#i kinda wanna b... dead... rn...

[thelastofhyde]

the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

read on ao3. series masterlist. next chapter.

Distaste is not new in the life of Joel Miller.

In particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. He is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. The years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

If anything, he’s made himself more empty.

Rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. Discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. Lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

An apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. Joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. The man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that Miller guys passed between cowardly members of FEDRA and the keep away from Mr Miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

This plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. Somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become deadweight.

“So that’s all I am to ya, huh? Dead-fucking-weight?” His brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving Joel to do what Joel does best: endure.

Somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the deadweight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

She was an exception, his Tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. They’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

She never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. Contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging Joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

Which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of Tess’ foot against his shin.

“... And then,” Frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. With a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, Bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “Otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. We were finding paw-prints for days!”

Joel's unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. As if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the German Shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“Which means I was cleaning paw-prints for days.” Bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

Frank is quick to shush him.

“I’m sorry, again, Bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “I’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

There you sit, parallel to him.

The sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. It hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

You catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

The threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which Joel can account for, mouth too keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. The battle ends swiftly as you surrender to Bill’s hardened stare, and Frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and Tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“You, sit. No one should have to clean up the food they made.”

They get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

Silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and smothering you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun behind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

Being alone, with you, is something Joel’s never mastered. The affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

Were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

Something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. The dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

Just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

The ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and Joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. He’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

The pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never-ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“He likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

As if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in Joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. Standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and Joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

To envy a creature that licks its own shit off its ass is a new low for Joel.

“Thinkin’ he might like ya more, Sol.” The nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“Most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

He takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and Tess have made.

“You’ve got a whole load in common, you know? I think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“How the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” There he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. It helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“Well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. He’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “And have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

He’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

Discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘S easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. Doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

With you as its protector.

He doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. He watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. Your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

Survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

But I could keep you safe.

He toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. It’s not the first time he’s thought it. Truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

His memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just Bill, Frank and you. A few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night Joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was Frank who’d prompted the question. “Where were you all when... this started?” Tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’d never meet.

He never imagined her working in a bank.

Bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “Was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” He’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. She was barely out of school. “I knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” Frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

Joel had always been a good listener. Being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. Years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. All this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to Frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of Bill.

But you weren’t smiling.

He watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

The desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for Joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. With each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. He’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“You’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “Those we remember never truly die!”). He’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘Could keep you safe. There, then, the thought did cross his mind.

He’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-Could fix it, you know. I’m good with my hands.”

He almost chokes on his own breath.

I'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. And he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“What?” The question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. In the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

The mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face Joel once more.

He sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“Your watch, it’s broken.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “Don’t need ya to fix it.”

You pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. Confusion.

“Don’t you want to know the time?” You ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and Joel Miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“I don’t keep it for the time.”

You smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

The German Shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to Joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

He’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. Nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. It’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“Ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” You’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “I’ve never heard any of the Joel Miller backstory, this should be-”

“I get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

Nature falls silent.

Skies grow dull.

You juggle sadness.

There’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of Tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. The dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

Joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“Sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. Only, the gates have been shut in his face and Joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “But you’re wrong. I don’t like everyone.”

“‘S that so.” His eyes roll. The hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal Joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“Yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “I don’t like you, Joel.”

The hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

We’re staying, for tonight. Tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the QZ for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

The nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading Bill and Frank- mostly Frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. If only Joel could remember which door leads to yours.

The two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

Tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a FEDRA agent’s wife, you whisper that Frank and Bill had been fighting again recently. The memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of Tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly Bill and Frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

At some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. At another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-N’t tell me you’re a virgin.

The words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

A protest rings true in his head and his ears.

Was gonna say. Knew you were young, but not that young.

It’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“God, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. It was alright, I guess. I just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

He’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. A groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping Tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

Neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“Not much to miss?! Sweet Christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” He’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken Tess. Each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. There’s no need to bother opening his eyes, Joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “I’d give up a hand for some head!”

You must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of Tess’ renewed shock fills the room. He wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

Late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“It bores me!”

“It bores you!?”

The couch beneath Joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp Tess gives. The last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

The crueler part of his mind replays your voice, I don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

You like Tess. Love her, even. It’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out Finally someone with a pair of boobs, I’m bored of the sight of my own. Joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

Maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“Must not have been doin’ ya right,” The bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. Joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. You’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. It’s oddly endearing that you think no one has noticed. Because he has, he always notices the little details that surround you. “This fella of yours.”

Joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

He does so, regardless.

“Well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “We were each others firsts.”

“That’s no excuse! Trust I left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time I went down.” Tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights Joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while Tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. No discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

You scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “What, are you offering your services?”

tThis he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which Tess has raised you to heaven on while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘As sure as I am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you I like my women a little older than you.”

He knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the QZ. It should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. But he can’t, and he won’t.

And you’re the one to blame.

You, with the glow of a thousand suns. You, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. You, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

His own self being the first he’d need fight.

Joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. Sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

The next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

He’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. Some small, meaningless little things, that ripple Joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. Others, tsunamis. Big, angry, all imposing. They’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

Amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. But the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. They catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. In the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

The currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

This evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. He reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. The gentle, barely-there croon of a Sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. Across from him is Tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. Snoring comes from below him, where Joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

You take up no space of this room.

Neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. Languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

There are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

He should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. A good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

He could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. Perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure Frank wouldn’t mind. Bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the QZ.

He would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. He imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. Skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Those words stop him from trying.

He tells himself it’s for the best.

With a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. He swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. The door’s already half-opened, and Joel nearly thanks Christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. The darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

The refrigerator.

It’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. A subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly Joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

Keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

She never lived long enough to get either.

He catches something move beneath the artificial light. Cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“Why aren’t ya sleepin’?” The words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

Beneath the light, you shrug. “Could ask you the same thing, Texas.”

He curses Tess for teaching you such a nickname.

He curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

You’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. Whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, Joel remains unaware.

He grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. The door behind him closes over and gives the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“I asked first.” You laugh, at him. Full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. The corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. He hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you. Bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘S so funny, huh?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. Perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “Just never heard the Joel Miller say something so childish. You’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

You make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. A fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. Uncouth and unbothered, Joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“You know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” You call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. The thirst does not budge. He hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

By the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“iIm making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “Make sure you take some with you when you leave. Tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

Would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? Four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his Tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. He’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Of course you would do the same. Not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. Nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. Patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. All words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. They violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over Joel’s entire persona.

He straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. The sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. His hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of Tess and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what Joel hears.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. You’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

And, suddenly, Joel’s angry. At you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. The fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

Only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

A hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving Joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. Without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise Joel gifts you.

You may leave your marks emotionally, but Joel’s will always be physical.

“Why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “Don’t ya like me?”

If not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “Why do you care?”

He scoffs, “I don’t.”

“Hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody Tess was playing in the living room. “Sure sounds like you do.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

Joel knows he cares. It’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to Bill and Frank’s.

What Joel doesn’t know is why he cares. There’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. He’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

Maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

Instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

Not one bit.

Joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. His feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. His chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

He inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“For the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘S just like how I sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. No part of him should ever be compared to you. “I don’t like ya either.”

He’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

The knife never ceases its movement. Back and forth, back and forth. Chop, chop, chop. Blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. It’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding Joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. Perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

The hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“That’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

It’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“You only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. His wandering touch halts. “A little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what I think.”

This strikes a nerve. Fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. The realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “D’ya know what I think?”

Even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“No, unlike you I don’t care what you think about-” Joel tugs on your hair once more.

“I think you’re a brat. A silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” You could. He’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. Knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“You’re hurting me,” you whine, Joel growls.

Animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. His gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

Your dress- red, a colour Joel Miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“You like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“No, I don’-” Dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “Joel.”

He retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. Whoever Joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“Heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and Tess. The blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ Talkin’ bout your past.”

He doesn’t specify.

He doesn’t need to.

You give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“Tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. His hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. Near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “I wouldn’t.”

You say nothing. Joel pulls harder.

“Too bad I’m-” You cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. With a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, Joel watches you like a hawk. The twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. The want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “Too bad I’m not offering you the chance.”

Joel Miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. With notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“Who said anything about an offer?”

The descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

A part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

The other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. You’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

Smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs that seem longer than any tree in the Amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the Himalayas. Arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

Your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. Perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, Joel knows how to read people. And, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

Joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

You breathe in, you breathe out.

One knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. He revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

Inhale, exhale.

Your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“Hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the Texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. All he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. With the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “Don’t move.”

Where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

Lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. One flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. A wet patch, your wetness. The stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

Curiosity gets the better of him- one day, Joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers digging themselves into the waistband of your panties and around the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

In and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

The lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. A heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. He makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

Delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. There’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. Joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. He wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. He thinks it must hurt.

His fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“Ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. Though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in Joel’s peripheral vision.

“Shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “People are tryin’ to sleep.”

You scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “Tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘S that an invitation to see how loud I can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. This, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “Or a challenge?”

“It’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. Asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

As coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some Playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. So he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. He awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

It’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“You’re drippin’,” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. The view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘S actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. Is it 'cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

He can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

But first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. Much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. Perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

Cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for Joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. Soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

Rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

It happens so suddenly, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of Tess. He wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. Joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

So he does the same.

Working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. He breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

Two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“So now you shut up. ‘S the matter, huh?” He’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “Am I too borin’ for ya?”

“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever- Oh!”

A tongue meets skin.

The knife clatters onto the counter.

You lurch forward.

His hand pulls you back.

“Tess was right, ya know?” He can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. He pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. Three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “That boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

The common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better-, if you’d just let him.

‘Could keep ya satisfied.

That’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. He’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“Is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? What ya need is a man, a man like me!” The softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension. God, it’s never sounded sweet, and Joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“Well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. He imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “But if ya insist.”

Diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. The tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

Licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

He’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by experience that only comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. You’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

He’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

What a perfect excuse you are, for Joel to remaster the arts of lust.

It’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. It’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. It’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever remaining days he shall possess on his knees before you.

And all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar-sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

His only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

Hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

Burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. It does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“N- Ah,” You can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “No, don’t, not there.”

Next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

Sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip out every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. The sound of whatever record Tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

And, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

His eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within Bill and Frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. There’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time Tess tells him they’re due a visit.

Except, the oven door is made of glass.

Glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. You, with a hand gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

And then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

The image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“D’ya touch yourself, Sol?” You don’t answer him, but that’s okay. In a sweet change of pace, Joel Miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “Yeah, bet ya do. Late at night, right? Once you’re all alone in bed. Ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

You back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. Becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

Fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “Let me do the honours this time though.”

You don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. He imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

He’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

You’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. Your expression, he can’t quite read. Not sad, not happy, not mad.

Your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

The discomfort of trekking back to the QZ will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“Joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. Hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. Legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

He swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. Strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. He’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“That,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “Shouldn’t have happened.”

Joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

People once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. As sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. Not today, however, and Joel Miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

It chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. There’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

That dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

He cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “No, not again. My back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, Joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the German Shepherd’s head. It whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. A scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “Not so bad, are ya? Huh?” Never in a million years did Joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and Tess had set out for their routinely visit to the Bill and Frank’s. Never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

He hears you before he sees you.

“You planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, Texas?”

He tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

The world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

So instead, it sends you.

Peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than UV rays could ever be. He’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. A few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. At the very least, he considers, I’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

The smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. When he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. He does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. Upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“Thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. You’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “Won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

A queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. He’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “No problem, thanks... for feeding Tess and I.”

“No worries!” You’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. He can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “Oh, actually, that’s why I came out here, I was looking for Tess-” Of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “Hold on!”

You shoot off back inside so quickly that Otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. With an idle pet to his head as you pass by, Joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. In your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“I wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and Joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. He can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “I know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“Why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

Pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

You show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him. “There should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

It’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and Joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

So he tries again, louder.

“Why don’t ya like me?”

“And I’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for Tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “Winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

He grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "Answer me." Like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"For someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. You don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “You sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"Answer the damn question, girl.”

“Or, what?” You’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “You gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

Had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. Truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. Perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

Instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

Joel says nothing.

“How about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and Bill make.” Inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. Clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “You get me something, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

He grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “What d’ya want? ‘Cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. I ain’t messing with none of Bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“A dress.”

“A dress?” The statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“Yes, and don’t look at me like that!” It’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “I need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

Unaware he’d even began to lean closer, Joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“Joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

Neither of you dare to break eye contact. Again, his name is yelled. This time, he manages to identify Tess as the owner of the voice. Habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of Tess or you.

His feet remain glued to the ground.

Tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “Think you might be needed inside, macho man. Your missus is calling.”

“She ain’t my-”

“You two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” Tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

Only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does Joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. In her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. You approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“I should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. He decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “Go check on the food, before it burns.”

You’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

Tess and him hit the road by noon. Earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. The bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun breaking through the clouds and heating the world with its rays. He walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from Tess and wracking his brain for answers.

Answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. Answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the QZ. Answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven Bill’s created. Answers to why you don’t like him.

I don’t like you, Joel.

It motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. If he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but Tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

Till then, he needs to find a dress.

[gorebonk]

Monsterblr dashboard simulator

🥩 Sam-is-barking Follow

Some of y'all be forgetting that cur is literally a werewolf slur?? Can you stop appropriating it???

🩸 Bloodluster1226 Follow

We'll stop saying cur when you stop calling us vampire's leeches

🥩 Sam-is-barking Follow

Wow another entitled vampire getting involved in something because it's not about them for once

🧹 Witching_hour Follow

Damn I thought vamps and weres were chill

🥩 Sam-is-barking Follow

You thought wrong 😭😭

(1.2k notes)

🦴 Pansy-pup Follow

In my A/B/O breeding era rn

🐶 Certifiedpuppyboy Follow

I have a knot right here 🥵🥵

👻 Ghoulish-tendencies Follow

(36 notes)

🧛 Dracruella Follow

I feel so guilty I fully just ate one of my coworkers 😥

🧛 Dracruella Follow

Ok I think I'm gonna turn him 😓

#I know his girlfriend really well I don't wanna make it awkward #Drac.txt

(3 notes)

💀 Skelesbian Follow

Butch4Butch Vampwolf relationship end post

💀 Skelesbian Follow

Easy website

(34.6k notes)

🍖 Warriorwolf-fan6672 Follow

Just saw a post supporting Vampire/Werewolf relationships, I can't believe some people still advocate for that kinda shit

🔮 Crystalballsaysyougay Follow

You know if they're both consenting adults there is literally nothing wrong with it and you need to stop putting people down with stupid outdated ideology. I bet you're one of those monsters who think vampires can only drink virgin blood aswell

🍖 Warriorwolf-fan6672 Follow

Ok come crying back to me when your impure blood turns out to be killing you

🔮 Crystalballsaysyougay Follow

Op get a grip challenge??? You are literally proving how outdated your views are??

(351 notes)

💡 Monster-shower-thoughts Follow

Do you think you can fuck a ghost so hard they come back to life?

#Monster shower thoughts #Ghosts

(16 notes)

🐺 Moon-luver69 Follow

On this edition of todays pups are alright I saw some pups today walking out of the forest, proudly holding six dead pheasants and the shorter one said "That guy won't be calling us mongrels again." So yeah, good for those little guys for standing up for themselves and I hope that guy gets wooden staked ❤️❤️

🪦 actuallyundeadXD Follow

Aww thats so cute good for them and I hope we can move on from the idea that all of todays pups are soft and weak!!

(2.3k notes)

🌗Thatswhatshewoofed Follow

I turned last night and pissed all over the kitchen 😭😭😭

(2 notes)

[stormyelliotwritez]

do u think that like dating poolverine would you meet one over the other first or both at the same time and like how would that happen like omg the thoughts in my brain are thinking so hard rn. like. who falls first. how do yall get tgt. that kinda stuff.

i feel like theres so many ways this could go but i wanna hear your opinions… c:

okay okay okay, i have thoughts and thanks for this!!!

so if you’re a merc/hero like them and you meet after dp&w:

you meet deadpool first and you guys playfully flirt and you against your better judgement find yourself falling for him

hes oblivious af coz he can’t stop thinking about wolvie

he invites you over for like dinner and some drinks coz he wants wolvie to make friends

logan can smell the want and the affection on you and he can hear your heartbeat racing when you talk to them

he tells wade and it clicks for him and he realizes wait he can like you too so he falls for you and then logan does too

you get together by play flirting and then it becoming real flirting and then they’re inviting you to stay the night and soon enough you’re moving in and being cuddled all the time

if you’re in the void and you’re like a hero ig

they meet you in the building with elektra and gambit and blade and laura

you’ve been there so long that you don’t even care about romance and all that coz who has the time when smoke tries to eat you

wades so taken in by everything that he doesn’t really notice you but logan does and hes like damn that guys hot and emotionally dead so just his type

he starts initiating conversations and flirting with you like an old man by offering you a beer and teasing you

if you die at cassandra’s, he asks b-15 to bring you back and them wade falls for you when he sees how you and logan are so good for each other

if you go with them to go to wades home, wade falls for you when you help them fight the other hims (totally not mostly coz you’re hot when you fight)

you three get together after the events of the movie when you and logan have moved in with wade and it just kinda happens

If you’re their neighbor:

wade sees you around and mentions you to logan every so often

they kinda stalk you, well normal people would call it stalking but they just make sure you get home safe and nobody annoys you

after a while, you start noticing them around and you end up with a crush on them

so if you make it look like someones scaring you, then that’s your own business

they save you and then Wade immediately starts flirting with you and logans just like wanna have a beer and like any slightly not sane person, you say yes to the two men who’ve technically been stalking you

you guys get together by just the normal way of talking, then going on dates and then dating

those are what i can think of at the moment but if anyone wants to know my opinion of how you’d get with them in other scenarios, please ask me!!!!

[sstardustt3]

Johnny cade headcannonsss

Authors notes- um so my writers block is gone (yipeee) and I decided that from now on this is just going to be a general writing account instead of something focused exclusively on one fandom (I'm still gonna do creepypasta stuff dw) but I didn't realize how much writing for one singular thing burns the fuck out of you so I'm doing this because it's much more easier and I'm gonna upload more because I'm on summer break. Anyways I'm on an outsiders kick rn so this is the result of it

tags/ warnings- mentions of abuse, johnny being a gossip whore, angst, fluff, johnny thinking negatively about himself, brief mention of romance, someone please give him a hug-

-Johnny is really fucking strong despite looking kinda scrawny but he believes no one when they tell him this (he thinks they're just trying to make him more confidant)

-If he did have a s/o then nine times out of then they've asked him to carry them everywhere

-he hates physical contact he can't stand it especially if he's not ready for it like if you hug him from behind. mostly because everytime someone touches him it's to hurt him but also another is because he just hates being surprised

-his body is so unbelievably cold all the time that even if there was a heat wave in the area at like 120*f he would still feel like he's on the brink of dying from hypothermia

-something he picked up from Dally is being rude to people for like no reason he doesn't even do it intentionally he just kinda says the most outlandish rude shit about people and does not even realize it

-adding onto things he's picked up from hanging with dally is how to talk to girls, contrary to popular belief he's actually not (completely) clueless with girls and he can sweet talk if he really wants to (he starts off stumbling like an idiot though)

-he's failling a good percentage of his classes for half the year because he figured that he wasn't gonna go far in life even if he didn't end up dead by 18 and his parents don't care about him enough to check his report cards

-at the end of the year the week before you can't do any more retakes and turn in late work he'll just do everything in one go because he doesn't really wanna be held back (he ends up passing with b's and c's)

-he's actually really good at making shit he has a drawer full of small little trinkets he's made in his spare time

-he learned how to make things to pass the time because before the gang he really didn't have friends and he didn't have a good excuse to go out anyway so he just locked himself in his room and began making things out of paper and rearranging action figures he stole from the junkyard or from second-hand stores

-more than half of his creations look like the shit Sid from toy story made

-he's so oblivous when people like him it's ridiculous and when he does realize they like him he just kinda is like "oh...oh...OH?!!!"

-even when he does like them back his first instance is to distance himself from them he thinks it's something that'll like pass

-he's dyslexic which is why he always makes Ponyboy do his English homework and read his homework to him in general

-adding onto the headcanon about him being cold all the time, for that very reason you'll never catch him out of him dead out of his jacket (well I guess that's not true bc he died without it but wtv)

-another reason is that he has a lot of scarring and bruises from his parents that he hates seeing

-dally was the first person to meet Johnny and he was kinda like "damn look at that little possum...it's coming home with me" and when he asked Johnny his name he had mumbled it so when he said it it sounded like Johnny cakes so for like half a year dally called him that before randomly correcting him

"yeah, so johnny cakes here-"

"Johnny Cade."

"huh? What you say, little man?"

"My name's Johnny Cade, not Johnny Cakes."

"..."

"..."

"are you serious-"

-Johnny's a gossip whore whether he admits it or not. the perks of being quiet and going unnoticed is that people will say there business loud and proud in front of you because they have forgotten you were even there.

-he will without a doubt tell Ponyboy after.

-and since Ponyboy has little to no understanding of the meaning of keeping things to himself he will in fact tell the rest of the gang

*requests for hcs/ or fics are always welcome*

[chickenoptyrx]

Ok so here's the run down since I'm too lazy to ever draw everything out :U

goin off this comic

⬇️and down here cause I ramble too much 🙄⤵️

Ok so first the next few pages I had sketched out

Ok so things to note:

• trunks is sad and like very much thinkin bout gohan and his death.

• bulma has the control device thing for brolys headband, but can't figure out how to make it work

• this thing is basically a ki battery. And what imma ramble about.. The whole sub plot here being that 1 of the big drawbacks in the future is theres just not enough power for bulma to accomplish much. Ki as an energy source should work but it doesn't interact well w earths tech, its nearly impossible to store, and even when stored it doesn't then 'power up' in a predictable/usable way like electricity.

(As a side note I stopped at this page cause I kept wanting to redesign it to have 7 obvious apatures or idk something to coincide w the 7 Chakras cause like brolys jewelry stuff also has 7 gems. But. I did none of that :U )

So anyway we see in dbz that non-earthlings have tech that utilizes ki, and paragus' control device for broly obviously uses ki, but while this battery that her and gohan were able to sorta get to work can store ki, they never found a method for converting or using it. But now it can be used and the control device gives her something to reverse engineer from, which is 1 of the reasons for wanting broly around despite him being.. the way he is.

SO ANYWAYS

This was another panel I intended to use once 17 starts attacking broly, who at this point is still very zonked out and not reacting.

So. From trunks pov. Hes already A. thinkin bout what happened w gohan and B. primed to see 'saiyans' as good guys or heros or whatever. Even if hes heard every story about saiyans as a race being bad, hes grown up hearing about goku, seeing gohan, and yknow no ones really talkin too much heavy shit about his dead dad- and his mom loved him so like he was probably good too.. right??

Lol dumbass kid.

So yeah my poor dumb stupid baby boy here is gonna jump into a fight that he does not needta be involved in to protect someone who does not need his help and won't be grateful :D cause ⭐ Le Trauma ⭐

Meanwhile, bulmas testing out her new theory(s) about the control device A. being built to send out some kinda signal and B. Being powered by ki. She's got it set up to expand the reach of that signal so she can pick up that it is reaching something without using too much power and without necessarily alerting whatever its reaching. But broly was already in a weird spot w the headbands control so this lil ping along w everything else goin on is what like awakens him to the fight or whatever. As you can see I'm not a writer.

Big cool epic no holds fight scene that im not drawing starts up. Broly terrorizes the androids but also attacks trunks cause like tf does he care? He's havin fun :>

Bulma realizes how late for dinner she is, decides not to waste the energy in the battery since its all they have of it (also she doesn't wanna admit it but she knows its like the last thing they have of gohan) and now that she knows it won't blow up she can just ask trunks to help her run more tests on the control device later. Then she realizes her kids not home any more and 3 guesses where he went :U she planning on goin out after him guns blazing, realizes she has no idea where he actually is, YadaYada, if she increases the power and range, she can pin point what this devices signal is bouncing off of and thats probably where this new alien and therefore her kid are.

By this point in the fight the androids are aware this is not goin their way, and trunks, poor dumb baby that he is, has finally managed to draw his stupid sword thats way too big for him rn. This creates an opportunity for the androids to get tf outta dodge cause see. Here's the bit. Broly was stabbed by trunks grandad as a baby. So seeing someone pointing a big knife at his probably gets his undivided attention :D anyway, luckily bulma uses the last of gohans ki from the battery thing to send out another stronger signal that zonks broly right tf back out before he can kill trunks. He runs and meets his mom on her way to save him and uh.. yeah, they go home. Soooo gohan saved trunks again even after he's dead :U im sure that'll be fine. Maybe they have a sad fight about it, idk.

Anyway. Middle middle middle.

Paragus used broly for his power to fight his battles for him, so I dont see how this situation w the androids looks very different to broly. They have the control device for their own safety sure, but I mean that was paragus's reason at first too

Then too, broly doesn't know or really care to know how to actually apply any self control w his powers so ya kinda don't want him 'helping' destroy anything- dudes just gonna nuke the planet as collateral damage and move on.

So yeah, more middle middle middle and he's training trunks to fight and trunks is tryin to get him to learn basic self control and like.. morals. And uh theyre friends or whatever. Idk man I just wanted to draw them hanging out and hadta do a convoluted back story about it that I then never actually did :D

[thicctails]

I know I already have like 4 billion star wars fics going rn but I kinda wanna do a silly short crossover fic where a few characters from my Dragon Batch AU crash into the canon clone wars timeline and stop the war and cause so much confusing bullshit like:

D!Anakin: *concussed out of his mind* Oh Obi-Wan thank God you're here. Do you know where the twins are? I think I left them with Cody...

Obi-Wan: the- the twins? ...Do you mean Fives and Echo?

D!Anakin: Not funny, Master. You know Fives has been dead for years.

Obi-Wan: What.

D!Anakin: I'm obviously talking about my twins??

Obi-Wan:

Obi-Wan: WHAT

_________

D!Cody: Oh my FUCKING GOD Clone Force 99 is going to kill me-

Rex, already developing a migraine: Cody wtf are you talking about??? They're not even here????

D!Cody: No, vod you don't understand I already lost their baby once and now I've done it AGAIN!

Rex: *dial up noise*

Rex: b

Rex: baibe??🥺

--------

D!Luke, holding a tiny Omega: *wanders up to Anakin* Hi daddy!

Anakin:👀

Windu:👀

Ahsoka:👀

Everyone around:👀

D!Luke:🥰

[j2zara]

Hiiiiii~ 2, 4, 7, 10, 22, 24, 30 for the fic writer game! 💖

Hiiiii friend! Sorry this took all day my brain is dead rn

2. a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

Lol i'm banging my head against the wall getting killed by LJ3porter fic so i'm like. Right in Girlfail Ellie J4 POV hell rn!!!! She's so fun and i do think writing for her is both easy and hard in that i enjoy doing it (and tbh i think i default to her pov usually when im in LJ3 mode) but i worry i make her way too sopping wet and pathetic. Which she can be pathetic but i worry im going like. way too sad wattpad girl with her.

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

OK! I've talked about a few different things before so i'm gonna. Well. I'm two sentences into twelfth night j2 being sent to pursue Jace on Porter's behalf fic so i feel like that counts as "not written yet." I also talk about how. I think doing a reincarnation au for LJ3 or the clones in general would be so fun. i'm not sure what kind tho, the version in which they're all new teachers at aguefort is so fun and kinda stuck in my brain now. Plus i wanna write Barbarian teacher Tiefling!Ellie x Sorcerer teacher Aasimar!J3 like so so so so bad i think it would be such a funny way to have them never escaping the torment nexus. I also think it would be fun to write something abt LJ3 in their friends with benefits era. Or maybe one of their more official "date nights". I think if they got into doing roleplay in the bedroom is would be so so so so so so fucking funny. Like. Pretending the other is stranger they picked up at the bar or something.

7. your preferred writing fonts

Tbh i kinda would like to find a perfect writing font? I tend to default Arial and it doesn't look perfect its honestly kinda offputting but. my strategy is. When I feel like my writing looks so so so busted i switch to Verdana which is closer to the ao3 font so i can better visualize how it's gonna look. And that helps a bit. Idk im sick.

10. what is the longest amount of time you’ve let a draft rest before you finished it?

That's a good question. Actually? A couple years i think? I abandoned my old talentswap for a couple years before picking it up again in college. (tbh my current ch 3.3 is STILL unfinished so i abandoned it again). Tbh i'm not good at letting drafts rest and returning back to them. I either try to power through or end up abandoning it which i don't love

22. do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

I try not to but like. Yeah. I'm stressed basically every time. I joke that when i write original fiction that i have a hoard of angry twitter pearlclutchers that live in my head ready to rip everything i do to shreds but i try not to listen to them. But i'm worried every time. This has nothing to do with how i feel about you guys tbh i wildly underestimate your guys kindness and goodwill just bc im very hard on myself

I was anxious abt IYWD (I was worried it was gonna come across as too soft or too apologetic). I was anxious that nobody would take to Dyke!Jace/Zara in Who Can Blame a Girl, or i wouldn't be able to sell it

I probably MOST anxious of all about Almost (I was SO stressed that ppl were not gonna vibe at all with Bluejay or not gel with the whole "what if the clones were actual characters" , "born to love porter cliffbreaker, forced to do menial tasks for jaceprime" etc etc thought experiment. and i was so so so so so so scared about dropping the nickname Bluejay i was worried it was gonna be completely stupid and i was completely off the mark)

I was anxious abt Biggest Lie (i was worried it wasn't hot enough or maybe too violent or that it was maybe too shamelessly just like. smut lol).

And after Almost i was probably second most anxious about Stay / Leave. It was just a wip i really struggled with and idk it was so.... insular i guess? b/c it was so niche and the wip ended up being SO LONG and kinda emotional and sappy? Like again i think i was having the same doubts i had abt j2 in which i was like what if i can't sell people on this relationship. What if i've failed to convey something sincere. (that one was crazy tho bc i really really really really tried to release it and not care what happened bc i knew only a handfull of ppl would read it and i really really really tried to be cool and for a while i was but it was just hard i was so nervous and i don't think it was anyones reaction is really was just my nerves that were putting me in such a bad and upset mood and then over the next day or two i. I made this joke earlier that like. I PROMISE and hope i'm not overinflating my ego when i say this like i'm perfectly aware that i just write silly smut online but it really was so so so so funny. to see everyone practically overnight be like.... wait. Are LJ3..... in love??? And now LJ3 is like such an integral part of clone lore.

24. how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

That's a good question bc i feel like. When i'm stuck in one medium i tend to just try and distract myself with another so when im bad at drawing i write and when im bad at writing i draw. But thats not exactly recharging. Tbh i do think i need to find better things in my routine that rejuvenate me i think i haven't been particularly good at treating myself well lately

30. share a fic you’re especially proud of

I'm cringe and usually will shill if you want divinity (you're gonna have to go through me) as one of my favorite things i've ever written. But im also extremely confident most of y'all have already read it. I'm very very hard on myself so i swing between thinking the things i make suck and also being like. Fairly proud of all of them.

But idk it was my first ambitious thing i wrote and FINISHED in a long time and honestly? I do think its slightly better than the rest bc the iterations are all reliant on the original so they're very intertextual and repetitive which isn't BAD but. The extra work it took to make IYWD work makes it feel different to me. There's a LOT of stuff in it that i'm proud of that i honestly kind of miss b/c Porter is so smitten for Jace in a way he hasn't been in things i've written in a long time. I'm a softy who likes when jaceporter are soft and kinda in love... sue me... And like. i always feel so self congratulatory talking about the Loving To the Point of Invention Detect Thoughts + Teleport but i really felt good about coming up with that. And i still like the flashbacks a lot. It always feels so embarrassing to admit that i like. Get emotional thinking about the flashback of them on the bed. Sometimes i tailor make a scene just for me. "I promise i'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again" "as a paladin or a barbarian" "both" is like. Such a scene just for me. And I think the ending is good too. "I'll take it. I'll take it all" just felt so. fitting. It's so him getting to hear himself say to porter "i'll take the thing with you that is broken and fucked and full of compromises even if it has to end". Sigh. Sometimes you're an english major and you agonize over being a good writer for like two decades and realize that you might not be as horrible as you think.

(For the record. i think if i were to rank what i've written for fantasy high from fav to least fave, i'd say IYWD, Biggest Lie, Stay / Leave, Who Can Blame a Girl, Almost, Tell Me How, and it feels weird to put Almost that low bc i do like it. Tbh i regret making it so short i think i could've pushed it further)

Anyway!!! This got long winded as hell. Thanks for the asks they were fun to do!

Send me Fic Writer Asks! / Here are the questions!

[fujouppy]

explaining every song on my ngro playlist cause im bored as fuck yayyy . feel free to ignore the shit out of this post as it is Nothing

keep in mind this is supposed to be listened to in the order i put the songs in 👍 its like Chronological and shit. its their road to world cup...........

enter goddess by nigel godrich (from the scott pilgrim vs the world soundtrack) - i wanted to have an instrumental track on this playlist so that i could feel superior to others. i dont really have any like Deep Analysis of the song itself locked and loaded rn but the title reminds me of how both nagis and reos lives were literally Nothing before the other showed up. like yeah sure reo had like. being rich? and nagi had Video Game but. you know what i mean uve read the manga too. ALSO this is like such a nagi pov song to me... reo just thought nagi was a little freak that could be good at soccer maybe but i truly do believe nagi fell in love right then and there on those stairs <- no he didnt

harness your hopes - b-side by pavement - well this song to me is a whole lot of words so i dont have much to say. but like reo sure as hell kinda did harness his hopes on just one person. so yeah.

scott pilgrim by plumtree - so many scott pilgrim songs at the beginning of this playlist this is so embarrassing i have watched one movie. its a little bit nagi pov to me. i think hes down horrendous for jeff bezos jr.

you belong to no-one (but i belong to you) by dead slow hoot - well i know nobody is forcing me to write this post but like i dont want to explain this one . it fits!

there is a light that never goes out by the smiths - reminded me of nagis dont die before i do bullshit. i think he would be so down to die by reos side like he really would not mind getting hit by that double decker bus. also the lines about home (in the context of ngro. and just overall when listening to this song outside of my yaoi playlist) make me crazy?

by your side by beachwood sparks - their promise to stay together............ i will kill msyelf\

drain you by nirvana - im honestly not sure about the placement of this song. it definitely reminds me of them so i dont wanna delete it but. augh. but yeah theyre both so normal about each other & im sure staying together forever would do them wonders

lounge act by nirvana - every nirvana song on this brain turn off . anyway Bye Reo

i guess by mitski - the lets meet again beyond our dreams panels sound like this

i just threw out the love of my dreams by weezer - reo breakup blues . its a weezer song i dont wanna talk about it

why didnt you stop me by mitski - moreee reo breakup blues. this one doesnt exactly fit but im so used to it being here going straight from i just threw out the love of my dreams to the next one on this list would sent me into cardiac arrest

ill see you when were both not so emotional by american football - haha i put a midwest emo (dont talk to me about is american football midwest emo discourse) song on this playlist. do the nagireo (taylors version) playlist havers even know what midwest emo is? no the fuck they dont. i am better than them. anyway read the lyrics and Trust Me on this one okay? trust is very important in a relationship.

goodbye my danish sweetheart by mitski - listen either you are a teenage girl who had what reo thought happened to him happen to you irl at the same time you first got into this manga and you Get It or youre Not and you Dont. simple as that. support group for girls who are like reo mikage if reo mikage was worse and also not rich

drunk walk home by mitski - i really wish i could images in this post without fucking up my formatting. anyway google "episode nagi im not your toy reo panel"

running up that hill by kate bush (car seat headrest cover) - well i mean . they do not fucking Get one another. so. csh cover cause theyre sad teenage fa[i am dragged off stage] [I CAN RECLAIM BTW]

pantyhose by tv girl - i am thinking about nagis gloves. he got them from reo... did you guys know that...... and i mean they were divorced as fuck during the u20 game......... i am going to jump i am not kidding i Will do it

tommys party by peach pit - blue lock fandom heaven is nagi seishiro hell its a very efficient system. shibuya mustve been great for nagi . like hi reo has new friends now and hes hanging out w them and having fun. talking about stocks and shit (desperately checking his phone to see if nagi has texted him but its not like nagi knows this)

creatures in heaven by glass animals - i miss my wife choki. i miss her a lot

pork soda by glass animals - early manshine... before the basmun game... wahhh wah waahh

pink in the night by mitski - can i try again try again try again and again and again and again and again and again and again. i need you reo.

i want you by mitski - reo pov of this ^ whole event. kinda. it Kinda fits i rly ran out of manshine songs...

breed by nirvana - i see a lot of people say that kurt cobain described this song as being about marrying you high school sweetheart at 18 and having a baby and fucking hating it in an interview somewhere but i cannot find a solid source for that. even if he Did Not Fucking Say That i still like this interpretation of the song so its what im running with. basically um their current relationship is Not Good? so unless they improve (begging reo to give you some new heat does not count as improving nagi. telling nagi that you have a play also doesn not count as improving reo.) im trapping them in married at 18 jail. ill move this song to a different part of the playlist if they stop sucking sometime soon but for now its staying here.

✌

[nerd-at-sea5]

the last s2 chaos dump post. spoilers ahead

also i think i just lost my shit while watching this ep

oh all of his joy is abt to go away SO FAST

FUCK WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY????

LOTTIE BABES PUT DOWN THE POISON-

shauna. shauna. SHAUNA.

van tai nat the judge-y lesbians of all time <333

yeah lisa's dying.

TAISSA'S LITTLE THUMBS UP IM DYING I LOVE HER SO MUCH

hate to say it but misty's right lottie pls get some therapy

nat defending her wife (kinda?)

'we got over it' *taissa's head tilt* oh nat honey none of you got over it

oh my god the look of terror when misty tells lottie nat drew the queen

MISTY STOP FUCKING SMILING WTAF

SHE NEVER WANTED THIS!! THEIR MAKING A GOD OUT OF A GIRL WHO DOSEN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT SHE'S DOING!! AAAAA

ok technically shauna started the cannibalism

nat....MISTY STOP LYING WTF OH TAIVAN :))

#letnataliescatorcciodecksomeone1996

ok no give him time to greive.

....at least their taking off his clothes first?

thank you natalie

HAND SHAKING HAND SHAKING. REMORSE OR WANT???

do not. do this. while fucking. blindfolded.

and after all of it, van is still squimish about blood....gonna sob

van is making some painfully good points rn

she's dulling down the knifes...SCRATCHED OUT EYES.

jeff YOU are on tv...callie's facial expressions alone i love her-LMFAO SHE KNOWS EXACTLY WHERE THE GUN IS-

KILL THE CREEPY COP!! LET THE WILDERNESS DECIDE IT.

nat's trying to protect lisa....she's so dead!!! oh my god nat and lisa im gonna s o b

BEN BAD FUCKING TIMING ALSO GOOD GOD THATS A LOT OF BLOOD-

he wants to go with her because he think she's not like them but she wont let herself go with because she thinks SHES WORSE.

van's minor case of insanity should not be as hot as it is.

ok she's phrasing it weirdly but she has a point

walter's gonna kill kevyn.

HAHA I KNEW IT

'are you one of the cult people' 'no i'm from the shire'

HA JEFFREY.

his heart is so small....OH SWEET FUCKING LORD.

yeah ok ive gotta fast forward that. DUDE IT WAS RAW.

misty i'm rlly not liking you rn

van just kicking the fire ily

FUCK CALLIE NO RUN. OH SHE HAS A GUN. SHOOT HIM.

vannnnnnnnn OH she wants to die-nvm.

it's gonna be nat i stfg and im gonna die

this gives me to much anxiety oh good god. lottie??

NO NOT AGAIN.

SHAUNA????????????

fucking hell.

WALTER KILL HIM.

CALLIE SADECKI GODDAMN

'it was vans idea' *the face of bitch pls*

AYE VAN PRINCESS BRIDE NERD CANON.

ben?

oh lottie-wait i wanna hear van's story....

it's van or nat. nvm it's nat. CALLED IT.

FUCK NATALIE OK-

lottienat pls makeout NOW challange. BOTH timelines.

IM SO SORRY NAT BABE THAT IS THE FACE OF GAY PANIC

ben watching like: i do not understand lesbians, also. i want to die.

nat you want to kiss her so bad, ur also having a midlife crisis at 17

omfg akilah's little curtsy and the way she and nat smile at each other

misty it was cute but the way ur looking at her makes me think you want to kill her

fuck. damnit lisa.

misty if you do this i will forever hate you.

SHIT NAT'S DYING-

yep. misty i hate you. idgaf if it was an accident.

JAVI??

just when she wanted to live. SHES NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.

pls tell me shes got like a tolerance to this stuff?? pls.

SHIT HELLO SOPHIE THATCHER.

IM SHAKING OH MY GOD

'this is exactly where we belong' no, no you deserve to live you just haven't realized it yet.

LOTTIE?!?!!? IM HAVING A FUCKING STROKE

jesus the way she's smiling at her. she just wants to help!!

fuck she's actually dead.

i am so fucking furious right now.

god van's entire face is just 'it's supposed to be me.'

FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WAHT THE FUCK BEN WHAT THE FUCK IT WAS BEN

van palmer i should not find this hot.

VAN GET THE FUCK OUT

hey at least their warm now right

[pumpkinsy0]

okokok haitian shepards!! im totally in for it, i dont know much about haiti or the culture so i would love for you to tell everything

how would they celebrate holidays? any special days?

how would their culture show in their everyday life? any slang they would use?

what foods would be everyones favourite? who would cook everything or would thwy cook for themselves? (i need new recipes to try)

omg someone asking ME about haitian shepards?????joyous day it is yahoo!1!1!1!1!1 another win for me to rant LES GO

but anyways!!!

they generally celebrate holidays by getting together (either w their gang or w their actual like biological family) and cooking!!!maybe they even wear cultural clothes in the day!!!!well mostly angela but i mean curly and tim let her put make up on their face to celebrate it so awwwww yea baeby

in particular i feel like they celebrate mardi gras/kanaval, rara and fèt gede (pretty much day of the dead)

now fèt gede (and maybe rara????i think????) invilve haitian vodou so like i also hc them to dabble in that just a tad bit maybe???i feel like their grandma practiced it maybe even was a manbo and that kinda passed down onto their mom and in turn their mom taught them some things and they were interested in it, but then again i kinda flip flop between them being into vodou and them growing up christian so idk take this paragraph w a grain of salt

now!!!!! in their everyday life, they speak creole or add creole words into their sentences, they have a very small haitian accent, very small, u couldnt tell unless u were like born in haiti but its there, they also know a bit of french and maybe spanish too (i had a hc that their mom grew up w a lot of dominican friends so she grew up w a shit ton of specifically dominican spanish) so ig u could call the trilingual, they also use a shit ton of slang, like enough for their gang to use some of it and some of the ppl in school to as well, i cant think of SPECIFIC slangs rn but just know that they do, they also tend to make a lot of haitian food, like enough that they have to share w their gang if they wanna get rid if it, but its ok bc its rlly good!!!!

now i hc all of them to b artist in one way or another and i hc that their art is impacted by hatian culture, they have bright colors, its expressive etc etc

they also do a ton of haitian dances like konpa (now ur SUPPOSE to do it w a partner but i mean u could do it on ur own and still look cool!!!), so tim and curly arent rlly dancers BUT ANGELA IS and she ALSO dances merengue (not to b confused w the dominican version but that version looks cool too) and yanvalou

they flirt using creole i dont make the rules

some foods they make r haitian spaghetti and cornets, pikliz (not rlly a FOOD food but u can use it w food), blan manje, pate kòde, lambi, griot (thats literally their favorite mine too xoxo), plantain, doukonou, i dont remember what its specifically called but theres this haitian sausage thats rlly fucking big and a lil spicy and its rlly good and they love that too cause its so #good, and a bunch of other foods and deserts and drinks!!

generally, tim cooks for everyone but curly and angela love helping (all they do is fucking eat the food the lil rats)

hope this answered ur question thx for asking!!!

[ghoooooooooooooooost]

hi reading log #4

Cell of Empireo [up to the end of chapter 6 (arrival point s)]

GOOD LORD. this game has made me make so many noises outloud

gameplay wise its kinda interesting that they opt to have no music in a lot of parts n i feel like i'd get super lost if i was playing myself but i'm watching a translation so watevar the other stuff is more important

it's a 2018 game (i'm pretty sure?) but it reminds me sooooooooo much of 2012 rpg horror games n i say this positively n there's not that many eng fans either so it's like a game w an old soul to me lmao

also i NEEEED that official physical book to get restocked so bad i'm subscribed to sharktale factory's pixiv fanbox n everything now

here's some of my livetweeting

------------------ spoilers for coe up to chapter 7 start here ///

this game really got me thinking at points. i like how i was able to figure out shinano was origin b without/before karen's hint, the twist w reiji n haruki made me go Whoa (it also made me scared of the fandom bc :/ )

i bet my ass kanou has some kinda fucked up cell powers like there's no way he's dead but there's also no way he just faked his death istg i saw him get shot in the head. + BLOOD LOSS.

i think shinano might be my fav rn my normal dog boy

/// spoilers for coe up to chapter 7 end here ------------------------

Boogiepop [book 2, ch2]

once again slowly chipping away at boogiepop

i drew comparisons to the phantom anime again; the situation with the flowers in the novel sounds very similar to the situation with the spiders in the anime at least on the surface. maybe it won't have the same outcome for atsukai but tbh i feel like he's gonna die?

also there's a guy named spooky electric. huh

Umineko

i haven't actually played since my last session but seeing certain vague spoilers makes me wonder wtf is gonna go down in this game like what do you mean the "your mom" thing is real. n battler tells beatrice to kys in some translations??? i need to get to the point where this lady finally shows her face already

Other things

during steam sales months ago i got this one vn on an impulse n i can't remember if i ever mentioned it here n i kinda gave up at some point

i didn't wanna use the full cover image bc!@#@$%

i wish i could find a game like this except w better art + writing n a protag who is just as old (n not a girl?)

n i know gay romance vns w Oldmen exist but the kind i'm looking for is so SPECIFIC n i haven't found it yet put a guy who looks like fgo james moriarty or schwartz alchstars in there. gimme dateable kaburagi kotetsu or like. that oden guy from the pillow boys. u feel me

[thelovelybitten]

vera's first watch of south park - season 2 (part 2)

apparently tumblr has a character limit so lol here's part 2 of my watch of season 2

EPISODE 8:

Last day of skewl !!!!

They just want fireworks :’(

AYO WENDY PLAYS CLARINET SHE JUST LIKE ME FR

Cartman on French horn !!

Stan, Kenny & Kyle play violin that’s cute !! Will note

They all WEAR SUITS NSGNKNGS SO CUTE

Chef get them fr

EPISODE 9:

Film festival episode !! This is exciting

Wendy popping off at Cartman as usual, she just never misses

Oh so stendy broke up??? Depression

“She’s NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!” Do u want me dead? Yes

Stan get back with Wendy challenge ? Pls i need y’all together

“If she holds his hand in the theatre it will be all over for him” Kyle has never spoke more real words

STENDY MOVIE SCENES <3 LFG

Stan scarred w lesbians whoops

Stan slowly becomes an ally, as previously stated in my s1 post, i will make sure that is so >:(

KYLE SINGING ON THE TOILET KBSBGBDBD

Okay alr the cartman ass screen joke was funny ok i laughed

Not them looking for mr Hankey BYE

AVERAGE CARTMAN TAKING CLOUT…

Stendy back at the movies AAAAAAA

AWWW HE GRABBED HER TISSUE THAT’S SWEET OF STAN <3333

So ur telling me Kyle had a piece of shit in his mouth and there’s photo evidence??? NOT COOL

Style “I’m here for u” ugh they’re besties fr fr

Wendy asks stan to see a movie and immediately abandons Kyle HE’S WHIPPED

But also how dare u Stanley KYLE NEEDED U

OH MY GOD. JWGJBSDBGKJDSBKJSDB STAN IS TRYING TO HOLD HER HAND DURING THE MOVIEEDDJVFJKJKNFV KFV

WaIT IS THAT WHAT HE WAS TRYING TO DO THE WHOLE TIME? HOLD HER HAND?!?!?!?!?!?

I’M mentally unwell

No bc end me I’m CRYING SOBBING THROWING UP

HE TRIES TWICE ????F?E?G?G?F no bc that’s so fucking cute

No bc it’s Stanley “she’s not my girlfriend” marsh to Stanley “this girl is so cute i wanna hold her hand” marsh

OMG SHE GRABS HIS HAND AND THYE HOLD HANDS GFJGDFJKNDFGJKFJKDFVJNK. STOPP IT RN

AAAAA THEY ARE JUST <3333333333333

And… stan vomits, per usual lol

They still hold hands stop it

Wendy: i think I’ve seen this film before but instead she loves the ending <3

God y’all i just love stendy so much

Kyle & Stan friendship secured so sweet

Literally wtf i will never understand the talking piece of shit sorry Kyle

Wendy apologizing to stan abt taking him to the films when I KNOW DEEP DOWN MY SON WAS THRIVING BEING ALONE WITH WENDY

He forgives her wbk wbk

Ain’t no back talk on my ship u fools

THEY ARE HOLDING HANDS AGAIN FDGJKNFDKJNFDGKJFDG pls tell me they’re dating again i need them

Oh my god stendy saved this episode thank you

EPISODE 10:

SO WE STARTING THIS with stan’s mom and sister at the hospital oh i know this gonna b weird

NO NOT CHICKEN POX

Omg stan ur gonna get THE POX FEJNCCKEN

Stan and Kyle’s families are so close !!

Oh and liane <3

DON’T DRAG KENNY YOU DINGOS

“IN THE GHETTOOOOOO” omg the TikTok meme is here SLAY i loved this one haha

EGGO WAFFLES FOR DIN ??? ME TOO BABE

Cartman SHUT UR MOUTH

Oh god Kenny’s family is so chaotic i hate it they deserved better

Kyle and stan have matching sleeping bags AWWWWW

Kenny can’t afford normal dinner food but can clap the lights off???? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE

OFC THEY ALL GET THE POX

GODS AND CLODS ??? LMAO

lol not Sheila making Kyle get the pox bc he’s the golden child that won’t get sick

OMG KYLE IS THE ONLT HEALTHY PERSON LEFT

So i remembered that stan hates hospitals and i can’t imagine what’s going thru his head right now besides being pissed abt hw

THEY JUST STORM INTO HIS BATHROOM WHILE HES NAKEY

KYLE’S PAPER HAHA

I’m actually cackling AT THIS SEQUENCE VNVNKJSDNKJV

NOOOOO NOT KYLE

EPISODE 11:

Garrison RELAX

Cartman is perfect for the cheesy poofs comm

Creepy girl….

Omg this poor deranged kiddo :(

FOOTLOOSE a BOP

KYLE ATE THAT HAIKU

ALSO KENNY !!!! SLAY

Kyle is eating these haikus ugh as he should

HYPNOSIS.

Eric kinda popped off

Mackey OMG U DID NOT

My throat hurts >:(

Haha CHEESY POOF

Eric’s one second of fame— relatable

The one time Eric slayed werk

EPISODE 12:

Okay ngl, if this is the episode i think it is, imma pass away

I’ve seen clips on TikTok ok

Omg THE KIDS PLAYING MILITARY OMG CDSNJDIJ

Kenny PLS JNCJDNJKNS

WENDY AND BEBE

“Kyle, doesn’t bebe look pretty today?” Omg it’s KYBE TIME

It’s the way i stan stendy, style, kybe, bendy and stendyle all at once I AM WINNINGGGG

Stendy walks away from Kyle and bebe omg omg

KYLE PUTS HIS ARMS AROUND HIS BACK U KNOW BEBE A STUNNER SHE’S A DAME

Wendy the nations’ KYBE leader, stan the second in command

Stan: no

TRUTH OR DARE LOL

BEBE.

All bebe sees is cake. That’s it. Kyle’s cake. Living, breathing legend.

Wendy setting them up AW

Stan: WE NEED TO MAKE A CLUB HOUSE STAT

Kyle: ?!?!?!?!?

Rare Cartman & Kenny duo things

SHARON MOTHER RELAX

OMG BEBE PASSING A NOTE FDSKBFSDKJGB

DSKJBDSGKJBSGBDKSDK STYLE CONTENT LMAOOOO

But AYO bebe really likes Kyle’s booTAY

The PARENTS ARE FIGHTINNN

Bebe: AYO Kyle LET’S SEE THAT ASSSSS

Kyle: aight?

“I WANNA BE DARED TO KISS HER” STAN OMG DSJNFDSJBGSKD i love stendy crumbs YES

What THE FUCK NOT SHARON & RANDY DIVORCING FSBJKSGDJKGDSDKBJ NO

WHO THE FUCK IS ROY

Get the FUCK OUTTA HERE BRO

Stan was too stunned to speak

Wtf is HAPPENING ?!?!?! Poor Stanley

Stan preaching to the CHOIR

TRUTH OR DARE

The boys are SHAKING

Wendy slayed okay Kyle PUCKER UP

I HC WHEN THEY OLDER THAT BEBE IS A GOOD KISSER and tbh so is Kyle but the first few times Kyle is all tongue and no lip— nasty bro

Kyle will never take a chance to let cartman win that’s just fact

AAAA KYBE

Kyle: AAA

Omg dude it’s ur first kiss relax

“Fucking sickening” but make it with the rupaul YASSIFICATION

Stan: looks intensely at Wendy’s lips

OLDER!HC: stan is like. addicted to Wendy’s lips. All he wants to do is show his affection ALL THE TIME but is also shy abt it??? LMAO

Stan: Dare RIZZ

ROY FUCK OFF

GOD DAMMIT ROY U FUCKED IT UP

Omg kybe okay please let this be good

BEBE GIRL Y’ALL WEREN’T EVEN DATING

LMAOOONSDFNSD

Kyle is flabbergasted

OFC she hooks up with Clyde right after BRUH

But i also like Clybe so it’s okay

Omg STAN NOT THE BEAR TRAP DON’T GET HIM IN THE BEAR TRAP

Alas, OFC Sharon and randy stay strong go get ur dick girl

“CLUBHOUSES ARE MAGICAL” —stan marsh, as his parents are fucking in the clubhouse he built

EXCUSE ME BEBE WHAT THE FUCK

I hope he didn’t do it omg

EPISODE 13:

What the hell

Kyle beating cartman is my favourite

“THESE ARE MY FUCKING FOOD STAMPS, HOW AM I GONNA EAT WITHOUT THESE FOOD STAMPS?” — KENNY MCCORMICK

Kyle threatening Cartman so true bestie

Oh god this is gonna fucking suck

Cartman being flung OUCH

WHEN CARTMAN HITS THE SNOW AAA

excuse me? not the prostitute

this is bad broken vietnamese UGH

CARTMAN.

kenny robbed

stan and kyle playing with the dolls is so wholesome <3

EPISODE 14:

why didn't I know kyle's dad was a lawyer? interesting

little german dance

WAIT STENDY IS DATING AGAIN DFSJBGSBJKGSDKBJ

"hey, elton, if I give you these lyrics, will you write a song for my GIRLFRIEND wendy?"

DEAD

he wants to gift her a song NO ONE SPEAK TO ME

not me actually tearing up irl THIS IS EMBARASSING

but no fr stan is WHIPPED I love that for him

chef hoeing out with kyle's mom??? huh

NOT MISS CRAB TREE. chef rly do be desperate

Mr mackey crowd surfing ended me LMAOO

elton SINGING THE SONG STAN WANTED HIM TO WRITE FOR WENDY :')

WENDY LOOKING AT STAN ugh the fluff they exude

CHEWBACCA

EPISODE 15:

UGH THIS BORDER MAKES ME WANNA FIGHT A BITCH

uhm... this is sus cartman

oh this is a Halloween ep cool

oh WAIT I'VE SEEN THIS ONE ON TIKTOK TOO

creepy murder fish

"hella"

god my paranoia could NEVER

POOR KENNY HIS ROOF IS LEAKY :(

JESUS christ that goldfish scares me

NOT KILL

not the slap from shelly oml HAHA

stan- OMG NOT THE DEAD PERSON

"mommy's little angel" correct, my son is babie

not the SQUASH DFSKJBDSKBDSKB

cartman on some shit rn omg

WHAT THE FUCK TWO CARTMANS

cartman using aunt flo as a massage chair cackles a lil

sharon not giving a single fuck about randy's accusations

oh no not stan and kyle's alts

EPISODE 16:

stan gets told not to go: goes anyway

kenny riding shotgun and not giving a RAT'S ASS until money is thrown

god i'd die if I had to listen to singing for 6 hours

liane is just. so cool ok

kyle: AAAA

EYE- stan that's not cool bad noodle

EW I FEEL BACK FOR KYLE

kenny hoarding food HA

charles: how would u like to come with me to another secluded part of the mall?

kenny: ok

don't mess w kyle brofloski period

kyle: still mad abt mr.hankey

they all getting shot at but kyle has PRIORITIES

SHARON LMFNNKSDFB GET HIM

stan: sorry

HAHAHAH

EPISODE 17:

TWEEEKKKKKK OMG HIS FIRST APPEARANCE AND LINES <3

my deranged son <3 ily tweek

omg tweek's family runs a coffee shop <3 so cute

tweek he's so cute with his little gnome story

oh shit 8 year olds w coffee

THIS IS GONNA BE PSYCHO

OH GOD LMAOOO

Cartman sleeping in his puke yikes

oh he has ADD :'( little bean

Cartman slayed this time haha

Working w the underwear gnomes haha

Side not: my cats are finally sleeping on the same bed and not killing each other <3

OMG Y’ALL HAHAHAHA

EPISODE 18: (SEASON FINALE)

Is this an impersonation of Owen Wilson ??? LMAO

KyLE Y’ALL ARE 8 NO

The WAY STAN CIRCLES DOWN INTO THE CAVE DSJNFJKSDNG HE’S SO CUTE

And there’s the vomit

I’m starting to wonder if Stan has bad motion sickness or he just has a shit immune system

Cartman referencing my favourite movie of all time??? That was iconic of him. grease is MY FAVOURITE MOVIE <333333333

Style fighting >:(

Cartman so true abt style fighting

1999 ??? My birth year??? Epic

“ASSMASTER”

NO OH MY GOD STYLE Y’ALL ARE IN YOUR DIVORCE ERA

Nah bc they are such good friends they better get back together at the end of the episode

When Kyle doesn’t finish Stan’s line abt Kenny… u KNOW THEY FIGHTINGG

THE girlies ARE FIGHTING THEY IN THEIR WWE ARC

Larry u tell ‘em

Overall, season 2 better than season 1, 8/10

[m1ckeyb3rry]

DHDGSJSJS touching grass for an embarrassingly long time SORRY I fear this is not quite the end of the grass touching….it should be soon though within the next week or so then I can go back to being chronically online ugh

PLEASE get rid of that /j im /srs episode Karasu PLEASEEE I lowk wanna see more of him in action at Bambi Osaka omg I remember when people were still theorizing Kira comeback lowk kinda fun reading all of their “analysis” but fr like npcs are needed…no npc shaming here their unimportance is important LMAO

LMFAO WAIT SENDOU FITS SO WELL peaked boyfailure energy i lowk forgot about him oops

LMAOOO dw 2k event will be nagipalooza trust…also OOPS thought i read the otoya one was a req somewhere my b but either way wait speaking of how’s that going? The otoya inspo before Karasu inspo is really funny though LOL

I HAD A FEELING I was trying to pinpoint who the dead boy was and figured Niko was the only reasonable option even if it wasn’t exactly him LMAOO

RIN ISEKAID BY A SHOT FROM SHIDOU TO THE HEAD LMFDOAOAOAOAAO im crying that would be a really funny crack fic

YESS THATS THE AUDIO LMAOOO omg you get me!!! But LOLL imagine Niko taking notes on who has the most vibrant hair like “yup ok they’re a main character I’m not gonna play against them they’ve got plot armor” and fr the otoya chive strip overpowers the 80% white on his head would not categorize him as white haired LMAO

LMFAOOO the stop fighting tiktok has me laughing but also omg eightbit did that scene kinda dirty omg

AUAHAHA I SAW THE ISAGI DRESSED UP AS KAISER ONE it’s actually hilarious the posing sent me

Oh wait that Aiku edit kinda….ok if he fr just cleaned up that stubble I would’ve been an Aiku fan a long time ago I just cannot get over the stubble…..this edit fr being aikus wingman though….we’re still in the homeboy zone that stubble lowk is a dealbreaker rn I won’t allow it….

OSISUHDIS KARASUUUUUU bro his voice…HIS VOICE >>>>>> Karasu my number one eightbit please continue to feed us

CRYING THATS SO LORENZO CODED he would def do that in oaeu and even in canon LMAOOO

I refreshed the page so I could send in this ask and got jumpscared by that….that….emoji….????? You used in your latest reply I’m gone

- Karasu anon

ALDHSHAHSJ IT’S OKAYYY it’s midterms week for me this week to be honest so i’ll probably be somewhat mia as well 😭 we are in this together but trust we will both be back and better than ever soon enough!!

PLSSS okay because i would eat up seeing him in bambi osaka ngl ughhhh i love him so much he’s literally my man LMAOAO anyways yeah i’ve seen the kira comeback theories circulating idk i think at this point it’s not going to happen but some of them were cool!! agreed though sometimes npcs can just stay npcs it’s okay 😭 focus the backstory and development on characters that are actually important HAHAHA

no because i ALWAYS forget about sendou except for his few mentions in the oaeu but he lowkey fits the vibes insanely well especially given his egoist bible info like he’s just silly 😭 you’ll never catch me caring abt him but sometimes when you need a character you need a character yk

AHDHSHSH 2K WE CAN ONLY HOPE my next event will probably be 1.5k i think…ik people do 1.2k a lot but i’m already kinda close to that and i’ve posted ONE 1k event req so uhhh yeah i’ll wait until 1.5k i think every 500 followers is a good rhythm and gives me some downtime too because i have so many fics i need to work on for myself too 😫

ngl i’ve been very scattered in my writing attempts UGH haven’t felt truly inspired by anything in a bit…wrote a couple sentences for pursuit and then closed the doc…wrote a page or two for a 1k event req and then closed the doc…wrote a bit for nagi’s oaeu and then closed the doc…fixed a typo in the in-progress-since-june chapter of PEREGRINE 😭 and then closed the doc…so the going has been rough 😓 i was briefly inspired for the oaeu and aiku did come and speak through me for a bit which was nice (can always rely on him for that) but then i was just not feeling it 😔 i didn’t end up starting the otoya one shot but lowkey maybe i should just try working on that and seeing if i get anywhere 😰 worst comes to worst i’ll rewatch violet evergarden or smth and be inspired to write the most soul crushing one shot for someone or another

NIKO IS ALWAYS CATCHING STRAYS LDFJJSNDS bro cannot catch a break reader’s uncle was fr in his isagi era or smth…anyways yeah it was him!! i love throwing in sly little #hehe references every now and again

OKAY BECAUSE LOWKEY THE VISION HAS ME CACKLING imagine it has one of those cheesy ass titles like “My Rival Hit Me in the Head With a Soccer Ball and Now I Have to Save the Cold Unifier of Japan!” or smth like that LMAOAOAO hold on who are we picking though…stan rin in yukimiya’s body or ninja otoya (i’d include gardener karasu but that’s not a fair option because we all know who we’d pick if he was a choice)

WAIT SPEAKING OF GREEN the blue lock additional times have made me realize otoya’s eyebrows are also green??? so he’s canonically green haired TO ME like the white isn’t even there fr…LMAOAAO niko predicts chigiri’s awakening before it even happens because no “background character” would ever have hair that bright 😭

PLSSS lowkey 8bit did not come through for us icl 😔 at least they made karasu and OTOYA ESPECIALLY really fine…next ep is looking like there will be some nagi and yuki action i’m hoping that means we get better animation since 8bit is just like me and loves nagi KDHDJSSJ

NO BECAUSE THAT EDIT IS FR WINGMANNING THE WINGMAN idk what it is but it’s fr making me go hmm….agreed the stubble just isn’t it i can’t get over it!! it’s like how kaiser looks 10x better with his shaggy gold emo hair than with whatever tf he has going on like come onnnn you have potential but i just can’t fully see the vision yet 🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁

KARASU’S VOICE IS SOOOOO NAHDJSDBHDDHSJDJHDSBS anyways i’ve been getting SOO many edits of him and otoya lately it’s amazing my fyp is literally flooded and yk i save EVERY ONE 😭 they’re lowkey popular now they kinda missing the times when they were #secret and it was only elite people who liked them 😔 JKJKJK ofc i’m glad we’re getting more content now TRUST but like…i better not see y’all mischaracterizing my boys…😒😒😒 those are MY emotional support idiot lovesick losers DON’T MAKE THEM PLAYBOYS PLEASEEEEEE I KNOW OTOYA’S A DUMBASS FLIRT BUT HE’S SECRETLY A RIZZLESS LOSER PLSPLSPLS

HELP i love throwing in random reaction images every now and again…wdym you didn’t like it…😕😕😕 (<- joking)

[andvys]

hello andy!! i just tried to catch up and read prologue to chapter 3 of dancing with our hands tied 🩷🩷 how are you? :) honey anon

You put your hand over your heart, feigning pain. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Lego head?” 

GOODBYE 😭😭

“Hmm,” you scrunch your nose up as you pretend to think. “No thanks, I got enough Teen Wolf in front of me.” You gesture to his hair and the chest hair that peeks from his unbuttoned shirt. 

GIRL DLBSOSJS THIS IS SENDING ME

From the creepy old Creel house, to Max offering herself as the bait. 

NOO NOT MAX DONT REMIND ME

“Jason’s dead. He fell onto broken wood… that impaled him.”

oh... oh no... 🤭

“Healing. He broke one arm and one leg, but she is awake. Robin is with her, she’s been waiting for you to wake up.”

THANK GOD ANDY

“I can’t wait to meet him. I never held a baby before.”

omg me neither

“I am already an auntie,” you chuckle. “How could you forget little Luna? She was your first child.” 

SHE TOOK THE CAT?? THE BLACK ONE?? nevermind that's not my sister anymore“You think I’ll let you take the bus? I’ll drive you and then we’ll get burgers.” 

IVE BEEN CRAVING BURGERS TODAY

His hair is messy, a spit curl falling before his eyes. He is wearing his black sunglasses, green khaki pants, a gray tank top,– oh god. This is going to be a long day. 

oh... oh that's... 😳

It’s only nearing the end of April, but it already feels like the beginning of summer. Steve’s skin is already sun kissed. You hide your eyes behind your sunglasses as you ogle him. Taking in the sight of his veiny hands, his arms that have just the perfect amount of muscle, his chest hair that you always tease him for, the silver chain around his neck. 

i wanna bite him

“Yeah, like your girlfriend,” you laugh, glancing at Lucas. “I wonder who will teach her how to drive properly.” 

MAX BEHIND THE WHEEL IS SO ME

“Her head! You hit her head, you stupid idiot!” She points at him with rage in her voice. 

omg steve bye not the domestic tray violence

“Hey Chica, do you wanna smoke this with me?” 

ARGYLE IS MF BACK!!!

“Stop being so fucking careless!” He snaps, pointing his finger at you now. “You’re getting on my goddamn nerves.” 

steve and y/n as the cat in the table with the woman shouting at pointing at him

“I thought you liked coke, Blondie.”

i really need a cold coke zero rn 😭

“Keep your pity to yourself, Blondie. I’d rather never see you again than see you when I don’t have to.”

okay fuck you then !

Steve looks away from you, feeling a rush of guilt. 

now you're sorry??? i hate men fr

“Right.” 

cursing him as we SPEAK

Yeah, you’re only pretty and cute when you keep your mouth shut. 

i need to punch him

“Oh, so you’re saying my yapping and whining is music to your ears?” You smirk. “Just say that you love hearing my voice.”

hehe that's right 🤭

“Do you ever shut up or do I have to make you!?” 

omg he's down that bad??

“Isn’t that what you said to Dustin when he asked you for girls advice?” He snorts, shaking his head once again, “‘the key with girls is acting like you don’t care’” Lucas mocks quietly, chuckling after that. 

oooh got him!!

“Right, that doesn’t mean anything.” Steve rolls his eyes before he looks back at you, only to see your face fall. 

i need him gone kind of

“You are so fucking horrible!” He snaps at you, not caring about anything, right this second. Everyone in the room disappears, Dustin, Max and Lucas are no longer there, and neither are Robin and Eddie, it’s just you and him now. “I hate the fucking day we ran into you at Skull Rock! You are the most despicable and cold hearted bitch I’ve ever met! I would be surprised if you ever loved somebody!” 

NOT THE B WORD if that was me i would never speak to this man ever again 😭

You look down as your bottom lip starts to tremble. 

SLAP HIM

“Everyone leave the room.” 

MAX GO GIRL

hiiii omg! i missed you!! i’m okay! i kinda had a busy weekend but i went to the mall with my sister yesterday so that was fun :) how are you? 🩷

BESTIE I HOPE YOURE LIKING THE NEW SERIES!

your reactions to Jason’s death had me giggling🤭

MAX BEHIND THE WHEEL IS ME TOO LMAO IM A BAD BAD DRIVER

Argyle is back!!!! And you will see more of him soon hehe

i’m sorry for the Steve angst 😭i promise he will be better in chapter 4! and this story is going into a much better direction soon 😌

ALSO it’s been like two years now since we started talking 🥹

[aspiring-artist-em]

Hi lovelies, if you're on tiktok, PLEASE REMEMBER SOME FUCKING INTERNET DECORUM.

Call me a bitch, but I'm about to bash some people rn. This shit is making me mad.

For privacy reasons, I'm not showing u usernames. Don't go bullying these people. I'm using them as an EXAMPLE.

But before we get onto that, please read this.

NOW GO BACK, AND READ IT AGAIN UNTIL YOU UNDERSTAND THIS GUY'S WISHES

Onto my angry woman rant now

COMMENTS LIKE THIS ARE NOT OKAY

Like do you see the problem?

No?

Let me point it out to you.

The first two have the same problem

"This is my second coming of Christ, I missed Zar so much"

"OMG?!? WE ARE SAVED"

Really? Your second coming of Christ? You're saved? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Dawg, the reason they left is because people like you were being fucking selfish omg. Get it through ur thick skull. Like genuinely shut the fuck up and touch some grass. Authors are PEOPLE. WE'RE NOT CONTENT FARMS, NOR ARE WE FUCKING ARCHANGEL GABRIEL STANDING IN YOUR BEDROOM WITH A BAGILLION EYES AND PROCLAIMING UR BABY IS JESUS. We're literally just people and the whole, "omg im saved" thing is really unhealthy and like, fucking problematic. It's also like, fucking creepy in a parasocial black mirror kinda way. Like imagine bullying and idolizing someone into leaving a fandom, and then bullying them and idolizing them into coming back, TO TURN AROUND AND DO IT SOME MORE OMG. Like be so fucking fr rn. Can't you see the problem in this!?? It's fucking creepy ass shit dawg. Idk who authorized you to go and run amuck on tiktok but pls for the love of god, go the fuck outside and talk to people so you know how to fucking talk to people you admire without comparing them to FUCKING JESUS CHRIST. And maybe, just maybe, STOP BRINGING UR EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION "omg ur back I'm so glad I was so sad u made me so sad bc u left me and I took it personally even though shit like this is why u left and imma keep continuing to do it again but I'm so glad ur back 🥺" BS INTO THIS. Maybe just stop and FUCKING THINK AND REMEMBER THAT YOURE TALKING TO A PERSON WHO IS LIVING AND BREATHING.

Onto the third comment, it's short, simple, to the point and absolutely THE WRONG THING TO SAY IN THIS SITUATION.

"FINALLY!!!!!"

All I have to say, is authors don't owe you shit and ur acting entitled. Check yourself babes, this isn't the take you think it is. Maybe you should "FINALLY!!!" check your attitude towards writers bc shit like this is why zar left in the first place and why the comments are turned off on his works.

SOMETHING ELSE I SAW: people using his deadname as a hashtag

Quite literally, why am I sitting here and having to explain why that's bad. Like that's fucked dude. I don't even wanna talk about it and I can't because I don't have experience having a preferred name, but like, that's so fucked up dude. Like come on. Maybe just don't. And no, I'm NOT posting a screenshot because that's his fucking DEAD NAME OMG HAVE YOU NO SHAME.

An example of an okay comment is something like this

Isn't this beautiful? And good behavior, I applaud them. Yes, it wasn't phrased the best, but they A) respected Zar's wishes and didn't SEEK OUT THE FIC, and B)they expressed their happiness that CR is back without like, idk, calling zar FUCKING JESUS CHRIST????? Kudos to them for doing the bare minimum and being respectful 💜

Self explanatory, honestly me too. Kudos to you both 💜

And finally, something that made me a let out a little laugh when i read it

A joke so bad that it's good LMAO

Okay, I shall now get off my high horse and take off my shining armor, but I just wanted to say this real quick and reinforce my statement that AUTHORS ARE PEOPLE, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Edit: the "war is over" sound, really? Really?? Fucking war? Babes, you didn't get to read a Jegulus Hunger Games au; u didn't actually fight in the hunger games or in the fictional hunger games war. Like just stop pls.

Crimson Rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back?

So, like a normal, sane reader, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little tiny brain filled with angst and smut, I was thinking that it was maybe a chapter being updated, or maybe someone I love replying to a comment I left about how their writing is so fantastic and giving them vivid descriptions of how I wish to burn it into my brain because how good it is. Turns out, that was not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics I was dying to read were back. All the fics that had me frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and oh my god-

They were back.

All of them. 

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was fucking psyched because I have an AO3 account and I have access to it again. Me, along with many other fans of his works and readers in this fandom, texted friends and loved ones. We smiled and downloaded the files, swearing that we will never lose those works again. 

___

So, like a normal, sane author, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little pea brain filled with ways to torture my readers and ways to get them off through my words, I was thinking that maybe someone had kindly left a kudos on my work, or maybe even comment on it. All my works are ongoing and to be honest, I was a little scared to open my email because what if it’s a negative comment? What if it’s someone telling me that they hate me because I’m sick and twisted, writing the filth I do. What if it’s someone telling me that they hate how I made a certain character bisexual because in their mind, bisexual women can’t also be attracted to women? What if it’s someone telling me that the trauma I write about is misrepresented and that I am an awful person for romanticizing it when I swear I’m not, when I know that I’m drawing from experience. What if it’s someone saying the aforementioned trauma is too dramatized, and that the way that I write it as something to be worked through, doesn’t fit their “one kiss and all the bad memories go away” narrative they have in their head. What if it’s someone telling me I should be ashamed, telling me that I am disgusting, telling me that I shouldn’t write what I write even though I have hyperlinks embedded in my fics and even though I have additional warnings per chapter and even though I have so many tags the plot is given away. Turns out, that is not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics people were dying to read were back. All the fics that had people online frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and

oh my god-

They were back.

All of them.

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was filled with fucking dread, because all I could focus on is how there’s a shiny new prongsfoot fic right there on the top of their page, the first thing people will see. All I could think about is how they talked about people not respecting their wishes with their fics  and how people on the internet are fucking relentless. All I could think about are the videos I will see with people complaining that they can’t read it because they don’t have an AO3 account and people attacking them for the two chapter prongsfoot fic right there, and how people fucking idolized the guy, putting him on a pedestal and hailing him as the “best fanfic writer ever, right there along with misskingbean (who may or may not be Taylor swift (I swear, Taylor is NOT misskingbean))”All I could think about is the exit he, and MANY OTHER authors made because people got ahold of their work and were fucking rude about it. All I could think of is someone who was practically pushed off the internet for doing what he loves so well that people started hating when he wrote what he wanted to write, and how now, he’s back and honestly, it scares me a little bit because he didn’t deserve the hell people put him through.

___

Crimson rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back? Short answer, yes, yes, and yes. Long answer, yes but only if you have an AO3 account and ONLY IF people can be fucking nice this time around and maybe remember that zar is a fucking person with fucking feelings and something called a fucking mental health to take care of. Authors have feelings too, we aren’t some mindless fic generator. If you want that, go to chat gtp or some shit. We put our hearts and souls into our work and share it because we want to put it out there, not because we want to get bullied.

Now, I know what you’re going to say, “oh, but I just really loved the guy, he was like the second coming of christ with his words like I just really wanted to read more because I loved him so much, like I forgot he was a human because I just loved him and a little love never hurt anyone.” 

But like, that’s also really fucking problematic and actually obsessive. Just think about it. Like this guy is a person and like, maybe you shouldn’t treat him like he is anything more OR ANYTHING LESS. Like honestly, he probably didn’t start posting his work to gain fame, like this was probably really unexpected for him. AND EVEN IF HE DID, IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET TO TREAT HIM LIKE A FUCKING PRODUCT GOD DAMN. Like, this is a PERSON. Imagine if your best friend or little sibling came to you and was talking about people putting enormous pressure on them and being obsessed with everything they do and how they feel like they have to be perfect and please everyone because if they don’t, they’ll get harassed online and like, it’s genuinely damaging their mental health. Like, imagine if that happened to you. What would you tell them? Well, hopefully, you would tell them that those people are fucking obsessed and that they need to take a break and maybe, just maybe remove the works so they could put their mind to rest, because that’s better than this. Like come on everyone, can’t you fucking see the problem with that? Idolization and bullying go hand in hand and the poor guy has been though enough. 

Also, remember, be kind to the guy and like, idk, treat him with fucking human decency? Don’t deadname him maybe? Don’t like, idolize him? Don’t get mad when he writes what he wants to fucking write because you don’t like it? And maybe like, respect his wishes? It should be pretty fucking simple tbh, but apparently it’s a difficult task for some of you. He isn’t a fucking god and maybe like, before you comment, actually sit there and reflect on what you are going to say to him.

SO MAYBE, BEFORE YOU COMMENT SHIT, REMEMBER THAT ZAR’S, (and, for the record, every other author’s) MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A 800K WORD STORY ABOUT DEAD WIZARDS. LIKE PLEASE, YOU CAN FUCKING LIVE WITHOUT ONE SPECIFIC FIC WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER FICS OUT THERE, AND SO MAYBE LIKE, REMEMBER TO RESPECT THE AUTHORS WHO WRITE YOUR STORIES.

MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, BEFORE YOU SAY SHIT, THINK ABOUT WHY HE FUCKING LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, DEAR GOD.

[shittyness]

the tiktok is the funniest omfg XDDD yes def headcanoning that rn!!! XDDD

I haven't read the Iliad either but so far I wasn't super sold on song of Achillies bc a) I didn't like Achilles in the version that I read as a child b) he was one of the greeks and I kinda picked the Trojan's side c) the book seems a bit overhyped imo..? BUT I'm ready to be persuaded otherwise bc in the Hades game I'm currently playing Achilles is actually hot af sooo I am reconsidering my childhood choices rn XD So yeah feel free to send me some propaganda hahaha XD

My fav characters were Priamos and Hector ig? My fav parts is def the gods meddling XD Love their messing around and gossiping amongst each other XD Fav scene right on top of my head was Priamos going to the Greeks during one night to get back the dead body of his son (was it Hector? I don't remember that part tbh XD) for it gave me chills and ahHHH - hbu? ;3

Yes keep coming back I haven't been here in years and yes I do miss my other fandoms but also... as u mentioned there's just so much going on rn :OOO what a life :D

(also yes good omens marathon was me this weekend the brainrot is REAL)

tbh I didn’t like Achilles when I first read the Iliad, and the only reason I do now is cuz I read the song of Achilles (I like always end up consuming overhyped media cuz I wanna know why it’s so hyped up)

my book flipped between the Greeks, Trojans, and gods so I never got to pick a side lmao

My favorite part was a moment in my book where Helen was trying to decide what side she was on, and she considered going back to her og husband to stop the fighting but she did truly love her new one

that or the beginning how (I think it was Zeus) just threw the responsibility of picking the most beautiful goddess on some random ass kid

I’ve literally been staring at my book for days, I might just cave and reread it soon