#holy shit that ending was emotionally draining

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 5}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: Another overnight patrol, an asked favor, a miscommunication, a fleeting moment of pleasure and it all comes crumbling down. Even worse than you had anticipated, the allure of being a part of something bigger than yourself blinding you into believing it was finally within reach.

Word Count: 10.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, mild injuries, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, adult content, teasing, yearning, protective joel, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, size kink unlocked in reader, (girl, i feel you), reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: holy shit, i am so sorry for the mix up with the original content. i'm so emotionally drained from today that i didn't realize it wasn't the final version of the chapter that i uploaded. but it's fixed, all scenes are complete and as they should be.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

It was your fault, you realized. As you set about searching for something you remembered seeing in the house when you had first been assigned to it and moved in with Aiden. It had been one of those things that you stared at in disbelief, startling manic, nearly hysterical laughter that had turned into tears and uneven breaths. So ridiculous to have come across it over a decade after the end of the world.

A pack of index cards.

Index cards. Who needed index cards at the end of the world, when language was all people had. Skills like writing, reading, all faded away and dormant reflexes that could be called upon if and when needed.

It hadn’t mattered if you could write, had the ability to write or read when you were running for your life from Infected and humans, crashing through the remains of what was once a town or city, crashing through snapping and unforgiving forests, crashing through unforgiving open land in the hopes that you weren’t spotted a mile away by someone trying to protect what was theirs or looking for targets.

It was your fault he had pulled away to the point of beginning his…thing with Marsha. The way you had run from him, run from what you had both shared. But it didn’t mean anything, he was...Joel was…an important part of the settlement. Integrated far better than you ever had the chance to and you would just ruin it for him. He had to understand that because he too, hadn’t tried to bring it up.

Gathering them and a few of the cookbooks you had, you settled at the kitchen table. Taking the time to flip through the recipes to find simple ones that could be adapted to the more limited means the settlement could produce. Eager to find ones that Joel wouldn’t find too challenging and would like the end result of.

Just as your pen hit the paper, a knock sounded on your door. Sighing, you set it down and made your way across the front of your home to find Tommy with a crying bundle in his hands.

“Maria left me with ‘im for the day to handle some council business and he won’t stop cryin’.” He looked like he was about to burst into tears himself, but you didn’t say as much. Knowing firsthand how draining it was to look after a newborn.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You said as the man shouldered his way past you and took up half of the couch, an old backpack swinging from his elbow.

“You said to come to you for anything we needed, and I need your help.”

“How do you know I’m not bad with babies, huh? Maybe they hate me and I’m one of those women who don’t like them?”

“But you’re not. Right?” His curls were a frizzled mess, his eyes telling of his sleepless night as they widened and regarded you almost desperately. Rocking the bundle in his arms gently, holding it close, But his arms looked angled weird, totally not in a natural hold. “Joel always said I was too anxious around Sarah when she was super little and that’s why she cried for him for hours until she tired herself out. But he’s busy workin’ on finishing up that new roof before the snow really starts to come down.”

You did know who Sarah was. It had been a rather slow and somber conversation between you and Joel one day in the middle of summer. You had only been going out on patrols with him for a few months at that point. Him and Tommy focusing on getting as much done around the town upon his return, taking longer than usual to add a newcomer to the roster.

He had asked after you, if you lived alone. You had answered yes, saying you lost everyone in the initial chaos of the outbreak. Your city too densely packed for a chance to return home, the only chance at survival had been to immediately flee. He had told you something similar, that he had lost everything but his brother in the wake of the virus. You hadn’t asked after who, but he had told you of his daughter. His biological daughter with a wet chuckle at how she was too kind for this world anyway. You had looked away from his tears, knowing even back then that he needed to speak otherwise it would eat him from the inside out. To think of her constantly and not be able to talk about her must’ve hurt just as much as losing her. Mentions of her sprinkled future conversations and you were glad he trusted you with that part of himself.

 But you weren’t sure if Tommy knew you did beyond her name as chalk on a blackboard memorial in his living room.

“I’m good with babies,” You assured the man beside you. Slipping a full bottle from the side of the pack and asked him to dap it to your wrist. You licked up the milky liquid, immediately pinpointing the issue.

“It’s too bland, a little sugar mixed in won’t do any harm. But I prefer maple since it’s got the same qualities of honey but less of the local pollen. Both will help build immunity to the blooms come spring time.” Standing up, you carefully moved the baby to rest along your front, head on your shoulder and moved into the kitchen. The cap had been unscrewed by a watching Tommy and you stirred in a bit of maple syrup that had been collected outside the gates.

The bundle in your arms was still crying, though not as high a volume as when Tommy had first entered the house. Softly hushing and cooing to try and calm him. The second you touched the bottle of sweetened milk to his little lips, he quieted down and began to sip.

“Oh, thank god.” Tommy’s head was in his hands, elbows atop his knees. You settled beside him once again, smiling over at the older man. “Olive, if this is too much, I promise-“

“It’s okay, really.” You let him rest a wide palm on your knee, his fingers caressing the bare skin there as your dress skirt allowed for them to show. His eyes wide and beseeching, making sure you were really okay before he sunk into the cushions. “I’ve made peace with it a long time ago…”

It was his fault. The thought consumed him as he inspected the planks of olive wood, having brought them into the house after the first heavy coat of frost that covered the whole town after a particularly chilly night. He recalled having woken up, shivering as he yanked on a pair of thick socks and searched through the closets in the house for a spare blanket to throw over his bed. How he wondered if you were warm enough in your own bed as he donned his boots unlaced and jacket unzipped to drape another blanket he had taken from the closet over a passed out Ellie in her little studio.

And then he had wondered what type of clothing you wore to bed. When you had answered the door in your robe, it hadn’t looked like you had anything on underneath it aside from maybe underwear and a tank top. Not enough to keep your skin from the chill that tended to seep in through the panes of the windows all around Jackson, despite the blessing of functioning heaters.

He hadn’t gone after you, his attention being called away. You had run off, too startled by being interrupted and most likely embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. But…it had been such a good moment until it had been shattered.

You had shown up at his door in a long dress, the skirt flowing down to your knees, thick fabric around your legs to combat the ever-present chill in the air. There was a whicker basket, handle draped over your forearm. That paired with your worn boots and wide brimmed had had been such a lovely image to open his front door to.

It had been hard not to stare at you and you talked and guided Ellie through dinner, faint music drifting into the kitchen from the living room as he set about cleaning up after each step and setting the table. It was all so domestic and he wanted for more nights like it. Just you and him and Ellie.

Sighing, you made sure to lock the front door behind you. Apron bundled up beneath your armpit and thrown in the general direction of the laundry room door on the other side of the kitchen. Filling and setting a kettle over the stove, you stood and looked out your kitchen window for a moment, taking in the fluffy snow that had attempted to stick as the dark, moody sky brought it over the town. It was still early, the sunrise more than likely about to occur, but it hidden in the overcast.

You shifted your gaze over the counters, logging the ingredients you had on hand for a possible breakfast even if you weren’t terribly hungry at the moment. When they landed on the broken mixing spoon that had decided to crack and splinter last night under your soapy hands as you cleaned up over dinner, you moved to rummage in the hall closet. The scrape of untreated wood along the floor sent a chill up your spine as your fingers closed around what you were searching for.

The thick slab of wood is covered with an old flat sheet. It had been from a tree last year, one that had lost a main branch in the same winds that had taken a whole one from your collection.

It was beautiful. Rich in color, the grain so detailed and curling in beautiful swirls. Burl added layers and looking pretty as it was set just so in the cut. You had kept it, unable to burn it for the soil. The thought of asking Joel to make you a set of cooking utensils had been in the back of your mind for nearly the entire time he had been here. But now with the crop of cutting boards artfully crafted, you were tempted to ask him to make of those from the hefty source in your hands.

But he hadn’t offered you one, hadn’t so much as mentioned that he had begun to make more and more ever since that first one he had been ‘trying out the idea’ in Tommy’s kitchen. You were hesitant to bring it up, but with the holidays only a couple weeks away…you were curious to see his reaction to the request.

You didn’t ask anything of anyone. Not even when you first got here, had taken the time to acclimate to the way life was led here within the settlement. Community, social circles, job detail, patrol. All of it had been taken in stride, and you worked for everything in your possession. Joel did too. You admired him for it.

A few moments later, you were rapping your knuckles against the man’s front door.

Ellie comes around the side, hearing it from her separate garage. She had looked frustrated, then curious, then excited.

“Hey, Olive,” She walks up to you, noticing the wood in your hands. “The old man’s not home, he went to help out with the lil guy.”

“O-oh, okay. I’ll just come back, I guess.” But when you began to inch closer to the porch steps, she ascended them with a small smile.

“Nah, come hang with me until he gets back.” She brushed past you with a soft touch to your arm. A key slid into the lock and then you were hesitantly following her into the house. “Feel free to make some of that god awful coffee you two enjoy so much, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

You saw her dip off down the hall, the sound of her rustling through something behind an open door allowing you the privacy to make up your mind on the offer of coffee as you stood on the threshold to the kitchen. With a determined push, you set about to search for the coffee grounds and mugs. He had only two, one with a detailed owl and another more simple one. It was a plain white one that was hefty and looked like it belonged in the full hands of diner waitress. 

It transported you back to late nights and early mornings surrounded by ruckus laughter and inside jokes, the scent of pancakes and bacon cooking on a flattop and the jingle of a bell to signal overflowing plates were ready to be dug into.

“What’s that in the cloth?” Ellie’s curiosity piqued by the bundle you had set down atop the kitchen table, her long thin fingers slowly unwrapping it. With a nod from you, she did so completely. Her eyebrows shot up, thoughts swirling behind her keen eyes. They flicked to the back room just on the other side of the kitchen wall. Her bottom lip was taken between her teeth and she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“I know it’s silly, but…” You couldn’t help but feel nervous admitting it out loud, that you wanted to ask Joel to take some of his sparse free time for a personal project. You poured yourself a steaming cup of the finished coffee, searching for the sugar cannister. “This has been drying for nearly a year and I was gonna ask Joel-“

“Gonna ask Joel what?” His voice sounded from the doorway into the kitchen, startling you both. You rushed to put yourself between him and the table, a poor attempt to hide the plank of wood from his curious eyes. He looked tired, no doubt having been up more than resting all last night if he had been over at Tommy and Maria’s.

Taking that as her queue to leave, Ellie bolted out the back door with a hollered goodbye.

“Oh, um. Hi,” You waved slightly at him, unsure of how he would take to coming home to his house and finding you in his kitchen. Even if Ellie had said it would be okay. You were nervous, knowing that asking for something was a tricky thing. Even if he was so willing to give to others; his time, his attention, his skills. “I ha-have this.”

Moving out of the way as he crept closer on heavy feet, you allowed him to see the olive wood you had hauled over here.

“I-I was wondering i-if you’d be able to make a set of cooking utensils out of this? But I understand if you’re too busy, or don’t want to work with the dense wood, or don’t have the time-“

"Of course, sweetheart. I’ll try my best for you." And just like that he melted all your worries away and a smile pulled at your lips.

He easily moved the chunk of wood from the kitchen to his workspace. The muscles of his arms bulging beneath his flannel, the muscles of his shoulders straining at the fabric over his broad shoulders. All for your viewing pleasure as you followed behind him. The room was smaller than you expected, on his ground floor, just down the hall from the kitchen. But it was such a reflection on who he was.

The main desk had a comfortable looking chair, thick cushion on the seat. Atop it was an open book, propped up on a few stacked behind it and open to a stunning photograph of a deer. In the center was a partially carved figurine of the deer in the photo, shavings around it and tools lined up in a half circle around the back of it.

“How many pieces did you want?” He carefully bent his knees and lowered the wood to the ground, atop a tarp that several long pieces of lumber were set on and leaning against the wall. Blocks of wood beside them and lined up against the wall almost like bricks.

“Oh, um, just however many you can manage.” The crack of his knees as he straightened worried you, but it happened to you more and more so you understood it wasn’t really painful so much as uncomfortable most of the time. 

"The cutting boards all around town...” Trailing off as a familiar scent caught your attention through the general smell of lumber, you moved toward the pile of wooden planks lined up along the wall like books atop a work table. There were many shades and types of wood, all different steps of being sanded down or stained, shavings nestled in a waste bucket beneath. Tools scattered over the surface and small cannisters of sealant and paint stacked neatly beside them. Two of the planks of wood were light, ashy and your attention honed in on them as you moved toward the table. “It was kinda my idea and I was wondering if-"

"Sweetheart, I can't make you one." You startled at the boom of his voice so close, blocking your view from the stack of them as he moved to stand in front of you. The hand that had been reaching out with the intention of caressing them fell back to your side.

"Oh, um, okay." You cast your eyes down, taking in the worn leather of his boots. Of yours. There were so many of them, easily two handfuls and yet he wasn’t willing to share one with you. But everyone else around town seemed to be worthy and you couldn’t help but wonder why you weren’t. You were friends, he had said it himself. But then…but then you had kissed him and fled.

No question as to why flowed from you. You were used to not being included, but you had to admit that it stung coming from him. In an attempt to mask it you tried to smile but you weren’t sure if it actually showed. Your chest ached, body feeling like it wasn’t yours. Like you were looking down on it as it stood in that workspace with the man who sought solace within it. Like you had intruded, and shame bubbled up for having made yourself comfortable where you shouldn’t have.

"Can't find a sealant that would hold up to those knives we found. You'd just cause damage to it."

"Okay, but-“ You tried to backtrack, to apologize for being so curious.

"No, Olive. I don't have one for you, so please quit askin'."

You didn’t say anything, your voice stuck in your throat. Turning and walking away from him without looking up, afraid to see his expression. You faintly heard his voice calling after you, but you ignored it, it was far away. It was as if you were down in a tunnel, like you had tipped over and fell down into one the second Joel had turned you down.

You wanted to move past it, to gloss over it, to stay and enjoy in the time he had been willing to give you on his one day free from responsibilities. But you couldn’t, your chest felt like it had caved in, like you were hollow, like you would never be able to break into the social graces of the settlement. Marked with the death of someone who had, someone who kept messing up and making it easy for people to turn you away.

He thinks about how hurt you looked when he tried to ward you off from the stack of cutting boards he had practiced designs on and different shapes. berating himself for being so harsh when he had been scared you would see the wood he had taken from you without your knowledge. You had been reaching for the planks made from it, drawn to them as if they were magnetized.

The way in which you had shut down, his soothing words after denying you falling on deaf ears as you turned and simply walked away from him. He had been under the impression you wanted to spend the day with him. You had been an unexpected guest but not an unwelcome one. It had been nice to return to his home to find you there, comfortable enough to have put on a pot of coffee and the errant scent of that woodsy, floral perfume that seemed to be a part of your skin from tending to the trees in your yard.

But you had just turned and walked away.

He watched you go, not liking the way you had shrunk into yourself at his denial. He had tried to be soft with it, you couldn’t know that you had been asking after the one thing he wanted to keep a secret from you. That you had given him the idea and he was practicing and making so many different prototypes all to ensure that when it came time to craft yours, that he would be able to do so easily.

He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, sighing out as he dressed for patrol. His alarm had gone off an hour ago but he had already been awake, sleep evading him as the moment from the other day played in his mind’s eye over and over again.

Settling on the musty cushions beside you, the memory of the last time he had done so puffed up along with a cloud of dust. It had been a long day. Clearing the village and finding a place to hole up in for the night.

“I’ll take the first watch, try ‘n get some rest.” He murmured low, taking in the way you were already curling your legs up underneath your body on the other end of the couch. The scarf around your neck pulled up for you to bury your face into it, hands in their gloves and secure in the pockets of your coat.

You didn’t think you even responded, the cold of the day draining you and making sleep too alluring a respite even with the broad man beside you and all alone for the first time in a while.

Bird calls woke you up hours later, signaling the start of a new day. The warmth of sleeping was a lull to the chill you knew awaited outside, but you pressed into the bed further, burrowing even more into the lump of blankets you tended to scrunch up beside you.

But the lump shifted and your eyes flew open to find a different setting than you dark bedroom. You weren’t asleep in your bed, you were sunk into a decrepit couch and pressed into Joel’s right side, having sought out his warmth in the cold house. He was asleep too, his eyes closed despite his body still seated up with his feet resting on the ground.

You couldn’t help but rest your cheek on his shoulder, taking comfort in how close and warm he was, even if it had been an instinctual move to begin with.

He was so handsome. Beautiful. From the scar across the bridge of his nose, the one at his temple, to the freckles that littered his tan skin. Wrinkles relaxed as he slept, his plush lips parted slightly. His body sunk into the fabric where he had settled last night, long and lean. His mass so large you had shifted in your sleep to press up against him, partially on him to share the small couch and steal his warmth. His neck bent back a little as his head lulled onto the back cushions.

Your eyes roved down the strong column of his neck, catching on the way his adam’s apple jutted out and you resisted the urge to lean in and nip at it.

His hands, dear god, his hands. They were slack in his lap, his entire body completely lax as he slept slumped beside you. Veins and freckles decorated the skin, mind running with the idea of them tight around different parts of your body. How they would feel wrapped around your hips, your breasts, your neck…

You couldn’t help but reach out and lay a hand atop one of his, your palm over the back of his. Your stomach fluttered, the heat settling low. Your own hand looked so small, atop his. The difference so startling.

“Mm, good mornin’,” Joel’s gravelly rumble made you jump, realizing you had gripped two of his fingers in your hand. He jostled the hand in your grip and you felt heat flood your cheeks at being caught touching him. When you moved to take it back, he curled his fingers, catching your hand and pulling it up to his lips where he pressed his lips to the back of it. “Don’t act all shy now, sweetheart.”

You throb.

The gusset of your underwear suddenly dampens as you clench around nothing.

“I-I don’t know what came over me, you were sleeping and I shouldn’t ha-have-“ Trying to tamp down your less than friendly thoughts, the allure you felt wash over you at his sleepy timbre, to backtrack away from what could end up being another thing to have him avoiding you around the settlement.

But he surprised you, emboldened by the hazy thoughts displayed in the parting of your own lips, the heat he could feel rolling off of you, the pressure you tried to relieve between your legs with a clench of your thighs together. And then his thick, sleep coated words turned sultry, pitched low and velvet.

“Thinkin’ about my hands on ya, huh? Sweet little thing, what was it?” He guided your hand to cup his cheek and then rest against his neck. “Thinkin’ about my hands here?”

When he squeezed your hand around it, you felt faint for the way your blood was rushing and thundering loud in your ears.

“N- no.” You swallowed, voice breathy and pitched low as you struggled to find words.

“No? What about…” He moved your hand to his chest, right in the middle of his ribcage. His heart was thundering beneath the flannel, mirroring your own. “Here?”

Your breath hitched as he moved it further, not giving you the chance to answer this time. Down ,down, down past the hem of his shirt beneath his jacket to the denim of his jeans. Pressing your palm down atop the zipper, you could feel the long line of him, hot and semi-hard. It twitched at the pressure, and you couldn’t help the whimper that fell from your lips. Eyes having been dragged down along with your clasped hands.

“What about here?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his question was pressed close, nose brushing sensitive skin just behind it. Mustache and beard lightly scraping against you, causing you to shiver and press down your hand more firmly. He groaned out, the sound burrowing deep into you. He twitched again beneath your palm and all the air in your lungs whooshed out.

And then he was dipping his head to capture your lips in a hard kiss. His tongue trailed over the seam of your lips, and you let him in without a thought. Pleasure flared from the heat that had taken hold of your entire body, the air crackling with the need for him to be closer, to be pressed to you completely, pressed inside of you completely. Body buzzing, needing more more more from him you shift to cup his cheek with your other hand.

When he speaks next, his voice is all soft. Southern twang breathy and so close as his lips graze yours, his forehead pressed to your own. The press of hot skin only a prelude to what you hoped was more…

“Sweetheart, I-“

The sudden creak of the back door opening cut the tension of the room and your stomach filled with dread. Joel’s hands became almost painful on you as both your heads whipped around to stare at the kitchen threshold, waiting with bated breath for the intruding source to walk through it.

He was up off the couch in a second, his handgun in his palm and he stalked silently toward the kitchen, leaving you on the couch to reach for your own. But your attention was pulled to the front door of the house just as he disappeared through the threshold.

Two shadows crept into the house and your ducked down to avoid being seen immediately.

There were sounds of a scuffle in the kitchen and you took the opportunity to sneak around the couch in a crouch and stand with the gun trained on the larger figure of the two just on the other side of it.

“Drop your gun or I shoot.” You kicked his legs apart, hand patting him down as he listened to your command. He didn’t have any other weapons on him and the woman a few feet away didn’t visibly have any, her clothing tight around her middle, large jacket draping over her to keep her swollen middle warm.

You took your eyes off of her for one second to kick the gun away and behind you when she lunged. A shiny piece of something glinted in her hand and you shouted out as it cut across your own middle.

Grunting, you elbowed the man in the ribs, winding him and sending him to crumple to the ground in pain. You kicked out and wrapped your foot around one of the woman’s legs and tugged her close, ignoring the sensation of that same piece of whatever it was in her grip as it tore into your jacket sleeve.

You smacked her hand against the wall behind her, being mindful of her stomach and was about to wrap your hands around her neck when the man wheezed out a pleading cry.

“Don’t hurt her, please!” He tired to catch is breath, but you didn’t break your focus away from the woman you had pinned down. A wave of nausea rose over you, the only indication before you collapsed, blood soaking the front of your shirt in a dark, wet patch.

“Shit, I think you cut her too deep.” The man crawled over to you, his hands pressing down to try and staunch the flow. The woman fell to her knees beside him, her hands reaching out to grip one of your arms. The clatter of the weapon she had used was loud and you looked over to it. It was a piece of dirty glass.

“I-I didn’t me-mean to hurt you so badly! I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck, okay, go to my pack.” They shared a confused look, but the fact that they hadn’t run off with yours and Joel’s supplies to their remorse at hurting you told you they were good people. “Go! There’s a spare shirt, we need it to put over the wound.”

Just as she bent to dig into the pack by the couch, Joel’s quiet steps and low threat called as he entered the room.

“Get your hands off of her and step back.”

“Wait! They aren’t Infected!” You panted, voice sharp despite the effort it was taking to breath as your middle burned, knowing the man’s instincts had taken over completely. His steps measured. His gun raised. His reasoning marred by the sight of you bleeding on the floor.

“They hurt you.” His honeyed drawl gone, replaced with an air of authority that demanded attention, all dark, rich molasses sticking everyone in place.

“It was an accident, Joel, please. They…they have a baby on the way. We have to take them back.”

“That true?” He kept the shot gun aimed at the man hovering over you, the blood shining on his hands making his nerves twitch. But his eyes landed on the woman who had been rummaging through your bag for first aid supplies. She slowly stood from her crouch, revealing her swollen belly.

He ordered them both to take a seat on the couch, telling them he would deal with them once he tended to you, letting them know that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if they tried something. He then kneeled down on the ground beside you, one of his large hands going over yours holding the wad of fabric to your middle, the other going to cup your cheek.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” His eyes bore into you, stern edge to them. You were visibly shaking, skin looking sallow and sweat beading at your temple. He carefully moved your hands aside, eyes flicking from your pained expression to the injury as he slowly lifted the fabric you had pressed to it. And then the hem of your sweater and tank top underneath.

Lips a grim line and eyes dark as he took in the still bleeding injury. His brow furrowed deeper as a thick rivulet ran down your side to spill onto the floor and Joel cursed under his breath. The gash was a few inches long across your stomach, to the left of your belly button, rimmed and irritated red. Angry and no doubt already infected if the shard of dirtied glass abandoned beside you was any indication. Your blood stained it, the woman’s fingertips pressed into it in smeared, red marks.

“Shit, it’s already starting to get infected.”

You managed a weak nod, both in response to his question and muttered worries fighting off the tears as he pressed around the wound, trying to get a gauge of how deep it was. You held back a whimper at the prodding, bottom lip firmly between your teeth.

“Joel, there’s gau-gauze in my pack.”

“Find it and toss it to me, quick.” He raised a threatening look to the pair on the couch, their heads turned and watching everything play out. Worried that if you were to bleed out, the man wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate or leave them here to their own devices.

The woman rushed to dig into your pack once more, fingers finding the crinkling plastic wrapped around the sterile gauze. She tossed it to Joel, the hand that had moved down from your cheek to rest over your heart on your chest reached out to snag it from the air. He ripped it open with his teeth and urged your hands to hold it down atop the wound.

You could only watch through hazy eyes as he shucked off his jacket and then his flannel. With a smooth motion he removed his t-shirt, his most base layer. With his chest on full display, the dark hair over his chest and trailing down from his belly button you startled at the sound of ripping fabric. The knife he kept holstered on the back of his waist out of is sheath as he used it to cut a thick strip from the hem of his shirt. He gently urged you to lift up from the ground for him to wind it around your back and tie it securely over the wound.

Slipping two fingers below it to ensure it was tight enough to keep pressure but not overly so as to cause more problems. It felt a thousand times better already, your nausea waning as the blood stopped flowing from your body. But you would definitely need stitches and antibiotics once back inside the gates. Once he was sure the wound was okay for the moment, he took both your hands in his, a slight tremor to them. His thumbs rubbing soothingly across the backs of them.

“Okay, you’re okay,” He murmured. He leaned down to press his forehead to yours. Breathing in deep and your lashes fluttered as he sighed out. His eyes were clenched shut and he took a moment to ground himself before he pulled back and peppered chaste kisses over your face. Your forehead, each of your cheeks, the tip of your nose. The edges of your mouth.

“I’m okay,” You promised, unable to ignore how shaky his breathing was so close. A nervous giggle sounded from you, unable to tamp it down as your head swam. “But maybe you should put your clothes back on before you freeze.”

“Can’t lose you, sweetheart.” The whispered sentiment washed over you, leaving you warm and light in the chest for a completely different reason. Only when you nodded in understanding, did he reach over for his flannel and shrug it back over his broad shoulders. The buttons closed up with deft fingers as he watched you take a mental stock of your body and how it felt. You said up just as his jacket was pulled back into place over the flannel.

“Good thing ‘m not goin’ anywhere then, huh?” His wet chuckle was the only response you got before he helped you to stand. He guided you over the couch with an arm around your shoulders, silently demanding that the pair move from the cushions to make room for you. Making sure you were comfortable with both packs beside you before he turned his attention to the people who had injured you.

A nurse took you in quickly, insisting someone else would do a thorough check on the brother and sister you and Joel had brought to them once leaving the horses at the stables. The backup shirt you had taken along with you in your pack tied to your abdomen with a scrap of fabric from the bottom of Joel’s undershirt. It was better than nothing, better than bleeding out.

You had insisted that the woman, Callie carefully got up on Lowry for the trip back. Joel had been worried about them sharing a horse together, the very real possibility of them taking off on it at the forefront of his mind. But you had assured him that they could be trusted. That they could’ve taken both your packs and left you to bleed out on the floor.

That was how you had found yourself once again sharing a horse with Joel for an entire day. The feel of his body pressed close to your back so different from when he had tried to keep his distance. His hands secure around your waist and resting atop the saddle horn. You tried not to let it distract you, carrying on casual conversation with them to get a feel for who they were. Every so often, when you grunted at particularly hard hoofbeats or a rough jostle, his right hand would press against your roughly patched wound.

Stitches, the nurse had said. At least four of them.

Joel was outside the hall, waiting for you to be released. He looked up from the notepad in his hands when you exited the room, brown eyes tired. You couldn’t read his thoughts, though you were too tired to begin to think what that could mean.

“Hey, what’d they say?” He surged up, the notebook going back into his pocket, the worn fabric snug around it. He retrieved the coat and sweater he had kept for you when the nurse had asked you to remove all outer layers.

You lifted the torn tank top, allowing him to see the clean, bright white bandage that had been taped over the injury. The fait outline of stitches could be seen through it. Two of his fingers brushed against it, almost tenderly.

“No painkillers, those are only for serious cases.” You let him help you put the sweater back on, his hands holding the head opening side for you to slid it on, gently tugging the fabric into place around your sore arms. “They gave me a shot of antibiotics and a pack of fresh gauze. Gotta come in next week to get the stitches looked at.”

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured as he held the coat up for your to slip your arms into. When you turned around to face him again, he pulled you to him in a loose embrace. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Joel, it’s okay. We’re okay. I promise.” You leaned up, mindful of the new pull on your middle, and pressed your lips to his cheek. Sighing at the soft pressure, he walked alongside you out of the building.

Since there wasn’t anything they could give you for the pain,  you just wanted to lay in bed and rest. But you also wanted to try and find a reason to get out of the house later. Swallowing down your fear of rejection, knowing he was the one person who wouldn’t do that to you, you asked him for a drink later in the evening.

But he didn’t look up from the paper in his hands as he walked out the front door with you, scribbling something down on a page that only had two previous lines of script. The chill of the wind breezing past you both as you repeated your question in slightly louder volume, sure he just hadn’t heard you. You knew he was hard of hearing in his right ear and that was the side you were on. But what you didn’t expect was his haphazard response. So at odds with the tenderness and care he had shown you throughout the day.

"Huh? Oh uh, I can't tonight. Sorry, I'll see ya, Olive." And then he's off without so much as a glance your way, leaving you standing outside the infirmary. It left you more than a little concerned, whiplash at the sudden shift from intimate, to protective, to nothing so much as a glance all from the same man.

It’s early, the sun not even showing signs of rising. Snow drifted down, a perfect morning. You were humming to yourself, mentally planning out the meals you could make. A breakfast casserole that would allow for the use of root vegetables, eggs, some of the goat cheese that had been made perhaps. You were minding your own business, enjoying the walk to the mess hall and the kitchen that would allow you to work and forget the hollow feeling that hadn’t left you all last night. It was easier feeling nothing other than the faint pull of stitches on your abdomen.

You catch a figure walking out of a front door further down the street. The figure broad but their steps light as they descended the porch to Marsha’s house.

Oh.

It was Joel.

He didn’t have a utility belt, he didn’t have a toolbox, he didn’t have anything that indicated he had been there to repair something.

It was Joel Miller, leaving Marsha’s house. Far too early to mean anything other than the fact that he had spent the night inside, with her. Guess that's why he had turned down your offer for an evening with you. He already had someone to share drinks with, someone to spend his time with.

Turning, you tried not to follow his figure as he began to walk down the street, facing away from you.

You could only think that it was because of the way you had run the other night. Because of the way you two kept giving into yearning touches only for the moment to be yanked away. Three times now, far too much trouble for someone as busy as him. Someone with a life like he led as he cared for his family and the repairs that were needed around the settlement. You were desperate, for company, for attention, for him. It must’ve not settled well with him to realize how much you wanted him and that it never seemed to work out in his favor, only friend or not.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t the reason. He was such an understanding man, and he wouldn’t put the blame on you. But the fact of the matter was that he was willingly spending his time with Marsha.

He wasn’t sure where you had disappeared to, your house dark safe for the light over the stoop light up in a warm tone. He had a box in his hands, something he had rifled through his, Ellie’s, and Tommy’s homes for to fit the finished set of wooden utensils you had asked him to make.

He had taken his time, sneaking glances at the ones in your kitchen when he dropped you off after patrol one morning and you offered him a light lunch. You had made grilled sandwiches, pairing them with some steamed vegetables that were beginning to wilt in the cold air of the house. You ran the heat on a good middle range, to ensure it didn’t get too stuffy and begin to take a toll on the record collection in the living room or the books you kept on every surface and crammed lovingly into the many bookshelves you had.

You seemed to favor spoons, though he did catch sight of a few rather flat spatulas. He had inspected the wood thoroughly before he even thought of measuring it. Admiring the way the dried wood looked and taking notes down on the pad of paper he kept on him at all times. Compared it to the two planks he had, noting the different feel and heft of them versus the completely dry specimen you had brought to him.

He let his thoughts wander as he took a seat on the cold concrete steps of your stoop. Opting to wait for your return for a few moments, hoping that you would return soon as evening had fallen, the set having set a few hours ago. He didn’t recall you mentioned evening shifts at the mess hall, opting for the mornings that you enjoyed. Something about the quiet of the town, less lonely than the nights, had been a quiet admittance. He had been too shocked to respond, you must’ve taken his silence as the end of the conversation. You had turned quiet alongside him, the only sound for the rest of the route back to the gates had been the hooves along the ground.

It struck him now, that you had been admitting even early on how lonely you were. How the town choosing to not interact with you had hurt, had been hurting you. A warning even then, that you were sensitive to the dynamic and went along with it even if you didn’t agree with it. You were such a lovely person. Kind hearted, giving, caring, and he loathed that people like Marsha perpetuated the agenda against you.

She was relentless in her attention on him and he was getting a little annoyed with it. But he was being cordial, the exact word you had used to describe the woman. He had finished the last of her shelving the other day. He had worked overnight to get it fitted and fastened to the wall. Securing it with bolts and weight holding supports, wanting to be done with the project that had been more of a coercion of his skills. She was a manipulator and he had played into her hands just like she had wanted.

He felt like a fool, knowing he had agreed to do it for your sake and out of a need to protect you.

Then he realized there were two people who allowed you into their lives. That spoke fondly of you, invited you to dinner, allowed you shares of what they could get the last of in down on main street.

Standing, he hoped to find you among his family. Making his way his way to Tommy’s, Maria was the one to answer the door. A finger to her lips to signal him to keep quiet as she slipped out the door to join him on the porch.

“They’re both sleeping, it took an hour to get him down and then of course Tommy slumped over.” She didn’t seem upset, but the news allowed for Joel to realize you weren’t here either. Clocking his silence and the box in his hand, she cocked her head up a little to examine his features. “Everything okay, Joel? Olive didn’t pull her stitches already, did she?”

“Yeah, everythin’ is okay. I’m actually looking for her. Have you seen her today?” He shuffled on his feet, aware of how they ached as the cold settled in to stay for the season.

“She’s at the bar, came by with dinner for us on her way out.” Maria explained, watching his closely. Able to pick up on his agitation. It was odd when she compared it to the almost forces nonchalance you had exhibited earlier.

“Can you hold onto this for me, I’ll be back to get it tomorrow.” He thrusted the box into the woman’s hands and was making off down the street before she could even respond.

The bar is a cacophony of sounds, of laughter, of conversation, the clink of glasses being lifted and then placed back on tables. The gurgle of more drinks being poured, of ice tinkling in glasses, all of it was so nice to just sit in and enjoy. Even if you were alone on your stool.

"Another round?" You disguised the clenching of your hand around your empty glass, the voice right behind you. His voice, the charming drawl pitched low and so so close.

“I don’t think we should be drinking with each other.” You shifted away from him, not wanting him to think you were open to spending time with him after his rejection, after his secret of seeing Marsha was exposed to you in the form of his leaving her house far too early for any reason than having stayed the night, for the way you had wanted to say yes to spending time with him but it hurt too much. For the way that it was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to lean up and kiss him, to run your hand down his arm or back in a soothing caress. “I’m waiting for someone.”

His brow furrowed as he regarded you, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a deep pull from the amber liquid inside. He sat down atop the stool beside you despite your words. His glass settled on the bar top, now empty. Your eyes were focused on the melting ice, not able to look at the man who was giving you his attention.

“What’s that?” He huffed, almost chuckled as he believed you were just joking, teasing him like you tended to do sometimes while out on patrol. But you weren’t, both of you seated at the long bar of the Tipsy Bison on the main street in town. When you still didn’t raise your eyes to him, he realized you weren’t, that you were turning him down and away.

“Tell me the real reason,” He leaned close, pivoting the seat of the stool so you faced him. Your insides whooshed with the movement. With the way he demanded your attention, with the entirety of his focus on you almost breaking your resolve to remain professional. Aware of all the eyes constantly watching you, judging you; all the eyes on him constantly watching for entirely different reasons, fawning over him.

“Because I like you.” You admitted, unable to deny him the truth. You could only lift your eyes as high as his lips, which was a mistake as you recalled the feel of them. They were so soft, so plush and you never had the chance to gently nip at his bottom one…

“Well, I like you too, Olive.” His nose brushed your cheek, moving impossibly close, his thumbs digging into your thighs as he held to the stool.

“No, I like you, Joel. And this isn’t a good idea.” You pulled back, aware that you were both in a very public place. That the looks focused on you both, your intimacy, combined with soft murmurs of voices that could be saying anything. Making notions in their minds that he was associated with you, that he spent time with you enough to feel comfortable engaging in this type of behavior. And that was bad, it was so bad for people to associate him with you. It would cause people to question him after everything he did for the town. It would begin to erase all the good he had provided.  “Joel, people are looking.”

“Don’t worry about them, just focus on me.” Your eyes snapped to his, taking in the way the brown of them was alight from the sconces around the bar. There was no hesitancy in them, no remorse. Only adoration and your stomach swooped, your heart fluttered. But you tried your best to resist.

“That’s not a good idea either.” You whispered.

“You thinkin’ of doin’ somthin’ to me?”

“M-maybe.” The admittance rolls off your tongue, his lips close enough that he can taste it.

“Sweetheart, I’d let ya if that’s what you wanted.”

“N-no.” It took everything in you to deny him, to deny the tension that pulled your muscles tight in every part of your body.

“No?” He leaned back, taking your words and heeding them, sensing that you meant them, even if it was a stuttered, breathy response.

“I don’t want to, I mean I do, but- this” You motioned between the two of you, how little space there was between your bodies. His body pivoted toward you and his hands still partially around the denim of your thighs. “Isn’t a good idea.”

His eyes roamed over you, seeing the nerves and truth of your demeanor. You did like him, and it was becoming a problem. He didn’t need a younger woman fawning over him, the friendly rapport riddled with holes. Of temptations that were tamped down by his unwillingness to share his craft with you, the time he had been spending with Marsha, the pull of his attention in so many directions, especially with the holiday hurtling toward the town tomorrow.

“We’re hardly friends, Miller. You barely started acknowledging me outside of patrol.” You reached for your drink so you’d be less likely to cup his face in your hands and throw caution to the wind.

“What makes you think I haven’t been tryin’ to keep my hands to myself, bein’ around you?” His voice tipped low, to avoid being overheard despite the closeness he had initiated. Closing your eyes at the visual, you shook you head as your throat bobbed with the sip you had taken from your drink.

“Because you don’t like me that way.” You scoffed, beginning to lean away from him. “You didn’t even get me anything for the holiday…You’re with Marsha.”

“Didn’t get your name in swap.”

“Oh.” And all the fight you had in you crumbled at his simple words. The reassurance in his voice that drowned out the hum of the environment all around you.

“But I thought - Ellie was asking so many questions I figured she was doin’ the work for you.”

“Maybe she got you?” He tapped the lip of his glass as the bartender wandered close, signaling for another when the man got the chance. His hand going back to your leg in a second.

“N-no. She got Jesse. Whoever got me most likely tossed the scrap of paper and picked another.”

“Marsha and I are just friendly, it’s nothing beyond that. Olive, I swear to –“

Someone cleared their throat unnervingly close. You both turned away from each other to face the person who had decided to break the currents flowing between your bodies, tension thick in the air with their approach.

Marsha. With a wrapped gift in her hand and a yearning look for Joel. Her attention solely on him.

“So much for just being friendly, huh, Miller?” You set your drink down, glass nearly empty and pushed off from your stool. The drag of his large hands over the tops of your thighs not registering as you quickly took off. Leaving him to the woman who seemed to be a constant companion as of late. Better company for him, you though begrudgingly as you made your way through the snow-covered streets and back to the safety of your home.

Sighing, you picked up the wrapped bundle of recipe cards. Joel’s gift.

The one you had spent hours pouring over, making sure your writing was neat and legible, the cursive loops delicately over the lines on the thick cardstock. You had debated whether or not he would be able to read the script, knowing how he squinted at certain things. No doubt needing glasses in his older age, an item you always kept a keen eye out for should it end up being a perfect match for him.

Your heart panged, the fleeting image of him tucked in bed beside you with a book or manual in his hands and a pair of reading glasses perched on his aquiline nose. His scruff catching the light of a soft bedside lamp and the silver sparkling. His curls damp from an evening shower, the scent of him so clean and pure beside you as you lay tucked in the other side. It hurt. It hurt to think you would never get to experience that, experience him in every simple, mundane way.

With a long-suffering huff, you reached for some of the dried leaves you kept from the trees when you last preened them. Fastening it to the top of the bundle with a piece of twine. You don’t write Joel’s nor yours. He would know it was from you from the writing inside, from the olive twig. A parting gift, you guessed.

This would be the last thing you would offer him before drawing back to your solemn life. He had brought color and life and laughter into it, but the hurt wasn’t worth it. Your heart and body aching for a man who had too much to lose.

You faintly heard soft voices trailing along the dark streets, the light fixtures doing their best to illuminate the way for any one who was out at the late hour. The sky dark with the added overcast that hadn’t waned during the day. Making everything feel pressed down and low, condensing the world to make it feel almost suffocating. Snow soft as it descended. Maybe it was just you, sensitive to the weather and things around you in your anxiety as you turned down the street Joel’s house was nestled on. Just as you turned the corner, feet scuffing on the weathered gravel packed down to create solid paths in the broken asphalt you collided with something hard and lost your balance. The built up snow making it hard to catch yourself.

The scrunch of paper you had wrapped the gift in was loud, ripping at the drag of thick fabric that made up someone’s coat. The index cards fly up into the air as you landed heavily on your side. Through the sounds of the fluttering paper, there was a gasp pitched high that gave way to delirious giggles and a grunt pitched low. Your own indignant noise floating amidst it all, the pull of your stitches uncomfortable.

“My apologies, didn’t see you the- Olive?”

You had run into Joel’s broad back, his front now facing you as the cards rained down to scatter all over the corner. Snow dampening them instantly upon contact, blurring the ink you had taken the time to put down to them.

Behind him was a bright-eyed Marsha, her hands holding tight to one of his. She looked flushed, no doubt from the drinks she had indulged in, leaning heavily into him. And Joel…he looked shocked as he stared down at your fallen form. Either unaware or uncaring of how the woman he was with tried to burrow into his side.

They had been the ones whose voices you heard. But what had they been doing just standing still in the middle of the street….and then it hit you. They had probably been kissing or sharing in casual touches as they walked back from the bar to one of their homes for the evening and your stomach lurched, dropping out from under you.

Joel detached from her, intending to reach down and help you back up. But you didn’t want him touching you with the same hands that had been soft just an hour ago, the same hands that had been touching her with the same intent.

“Don’t!”

“Just tryin’ to help you up,” He backed off immediately, his eyes alert, not used to you raising your voice nor the heat behind your tone. Especially toward him, the hurt making you unable to tamp it down to a polite tone. Tears burned behind your own eyes, in your throat. The perfect match to your insides feeling like they have just been set in a mixer.

“Don’t need your help,” You pushed up from the ground, legs tingling as you fought the urge to run from the awkward and tense scene. And then you realized you could. You did.

Leaving the two alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by white spots of paper all around, the wrapping that had been around them crumpled on the ground. The dried olive leaves that had been fastened to it with twine lay abandoned at their feet.

You ran all the way back to your house, the front door slamming behind you and the lock loud in the silence that followed. Your back thumped against the wood of it, sliding down until your bottom hit the floor.

And you let yourself break down, crying into your hands. Hating how you had begun to believe that your life was going to change, that Joel was going to be something good in your life. And deep down, underneath all the hurt and anger, you still believed he was. Even if he wasn’t meant to be anything other than a patrol partner.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

taglist: @merz-8 @morning-star-joy @joelsgreys @orcasoul @sawymredfox @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag @pascalpvnk @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @littlemisspascal @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @idontknowyou-12345 @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @fluff-lover @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @communism-bitches @formulafun @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc @ohhellotherebumblebee

[traumatizedjaguar]

Having emotionally immature parents is so draining, it’s draining to have parents who live their lives in the most boring, un-engaging way. I feel sorry and guilty for them but like it’s the truth. There’s no emotional empathy, there’s no emotional connection or engagement. There’s no intimacy, I’ve noticed it’s just who they are because they can’t do it with anyone. Every abuser is like this. The conversations are bland, the only things they’re capable of is manipulating others, using unnecessary stupid charm because they’re only out for people to like them, and being fake with “deep” topics about aliens or science, oooo, but it comes off SO OBVIOUSLY FAKE, THE INTIMACY OF THESE “deep” CONVERSATIONS COMES OFF SO FAKE, and it’s because they only bring it up because “normies do it” and then cut it off too quickly, are bland even talking about “deep” topics, and so it comes off obviously fake because it is fucking fake. Because they lack emotional connection to you. You end up with chronic emptiness and feelings of being like a void or zombie around them. It sucks. There’s no deep discussions about feelings, emotions, or deeper things you’d engage with a person about, getting emotionally invested in each others lives. Abusers can’t do intimacy. They are boring beyond boring; the lack of emotional connection they don’t have for you.

YOU NEED EMOTIONAL CONNECTION WITH YOUR KID TO RAISE THEM HEALTHY AND TO MAKE SURE THEY AREN’T NEGLECTED!

Holy fuck they are so fake and superficial. And they have the fake ass annoying glib being all fluent and voluble but insincere and shallow.

They are:

Insincere,

Shallow,

Fake,

And manipulative

That sounds like every abuser and who wants to be around that shit? Fuck them

I can’t stand shallow people theyre boring. The superficial charm wears off so quick then it’s right back to getting rid of their asses like they’re nothing.

I can’t stand fake people.

Fuck fake people. Our world needs a cleansing.

Bring back the floods lmao im serious.

[thebirdsofgay]

Peter Darling, by Austin Chant

Book review time (some spoilers ahead):

HOLY SHIT okay so this is amazing for the following reasons:

1. Very gay

2. The concept of Neverland as an imaginary construct created by incredibly traumatized real people as a form of escapism yet also as a tangible enough place for real time to pass while they’re there is FANTASTIC and also horrifyingly existential

3. POSITIVE 👏 TRANS 👏 REP 👏

4. Holy shit the ending like?? Emotionally destroyed me????? I’m so fond and have so so many feelings this is lovely

5. The way that fairies exist as these strange insectoid creatures who recycle into the earth and ritualistically consume trees to drain their life-forces in this universe is absolutely fascinating but also kinda offputting, 10/10 we need more of the fae being fucking WEIRD in modern media

6. Also!! Physically disabled character because Hook canonically was born with one hand (and we LOVE matching the prosthetic to the aesthetic✨🏴‍☠️🚣‍♂️)!!!

7. Homoerotic sword fights.

[lego-man75]

Fast Food Masquerade Review

9/10 While I prefer episode 2 and 3, this is still a super enjoyable episode.

Pros:

Gangle is fantastic here, I love how relatable she is and having a spotlight is great as well.

The plot and the rest of the characters are really great as well, I especially love how Ragatha gets drunk and shit.

The actual fast food shift stuff is a nice change of pace for the series and are really entertaining and funny, it's also great to see previous NPC characters return which leads me to...

The scene where Pomni meets Gummigoo but he doesn’t know who she is since Caine reuses NPC (like Ragatha said) is pretty sad and made me feel so bad for Pomni.

The animation keeps getting better and better as the series went along because holy moly.

The part with Jax and the Analog Horror stuff is really amazing and pretty dark.

The part with Gangle becoming emotionally drained leading to her (likely) almost abstracting until Pomni comes in is really unexpected but fantastic stuff.

The scene with Gangle throwing his mask away and feeling free is great.

The ending scene with Zooble comforting Gangle is really heartwarming and nice.

Cons:

Nothing I disliked about it, I just don't think it's a 10/10 yet (and yes I believe an episode can have no cons and still not be a 10/10).

Overall, really great episode and it truly lived up to the series' premise.

[onceuponalegendbg]

Thoughts During Arcane 2x09 Dirt Under Your Nails

Here we are. The finale.

Let's go.

Jinx. Watch It All Burn.

This poor girl holy shit. That was rough to watch.

Right in the middle of the chaos.

Cait in her sniper position. But she's got that rune blocker.

"Bold, little one."

Maddie is so gonna die isn't she? Like I doubt she doesn't realize that Cait is gonna want to be with Vi when all this is over but they're so gonna kill her off to make it cleaner.

We just lost Big Boy.

We're about to play with some time shenanigans I'll bet.

Oh boy.... Cait and Ambessa about to have some words.

Oh so she was a traitor. Huh..... I actually didn't put any stock in that theory but... okay. Sure.

So she's a traitor and she dies. Yeah alright.

Let's go Jinx is here!! Cait is gonna love this.

Firelights too!!

Sevika!!!

Trojan Horse....or better yet, a decoy.

NO SEVIKA!!!!! SCREW YOU!!!!

Mel and Cait vs Ambessa! Love that.

What's so funny to me is that Cait is taking a page out of Vi's book. She literally just started punching when she's injured and clearly out matched in physical strength/ability and has a moment of immediate "oh shit" when Ambessa throws her own punch. Frick me, that made me cackle.

Oooh that camera movement on that kick.

Oh wow, and that's the end of Ambessa.

Huh.... "even when we're worlds apart" huh....

Mel and Cait too!?!?

Everyone? Huh.

LETS GO EKKO!!! AS YOU SHOULD KING!!!!

I had a feeling it was Vik. I mean... shadow man with a cane.

Very beautiful visually.

No way they killed Jinx. I won't believe it.

Oh hey Sevika on the council.... An Undercity voice.

The drawback of those long range types.

SHE CALLED HER VIOLET!!!! I WANTED THAT SINCE SEASON 1!!!!

So I'm guessing Cait's theory (which the ending hints at... "One day I'm gonna ride in one of those") is that Jinx managed to slip out through one of the ducts. Mmmmm. Probably also not telling Vi because she doesn't want to get her hopes up on a hunch.

But wow. That ending was something.

I feel like I was so busy trying to absorb everything that some of the big gut punches didn't hit as hard. I'm betting on a second watch through though.... Although, I don't know, this show is emotionally draining.

Oh boy I'm so tired.

Whelp, it's four in the morning now. I think it's time I hit the sack.

More thoughts tomorrow.... at some point... I'm sure.

[tokiro07]

So, i was about to make a post about it myself, but i decided to ask you instead: How will Andy's final death look like?

Given that Undead Unluck is described by a narration box as a story about MC's quest for "the greatest death ever, not once, not twice, but it was now chosen to be the final line of every epiosde of the anime... I think this might genuinly be the entire driving force behind the story. That Tozuka really does want to write the greatest death scene ever, and Undead Unluck is the result of that desire.

Now, the question is: How will this happen? Fuuko yeeting her boyfriend at the Sun during final ragnarok? Andy growing old with Fuuko and dying of old age, surrounded by friends and family? SEX SCENE???? (probably not, but the possibilty of that is very funny to me)

Im pondering this question, becuase on one hand i want AnFuu to live happily ever after as they deserve it. On the other, im sucker for tearjerking scenes, and Andy having a grand epic death would emotionally draining, and i love when stories do that to me...

And, lastly, theres my personal elephant in the room... I kinda want Gina to smooch Fuuko. Now,for the record, i love Fuuko's romance with Andy, and i am NOT the type of shipper who wants the rival ship to be killed off for "getting in the way of OTP" - like, cmon, ITS ANFUU, THE BEST CANON SHIP IN A BATTLE MANGA EVER!

I didnt really ship Fuuko/Gina (or Andy/Fuuko/Gina for that matter) until the loop 101. At that point, i somewhat became a "Andy x Fuuko x Gina OT3 truther", but that was mostly just a joke, i had no true hopesfor it... and then FUCKING POLYAMORY was offically introduced into the story! Something that you see even less in fiction then same-sex reletionships... Like, holy shit, i dont think anything's off the table anymore.

But unfortuently, that poses a dilemna: like one of your reblogs said, idk if AnFuu would be down with going poly, but i also dont want Gina to be shipped with Sean just for the sake of pairing her off with a guy...

So, once again, let me repeat this question: What happens to Andy at the end of the story? How does he die? and how does Gina fit into all of this?

(sorry for the long ask, i hope i didnt sound like a crazy shipper at the end lol)

I'm fairly confident that Andy's death is going to be a shockingly quiet affair given how much buildup it has on the basis that the idea of him finding the "greatest" death is no longer predicated on him trying to kill himself, but achieving a sense of fulfillment

He doesn't want to die for the sake of dying anymore, he wants to die knowing that he lived a good life and left something meaningful behind. Ever since we got to see the shape of Andy's soul, I've believed wholeheartedly that Andy's death will be surrounded by the smiling and tearful faces of everyone he loves and who loves him back

It's not the flashiest death, but it is the best death that I think anyone who enjoys their life can ask for

[aagiijxbls]

Has anyone heard the song ‘one of us’ by Creeper and thought… holy shit this is Steve thinking about Bucky? 

I'm changing pronouns in the song and swapped velvet for leather.

I'm about to analyze the shit out of this. (Well not really but it's my head cannon for this song)

So get ready for a ramble post with visual aids. If the artists (who have been credited) don't wish to have their art on this post please let me know! I will take them down.

Now, lets get into it.

-----

-“Boy, when you showed up here there was no blood left to drain”- 

‘Bucky?’ 

Steve's face when he sees Bucky on the bridge. 

When Bucky showed up Steve had already bled for all he had lost. Physically and emotionally. He had mourned for his past, for his best friend who was not standing in front of him and he froze. He completely dropped his fighting stance and stood up straight. He had already grieved and metaphorically bled for this man and now here Bucky was, standing in front of him and he didn't know what to do. 

-“We were born for dying here like snow under the rain”-

Both of them ‘died’ during World War II. 

Bucky falling from the train, thought dead only to have been experimented on and tortured. His own self dying as Hydra took his memories and made him into something so far from himself that he was essentially reborn as someone else. 

Steve who selflessly ‘died’ by crashing a plane in order to save everyone else. Only to be woken 70 years in the future to a world he no longer knew. To a world that he thought he had saved, only to find out his sacrifice hadn't changed anything. 

-“You know when they find us here, they'll kill us both the same”-

Steve, on the run from SHIELD (Hydra) trying to save his best friend. They were completely willing to kill Steve, and as Bucky started coming back to himself, they were completely willing to kill him too. 

Bucky's apartment in Bucharest. Need I elaborate? 

(As a side note/theory, this line also fits to them being together in the 40s. Being found out to be gay could very well have gotten them both killed.)

-“So for the final time, put your hand in mine and I'll kiss away the pain”-

Pushing aside the trash writing of Endgame. Head cannon here is that they finally get to rest for a while, together. They finally reached the end of the line. Bucky coming to grips with his past, with the help of Steve. 

Steve taking Bucky's hand and leading him out of the darkness. 

(art by @ekbe-vile and @queercatcryptid)

-“Born in the shadows, to die in the dust”-

Taking this line literally. Bucky being born in the shadows as the Winter Soldier, somewhat coming out of that pain only to be snapped by Thanos. Literally dying as dust. 

-“Not like the others, you're one of us”-

Steve defending Bucky, standing by him through all of it. He's not what everything thinks he is (especially Sam at first). He's one of the good guys. He's one of the Avengers. He is one of them. He is One Of Us. 

-“No I don't sleep no more, when I did I dreamed of you”-

It would have been so amazing and heartwrenching to see Steve going through some form insomniac faze after he woke up. Being so torn apart from everything that happened to him, to dream only of seeing Bucky falling. His biggest failure and fear was not being able to grab his hand. 

-“Now the devil's at your door and there's a darkness seeping through”-

This is Bucky coming to grips with his own mind. That line in CAWS where he says “I don't know if I'm worth all this Steve.”

The darkness of not feeling worthy of salvation. Of self hatred at what he did, even if he didn't have a choice. Because “I know, but I did it” 

Look at that lip twitch... That's a man who doesn't believe what he's being told.

(Art by @mohish-ko)

-“So pretty like a dying flower in your tight leather clothes”-

Relief that Bucky is alive. But it's not quite Bucky is it? Not yet. 

It's so Beautiful yet so tragic.

Bucky is alive. But - “he didn't even recognise me”

-“So tragic in the final hour as the sun descends over fields of virgin snow”-

Steve willing to die at the hands of Bucky instead of fighting against him. 

Bucky's conflicted face as his mind races, searching to understand this man, this mission, beneath him who is beaten and bloody. 

But Bucky's body just won't move. 

An awareness is slowly rising in him, melting the ice from his memories. Although he can't make sense of why yet. 

I just... omg this song kills me. If y'all haven't heard it I highly recommend checking it out. And if you have any insights or thoughts on this, please feel free to speak up in the comments! Let's discuss!

[estarion]

🖤🫵🏻

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours. not accepting

💋 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

repulsive ／ hideous ／ ugly ／ not attractive ／ unappealing ／ not unattractive ／ meh ／ no preference ／ ok ／ mildly attractive ／ nice looking ／ cute ／ adorable ／ attractive ／ pleasant on the eyes ／ good looking ／ hot ／ sexy ／ beautiful ／ gorgeous ／ hot damn✨ ／ would tap that ／ perfect💕 ／ godlike ( harbouring major personal beef w/all the gods rn so won't compare her to their sorry asses ) ／ holy fuck there are no words. ( she smiles and he's like 'yeah life is maybe worth living' )

💅🏻 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

grating ／ irritating ／ frustrating💕 ／ boring ／ confusing at best ／ awkward ／ unreasonable ／ psychotic ／ disturbing ／ interesting ／ engaging ／ affectionate ／ aggressive ／ ambitious ／ anxious ／ artistic ／ bad tempered ／ bossy💕 ( he likes it bc it gives him shit to do eheh. building fires for her like a caveman ) ／ charismatic ／ appealing ／ unappealing ／ creative ( all the ways she thinks of hurting someone emotionally and physically 💕 ) ／ courageous ／ dependable ／ unreliable ／ unpredictable ／ predictable ／ devious ／ dim ／ extroverted ／ introverted💕 ／ egotistical ／ gregarious ／ fabulous ／ impulsive ／ intelligent💕 ／ sympathetic ／ talkative ／ up beat ／ peaceful ( seems that way sometimes ) ／ calming✨ ／ badass ／ 🥀flexible...

🏩 𝐒𝐄𝐗 ??

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending ／ fuck no! ／ never ／ no way ／ not likely ／ not sure ／ indifferent ／ i’m asexual ／ maybe ／ probably ／ it depends ／ fairly likely ／ likely ／ yeah sure ／ yes ／ would tap that ／ hell yes ／ fuck yes! ／ wishing that could happen right now💕 ／ as many times as possible ／ we are already having sex. 🥀🥀🥀 ( she needs a doctor )

👊🏻 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋

never in a million years ／ worst of enemies ／ enemies ／ rivals ( 2 rogues ... rip. he wants to teach her some tricks he learned over the centuries, heh. ) ／ indifferent ／ neutral ／ acquaintance ／ friendly toward each other ／ casual friends ／ friends ／ good friends ／ best friends ／ fuck buddies ( at first sdfs ) ／ bosom buddies💕 ／ practically the same person ／ would die for them ／ true friends ／ my only friend ( he rly feels like this for a long time sdfsfd takes a while to truly bond with everyone else ).

✍🏻 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

i hate them so much ／ i don’t like them ／ i don’t trust them 🤨 ／ they annoy me ／ they’re weird ／ i’m indifferent ／ meh ／ they seem alright ／ they’re growing on me ／ truce🗡️ ／ i think i like them ／ i like them ／ i’m not sure if I trust them ( HE SEES PEOPLE TRUSTING HER MORE THAN THEY TRUST HIM ) ／ i trust them ／ they’re cool ／ they’re genuine(ly a problem ) ／ i think we’re going to get along ／ i really like them ／ i think i’m in love ／ oh fuck they’re hot ／ i love them. ／ ( he thought she was a wicked lil gremlin with cannibalistic designs on his fingies. he also wanted to drain her dry tho sooo... )

🤔 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

i hate them so much ／ i don’t like them ／ i don’t trust them ／ they annoy me ／ they’re weird ／ i’m indifferent ／ meh ／ they seem alright ／ they’re growing on me ／ truce ／ i think i like them ／ i like them ／ i’m not sure if i trust them ／ i trust them ／ they’re cool ／ they’re genuine💕 ／ i think we’re going to get along ／ i really like them ／ i think i’m in love ／ oh fuck they’re hot ／ i love them.

[springonmytraptillicomeback]

Uuuhgsgshs dumping random info/headcannons abt FNAF characters while I work on their designs pt 1: William Afton

Basic info:

Name- William Vincent Afton (I do this fun thing where the characters fan-made names are their middle name)

Birth: February 21, 1948

Height: 5’11

I’m not going to go in depth in his life, maybe another day, but basically

He lived in Manchester, England as an only child. His father, Thomas, was neglectful and emotionally abusive while his mother, Maria, was much kinder. His mother ends up dying when his 14 from pneumonia, causing him and his father to basically not interact unless necessary. In 1966 he left England to live in Utah and got easily got into Dixie Technical College (I think it might’ve been changed to Utah Tech in like… 2022 but I’m not sure) due to his intelligence. He meets Henry in college, they make Fredbear’s Family Diner in 1972. William marries Clare in 1968 due to getting her pregnant at a college party (they both despise each other). Micheal’s born in 1969, Evan’s born in 1976, and Elizabeth’s born in 1979. They end up getting divorced in 1978. Clare runs off to some state to try and actually enjoy her life, leaving William as a single father to three kids.

Random shit abt his personality:

He learned to be charming at a young age to gain attention and respect from teachers and adults. He can be extremely impulsive. He ends up becoming a bit childish in his adult life due to not really ever being able to be a kid, but mostly tries to just play it into his fun and over the top entertainer role. Despite usually being outgoing and talkative, he isn’t the biggest fan of having to interact with people, entertaining them is fun but actually talking to them is just draining. He can be extremely high energy at times, when he’s not sleep deprived, of course. Obsessive, paranoid, jealous easily, normal William Afton stuff

Just, generally random shit:

he’s autistic (just like me fr fr). I like to think he’s weirdly flexible and fast, mostly because I want him to be Henry’s opposite; while Henry is big, strong, gruff, and scary in the “wow he could beat me up easily” way, William is lean, quick, nimble, and scary in a “wow he could easily sneak up on me and stab me” way. He has a chewing habit, he’ll chew on just about anything he’s holding, which is the biggest reason he and Henry have separate tools. This also leads to his lip biting habit; his lips aren’t dry, just scabbed. Henry was the first person to like… actually give him love, that wasn’t just “aw cute charming child”. William was (and is) extremely gay for Henry, and it took him a couple minutes for him to come to terms with that once he actually realized it. Definitely not cis, probably on the genderqueer spectrum, but he has no idea until like… Vanny tells him about trans people and he’s like “holy shit”. Obsessed with rabbits, probably could name every breed, and information of each one.

Auauusgsh that’s it

if u wanna ask shit or something abt him/anything u can, I’m bored rn

[throne-anguis]

Oh I can already see Hikari turning himself in to save Partitio and I can see the aftermath.

Can very much see Osvald calling him and telling Hikari to turn back, they can still find another plan. They can still figure this out and all Hikari says is “Osvald, I just wanted to say thank you, for being apart of my life. Thank you all for being apart of it.”

And then he just turns himself in to the Shadow Operatives and all he can feel is dread and…relief? Relief that at the very least maybe. Just maybe, Vide won’t be summoned because he’ll be locked away. Alone. Without his friends.

Partitio just coming back to his apartment shaky and when he calls the others he’s just stumbling over words and someone has to pick him up from where he was dropped off. Being there was terrifying. Having his friends threatened was terrifying. The whole experience was terrifying.

Then I realize that, while this option was ultimately, the best one they had, it was also the worst one as Arcanette probably uses the opportunity to tap into the Curse and have Vide summoned. Hikari isn’t going to bring it out willingly so through force it is.

And all I can think of is Arcanette stressing out Hikari more and more and then when he refuses to let the Shadow out she just goes and puts him in the Metaverse and forces it out and uses that to summon Vide.

And now the end is here. And everything was for naught. And now Hikari is alone, in the Metaverse, and with his Shadow, who now decided that killing him is a much more entertaining option.

Except that isn’t how it ends is it?

Holy shit that gives the feels. "all Hikari says is “Osvald, I just wanted to say thank you, for being apart of my life. Thank you all for being apart of it.”"

Hikari basically dedicating his entire life to his friends. He would feel relief for doing that but that would be so terrifying for the rest of them.

Partitio being terrified, stuttering over words, and having to ask for help with the color drained from his face? Somewhere nobody thought they'd ever see him. It goes to show how terrifying it is and Partitio is here feeling guilt and fear and unlike when he was in poverty he doesn't have the ability to stand up to it right now. He's terrified, this was his fault and he's not physically and emotionally healthy enough to help yet. He'd give it his all anyway but holy shit it put Hikari in danger.

Arcanette putting him through absolute torture is so awful for Hikari here. Though the curse has the ability to taunt him and gain control, and the Moonshade order is striving to summon Vide, the curse has the right to be mad. The curse wants something to fight whether it's Hikari or something else.

When the rest of his group tries to rescue him they might realize how much he's weakened physically and mentally. They have to face his curse. He can't suppress it. It's wanting to attack everything it can because Hikari is clinging to his life and has faced his shadow but still can't find his way out on his own due to Arcanette. Their self-appointed leader goes through hell over and over for them and they have to fight through it as well if they're going to get him out of this situation.

[creedslove]

LOVE LOVE LOVE HOW UR BUILDING UP THE PLOT!!!!

Loved part 3 so much!!!!!! <333

I just hope you don’t rush with the story, you’re an amazing writer I am so impressed, I usually only see smut or the storyline doesn’t resonate or feels forced. The fact that for once you’re giving so much thought into this, you’re building the anticipation, you have gotten us rooting for the reader, even if you write 100 parts of the story I know it’ll all be amazing because you’re great at delivering !!

For a long time I was looking for a fic with Pedro x reader but writers only choose his characters from shows/movies. I wonder what made you think to start writing about him and not his characters?

Take care writer, you’re putting amazing work out here, we love uuuuu <3

🤍🩶🤍🩶🤍

thank you so much anon, your words are motivating and really sweet! ❤️💖

I don't think I'll rush any chapters I mean, all the chapters were absolutely not planned, I wrote Betrayed as an one shot but people got into it and asked for a part two, which brought a part three, then part four and five (that's being written right now) I have absolutely no idea how many chapters we still have ahead, I just hope I won't go into any writer's block because I'm really enjoying this story and the ideas come naturally and when they don't, I get lots of amazing anon suggestions to work on, so I feel really lucky, to see people are actually invested.

I'm happy you are enjoying it, when I write a story, I try to write something interesting it would catch my attention and I would read it if I someone else had written it, you know what I mean? And I've always loved angst with happy endings, but I like the build up more than the ending when it's done properly and I noticed there's a lot Pedro stories that are rushed to the happy ending, which I don't blame because honestly who wouldn't want to live happily ever after with that man lmao and he is all the time a ray of sunshine to reader which I also enjoy because it brings us comfort when we read it but I thought to myself: what if he is just a normal guy who screws up like everyone else and is too stubborn to admit it? And people enjoyed that portrait! And we all project ourselves into reader, just like I said in another ask, in my mind reader is me just like she is you when you reader and so on, so we honestly just root for ourselves to be strong enough to fend for ourselves no matter how hot Pedro is while breaking our heart 😂😂😂

And the main reason why I began writing about Pedro is because I got into him because of him and not his characters. I had never watched anything he was on and I always saw people gushing about him on Twitter but never got the fuss about it, until about a month or so when whenever I logged on Instagram random pictures or reels of him would show up in my suggestions. I would usually ignore them until I came across that one where he talks about how people usually pronounce 'Pedro' and then he tells the interviewer his full name, using his beautiful accent and as I study Spanish I just LOVED the sound of that. Then other videos of him would appear and I would send them to my friend who really loves him because it reminded me of her. So I went from this guy isn't that ugly to he's not ugly at all to holy shit he's very handsome.

But the cherry on top was about three weeks ago I was going through a rough time where my immune system wasn't great or whatever and I was constantly sick, I had been sick for over a month before that and each week I would have a different problem lol and that week i was again sick and it just drained me emotionally because i was feeling so weak and all the antibiotics I took made me feel physically bad as well and my work schedule was hectic as always, long story short I was a walking corpse that week until I began dreaming about him at night.

The first time I dreamed about Pedro, it was silly but also really sweet, I dreamed I was at the mall, running some errands and with my headphones on, then the song 'Otro día que va' by RBD began playing and I sang along to it and it caught his attention because it was in Spanish so he made small talk and we began chatting, then he invited me for lunch and it was adorable because it was kinda a lunch day. So when I woke up I felt so happy and comforted about the dream and the following nights I also dreamed about him, he was always so sweet in flirty in my dreams and we spoke a lot of Spanish that spiced up things a little bit lol and by the end of the week I already had a massive crush on him, lol

But I wrote for one of his characters: Javier Peña because he makes me feel things™ and I'll probably write more when inspiration comes, just like I'll probably write for Joel Miller in the future because he also makes me feel things™ but so far, my main focus is nuestro dulce pedrito porque lo amo 💖

Thanks a lot anon, your ask was amazing and don't forget the only reason I write it's because of you all and how amazing and support of my work you all are!

❤️❤️❤️

[broomswept-thoughts]

I feel so stressed with telling rafa that I want to leave the lab. I’m so scared that he’s going to go ballistic on me because I had previously said I would leave in May. I’m also terrified of Simo and having to meet her to go over the “project” (ugh). I’m so sick of going into lab and I hate it so much. Even if my parents don’t want me to quit until next month, I’m going to quit by the end of this month and just live like a mouse until I can move back away. I can’t I can’t I can’t stay. I would rather just not eat, not go out, not do anything that costs any money at all if it meant that I wouldn’t have to go to lab. I hate being scared and anxious and nauseous about work, at this point I’ve been burned so bad that I’m just ready to pass out if it means I don’t have to go into work. I know it’s weak of me, probably to my parents’ eyes, that I can’t stay for just a whole month longer, but I just do not want to deal with the whole drama that is and will be my presentation unless I at all have to.

I’m so scared of people yelling and screaming at me and going off about how I’m such a disappointment, mistake, taking advantage of the lab, etc. I’m so tired of people saying whatever they want at me and hurting me just to hurt me. I don’t want to deal with it anymore, I’m so tired of people hurting me and getting away with it all the damn time because I’m in a lower position of power and can’t afford to go against them. I hate it so much and I can’t deal with it. I can barely deal with it for two weeks, much less a month. I can’t. Like I promise I’ll take such good care of my health and everything, just I don’t want to go back. It drains me to be in lab, and especially when Simo is storming around in my aisle. I forgot the absolute stress and hell that is being in close proximity to this angry lady, like I just can’t deal with it. It makes me want to crumple up and die. It makes me high key anxious and on high alert at every hour of every day. I don’t want to deal with her so bad. I just can’t. Sigh.

I just need to tear off the bandage on this talk though. Or I’ll literally never leave. It’s either I address this feeling of being sick inside so I can finally be free, or endure and die inside emotionally every day, every week, for another four months. four month, like holy SHIT I think I would just not be able to deal with that.

[theknightofsolitude]

there is a lyric from this song that sticks out to me the more I listen to the song…

“….look into my eyes, i’m not coming back”

Without sounding too dramatic… I have been identifying with that lyric because over the last few months I think that something I worked to hard to build up in me… had died… and I feel indifferent….

I tried for years to shake this fear of romantic intimacy, this fear of abandonment, the fear of looking someone in the eyes romantically, holy fucking shit.. just being vulnerable to a potential/actual partner… And I was able to do that.. but after my last two relationships I guess.. all that work meant nothing.. because that guy is dead… the last woman was the kill shot though…

she knew my issues with intimacy and romance, it was hard for me to even talk to her without apologizing for things i was saying because I’m so used to being shut down, made fun of, or just flat out being told “no one cares”… yes, a girlfriend have straight up told me that no one cares about what I’m talking about THEN get mad at me for not wanting to talk much and telling me they don’t know anything because I never talk. Fuck I had issues looking this woman in the eyes when we talked, I had issues hugging her, but I liked her and I tried for her.. She also asked me for my intimacy, told me she was nothing like my ex(es).. so I did.. only to be told in the end “who says things like that.. no one talks like that”. That fucking sucked, boy, let me tell you. It’s like all the voices of previous partners were echoing in my head, I almost cried… but I kept it together enough to have the conversation ended decently.. but yeah, that fucking hurt so much.

So yeah.. after going through that heartbreak.. getting help, and understanding the situation thanks to friends.. I decided to just put my walls back up and be super guarded.. I have zero interest in getting to know someone romantically… I’m fine… I’m just drained emotionally from it all.. romantically numb.. some “Love TKO” shit. My walls will keep me safe.. I just want and need to be alone again.

I tried going on a date with someone who made it clear that they liked me even after I told them I’m guarded, my wall is up.. the most I can offer is a friendship… distant… but it’s all I got. She said she is fine and she understands why I feel the way I do and she digs my company and presence so if friendship is all I got to give she will take it.. and fucking hell… couldn’t look her in the eyes, awkward hug, and a clean break to go home. I feel nothing again.. the light has been snuffed out. i killed part of me that I built up..

I’m not coming back..

Truth of the matter is this.. romantic love, intimacy, and vulnerability is hard. It takes strength, and bravery.

but unfortunately……

I’m a coward.

[thatpunkmaximoff]

[Book Two of Four]

Story: 4 out of 5 Smut: 4 out of 5

I knew Sloane was going to be a riot! She had me laughing so much what with the way she constantly pissed off Declan and collected his men one by one.

For a woman who claimed to be defective because she couldn’t/wouldn’t fall in love… she sure as hell fell quick and hard.

There was so much going on with Declan that left me cursing at my book, and I know it’s definitely not over. I’m so nervous to see what happens to them in the final two books because they have to be mentioned again. Right?

Now here are my rambling thoughts…

* Lmfao. I knew Sloane was going to be a riot. These Irish mobsters have no idea what they’re in for.

* Oh shit. Declan’s in charge now? Well that’s one worry down the drain. I was scared the boss man was gonna put Sloane through some form of trauma… now I just gotta worry that Sloane gets on Declan’s good side in time.

* Oh Sloane. I love you. Never change 😂

* Saline’s got some big balls. Massaging your kidnapper? Wtf are you thinking 🤦🏻‍♀️

* Oohhhh spanking. These two are so fucked.

* I fucking can’t with Sloane right now. First Kieran and now Spider? She’s gonna recruit all the Irish gangsters against Declan’s wishes 😂

* SHE’S PREGNANT?! WTF!!!!

* Oh, Declan. What sort of deal do you have with Stavros?

* Wtf Stavros? You jerk off to the smell of her shoes? 😂

* Declan took her back. Thank god.

* And now they boned and both are emotionally fucked. How the hell is this gonna work out?

* Declan’s seeing an FBI agent in secret? He has a cover..? WTF IS GOING ON?!

* Holy shit. The way Sloane was gonna take the punishment for Spider.. my fucking heart can’t take this!!!

* Oh Sloane 😔 Her childhood is so heartbreaking.

* And now she’s gone?! Wtf.

* Who the fuck kidnapped her? I bet they’re regretting it already 😂

* Oh shit. Sloane’s gonna be pissed when she realizes this is all Declan’s fault because he potentially wanted her as an asset. Which yeah… I’m still freaked over that. Wtf you doing, Declan?

* HE’S A FUCKING SPY!?!?!?

* FUCK THIS DUDE AND THE FUCKING ORDERS HE’S GIVING SLOANE.

* Holy shit. Our girl isn’t going down without a fight and neither is Declan. Fuck the government!

* Ohhhh. They worked it out and are back together!!!

* And oh fuck. Kage would give Stavros permission to go after Declan. I just hope it’s Sloane who fucks him up for going after her man.

* Shit. Diego is alive?? This won’t end well.

[karlrose]

Just woke up from a really weird dream in which the theme was "Me having reasonable reactions to the things happening around me and people laughing at me for having said reactions". It was fun. Can you taste the sarcasm? It started with me at an event with my mother and her side of the family. My mother and I are currently not on speaking terms for various reasons. The smallest of which is that she lied to my children's faces whilst calling me a liar. My kids know what she's about so they didn't believe her, but FUCK WOMAN!! The largest reason is that she never has anything nice to say to me or about me and I felt like shit everytime I talked to her. My entire life she's been making fun of me or putting me down, trying to make me feel small. She's NEVER hugged me, never told me she loves me, never told me I was pretty. In fact her favorite nickname for me is "thunderthighs". And her family is no better. They treat me like I don't belong and like I'm not good enough for them. I don't see any of them anymore. So in the dream, there is basically a horror house set up going on in the halls of whatever building they're having this event at and when I scream and run away from what is clearly a monster chasing me down the hallway, everyone looks at me like I killing the mood at this shit party where it's not even my grandmother's birthday, but because it's a celebration, she's demanding we celebrate her too so she gets a big cake. I tried to find a way out of this building but because it's a dream, I have trouble finding the exit. These two men I've never met before offer to lead me to the exit and take me home so I follow them. (Not an important detail, but I remember them feeding me dates and figs) Once we're on the road, this is where we get into really weird dream teritory. Evil sky pants. There was a giant pair of jeans with Audrey Bourgouis gold high heels in the sky ruling over the world. This understandably freaks me out. Once again, I am laughed at and told that I'm overreacting. I am then taken to a large building and placed in a room with other children. I am not a child, I am 32, but apparently in the dream I was 16 again. I freak out and find a way to call my dad because this isn't my home and I'm convinced I have been kidnapped and placed in some kind of cult barracks. When someone in this facility FINALLY comes to talk to me, they laugh in my frightened face, telling me that we are in a shelter for women and children and I point out that they shouldn't make fun of me because SOMEONE should have been at the entrance to explain this instead of just throwing me in a room. They acted like I was being unreasonable and arguementative. They then told me that I was in Wyoming. I have never been to Wyoming and I live in Georgia! I could hear my dad's panic on the other end of the phone. The people working at this facility laughed at his concerns too. I demanded that they give my father the address so he could come get me and instead THEY HUNG UP ON HIM. I got in a physical fight with them at that point. Then I woke up.... And HOLY FUCK am I tired. I just woke up and I am already emotionally and physically drained.

[bylightofdawn]

!!!!

WOOOF Finished Chapter 22 and holy fuckballs I am EMOTIONALLY DRAINED from writing that chapter.

That is an emotional doozy. I will prolly have to edit it heavily. Also ahahaha this chapter is cursed with so many rotating POV. I can't even

I just pray people can follow-along with this.

EDIT: I legit just went and laid next to Genji and wrapped my arms around him and hugged him for a full two minutes. Which is shocking because he normally would be IMMEDIATELY out of there. But he actually passively laid there and let me bury my face into his shoulder and lavish kisses on him. Bruh, I needed that moment.

Of course, after two minutes he was like 'Nope, I'm done' and immediately scrambled from my arms and crouched on the foot of the bed like two feet away looking at me like I'm the madwoman I am. I gave him a sheba stick for his services as my emotional support animal.

I'm gonna put plot spoilers behind the cut because I need to get it out of my head right now.

🚨🚨Read at your own risk. 🚨🚨

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Last warning, do not click if you don't want chapter spoilers

H o l y s h i t

So it's revealed Montross hired a Death Watch assassin to try and take Jango out.

I'm giving Jango the idiot ball here and he just...ran with it. Went right for Montross who was fully armored up, ready to ostensibly got 'hunting' Death Watch. Jango is a fucking idiot who is unarmored and immediately tries to take Montross out, ends up getting overpowered and turned into an unwilling captive to a now panicking Montross who squares off with an EXCEEDINGLY pissed Jaster who is doing everything he can to not flip his shit.

Ends up telling Montross he'll let him go if he releases Jango.

They start arguing back and forth, Montross doesn't believe him and has Jango pinned to him with a blaster to his head as he literally backs himself into a corner, aka the bank of windows in the living room.

Mij tries to interject, is literally the only other person armored up and ready for action and the only one with a jetpack (you can see where this is prolly going) He tries to defuse the situation with no luck.

Jaster continues to be scarily intense and telling Montross if he lets Jango go he can leave alive but it he hurts him, he's going to make his death very long and very painful which....not great negotiating skills on his part but it's a high emotional state so we're gonna give him a C- average on handling the situation and his temper.

Myles who is like three seconds from passing out ends up throwing a vibroknife through the window which shatters it and gives Montross a sudden exit which he takes.

By throwing Jango out the window as a distraction and he then proceeds to book it as Mij dives after Jango rather than chasing after him.

Jaster isn't happy with Myles cause that was a stupid risk he just took with his son's life though Myles argues back he knew Montross would take the out and predicted he would prolly do something like that but he knew Mij was there with said jetpack to save the day.

Mij drags Jango back inside who just sags, Jaster tries to grab him, his dumbass being the one with the nearly non-functional arm and a leg still healing from getting hit by a skycar a few days (and chapters) earlier. So he ends up nearly going down too and poor Mij is just over EVERYONE'S BULLSHIT and throws both of them at the couch.

Jaster orders him to go after Montross which Mij hesitates over because three people are fucking walking wounded who literally can't stand right now. Jaster orders him to go after Montross but he is long-gone at this point so he ends up just giving up and returns to base as Jaster announces over team comms Montross is a traitor and he's shoot on sight.

Kal is all "WTF repeat that?"

Meanwhile Vau is his typical ice-cold self and is all "Copy, last location?" just no questions just straight up ready to merc a bitch.

Why? BECAUSE IT IS WALON VAU

Which is when Mij just is done with everything and tells Jaster he lost him and he's returning to base.

And that's how this shit show of a chapter is going to end.

Next chapter is going to be just as awful. Jaster is going to go on a roaring rampage of revenge. Thankfully Myles isn't dying though he might pass out and will have a solution for how to track him and Death Watch.

I am so fucking drained from writing all of that chaotic bullshit. If you think the summary was chaotic bullshit, imagine where my poor brain is right now.

Also NEVER do this, I just literally had to get it out of my brain or I would not be able to sleep or have any peace tonight I think.