in your palm. "Can find some for ya' if you wanted me to, m'real good at findin' stuff."

"Find it in your heart t'let me outta here," Joel gives you the sweetest, crookedest smile that makes you stomach feel like it grows ten sizes, and your heart feels like it's racing something else inside of you.

There are sweet wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the lines on his forehead deepen, and he has the softest dimple on his left cheek.

Sug, he's so pretty.

Kill. Him. Before. He. Kills. You.

"So pretty," you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and rest one of your elbows on his knee, propping your head up on the heel of your hand. The pills are still right in front of Joel's face, and his eyes flash between them, and your face.

"Not takin' them" he grumbles, twisting his head away from your hand.

"Suit yourself," you put the pills back into your pocket, dipping your head down to press a soft kiss to his knee. "M'gunna go get us dinner, I'll be back."

Joel stares at the tray of food you set down on the table you dragged over to be directly in front of him.

"Where's the protein?" Joel looks up at you from the plate of crackers with peanut butter, a small bowl of raspberries, two packets of expired pretzels you would get on an airplane, and a full bottle of labelless whiskey.

"S'in the peanut butter," you say through a mouthful of your own cracker.

Begrudgingly, Joel opens his mouth when you hold a cracker up to his lips. "Where's the meat?"

The crackers are dry, and kind of stale somehow? The peanut butter is still nice and creamy, just the way Joel remembered it before the outbreak.

"Where would I find meat?"

Joel pinches his brows together and blinks at you. "Ya' live in the woods, got a gun or two-- fuckin' know how to set a snare--"

You gasp softly, and rest one elbow on the table and point at him with a lazy index finger, "You 'spect me to go out there and kill an innocent lil friend? They ain't ever done nothin' t'me. Why would I go out 'n hurt 'em when I ain't got no reason to?"

Joel continues to blink, trying so hard to keep his eyes on you and not the ropes you have him tied down with so tightly they're starting to dig into the skin on his forearms-- painfully.

"Ya' kiddin', right?" He watches as you place a raspberry directly into the peanut butter on the cracker and hold it out for him.

"Issa good combo, try it." You nod your head at him, urging him to open his mouth.

Joel doesn't want to, doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing he needs you, and is going to keep needing you until you decide to kill him, or set him free.

He opens his mouth though, because Joel hasn't had a raspberry in years and he loves them, and the sight of that plump, juicy berry sitting so comfortably in that pillow of delicious, creamy peanut butter is making his stomach rumble. Loudly.

"Want some?" You hold up the bottle of whiskey, screw off the cap and take a swig. "See, it's safe," you look at him through your lashes, and give him a one-corner-of-your-mouth-smile.

Joel nods his head, because what else was there to do if he was going to be a prisoner here? He tried so hard to free himself of the restraints while you were gone, but you know how to tie a knot, and Joel just ended up giving himself rope burn.

An hour later, Joel feels pretty good, but not good enough to forget the situation he's in, but the booze is making you very chatty, and he might actually be enjoying the conversation.

"'N I get power from the solar things up on the roof, I think."

"Ya' think?" Joel smirks at you, he can't help it.

"I dunno how the solar works," you exclaim, holding one hand towards the ceiling. "It's the sun and black screens," you give the ceiling the middle finger and groan. "Barely works when the sun is out-- I just wanna watch my movies--"

"What kinda movies ya' got?"

He wishes he never asked.

You're sitting between his legs on the floor-- reaching behind you to feed him raspberries, never taking your eyes off the screen.

Joel thing's about biting your fingers off, thinks about taking the tips right off with his front teeth.

What would you do if he did that? Joel is still tied up, and he would just have raspberries and bloodied fingertips in his mouth, and then possibly a crazy, unpredictable, angry woman who would try and kill him.

Joel has seen angry people every day for close to thirty years... he knows what they look like, what they sound and act like--- you don't sound or act angry.

"Love this part," you sigh, leaning back into him, and resting your head on his knee.

Joel looks up to the screen, watching Cinderella transform into her beautiful ball gown.

Joel wishes he could reach out and run his fingers through your hair.

No he fucking doesn't? What the actual fuck? What did you put in the food, or the whiskey to make him feel this way?

Joel clenches his hands to fists on the arms of the recliner, and tenses his jaw-- grinding his teeth in the process.

You continue to drink throughout the movie, and when the credits are rolling-- you stumble to your feet, and then into his lap.

"Get off'a me," Joel gripes as you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face.

"Just wanna cuddle," you murmur, curling yourself up into his chest, yawning sleepily. "F'just a lil bit."

"Get off'a me, ya' fuckin' nut!" Joel shouts, and regretfully, tries to headbutt you.

His cheekbone, the side of his nose and part of his forehead connect with the top of your skull in a dull, aching thud.

You scramble off his lap, and fall to the floor, one hand holding the top of your head where Joel had just whacked you. The right side of his face is throbbing, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding, or he's crying- he doesn't know- he doesn't care. He just wants to go home.

"What the fuck!?" You shout back at him. "Mister, I ain't been mean to you at all, minus the brick- okay? What the hell is your problem!?"

Joel can't help but laugh, it starts off as a chuckle, but quickly matures into full on guffawing. "Y'fuckin' insane, ya' know that?" Joel rumbles through his fit.

Through the tears in his eyes, Joel can see you glaring at him.

Okay, he hurt her, can she kill him now?

Sugar, he ain't mean it... not really... he just needs some time to adjust.

He could have really hurt her, are you serious?

He's just nervous! Give the man a break--

Tired of giving men breaks- tired of letting them get away-

"Both of you, knock it off." It's a stern warning to the voice as you glare at Mister.

He stops laughing and blinks at you. "Huh?" He cocks one eyebrow up high, "Both o' ya?"

His question doesn't register, all you can think about is how disappointed you are in him.

"I was gunna let'chya sleep in the big bed with me," you huff, climbing to your feet. "Ain't gonna do that no more."

"I ain't wanna sleep in the big bed with y'crazy fuckin' ass, anyway!" He screams at you.

"What're ya' bein' so fuckin' mean for? I cleaned ya' up, made ya' pretty again-- fed you dinner 'n shared my drink with you!"

Do not cry! What're you doing!? Don't let him see you cry! Get out of here, right now!

The dark voice is right, the burn in your nose and the sting in your eyes are tell tale signs of tears- and you hate them. Hate the way they make your face wet and sticky, hate how they make your heart hurt, hate how your head feels like it's ten pounds heavier when you get done crying.

He'll come around, Sug. Gotta give him some time. If ya' stay nice-- it'll happen sooner than you think.

"I like bein' nice," you murmur, not taking your eyes off Mister.

"Th'fuck are you talkin' about!?" He exclaims, eyes wide, almost obsidian with rage and confusion.

"G'night, Mister. We'll try again t'morow."

Mister doesn't rest, doesn't relax, doesn't settle down at all.

When you open the door to his room, he's still screaming his head off.

"Hey!" You shout back at him, grabbing his attention. "We got raiders 'round here. We got infected movin' in and outta here all the time-- you know how fuckin' loud you are?"

"Hopefully they all hear 'n come runnin'. I'd love to see you get torn to shred-"

"'Kay, m'real sorry ya' feel that way. Even sorrier that I gotta do this."

Mister doesn't stop fighting you the entire time you shove the bandanna into his mouth. He even bites down on your index and middle finger as you stuff the last corner of fabric between his teeth.

Hit him.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to stop yourself from the back of your hand connecting with his cheek.

"Now, you gunna play that game? I can play, too," you inspect your finger and the deep indentation he left that's already starting to bruise.

The duct tape is hard to rip, and you need to use your teeth to cut a strip to go over his mouth.

Mister is mumbling something around the bandanna, but you can't understand him, and honestly are still mad about your fingers-- they hurt! Really bad!

"Glad I still got that medicine... I'm gunna fuckin' need it!" You dig around in your pockets and look for the two white pills. Your fingers throb while you look, the sensitive skin; tender to the touch as it brushes against the fabric inside your pockets.

Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.

"I'm sorry!" You find the pills, throw them into your mouth and swallow dry. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you. I do not like doin' it, I mean it." You take a couple steps towards him, and drop to your knees between his legs again.

Mister watches, his whole body still as you rest your head on his knee again.

"Just want ya' 'round. M'sorry," you close your eyes, not wanting him to see them fill with those traitorous tears. "Jus' real lonely out here. Miss havin' someone t'talk with...'n snuggle up to at night."

The fuckin' duct tape makes it impossible for Mister to say anything--which is the worst. You wanted someone to talk with, not at.

"I'll take the tape off in the mornin', and we can try again over breakfast, 'kay?"

Mister doesn't make a single sound for the rest of the night.

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Honestly, he barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night.

How can he not like it just a little bit? You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister. Please?" You fucking whimper,

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through the thin fabric of your shorts, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his kiss, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans low in his throat when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

The sound that leaves you makes Joel throb in your hand, "Ya' want me t'put 'em inside?" You whisper, the silky smoothness of your hands on him, stroking him so slowly is making his head spin.

"Jeeesus, yes-- fuckin' c'mon- do it," Joel lets his head fall back against the recliner, and watches as you pull your shorts to the side, and lift yourself to hover over him. "C'mon..." Joel eggs you on in a whisper. "Y'can do it, crazy girl."

"Don't call--" you pause when you notch the head of him at your entrance. "--me crazy."

Joel groans loudly as you sink down and let every wet, soft part of you engulf him. He throbs again when you whimper and whine, eyes clenched shut, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you inch your way down his length.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine, leaning forward to rest your head on Joel's.

He could headbutt the shit out of you right now, but fuck, the way you're looking at him, with real tears in your eyes, not just from drinking.

"Hey, ya' doin' real good, sweetheart, keep goin'-- nice 'n slow," Joel encourages you, because he doesn't want it to stop either. "Jus' like that, crazy girl."

God damn, is crazy pussy always this good? He wouldn't fucking know, he wouldn't ever get involved with you if he knew you back in Jackson- but out here, after almost three weeks with you... it's hard to deny the physical needs of a man. And you're so fucking soft and wet.

The two of you groan in unison when you fully seated. The velvet walls of your pussy are fluttering, and clenching around him as you adjust to his length.

"You're so big," you hum, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Didn't think ya'd wanna do this," you whisper into his mouth. "Wasn't gon' take it from ya-- don't like that."

"Take what'chya need from me, whenever ya want it, shit," Joel tries to buck his hips up into yours to give you what you want but you whine in protest.

"Still hurts."

Joel settles his hips and leans into the best he can being tied down, his fingers grip the armrests of the chair tightly, groping it like he would be groping you if he could.

"Untie me," he murmurs while grinding up against you, not pulling out of you at all, just letting you feel him, letting you open up around him so it'll start to feel good.

"No," you nip at his bottom lip now, but you suck it into your mouth and tease him with your tongue as your walls start to rhythmically clench around him.

"Fuck, ya' doin' that on -ur-ose?" Joel groans with his bottom lip still being lapped at, The feeling of your tight, wet sucking him in deeper somehow- like it's fucking bottomless almost makes him come right then.

You pull back, his lip slips from between your with a wet pop "Mhm, ya' like it?" You clench harder around him and then release, and then do that over, and over again.

"Fuckin' untie me, wanna touch you- gotta feel how soft ya' are all over, c'mon," he's begging, he needs to feel the swell of your ass in his palm, or one of your tits spilling between his fingers as he grips you.

"No, you'll just try 'n leave me-"

"No, no, no-- I'll stay 'n... uh.. I'll... um- uh--oh, I'll play nice wit'chya" Joel racks his brain with anything that he could say that would possibly give him a chance at being able to really touch you.

"Lyin' t'me," you moan, and Joel throbs inside of you.

"Not lyin'-"

You pull back from his face at an alarming rate, and you scan his face slowly, as if you were drinking in every feature, savoring the flavor-- Joel watches you swallow hard and imagines that it's his load you just took down--

"Untie me, let me touch ya' a lil bit," Joel whispers, keeping his eyes locked on to yours. "Make ya' feel real good, promise." Joel licks his lips as he watches you struggle internally with the decision. "C'mon... gotta feel how soft ya' are, crazy girl. Just one hand."

"Fine."

You stay seated in his lap, his cock still throbbing inside of you as you work on the knot that will free his right hand. He's trembling in the anticipation of it all.

As soon as the pressure is gone off his wrist, Joel reels his arm back as far as he can, and sends it flying forward with as much force as he can muster after not eating meat for almost an entire month.

You scream as his fist connects with your right eye, and go flying to the floor.

Joel might be completely sober right now, and he knows he needs to move fast before you get up and probably shoot him for lying to you, and then punching you.

Yep. Shoot him. Shoot him right between his perfect, brow, baby-cow eyes. End it.

The dark voice in your head is right, but it's almost impossible to think about anything else but the pain shooting into your brain from your right eye socket.

"You motherfucker," you sob. The pain is electrifying- and you can't even see out of your right eye anymore!

That was your least favorite eye!

Kill. Him.

When you sit up, Joel is working on the knot around his left wrist.

You stumble to your feet, holding your hand over your eye trying to keep the actual ball in, in case it falls out, and walk over to the table with his book bag on it. You rummage around until your fingers wrap around the item you're looking for.

When Joel sees what you're carrying, not even attempting to hide it behind your back, he quickens his efforts on the knot.

Your left hand isn't your dominant one, but your right is busy keeping your eyeball in your head because it most surely got knocked loose or something.

You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.

"S'what ya' get for almost takin' my eye out!"

While he's still asleep, you take this opportunity to cut the jeans he's wearing off of him. You carefully unbutton the green and red flannel he was wearing and slip that off of him fully intact.

Once he's fully secure, with a new restraint around his chest to keep him fully pinned down to the chair, and the bandanna and tape back around his mouth-- you shut all the lights off, every single one, and leave him down there to think about what he did.

He's gonna learn to play nice, and if he wants to play rough first... so can you.

The air is thick with tension and stench of his sweat and fear.

The big-guy should be kind of scared- you didn't want it to come to this, but he just cannot participate nicely!

You circle your Mister-man slowly, drinking in every detail of him. His broad chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles taut and straining as he fights against the restraints for the thousandth time.

No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot break free. Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings about it, and he's trying to let you know.

He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair, that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists. It's unfortunate, but he keeps wriggling around! If he just stopped, it'd all be fine!

You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna play nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"

His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot respond, not really, his voice is saying things, but it's muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth.

He's still clad in only boxer shorts, a thin gray t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.

It really shouldn't be so hot-- but it is. You can't stop thinking about what he said the other night.

"Take what'cya want from me, sweetheart. Whenever you want it."

You wonder if he really meant that, because he punched you in the face right after.

But... he got excited! He wanted it, Mister-man kissed you first.

Oh Sug, he's down bad.

Please kill him. Shoot him right now, then you can just move to a different part of the mall. It's very simple.

He's really mad; which makes no sense! He punched you right in the eye! What is he mad for!?

"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, Mister," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.

Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.

The perfect basement office of an old mattress store in an abandoned mall about a two hour hike outside of what used to be Jackson, Wyoming?

There's no spores, there's no mildew or stink! It's clean, you make sure to keep everything so clean for him.

Despite his insessant pestering about meat for some reason, he's well fed! He gets to drink whenever he wants!

Why is he so upset!?

Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.

Soon.

Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.

He's just gotta wear something else first.

You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.

He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.

"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.

He's going to try-- he always does.

Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.

"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."

Joel mumbles something else, muffled through the duct tape. It doesn't really matter what he's saying, all that matters is how warm he is. How he makes you feel so safe and comfortable.

It's easy now, with the threat of being zapped, to rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle the tips of your noses together.

"You gunna be good for me, Mister-man?" It's a purr as you press a kiss to the duct tape covering his mouth. "Or am I gunna have to train you how to be good?"

omg this might be the longest tag list i've ever done let me know if you want me to take you off, add you, if I forgot you-- I'm SORRY!!!

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22

[thehollowwriter]

I've been thinking about Nkulu and what he would sound like and how he would talk. He's got a heavy Xhosa accent when he speaks English or Japanese, and he uses a lot South African slang because though one parent was originally from (twst) Brazil, he was born and raised in (twst) South Africa which I think is at least in the Afterglow Savanah.

I thought I'd share some examples of slang and expressions, cause I think it would be fun to share with everyone and I don't really use South African slang online (I also think it's funny how confusing some of them can be. It feels like opposite day)

☆"Just now/now now"

The second one especially makes it sound like you mean right now at this second, but here it could be anytime between right now and tomorrow. "Go wash the dishes" "Yeah I'll do it now now" and "now now" could be in half an hour. Who knows.

☆"Shame"

Though it is used when expressing pity a lot ("Ag, shame that's terrible") it's also used in a positive way, mostly when referring to cute things. "Look at that kitten!" "Aww shame man." So uh dw we're not insulting your kitten/j

☆"Ja, nee:"

"Ja nee" is just "yes, no" in Afrikaans, and it's generally used similarly to "okay"/ to confirm or agree with something or to disagree with something. "Where you there yesterday?" Yeah, no, I was there." "The movie was good, right?" "Ja, nee I was a bit disappointed." Or just "Ja nee, I don't know."

☆"Jislaaik"

Pronounced "Yislike." Jislaaik is an Afrikaans expression of amazement, shock, or surpise. "Jislaaik that looks cool"

☆"Haibo"

(Hi-boh) This is a Zulu term that has a ton of meanings, but can basically be boiled down to an exclamation of surpise, shock, or disbelief. "Haibo, what happened?!"

☆"Yebo"

(Yeah-boh) Another Zulu term, this one means yes. However it's usually used as a very energetic and excited way of saying yes. "Hey, wanna hang out?" "Yebo!" "Hey, hey!" "Yebo?"

☆"Ag, nee man"

"Ag" is basically "Oh" (pronounced like how Germans pronounce "ach", according to Google, bc I literally have no idea how to describe the sound for G in Afrikaans sbsbdndn) "Nee, man" means "No, man." in Afrikaans. The man is pronounced "mun" kinda. The phrase is essentially a way of expressing frustration, pity, or disgust. "Ag nee man, did he really do that?"

☆"Eish"

Eish (E-sh) It's an expression of surpise for a lot of things line frustration, surpise, regret, or sympathy. (you can see we have a lot of those lol) "Eish man, that sucks."

☆"Lekker!"

(Leck-ir) There's no English equivalent for this word, but basically it's an informal Afrikaans word that has a lot of meanings depending on the context. It can mean something's great, cool, yummy, etc. "Oh, that food looks lekker." "Lekker braai, neh?" (A braai is basically a barbeque but we only cook with charcoal and it makes everything taste amazing. "Neh" is basically just our "Eh")

-

So yeah that's my little list of slang words! I hope you guys found it interesting!

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @sillyslipperybananapeel @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl

@quartztwst @yuizenihaswriten @devosin @oya-oya-okay @b0njourbeach

@kirans-wonderland @coffinkissez @idikeis @s-t-y-x @tixdixl

[definitelynot-a-fake-cop]

ooc // oh my god another Reki mun oc. Holy shit.

// well yes bc with the death of Tori and the deletion and retconning of sai.... I had to fill the void 😔

// you know what time it is baby

OOC OC INTROOO!!!

♠︎-♡-♤-♥︎-♠︎-♡-♤-♥︎

》Omg another blue themed character wowwww (sorry not sorry Indigo)

》Mack Briggs, he/him, 24-25ish (and refuses to admit it), he doesn't know what his sexuality is but he ain't straight

》An ex-villain in Gotham called White Snake (I don't think that name is taken 😵‍💫), because of his funky powers. His funky powers which include being absolutely dead silent on his feet, he's got these fangs that do in fact shoot venom when he wants, and that venom can either hurt or heal depending on if hes tryna help you or not, he's also poisonous if you bite him and break skin, changing his vision to infrared to see heat of others (helps in dark environments), of course he can turn into a snake (a very big white snake with blue markings because special), and along with snakey powers he has the floating gaster hands that Sai had (those who didn't know sai it's fine you'll learn). overall as a villain he was generally cold, smart, and cunning, like a much less expressive Black Mask.

》So now that he's not a villain, he's actually a cop. he like wore a mask and disguise and never actually revealed his true identity so nobody actually knew who White Snake was. Mack literally just forged papers and shit to be a "transfer" from Blüdhaven to the GCPD, made this whole story of working as a cop for a few years, his dad was a cop, yadda yadda it's all bullshit but nobody but him knows that. he's been working as a cop in Gotham for about six months now. stopped being a villain when he accidentally hurt some people he cared about and permanently lives with that guilt.

》his parents are in fact not dead (yay not an orphan). but they suck. Basically when Mack started getting his powers at the ripe age of six, he was forced into tests and experiments and shit. getting poked and prodded into oblivion and never let out of the house basically. so yeah he was a lil bit twisted growing up. he's on non speaking terms with his family.

》He does care. he is trying. he'll probably be just a tiny bit mean to you when you first meet but once he warms up a bit he does care quite alot. he's a protective motherfucker.

》He always has a way of making you feel like you've met him before, or seen him, because he was a relatively big villain but in a disguise always and never showed his face except the eyes really. so. yeah.

》white hair, down to his shoulder blades and usually up. piercing blue eyes, and yes he does have snake-like pupils that are pointy at the top instead of round but you don't really notice it until you stare for. like. ten minutes. and he's a heavy eye contact avoider. fangs, obviously. two tattoos going up his arms that are snakes, and one on his back. snake bite piercings (heheh) because mun still DESPERATELY wants those. ears pierced. always has an unapproachable look to him.

♠︎-♡-♤-♥︎-♠︎-♡-♤-♥︎

Rules:

》RPs are welcome and encouraged!! drop a starter in the asks literally whenever you want, or tag me or whatever you wanna do. if you wanna establish it a bit first, DM me! love interacting with people so don't hesitate :)

》Flirting, suggestive stuff is fine, no downright NSFW and if you're gonna do that, character and mun MUST be over 18 please.

》Platonic, family, friend stuff is welcome to all to interact!

》Sillies are of course welcome, filllll my ask box. you can also ask questions, or drop lore stuff (love it when anons drop lore stuff or psychologically torture my characters :))

》Fluffy stuff is great, angst is great, but I do ask that if you wanna do an angsty rp plz message me beforehand just to give me a heads up. if you'd like to establish a romantic relationship with Mack, message me first. this is a must.

》Don't spam like, you will be blocked.

thanks yall, enjoy torturing interacting with Mack!!!

♠︎-♡-♤-♥︎-♠︎-♡-♤-♥︎

Uhhh ok so for rps and shit the non-dialogue text will be in blue like this and then ye if it's blue in dialogue it usually means shits boutta happen

[stubz]

Darn spider monkey

"Tag! Your it!"

"...can we play something else?" huffs Tuk, her tail swishing back and forth in boredom.

"You don't like tag?" asks Marl scurrying back to their large blue friend.

"I do but we always play it! How about a new game?" The na'vi smiles as she sets her little friend on her shoulder.

"Hmmm...I can't think of anything."

"...neither can I."

"Put your foot in for grounders!" shouts one of their teachers in a nearby clearing.

"...grounders?"

"Grounders."

.

"So for those who don't know what grounders is, like Tuk and Marl, it's basically tag but the person who is it closes their eyes when on the...well not on the ground since we don't have a playground here." Explains Max.

"If the person who is it isn't on the ground and shouts grounders then whoever is on the ground is it. Now, if you're climbing high you can keep your eyes open until in a safe spot. But if your peeking to cheat then you have to go back onto the ground, that's called broken dishes."

"Why is called broken dishes?"

"...I have no idea. Anywho! If your tagged but really don't wanna be it then me or Kim will be it instead. Right Kim?"

"I prefer to be the hunter rather then the hunted."

"Got it? Okay! Game starts in 5...4..."

The younglings scattered. Some went straight for higher ground so as to have the advantage of sight while others focused on putting as much distance between them and the human male. Tuk and Marl obviously went for the high ground.

Being as it they were on her home planet, Tuk had a clear advantage in growing up in these very forests, she knew all the best ways to climb and scale these massive trees. Marl while being very small was still a ursa, creatures that typically spend the first 3 years of their life in the treetops. The two friends easily made it up 15 feet of the ground in two bounding leaps.

"This'll be so easy."

"Right? We just have to stay up here and we'll never be caught!"

..

"...this is kinda boring now." huffs Tuk. For 10 minutes they've stayed in the same spot watching their teachers chase the other younglings.

they haven't been ignored but were too far off the ground to be reached. The trunk was too smooth and the branches were too high for the humans. After multiple attempts by Max he gave up and focused on the other younglings.

"I find it entertaining! Go Pollix! GO! He's right behind you!" Marl cheered as the tighalax weaved through trees trying to lose the human. With a burst of speed he dropped down onto all fours and ran under a tunnel of roots.

"Yeah! Too bad mister Max!" the human ran even faster but this time to the right, away from the root tunnel. Tuk raised her brow as she watched him run up to a nearby tree and quickly begin climbing up.

"...Pollix get out of there! He's gonna-!"

"GROUNDERS! Got ya Pollix!"

"Darn it!" growled the cub from tunnel.

"Okay I guess it is entertaining." Tuk smiled.

...

By the 20 minute mark more than half the younglings were tired and sitting in the shade with Max. Tuk and Marl still in their spot. Kim and a few others on the ground running around.

"...wanna change spots?"

"Sure, how about that sunny spot over there?"

"Looks good."

"...wait. They're planning something."

"Who?"

"Kim and Piper." Marl pointed and true enough the adult was whispering something to the child while occasionally glancing towards them...while leaving just the smallest bit of space between them. When the girl smiled and nodded Kim grinned as well and together sprinted towards the tree they were on.

But rather than try and climb it as they had thought they would do, Kim turned and squatted against the tree.

Knee, shoulder, then waiting for Kim to stand, and finally using the adults palms as the final step Piper jumped and grabbed the lowest vine.

Piper was now it.

Piper was now scaling the tree like a prolemuris. The human youngling turned and swung her body in ways that the older humans couldn't and thus helped her go higher and higher.

"...We should start climbing."

"Way ahead of you!"

....

Together the humans managed to tag Tuk as she was a larger target than Marl.

With Kim's help Piper could reach the lowest vine or branch and from there she was set. granted she was not as fast as them but she had knocked down vines for others to climb so as to tag Tuk and Marl, the only two haven't been it yet!

A tragedy that must be corrected!!

The trees were no longer safe for the na'vi or ursa nor were the ground as that was the adult's domain.

While Tuk was bigger than the adult and therefore could outpace her she hadn't realized how committed human adults are to games. Even if it was children's game.

Deliberately Kim would go after Marl, the slower of the two, and make a show of almost catching them. Tuk, not wanting her friend to be it would always try to reach Marl first and carry them away. An abrupt stop would be Tuk's only warning before the human turned towards her and lunged.

If that didn't work then she would use the smallest youngling's affections to her advantage. Thrice she had ordered Anwred and Tarlak to hug her legs thus slowing her down.

"...I'm done..."

"Me too..."

"You guys did good, miss Kim hardly ever uses Piper in grounders." smiles Pollix.

"How does she do that? I mean, Spider, my human friend, can do that too but he grew up doing that. So how does Piper do it?"

"Apparently she has other teachers that taught her how to that and is just one of those humans whose better at climbing than others."

"Yeah! She used to climb miss Kim and mister Max all the time! Right onto their shoulders!" chirped Xw.

"She's a little spider monkey alright." said Kim walking over with said spider monkey clinging onto her back smiling rather proudly.

"...darn spider monkey." muttered Marl while Tuk laughed.

[forever-and-almost-always]

tagged by @bwaldorf to list the five songs i’m listening to right now. thank you, lovely!

1. Should’ve Been A Cowboy by Toby Keith

2. I Know Somebody by LOCASH

3. Part Of It by Jordan Davis

4. I Go Back by Kenny Chesney 

5. High and Mighty by Dolly Parton

+ bonus: 

6. Fancy by Reba McEntire

tagging @queeenpersephone @lasbrumas @solaskoroleva @danielarlington @yugimoto @cloudravine @evies20dollars @minnarr @lexiklecksi @natrasharomanova @malamishka @tate-lin @elliekayy and anyone else who wants to do it!

[darkdragon768]

Various doodles of the Dorito Twins.

I just like to play with them like dolls and put them into situations.

[somegrumpynerd]

@wickjump you will never not be an absolute genius

[chill-vibes-but-rainbow-panic]

Finally back, with a lil more of Chill's Artist Admiration Sketchbook; making fanart for blogs I like :D

@kingspacebar

Accessoires and colours my beloved <3 <3 <3

[welcometogrouchland]

Batman #149 by chip zdarsky is mostly unremarkable, but I'm really fascinated by how it makes a great case for 'good' endings not saving 'bad' stories*. Because there's a lot of interesting concepts in this issue (bruce having to deal with his rapidly aging and decaying clone making him think about his own life, re-establishing a 'nest' so to speak for his family after pushing them away, etc) but bc of the OOC slog that came before it, almost every moment w/ the batfamily comes off as unearned and disingenuous imo.

Like, everything with Damian is the perfect example in this. Because in isolation it's...fine. admittedly it's a missed opportunity to not go deeper into how Damian would feel about a clone of his dad who tried to kill considering Damian's relationships with clones of himself (the heretic rejects and respawn) or with former enemies who wanted him dead but who were manipulated and/or brainwashed (like suren and maya).

Zdarsky doesn't go into any of this but you could maybe excuse it as the issue not being about Damian. However, coupled with the previous bizarre characterizations of Damian in 147 and 148, it ends up not being fine- instead it starts to feel...icky how Damian (who, despite often being drawn and written as white, will never have his connection to the non-white al ghuls forgotten and will always be effected by racism even when not portrayed as a poc) is constantly written as overly violent, uncaring and narrow minded in this run. Coupled w/ trying to recanonize the morrison origin for Damian it's like. OH this is badly written and laden with subtle bigotry, sick**

That's me going into detail on it with Damian but it's applicable to other things in this issue- the way Cass, Steph and Duke have all been ignored or turned into jobbers makes their inclusion in the 'family' here feel hollow instead of satisfying. Bruce proclaiming that Zur was still a part of him and he needs to accept responsibility for his actions (when it means taking in clone son) wrings hollow when just last issue zdarsky was bending over backwards to separate Bruce and Zur bc otherwise the Jason thing would get really awkward. Ends are achieved through means that feel hollow or strange. I'm at my destination but damn why'd the bus have to do all that???

I only really have opinions on this latest arc of zdarskys Batman bc it's the one I've read the closest (bc I'm a hater, masochist and avid follower of even the bad damian storylines) but it's not saying great things.

Bc zdarsky can do one thing good in this book, and it's write Bruce and Tim. And yet this entire story, whether of his own volition or editorial mandate, includes other characters who aren't Bruce and Tim, the fabric starts to unravel in very telling ways.

(p.s, I think pennyworth manor is an interesting idea but I feel like in execution it's just gonna be 'bruce living in a house haunted by the memory of the people he couldn't save' but with a different dead guy this time. Illusion of change and whatnot)

*whether or not the ending is good is up to you ofc, as is your opinion on the proceeding arc! I saw some ppl complain that the ending was too "WFA" for them, which I get even if I dont think it'll literally be the same premise. If anything it's probably a lead into the new tec run. Likewise many ppl who aren't in the weeds of Damian and Jason characterization liked the previous arc! But I have my opinions and rest my case before the bench

**disclaimer, I'm white and portrayals of bigotry in comics are complicated and subjective, but I am basing my point here off what other poc comic fans on socmed have been saying about 149. Also the "sick" is sarcasm incase that wasn't obvious

[youling-the-ghost]

More handwritten fanfiction!!

I've decided to just write this entire bubbamiah fic in my notebook and honestly it's so much fun to write on paper. I've said this before but I genuinely recommend you try this out if you're a writer, even if it's just for a bit. It makes you think about your word choices more because it's so much harder to edit a mistake when it's on paper.

[ourtalechara]

Anything unusual?

You mean more unusual than... Well, than usual?

Hmmm... Not much...

Oh, though... I did just see a bloke swearing at a lamppost.

Yeah, a lamppost. There was a satchel hanging from it. He kept jumping, trying to grab at it. It was just out of his reach, the poor bugger.

Anyway...

Is that all you wanted to ask me?

[rallazart]

Ah fine I'll post somethin. Experimenting with designs and shit is all I'm doin. Nothin new.

(Not posting the colored in versions yet. These are only concept sketches. Keep that in mind)...

The digital "version" of ^this^ is just some lazy color blocking I did. (Pay no mind to the weird light effects); But it does add a little clarity to the original sketch that might be helpful. Note: the values will change to some degree later.

Full body type idea ^here^. The tail is fan shaped from proper perspective.

The basic blocks of his design include an array of different animal features i.e. plucked feathers and skin, goat horns and eyes, coyote skull and body, and lizard scales. Idk if anyone was curious though;

if anyone asks for more detail in the design inspirations and lore I might share it. I just don't really feel the need to post every part of my process yk (especially if I'm not 100% happy with it)

[kaiserouo]

maybe i shouldn't draw them before even knowing what this game is about

[synthshenanigans]

Finally has been a full year since I started listening

Fuckin hate that guy eugh

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

Personally, I dnt see Nesta abusing Feyre because of how vague their history in their past home was like. They seemed on v equal ground wit the way they argued and fought. Feyre calls Nesta a burden then Nesta retaliates. Nesta warns Feyre about the old hag and Feyre brings up their past fight from the other night. Nesta tries to save Feyre and Feyre realizes there is more to her sister than she thought.

They always were at odds with each other but their never seemed to be any serious power dynamic between them. Neither was afraid of the other and both saw themselves in the other. I honestly think they both have stuff to answer for from their days in the cottage.

In SF, the book even says that Feyre wasn’t perfect and that she made mistakes but their past doesn’t have to define their future. Again, we dnt know what those mistakes could have been since there is such vague exploration of their dynamic back then. But passages in the books like these make me see that it wasn’t abuse between them. It certainly wasn’t healthy but definetly not so one-sided as many antis make it out to be.

hi anon!!

my response is loooooong 😭

i do really want to talk about this. i think the set up in the cabin is very important to the foundation of the sisters' relationship, and because its left as this gaping hole that lacks nuance and logic, it muddles the characterization going forward. a court of silver flames runs into trouble for this reasons, hence why is said it employs the use of 'placeholder' plotlines. to start, as many have stated before me, the set-up in the cabin makes no sense. none. not even a little. that matters for a lot of reasons but specifically because we can't really argue the validity of any of the sister's actions when the worldbuilding around them has none to begin.

its very hard to apply a real system of continual power, abuse, and neglect, when the circumstances around such dynamic is vague and uncommitted. the story doesn't want to commit to the consequences, but it also doesn't want to establish a relationship between the sisters without placing feyre as the permanent victim. so - it created an absurd scenario that doesn't make any sense. what i am saying is - the story has to go wayyyy out of its way to make elain and nesta 'villains' - to the point that the plot can't even support it. like for example, the girls live together in the cabin without feyre hunting for about a good 3-4 years. that means: someone clothed them, someone fed them, someone cleaned, someone took care of them. someone picked up the slack and its wasn't feyre. we know that mama archeron dies when the girls are 8, 10, and 11 - and the shortly after that, they lose their wealth. so - the girls are maybe 11, 13, and 14. literal children. and again - someone had to be taking care of them, a dynamic existed before feyre went hunting, but somehow never gets brought up. if the story is committed to this story, why doesn't it highlight nesta/feyre/elain's relationship in the moments where feyre isn't hunting? what was their relationship like? what was feyre like? these are perfect moments to establish the relationship. even if the sisters were lazy - what would they be doing all day? how would they even sustain themselves on meat all year long? even if the sisters were evil sisters there's little motivation for them to even be like this. the sisters are only three years apart. literally. when feyre was 8, elain was 10, and nesta was 11. thats not a big enough age-gap to even sustain partially of what the story argues about why the sisters have a disconnect. nesta would have been a BABY when feyre and elain were born - where is the motivation? how do elain and nesta develop a faction when they would have been mere toddlers when feyre came into the picture???

either papa archeron isn't a deadbeat or some mysterious force clothed, bathed, fed, and took care of them. like even the circumstances behind papa archeron being a deadbeat make no sense??/

and then there's the added layer of the suppose abuse the grandmother and mother were doling out to nesta, elain, and feyre. nesta was physically abused, and feyre was neglected to hell and high water - there's a plot pont to exploit right there. if the story wants to commit to nesta being abusive, but also wants her to be sympathetic, validating where her anger comes from, while acknowledging how it negatively affected her relationships with her sisters would be the perfect way to go. playing into the mirror sacrifices these sisters (youngest and oldest) made towards one another would have been *chefs kiss*. but again - the story leaned way too moral to even attempt a conversation like this. its willing to forgive the tamlins, rhys's and cassians, but not the women in the story. the thing is - the story doesn't commit to real faults with feyre - and it doesn't do that with nesta or elain either. they are only a standard to compare feyre against. and that's why the story cannot commit to a basic conversation between the sisters - there's nothing that exists between the except the drama. nesta has to atone for mystery reasons bc the story has rewrote their dynamic too many times. sjm acknowledges that the sisters are caricatures at this point of the story, but she doesn't rewrite the first book to accommodate her switch is plot direction.

nesta can't really tell feyre 'why she treated her x way ' bc the story doesn't know why either. a reason doesn't exist. elains book will probably have the same issue, on an even broader scale bc it doesn't actually have a reason these sisters chose to stare at a wall for 24 hours out of the day. the reason elain 'chooses not to help' is even more flimsy than the reason it gave nesta. esp bc the story later establishes that elain isn't even supposed to be a bad person, she can actually be caring. shes also a gardener so it also makes no sense that she would...cringe away from feyre bc of dirt???? that part makes no sense. she literally refused gloves at some point bc she liked to use her hands. she does so in the same book. and i don't even like this character but its the truth, and its why i cannot adequately take what the story argues about the sister seriously. nothing about what it argues makes any logical sense. it for this story...yeah that matters.

so....its valid that people don't take those chapters seriously. they are actually written with unserious intent. like how can i be angry at the sisters when the story argues they were essentially staring into space for eight years??? argues that papa archeron with 10000000 connections couldn't just....use those connections like he literally did near the end of tar and war? that the sisters could live off wild meat for years and still be alive? that toddler nesta and baby elain annexed toddler feyre??? its an unserious situation here. like feyre would rather -- @ 11, 14 or whatever age the story chooses to argue -- would immediately turn to the deadly woods and not yknow...an actual job??? mmkay.