#hopefully this will inspire me to write more

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner

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

Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose

Rating: explicit -

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

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.

w/c : 9k (whoops)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…

Yes, he would. He's a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goner!

Splat!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remember that time he took a nap?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just to sit in his chair.

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

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

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

Good-fucking-riddance.

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

Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.

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

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

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

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

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

He continues to sneak very quietly.

Can't hide from us.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.

"He sure can't."

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

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

Not again.

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

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

Probably get gutted like a pig.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—let me go!"

"—stay forever!"

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

"Yep!" You exclaim happily.

Did he say that aloud?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now look at him, upside down!

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

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

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

"Wait! Wait—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, ya' did good, kid.

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

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

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

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

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

The sweet voice is right!

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

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

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

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

He's also awake. 

"Hi, Mist—"

"Let me go." 

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

Mister-man stares at you.

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

"Let. Me. Go." 

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

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

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

"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.

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

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

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

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

"Maybe a little embarrassed--"

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

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

"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt. You should just kill him right now--

"Hurt him?"

Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.

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

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

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

Because she tied him up--

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

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

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

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

"Do I need to get the brick again?"

Joel stops shouting.

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

You're being so, so gentle!

He's acting like a giant baby.

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

He'll forgive you, Sugar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sug, he's so pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where would I find meat?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What kinda movies ya' got?"

He wishes he never asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could have really hurt her, are you serious?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hit him.

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

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

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

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

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

Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel it now, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still hurts."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not lyin'-"

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

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

"Fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was your least favorite eye!

Kill. Him.

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

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

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

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

You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh Sug, he's down bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is he so upset!?

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

Soon.

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

He's just gotta wear something else first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cha-melodius]

May I ask you about your writing??? First of all and possibly most importantly, how do you do it? How do you find inspiration and such? How do you make it happen? Because I sat down with a really juicy idea not long ago and I was excited and it was incredibly hard. I deleted it, I was embarrassed. So how do you first, come up with a great idea (which you do you write such cool stuff!) and then bring it to fruition? I’ve always been a decent writer but I was really frustrated with the fic I set out to write!!!

Hey anon! Sorry for sitting on this for a while but it came in the night before a big academic conference for me, so I've had almost no time for anything, sadly.

First off, thank you so much for the compliment on my writing! A lot of the direct answers to your questions are not very satisfying, tbh. Ideas come to me from everywhere—things I watch, read, random internet things—and how I bring it to fruition mostly involves a lot of planning. I got a lot happier with my work when I started making outlines for my fics, so I always know where I want to go with the story and how I'm getting there, versus meandering around aimlessly.

I'm guessing that there was something about your idea that was particularly challenging, since you said that you've always been a decent writer but found what you produced frustrating. Since I don't know the details I'm gonna give some advice that will hopefully cover a few different aspects. And first, a short list, and then the details under the cut because I'm a wordy bitch.

Just keep writing. It can take a while to find your voice.

Get help. Seek out 'subject experts' and people who you think are good at writing the kinds of stories you want to write.

Read a lot, and broadly, especially in the genre you want to write.

1. Just keep writing. It can take a while to find your voice.

I started writing fanfic (or, re-started, because I wrote when I was young and then took a looooong break) to get the stories out of my head, and my first fics were not great lol. They were also for a rarepair and approximately 5 people read them, so there wasn't much pressure I suppose. I was just putting them on AO3 because I figured why not? And then I just kept writing, off and on for different fandoms, until the writing bug really caught me and I started producing a lot more, about five years ago. But it probably took me ~20 fics (several of which were quite long) before I'd consider my stuff to be decent. Whether you share your early works or not is up to you, but in general I'd recommend it because there's a good chance someone will love it (even if you consider it to be substandard) and that can help you feel better about your own writing. I didn't start out good at writing action, but I wrote (and read, see below) consistently in a lot of action-heavy fandoms, so I got a lot of practice. I also feel like the more I wrote, the more ideas I got, and the more unique ideas I got.

You occasionally see someone in fandom who's like "this is my first fic!" and it gets really popular or and lots of hype or whatever, but that's not the typical experience. Most of us start out writing like crap. It's ok. It gets better.

2. Get help. Seek out 'subject experts' and people who you think are good at writing the kinds of stories you want to write.

Ok, so you wrote a first draft you were disappointed in. Ask yourself what was disappointing about it? Do you feel like the beats aren't hitting, or the action is wooden, or the language is awkward? The great thing about fandom and fanfiction is that there are so many people that are willing to help out as beta readers or even just someone to talk to. I understand that getting a beta reader can seem daunting. You don't want someone to criticize your work, or it might seem embarrassing to show someone else a work you feel bad about. But if you get someone else to read it, you'll have the chance to both hear good things about it and also get advice about things you're uncertain about. People come to fandom from all walks of life and I'm a big fan of asking for help if you're writing about something you're not super familiar with. I've never actually been to therapy, so getting help from @celeritas2997 was absolutely critical for me to feel good about my couple's therapy AU. Also you can ask people for advice if they write the kinds of fics you want to write—I've had multiple people ask me for help with their action scenes, and I'm always happy to lend an eye and give advice.

Also, related to this: it's ok if you don't like your first draft. But don't delete it! Put it aside, whether you ask someone else to look at it or not, and come back to it a while later with fresh eyes. It may not be as terrible as you thought! Or maybe there are parts you still hate, but there are other parts that you can work on and revise.

3. Read a lot, and broadly, especially in the genre you want to write.

Want to write sci-fi? Read a lot of sci-fi novels. Read a lot of sci-fi AUs. Break out of your fandom and read fics in fandoms you don't know—I used to do this a lot and it was one of the most important steps in my process of finding my own voice as well as understanding how stories are built. When you read in only one fandom, you get used to a lot of the same voices and types of stories, but there is SO MUCH out there. I've been known to scroll through the 'Enemies to Lovers' tag on occasion, but also I will go into fandoms for media I know but have no strong connection to, don't want to write in but know the characters, and read those. I spent a lot of time reading X-men, Good Omens, Witcher, even MCU juggernauts like Stucky even though I don't really ship them. I know it probably sounds crazy to tell you to go read other fandoms when (I'm assuming you're RWRB) there's so much in this one, but I do think it's valuable. This one is not only for getting exposed to a lot of writing styles, but also lots of ideas. I've definitely gotten a lot of ideas that spun off from something else I read.

I feel like none of this is particularly revolutionary advice, but I hope it at least gives you (and anyone else who manages to read this far lol) some confidence to keep going and go after those stories you want to write. Everyone—me, popular fandom writers, professional authors—started out just writing a lot, and they improved over time.

Most importantly: just keep going. You can do it!!

[viridian-house]

I want so desperately to finish this one, but life has other plans for me this month. I learned a ton while working on it, so fingers crossed I can pick the momentum back up in the future

sakura, from my fic series the slug & the stars

[bloodibambiidoll]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Dolly’s Milestone Celebration Game ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

My journey on this blog has been a rollercoaster, to say the least, and I never thought I’d get to this point. If it wasn’t for all my lovely followers, mutuals, and friends I probably would’ve left a long time ago. So as a thank you I put together this lil game. Kissing you u all!!

How to play: Choose an emoji(s) from the list below!

🎀 - Send me a character and a writing prompt from this list, a small description and I’ll write you a blurb!! Please only choose from these characters: Rafe Cameron, Jj Maybank, Sarah Cameron, Eric Draven(The Crow2024), Spencer Reid, Cooper Abbott(Trap2024), Roman Godfrey, Peter Parker(Andrew’s version), Jax Teller.

🧸 - Send me ANY character and I’ll make you a moodboard. (Can be based off an AU, fic, a certain type of date or just two of you together)

💒 - Send me this and I’ll make you a moodboard based off the vibes of your blog.

🤎 - Send me this for my favorite thing about you! (Mutuals only)

Tagging mooties: @cameronwillow @cxrrodedcoffin @eerielamb @rafesheaven @rafeyscurtainbangs @eddiesxangel @gri959 @cameronsprincess @xxladymjxx @starkeysbabygirl @starkeyisthelastname @songbirdmunson @gravedigginbbydoll @loserboysandlithium @fae-of-prey @moonlightseranade @sarahsangelicdoll @that-sarcastic-writer @oceandriveab @nemesyaaa @novashelby @rafesangelita @whytheylosttheirminds @starkeyvhs @bunnies-p1tst0p

[crescentfool]

🍊🫐 throughout time!

[finniestoncrane]

💜🍴 Finnie's 1.5k Follower Event 🍴💚

CLOSED by health inspector

even though it felt like this took forever it really didn't because i've only been on here and writing for just over a year, and i'm so grateful that people still follow me despite my personality as a whole lmao, i wanted to do something silly and goofy so here's my prompt list for my milestone ;-; hello and welcome to the vill-inn, gotham's newest restaurant (and definitely 100% not a money-laundering front for nefarious rogue activity no sirree u-u) please come on in and peruse the menu and let us know what you want to eat!! send in your order + reader/insert gender/pronouns/genitals too! the restaurant is now closed as well as writing headcanons and drabbles, i'm also doing a little give away! so anyone who asks off anon (or not, check the specials menu below) i'll enter into a little silly draw for a 1k commission and pick 3 winners u-u 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block)

Hello, welcome to Vill-Inn, how will you be DIE-ning with us today?

Sit-In [drabbles/short fic]

Takeout [bullet-point/free form story/headcanon style]

Delivery [surprise me]

Great! Wonderful! What can I get you to drink? And don't say fear toxin! (I'm this close to quitting...) (pick 1)

Water [hurt/comfort]

Soda [angst]

Milkshake [fluff]

Signature Cocktail [smut/pwp]

Black Coffee [doesn't matter/surprise me]

And what will you be having for your MAIM course? (pick 1, feel free to specify the version)

Question Mark Shaped Nuggies [riddler]

Sushi Platter [penguin]

Pumpkin Ravioli [scarecrow]

Surf and Turf [two face]

Arroz con Pollo [bane]

Steak [victor zsasz]

Cucumber Sandwiches [mad hatter]

Garden Salad [poison ivy]

Gut Buster Burger [harley quinn]

Gazpacho [mr freeze]

Plain Noodles with Butter [john doe]

Gumbo [killer croc]

BBQ Platter [captain boomerang]

And what loyal side(kick)s are you having with that? (pick up to 4)

🍟 Regular Fries [waking up with them]

🧇 Waffle Fries [sex in a public place]

🍠 Sweet potato Fries [visiting them in Arkham/Blackgate]

➰ Curly Fries [only one bed]

🍁 Poutine [slow dancing]

🥔 Potato Skins [at a party]

🍕 Pizza Bites [tending to wounds]

🍗 Chicken Wings [confession/confessing feelings]

🍔 Sliders [exacting revenge]

🌭 Mini Dogs [hate/angry sex]

🍤 Popcorn Shrimp [hugs from behind]

🐔 Chicken Strips [oral sex/how they give and receive]

🍿 Cheese Popcorn [bite marks/marking kink]

🥒 Deep Fried Pickles [sloppy kisses]

🧅 Blooming Onion [being rejected]

🍘 Rice Crackers [choking]

🍞 Bread Rolls [blood play]

🧄 Garlic Bread [straddling]

🥖 Breadsticks [neck/wrist kisses]

🥪 Half Sandwich [giving/receiving praise]

🥣 Soup [argument]

🍜 Noodles [cuddles]

🍚 Steamed Rice [denial]

🦪 Oysters [rough sex]

🍣 Sushi Sampler [edging/orgasm denial]

🌽 Corn on the Cob [instructional masturbation]

🥕 Honey Glazed Carrots ["open your mouth"]

🥗 Green Salad ["do you need a hand?"]

🍅 Tomato Salad ["i have to go"]

🍏 Fruit Salad ["i shouldn't have to ask"]

🍆 Roasted Veg ["i've never done this before"]

🥦 Seared Broccoli ["i hate you"]

🧀 Cheese Platter ["it's too late"]

🍖 Meat Plate ["i've never wanted anything more"]

🍄 Sauteed Mushrooms ["do you want it rough or gentle?"]

🥑 Guacamole ["please don't leave"]

🥜 Toasted Peanuts ["i want to hear you"]

🥓 Bacon Bits ["i didn't say stop"]

💚 Specials Menu 💚

I'm Here For A Blind Date [tell me a bit about yourself and i'll do a character pairing for who you're having lunch with]

Can I Get A Seat At the Buffet? [i don't have an idea/want to ask off anon, but i want to be included in the draw - this message won't be answered]

thanks for visiting, and please feel free to tip your wait staff 💜

[spaceyflowerswriting]

HII idk if u write for gun ( lookism ) but would it be alright if I request a gun x reader fluff? That’s all! Ty:))

beauty in you (gun park x reader)

details: fluffy drabble, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au, you and gun are coworkers dating

summary: a silly conversation with kouji makes gun realize you've become a very dear part of his life.

a/n: i do <3!! he's one of my faves to write; thanks for requesting!!

inspired by the last prompt on this post 💖

×

"...Really?"

"What?"

Kouji pointed to the headband Gun was currently wearing, the fluffy cat ears on them being a large contrast to his serious demeanor. "If I asked you to wear that, you would've asked me what color I'd want my coffin to be."

"Hm. Really?" Gun smirked out of amusement when the purple haired highschooler gave his arm a light slap.

"Seriously, I've never seen you make so many exceptions for someone before." Kouji huffed and pointed with a thumb at you, which you didn't notice because you were too busy singing with Crystal. "They've really got you wrapped around their finger."

"Please," scoffed Gun, "Is it so strange I enjoy the company of someone? And it's not as if I don't do these things with Goo, either. Just the other day we were at a karaoke like this one."

"Yeah, but you kinda grumble when you agree! With them you just agree right away."

"Your point?"

Kouji let out a deep sigh. "You know what it is? I think they made you soft, at least towards them."

Soft...? Soft?

Never in a million years would Gun ever describe himself with such a word, nor would he imagine someone else would use it in reference to him. Yet at this moment, he could sort of understand why Kouji would say what he did.

He shook his head anyway, turning his attention back to you, adoring your bright smile that even his sunglasses couldn't protect his eyes from as he said, "They made me appreicate something I've yet to experience, that's all. I see no problem with it."

When Kouji made a gagging sound, Gun turned his head back to see him grimacing. "Am I hallucinating? Gun wearing cat ears and saying the most disgustingly cheesy ass thing I've ever heard?"

Gun just chuckled. "Is now a good time to ask what color you would like your coffin?"

"Man..."

[below is extra characterization stuff i started with but then realized i was just rambling instead of writing a story but i liked it enough to keep it]

When others say that beauty was found in people, Gun could agree, but perhaps not in a way one would usually think. For him, it wasn't the kindness or smiles humanity shared that he found beautiful, but physical talent instead--people so skilled, they were on the tip of almost being non-human.

The most flexible gymnast, the fastest swimmer... and most of all, the strongest human; particularly when it came to fighting. Yes, to Gun, there was just something beautiful about the way one could perfectly move themselves to inflict maximum damage, through technique and knowing the right weak spots. Not to mention, knowing there was hard work put behind to maintain such strength and knowledge made it even more beautiful to him.

Of course, there was also talent in itself that fascinated Gun. Anyone could achieve enough through hard work, but not everyone was born with natural talent.

So... why did he find beauty the "normal" way in you? As far as he knew, you couldn't fight, and all you've done was just be yourself. Your personality achieved some sort of dynamic with him where for once he enjoyed the company of someone in a peaceful way. In fact, he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life with someone like you. It was a strange feeling, but he was sure of it. Emotions weren't too complicated for someone as straightforward as him, after all.

Nonetheless, perhaps he could argue that your talent was making him smile, and for that, he could appreciate the beauty in you; your talent.

[whattraintracks]

22. Puzzling - TMNT 2012

Don't worry, guys, that wasn't supposed to happen.

When the bit of Kraang tech he's examining (read: poking randomly in the hopes that something will happen) explodes, Donatello's not sure if he or Raphael shrieks louder. He thinks it's Raph. Which would be way funnier under different circumstances.

He blinks against sooty particulates. "Huh, well, that wasn't supposed to happen."

He's amid a cloud of unexpectedly thick, slightly pink smoke. Which is on-brand but frankly annoying. He waves at the air in a vain attempt to disperse it. Maybe he can move this operation to the kitchen, work under the exhaust hood. He should probably install one in here. He gives up flailing his arms, and backs away from the desk. Step one to solving any problem is getting some distance. Step two is—oh, that's weird. The cloud doesn't seem to have moved since the initial explosion. What kind of particles are these? He hasn't seen Kraang tech do this before.

The moment he remembers Raph is also the moment he trips over him. With a yelp, he hits the ground. Hard. Raph giggles. Rude. He's going to have at least two bruises tomorrow. And his scream was definitely louder than Raph's, so he's lost any right to make fun.

"Dude," Donnie groans, pushing to his feet. At least he's away from the Kraang smoke, "Why'd you trip me?"

"I don't know," comes the high-pitched reply, "Why're you so big?"

By the time his eyes clear, he's pretty sure it's a genuine question, not an insult about his height. It makes more sense once he looks down, down, down to find Raph miniaturised.

Donnie throws his hands to his head. "That wasn't supposed to happen, either!" Raph just giggles again.

"Leo!"

As far as they can tell, based on Raph's appearance and memories, he's about five. Donnie can't even remember being that young. Which he counts as a good thing because kids are weird. Or maybe that's just mutant turtle kids. He doesn't have experience with normal children to establish a baseline. Leo and Sensei do, though, and they seem unperturbed by Raph's behavior. Even Mikey takes the whole thing in stride. He is, in fact, absolutely thrilled and oscillates between gathering blackmail material and doing whatever Raph asks.

Donnie will admit he's having trouble making sense of it all. First, and he thinks he’s mentioned this, that was not supposed to happen. He can't figure out how a broken Kraang tech part without any detectable energy source could have caused something like this. Which naturally leads to the question of how he's meant to fix it. Raph has no idea what happened, either, so he's no help. Worse, he just might be the most confusing being Donnie has ever met. Take yesterday, for example.

He's not sure what time it is when he stumbles out of the lab for breakfast, so it might not technically be in the range of the day at which it is appropriate to call a meal breakfast. His brain is too full of viscous pink Kraang smoke to care. It must be some mealtime because everyone but Master Splinter is in the kitchen when he arrives. Leo is at the island supervising Raph and Mikey's mess-making by the stove.

Raph perks up, "Hey Donnie! I wanna tell you a question."

"Ask nicely, Raph," Leo reminds, hiding a smile behind the rim of his tea cup.

"Please, I wanna tell you a question." He barrels on, "How do you open your labrador?”

Open his what? Donnie stares at the space above Raph's head, trying to parse the question until a nudge from Leo resets his brain. "Say what?"

"Your labrador!" He flings his arms out, nearly knocking himself to the floor. Mikey catches the lip of his shell just in time.

“What Labrador? Raph, I don't have a—”

“Yeah, you do!” He's angry of a sudden. Of course, he is. But it's weird. It's not the first time Donnie's made him mad since the incident, but he's never gotten in anyone's face or stormed off with a huff. He just screeches until he gets whatever it is that he wants. It's Raph's anger, but it's not. “It’s how you get to the place you do all your smart stuff!"

Mikey swoops in, crouching to squeeze Raph gently, then translates, “He means the door to your lab, bro.”

“The door? Oh. Why would—?" Donnie sighs heavily, sinking into the stool next to Leo. “Raph, that’s the lab door,” he enunciates, “Not a Labrador. A Labrador is a dog breed."

Just like that, Raph's face unscrunches into something thoughtful. “So it’s not a labrador?”

Well, at least the exasperation is familiar. "I literally just said that. It’s a normal door.” Leo clicks at him warningly. Come on, what is he supposed to do here? Seriously, this feels surreal. Maybe this whole dialogue is a dream, and he's hunched over his desk right now. He straightens his shell to test for any worse-than-usual aching.

“Okay," Raph says. Then he turns around. Just like that. As if the entire conversation never happened. Never mind his original question or whatever he was trying to ask. He makes no sense, literally none at all.

But, you know what, fine. Donnie has to eat anyway so he can go back to the "place where he does all his smart stuff" or whatever. So he can figure out how to get his actual brother back, who at least makes sense most of the time.

Leo finishes his tea, returning Raph's enthusiastic wave goodbye, and then there are three. Mikey and Raph finally settle down to eat whatever noxious concoction they've whipped up as Donnie cleans his dishes. Freshly fed, his brain refills with extradimensional smoke and engineering.

"Well, that's boring!"

He fumbles with his mug at the sudden shout. A glance over his shoulder finds Raph, who had been eating quietly, now glaring at him.

“You should name that boring normal door Labrador so we can just call it that anyway," he says firmly.

He's not sure why he tries to ask, “Why would I—”

“Or or!" And it's like a switch again, anger suddenly dissipating. "We could name it something cooler! Like Thundoor from Crognard!”

“Thundarr,” He corrects. It's too late, Mikey's joins in.

“That’s awesome, little dude!" Mikey laughs buoyantly. "We should name all the furniture!”

“Yeah!”

And Donnie is so tired and so lost, and Raph is too much and too little of his brother at the same time it’s not even funny anymore. He doesn't think it ever was.

“Come one, Dee!" Mikey hoists Raph onto his shoulders, naturally content to ignore the messy kitchen. "Help Raphie and I name everything in the lair!”

Donnie tries to shake his head as Raph reaches for him. “Can you! Can you, please? Just for a little bit, please, Donnie, please?” Oh, now he recalls his manners.

"No, Raph." He bangs his mug onto the drying rack, ignoring Mikey's frown. "I don't have time for your nonsense questions and weird games. I'm trying to fix you."

It's not until he slams closed the lab door that the words trailing after his dramatic exit finally click. A puzzled sort of muttering from Raph: "Fix me? But I’m not broken."

So maybe he got a little too worked up, as tired as he was. But he's better now! He's eaten. He's slept five hours. He's determined to sit here until he cracks this thing.

And then someone bangs on the door.

He drops his head with a groan. How is he supposed to heroically solve all of their problems in these conditions? “Who is it, and what do you want," he shouts into the pages of his notebook.

"Once a second!"

One second, he mouths to himself. He listens to Raph struggle with the door for a lot of seconds and hopes he'll give up. He probably won't. Donnie better unlock it before he hurts himself. Or worse, starts screaming. Only because Leo would find some way to blame Donnie for it.

He shoves the door open, not at all irritated. Or vindicated either, when Raph falls on his shell and his sai skitter across the floor. Wait. “I thought Sensei took those out of your—Hey!”

Five-year-old Raph may not be much of a ninja but he is pretty slippery. He scrambles under Donnie's arm and launches into the rolling desk chair.

“Raphael." He glowers, summoning his inner Leo, "You are not allowed in the lab—”

“Without you,” he recites, spinning the chair so Donnie only catches glimpses of his cheeky smile. “But you’re here too! So it’s okay.”

It most definitely is not. Raph has no understanding of lab safety right now, so if Raph stays in here, then Donnie will have to keep an eye on him, and if Donnie has to watch Raph, then he can't focus on his work. He does not want Raph in here, and he says so.

“Donnie, I'll be so so so good. Please!” Oh, Mikey absolutely taught him how to do that with his eyes. Not cool, Mike.

“Raph," Donnie faux whines back. "I need to work. Go play with Leo or Mikey."

"Ugh," Raph flops onto his shell, letting his head and limbs hang. “But Sensei and Leo are medating, and Mikey’s with Red."

“Meditating," he corrects, "And I know you know her name is April.”

“Casey calls her Red.”

“Yeah, well, Casey’s a—” Raph looks at him with wide, innocent eyes. A promise on his face that anything Donnie says will be repeated. "It’s polite to call people by their name."

Raph hums, continuing to spin idly, “But I don't call you Donatello, I call you Donnie. And you call me Raph or sometimes Fai.”

Not a bad point. But what was that second thing? Fai? Oh. His brain retrieves fuzzy, forgotten memories. That's right. When they were both little, that had been his nickname for Raph. Just between the two of them. He can't remember when he stopped using it.

“Right," he says slowly. "But those are nicknames. They're a shorter version of your name.”

“Oh, okay.” Then Raph rolls out of the chair, clunking to the ground shell first, and wanders away to explore the lab.

Donnie retakes the seat, resigning himself to further interruptions. Part of his brain is devoted to thinking up better excuses in case this is one of those conversations Raph returns to without warning. The rest of his awareness is on Raph as he pokes and prods at books and equipment and even poor Timothy. It takes the better part of a half hour for him to realise he's still sitting at his desk not moving a muscle.

He growls, gripping his head. Raph is on him in an instant. "What's wrong? Can I help? Do you need a book? Do you want one of mine? I can get Leo! Or Sensei, or—"

"No," Donnie snaps.

He gapes as Raph's beak trembles and his eyes fill with tears. "You're crying. Why are you crying? Please stop crying." He slides to the floor next to Raph, "I'm sorry? It's just. I'm trying to focus! I need to fix you, but I don't—"

“I don’t want you to fix me!” He shouts, scrubbing his face and hiccupping. “I just want to play! Why won’t you play with me anymore?"

“Raph, I," Donnie looks down at his hands, "I don’t have time,” he finishes lamely.

“Yes, you do! You’re just being mean!” He runs out of the lab. Probably to someone who actually understands him. Someone who tries. Donnie wonders if he’ll ever stop messing things up for Raph.

Because as far as they can tell, this version of Raph went to bed one day, and the family he found upon waking was suddenly different. Of course, Raph is frustrated and confused and probably a little scared. He's not just normal Raph in a smaller body. Donnie might've realised that sooner if he'd spent more time with him instead of causing one mess after the other and then hiding from it all in his lab.

Donnie doesn't remember when he was five, but he's heard Sensei's stories about their childhood. The ones about his younger self hanging on Raph's every word. That one embarrassing retelling of the biggest fight Donnie ever caused by announcing Raph was his favorite brother. His father's memories of them doing everything together, at least until Donnie really got into science. So he steps out of the lab and locks it behind him. His brother, this brother, needs to come first.

He must look contrite enough that Leo only grills him a little before he points to Raph's room. After a single breath of indecision, he sits, shell against the door.

“Hey, Fai?” he starts, tugging at his fingers, “I’m really sorry. I have been pretty mean lately, haven’t I?” It takes a few moments, but a little thud echoes on the other side of the door.

Relieved, he continues, “I’m not as good at this as I used to be. I might need your help. But I’m out of my lab right now, and we can play whatever you want.”

Donnie hits the floor before he realises the door has swung open. Little Raph is looking down at him, eyes still watery but excited. "Really? Anything? Even Space Heroes!"

And Donnie almost can't believe it's that easy. He smiles with Raph's infectious joy. “Space Heroes? Who are you, Leo?”

Raph collapses into him with a laugh that banishes the rest of his tears as Donnie reaches out, tickling him just like he's seen their big brother do. He's still giggling when Donnie staggers to his feet. “Think I could use some bedding to build us the Dauntless?”

Raph cheers. Launching into an explanation of his favorite episodes and characters as he directs them around the lair to collect supplies. If this isn't blackmail material, Donnie doesn't know what is. Raph will never be able to deny that he likes Space Heroes ever again. Once Donnie figures out how to reverse this Kraang-smoke-induced de-aging that is.

He does still have to. They need Raph as he should be: their teammate, their protector, their equal. But if he were here in those roles right now, Donnie knows he would have heard a thousand times over that he needs to sleep, to eat, to take a break for at least five minutes, Don, come on.

So he'll try. He'll take breaks to hang out with his favorite brother. He'll get a lot of experience building sheet spaceships and pillow forts. And by the end of it all, Donnie will realise his little brother really does just want to play and ask silly questions that probably don’t seem so silly to him. He'll decide this little version of Raph isn't a puzzle of confusing emotions. He's the same pieces he's always been, unfiltered and untethered from all the pain and fear of their older selves.

And so, even after Raph returns to 16, whenever the thought creeps up on Donnie that he's not doing enough, that he needs to fix it. He'll lock his lab behind him and say, "Hey, Fai! Wanna play something?"

[yujeong]

Porsche jokes about hitting Vegas one time during a meeting. He doesn't realize he fucked up right away, not until Vegas gathers himself, smiles and says "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?", all while his skin is buzzing underneath the calm demeanor he's presenting. The reason Porsche even understands he said the wrong thing is because Vegas glances at Kinn as he says those words, who's sitting on the opposite side of the table, silent. Pete is also there, and he's the person Porsche checks first before he clears his throat and apologizes to Vegas. Pete is too busy staring at Vegas' tense back to notice Porsche's attention.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Loving the BruJay you've been feeding us. <3

thank you so much! i'm happy you're enjoying it! you'll be delighted to know the next fic i plan to work on for the whump prompts is more BruJay, so dw you will continue to be fed <3 i love BruJay so dearly and am happy to spread the propaganda for it

[fatuismooches]

The incontrollable urge to write another long Dottore fic (or Pantalone too) but I have no ideas this time

[echoes-ofdawn]

ps: i love discussing writing ideas so if yall wanna comment or simply dm me here with an idea or something I'd love to hear it and see what could be done

[theshadowrealmitself]

You live in a crummy apartment, you don’t talk to your family anymore, you don’t have time for friends, you mostly just go to work then go back to the aforementioned shitty apartment.

The only people you really talk to these days is your rude coworker you’re pretty sure has been stealing your lunches, and a neighborhood kid that has “behavioral problems”, but it’s obvious that he just doesn’t have a good home life.

He’s actually a pretty sweet kid once you get to know him. He shares his snacks with you (seriously, you’re gonna kill your coworker one of these days) and tells you all the neighborhood gossip. He’s just a bit impulsive, honestly

He has this fluffy dog he lets you pet, and him and his dog go around searching for aliens. (Kid is obsessed with them.)

You share your food with him on the days you actually have it and keep an eye on the little guy, since it’s obvious no one else is.

It’s not long before he sees you as some kind of big sibling, and you’re proud of it, this is your little brother, you’ve decided, and you’re gonna keep him safe, no matter what.

—

One day he comes in and swears he’s seen the aliens, claims they’re hiding as humans who’ve just moved into the neighborhood.

Now, you haven’t actually talked to them, and they did seem…odd when you passed by, but they’re definitely not aliens, that much is obvious to you.

Still, you don’t wanna upset your little bro by not taking him seriously, so you just ask him why he thinks that and listen to his reasonings.

After a bit, he holds out a walkie talkie towards you, “just in case,” he says, so that he’d have a way of calling you in case something goes south.

You really don’t wanna take it, worried that if you do you’ll just be encouraging him to do something stupid, but this feels…significant. You can’t explain it, but something insists that you take it, so you do.

Eh, you figure that he’d probably get in trouble either way, and now he can get ahold of you.

Just in case.

—

Yelling wakes you up a few days later, it’s coming from the walkie talkie.

You jolt out of bed and grab it, your little brother’s panicked voice calling for help through it and feeling your body with ice cold horror.

You try to get him to calm down and get information out of him.

He’s at the new family’s house, in their basement, he’s injured and crying that they’re going to experiment on him, before his voice cuts out.

You cuss, slip on your shoes, and grab the bag that holds everything important to you, stuff like your mementos and your wallet (just in case this shitty place falls apart and you need to leave quickly), thinking that you might have a first aid kit somewhere in there since it is your emergency bag, and then you book it.

—

Soon, you’re outside that house, about to knock on their door and explain everything, but there’s that feeling again, that feeling that this moment is significant and you don’t wanna take that action, so you jog around back and find a window leading to a basement.

You’re still not sure if you actually wanna break into these random people’s house, but you can hear the kid quietly sniffling, and it drives you to force yourself through the tiny opening.

You land softly on your feet and when you look around you’re entire worldview shatters.

The room is filled with…test subjects.

It’s the only way to describe what you’re seeing. People, at least what you recognize as people, not that they look completely human, passed out in clear tubes, suspended in weird liquids.

Your eyes eventually land on your little brother and his pet dog, locked in a contraption of some kind, and it knocks you out of your stupor. You don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not going to happen to him, you promised to keep him safe and you’re damn well gonna do that.

You break them out of it, and shove the both of them through the tiny window. He begs you to climb out now, and you just demand that he runs off, to not wait for you, it’s gonna take you longer to pull your way through the window.

And besides, you can hear the door opening behind you, you already know it’s too late for you.

—

You wake up. Eventually. Apparently a thousand years later. The people who grabbed you are long dead.

And so is your brother.

Turns out, he was right, they were aliens, going around abducting people off of different planets.

Their fucked up research vessel eventually got discovered, and you were woken up.

It’s not so bad, the future. It’s…an adjustment, for sure. But not bad.

You have friends now, and a job you don’t hate. On a spaceship of all things. And you get to see the stars and have dreams now. It’s new and it’s wonderful and some days it’s so blindingly optimistic that it…hurts.

You eat 3 wonderful meals everyday and think about stale chips being offered to you by a scrappy young kid with a loving stray who looked up to you like you were their hero.

—

You see those eyes again one day.

“An alternate universe,” your captain breathes out with excitement. But all you feel is pure shock as you see your brother. He looks healthy and cleaned up, and so does his dog, still loyally by his side you note, as they throw themselves into your arms.

You’re both sobbing as you hold onto each other like the other one’s going to dissolve any second.

Meanwhile, his pup is giving doggy kisses and trying to knock the both of you into the ground.

An alternate universe.

One where you didn’t accept the walkie talkie and he couldn’t call anyone from the basement.

He sobs and apologizes for breaking his promise to you about not being reckless.

You sob and apologize for not being there for him when he needed you.

He has to go back, sooner than either of you wanted, but it’s better that way. It already feels like your heart’s breaking, it’ll just be worse if you get more attached.

You let him know you’re proud of him, and you love him, and to just focus on being happy, and you see something in his shoulders loosen, and know that this trip was cathartic for him.

Then the transporter fizzles and you’ve lost your brother again.

—

You come to find out that your brother being the one to end up in the future is the default.

You keep running into alternate versions of the ship you’re on and meeting him.

Sometimes, it’s that you don’t take the walkie talkie.

Sometimes, it’s that you do, but you don’t check the basement, just knocking on the door of the house and believing them when they say he ran off.

You’re the anomaly.

It makes sense, a young boy with a dog at his side having space adventures. That sounds natural. It sounds correct.

You don’t know if it’s better this way. If it’s better that you’re the one being abducted instead of him. You know his home life was shitty, but you don’t know if having universe hopping adventures after getting kidnapped is actually good for him.

You don’t know what you left behind, if he’s okay in the past after you’d been taken from him. But you can’t change it either way.

So you just hold all these new versions of him tightly for as long as you can, and let them know you’re sorry that you didn’t believe him, and that he’s loved.

[aquilamage]

I haven’t been insane about Vi enough lately so time to pour out some random thoughts. free association thinking time:

been thinking about her “It's my savings. I wanna be rich, okay? So I can travel, eat well, buy cool stuff… So no one can say I can't do something!” And none of the following will really be insightful or revelatory because it’s just what she says here but. yeah! that’s vi! the main reason she’s so big on money is because she has to be to get what she wants out of life! it’s what lets her say no to people telling her what to do, and that’s important to her because she has no choice but to be independent and support herself. because no one else will. No one at the Hive had anything positive or supportive to say about her being an explorer until she went out and did it (to a ridiculously successful degree, too. I have to wonder if/how it might’ve differed if she was on a regular accomplishment level team. not the one leading them all to the mission to the Hive). she never had a choice not to be. I could also see that being a little part of why she starts out not really being a teamwork person. past experiences have taught her she can’t rely on anyone else for support. (does make me wonder about what if she’d met Chubee before leaving the Hive. obviously she still would’ve left, but how might even a bit of support have changed other things?)

I feel like we don’t talk about the fact that The Beemerang Is Also Knives enough

ok so at one point there was this post talking about people with money and how it affects their life like. if you can afford to get a nanny then you can only do the fun parts of childcare and when you stop feeling like taking care of the kid you can just hand them to someone else to take them away. and again likely not especially revelatory but I would guess that’s the kind of way queen bianca handled the bees as her daughters (she does care about them. absolutely. but not in the same hands-on attached way as we usually associate with parents) and thinking about how that kind of treatment would then apply to vi....hm

in universes where discussions of Gender and Pronouns etc happen I think she has moments where she gets frustrated with the everything of Being Referred To and Having Complicated Identity She Hasn’t Quite Figured Yet and is like. gender is cancelled how dare you refer to me. but especially anyone else calls me a girl ever i will be stabbing them

also I think a lot about what circumstances she finds out about gayness/Gender being things. and whether she’s thought about it in herself before and whether she’d been dismissed on it/told it wasn’t a thing etc. most circumstances she ends up angry about the finding out times because of (un)consicious internal conflict stuff

underground tavern stuff implies she was definitely doing quests and stuff for money with them precanon. would kill to know what specifically it was. but also the first talk with utter implies that she was doing stuff off that questboard as well which is even more intriguing. utter’s spy also implies you don’t have to be an explorer to do them but otherwise you would think you did I feel. so again very curious what was up there

[wallyclarksnewmom]

Me, staring sadly at the 30 fics in the school spirits tag on ao3. Wondering how I will survive until season 2 with no food.

[kindahoping4forever]

🎂Happy Birthday Cass!🎂

Taking a moment to wish a very Happy Birthday to @cal-puddies, my occasional fellow Tumblr user, my sometimes co-author and my forever best friend. Cass, we've talked every single day for just about 4 years and there has yet to be one where I am not overwhelmingly grateful to know you. Whether it's Sad Girl Hours or Hoe Hours (throwback to our dream team glory days), you're the one I want talking to me on the other end of the screen, phone call or (hopefully one day again soon!) couch. I love you and you deserve for this next year of your life to be as amazing as you are. I truly do have the best friend in this place! 💙🦖🐢💙