#i’m not sure what this is

[lovetositinsilence]

sensitive spot?

[macfrog]

all three dogs

Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. andrew kane, how to be a dog

inspired by this gorgeous post (good idea to read it before you read this), and this gorgeous ask (thank you @iknowisoundcrazy). also shoutout to @mrsmando for being the queen of character study. i am not sure what this is, exactly? is it about joel miller, or is it about some dogs? i do not know. but it was fucking cathartic, so here, i guess. here's how i see joel at his worst.

summary: "dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted."

warnings: little graphic i guess? blood and guts. violent joel. sarah dies and joel shoots up a hospital to save ellie. angst. i think that's it

word count: 1.3k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets with notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

he loves you, sarah says, fork digging into egg.

he’s dependent on me, joel quips, not the same.

i think it’s the same.

when the first dog is born, he gives his heavy head a shake, and his ears flick to life. his fur is still damp from the blood and fluid of his mother’s body. he still smells like her – looks like her, too. he is still connected in some way to where he has been; the umbilical cord coiled and dripping.

she licks and licks and licks until he is clean. watches contently as he pads off into some distant future, where he will lose that boisterous gleam in his eye, the gentle wag of his tail. but for now –

for now, he is brown-haired. brown-eyed to match. he has a daughter. he is bright, and alive, and he makes jokes when they bubble up to his tongue. he is good. he knows love like a first language, as if each swipe of his mother’s tongue on his coat melded it into his makeup.

he does not know the warmth of another man’s blood on his hands. he has not drawn the screams and howls of pain from another’s throat.

she is the sun – his daughter – the most radiant part of his life. his life, which spins on its axis around her. always looking for her, to her, at her. vitamin c, she tells him, and he accepts the glass of orange juice. she tells him to swear and he says, on my life. she tells him he’s lame and he says, i know.

he trots faithful and pliant at her heels. circles her legs and passes over her shadow, waiting to be told different. waiting to be shooed away.

only – when he is told, he doesn’t listen. he can’t. what is a planet with no sun to orbit? what becomes of day, when its light begins to drain?

she digs her nails into his skin. pushes and scratches and begs him with shallow gasps to take his hands off her stomach. to let her go. to go away.

i know, baby, i know i know i know i know –

he tells her she’s going to be okay. because what the fuck else does he know? he’s just a dog. he’s just her dog. all he knows is her.

the sun is being eclipsed. the world begins to darken.

i’m just gonna get her killed, joel weeps, i know it. i have to leave her.

when the second dog is pulled from his mother, he wails in a collapsed heap on the cold tile floor. the world is dim, colorless. the sun is gone. he does not know how he ended up here.

love is akin to violence. it speaks the same language, inflection and cadence blurring between words. he is only as strong as his fists are able to break bone. he has run out of road – a panting, ragged, old dog, tongue hanging lopsided and jumping. ears dented with the pieces of him lost to fighting.

something quakes within his chest, a deep, unstable movement. a shifting of the tectonic plates that make up his bones. he shakes violently, feeling for the thrash of his heart against his chest wall. something in the darkness commands him to act – to move, though it never reveals where to or what from. just fucking move.

and then – the eruption of his temper. like waves on rocks, breaching in violent and unpredictable bursts. spray of black ocean on the jagged cliff edge. i made this decision for your own good, he reasons, stood in the pink-papered bedroom. the snow flutters silently outside. his hackles slowly furl. she scoffs. she knows as well as he does: he’s as good a liar as he was a pet.

but for all his anger, for all the fear he misdiagnoses as weakness – there is a glimmer somewhere on his back. a pale light catching in the broken face of his watch; lighting the kinks of his dark coat. it begins to push him; to stir him like the tide.

something is controlling him again. pulling on his collar. someone is lighting the way.

where is she?

fuck you.

it takes as little time for the dog’s ears to prick as it did for his lungs to suck in a breath. his upper lip twists, canine glinting in the trembling fluorescent light. shining with saliva and the rusted tinge of blood. joel thinks it over less than once. his eyes flood black.

i don’t have time for this.

when the third dog rips his way into the world, he tears everything around him to shreds, too. his teeth are already bared; his claws are already swiping. his eyes are black as ink; he cannot remember that soft-footed pup he once was.

there is nothing left to hide. not anymore. he has existed in the darkness too long to try. his shirt and skin are stained with dirt and sweat and blood. his fur is matted; his fangs are brown and rotten. if she saw him, if her light cast its golden spill onto his bloodshot eyes and mottled coat – she would never know who he is. she would not recognize her own father.

but he was always this way, it seems: he has always loved catastrophically.

everything is red. saturated in threat; a screaming, nauseating red. it turns his stomach just to look, to peer down the chamber of his gun. the blinking of the alarm light. the maroon stains on his hands. the metallic smell seeping from the slumped vests. the thick pools he steps through, the footprints following him around every corner. they will catch up to him eventually. they always do.

his paws hurt. pads skinned raw from all the running. his lungs ache, now, too. his throat lurches for breath, closes in on itself and then sticks, choking him. he cannot remember the heat of the sun on his arms. he does not know when he last said her name.

he doesn’t remember when he last said anything. he speaks in growls and barks and bites. when his mouth opens, his lips curl by instinct. he swallows his drawl and replaces it with something sharper. something poisonous. there’s foam lining his gums.

all he has – of this he is sure – is his brute force and the quick snap of his bite. the shattering of bone, the mauling of flesh. the brawn and breadth of his body; the squeeze of a trigger with one thoughtless pull. all he knows how to do is swing.

and so, one heavy boot steps in front of the other. crunching over broken glass and scuffing over bullet shells. whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe. it loops through his head like it used to when he could see color and feel the wind in his ears. like chasing his tail. catchitcatchitcatchit.

where did she go – the moon? which cloud is she hiding behind? how many men do his maws have to tear apart to find her?

and what will she think when she sees him again? his collar missing and his claws dripping crimson. when she feels the rips in his ears, sees the scar on the side of his head. what will she do, when she runs her hand down his dirty coat, and in place of a loving lick or nuzzle of the nose, he sinks his teeth straight into her wrist?

swear to me. swear to me that everything you said about the fireflies is true.

the dog lowers his head obediently. his ears fall flat. tail curls between his back legs. the wind pushes hard against joel’s chest, threatening to take him with it. i swear, he says.

ellie’s gaze falls. she nods once. tightens her fist around the dog’s leash.

okay.

-

lots of inspo drawn from:

how to be a dog by andrew kane

grit by silas denver melvin

monster theory: reading culture by jeffrey jerome cohen [seven theses]

[ejzah]

A/N: A random, and maybe odd, little drabble where Deeks runs into an old acquaintance.

***

Visits From the Past

Kensi and Deeks strolled down an aisle lined with canned soups and vegetables, walking side-by-side since they were the only two around at the moment.

“What else do we need?”

“Just the arugula and Reese’s,” Deeks answered slowly, scrolling through the list on his phone. He caught Kensi’s eye. “All part of a balanced diet.”

“Ok, I’ll go to the candy aisle,” Kensi offered.

“Naturally,” Deeks teased. “Hey, should I grab an extra bag of—”

“Marty? Marty Deeks?”

They both turned at his name, Deeks’ hand going towards his waistband, the instinct ingrained even two years removed from the job. He raised an eyebrow at the redhead who’d aligned her cart with theirs.

She smiled expectantly, clearly thinking he’d remember her. Obviously she wasn’t a former suspect or convict based on her response.

“Hi. Uh, do I know you?” he asked, smiling to offset any possible hurt feelings. He hadn’t dated her, he knew that for sure.

“Yes. At first I wasn’t sure it was you, with the beard and all, but I’d recognize your voice anywhere,” she said. “I’m Katie Lomberger. From high school orchestra.”

“Right, Katie.” Deeks nodded. They’d bonded over their mutual love for John Denver, but never had all that much in common. He turned to include Kensi. “Katie played first chair violin.”

“And you played second. You were always so serious when we practiced. Only time someone could get you to stop talking.”

“Somethings never change,” he joked, gesturing to Kensi. “This is Kensi, my wife.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Kensi said as Katie gasped.

“You’re married? I never expected that,” Katie blurted out. She immediately covered her mouth, looking mortified. “Oh my god, that’s not what I meant.”

“Hey, you wouldn’t be the first to make similar comments,” Deeks assured her, though he would have preferred a different response.

“You once told me you never intended to get married.”

“Yeah, well, I said a lot of things when I was younger that turned out to be inaccurate.” He shrugged and Katie gave him a look that somehow transversed the close to thirty years between them.

“A lot of people worried about you back then. It’s nice to see the great debater actually settled down,” she commented. It shouldn’t have affected him, but he felt oddly embarrassed by her fond regard.

“I’m pretty glad too,” he settled on. “Not too sure about Kensi, though.”

“Stop it,” Kensi chastised him softly, and Katie smiled knowingly.

“Same old Deeks.” She touched his arm. “It was good seeing you again, Marty. Kensi.”

As she walked away, Deeks blew out an extended breath. “Well, that wasn’t awkward or anything.

“Maybe, but I like learning new things about you. And seeing you prove people wrong,” she told him, reaching up to stroke the back of his neck. “Speaking of, how is it that I didn’t know you were in orchestra?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll pull out my violin and see what I remember,” he said. At Kensi’s surprised look, he explicated, “Maybe visiting the past isn’t always such a bad thing. Makes you appreciate the present even more.”

[thatbuddie]

holding on to heartache- louis tomlinson // instructions on not giving up by ada limón // what i have - kelsea ballerini// port d’antibes (1917) by paul signac// daylight- taylor swift // poppies by mary oliver // there it goes - maisie peters

[bluejeanstrash]

one time I had a dream about cheol (it lasted for only a few seconds so I woke up really mad) but the image was a true vision and I still think about it to this day 😫 it was about him with black hair parted in the middle with one eyebrow raised, fully naked, lounging on soft pink sheets and he was staring right through my soul and flexing those beefy arms. it's tattooed into my brain forever 🫠 also I won't be mad if you write a short drabble on this in fact I encourage it

anon, you’ve sent me down a rabbit hole of cheol thoughts 🫠 also justice for you fr. i hope you dream it again and much much longer 🫶 here’s a very short little drabble because seungcheol’s laying on soft pink sheets.

----- ♡ -----

‘show me’ he says, eyebrow raised, leaning against the cushioned headboard.

you untie the knot on your silk robe as it slips off you, falling to the floor. clinging onto each curve of your body is the lingerie seungcheol’s bought you.

it’s delicate, pretty, feminine, and the blush pink looks beautiful against your skin.

as seungcheol takes it all in - you in lacy, sheer, silky lingerie complete with stockings, and a garter, he’s sick with lust.

and that’s before you’ve even turned around. because when you do, and he sees that satin bow in your hair, he can feel himself losing control.

he’s wanted to see you in this lingerie forever. he’d planned to take his time savouring you in it, and make love to you, gentle and sweet. but actually seeing you wear it makes him want to rip it right off.

you look so angelic, but his mind is consumed with filth. he imagines the lace panties stuffed in your mouth as he enters you, your muffled moans filling the hotel room. he thinks of your head bobbing up and down his cock so all he can see is that pretty bow in your hair. he imagines you with tears streaming down your face, getting fucked so good that you can’t help but cry. he imagines you on your knees, begging for his cum.

snap out of it, he scolds himself.

you run your hands down the silky fabric nervously.

‘do you like it?’ you ask, unsure, because he hasn’t said a word yet.

‘you look gorgeous, doll’ he means it. you do look beautiful. he just thinks you look so beautiful that he wants to ruin you.

----- ♡ -----

drabble 2

[catastrxblues]

hi so i just finished bridge to terabithia and now i’m unwell and my eyes are red because i’ve been crying before i’d even reached 20 minutes of it for i actually knew what was going to happen and by the time i reached an hour something something i just straight up sobbing screaming into my pillow. and now it’s 12 am and i’m still thinking about them. because god, look at them, how they were, the little world they lived in, wouldn’t you just love that, to run away, to escape, to grasp that childhood naivety and innocence that you lost a long time ago, to feel the sun in your skin and the air in your lungs and to paint fantasies and laugh and play and run hidden away from the world and find an old run down tree house and decided to make it your own little shelter and pin up canvases on the worn wood and paint and let your creativity goes wild and have someone understand you and gets you and do it with you, and wouldn’t you just love to have something so constant, so sincere, so genuine, so pure, so real, that there wasn’t anything else. if i knew i was going to cry this much, if i knew how much space this movie would make in my life, i wouldn’t have started this movie tonight. i would have been in peace on the floor of my room, not realizing how badly i actually want something like this even though i would never unironically admit this to anyone in my life or even myself when i’m outside of the familiar place of my mind, for that matters

[meilas]

Trick or treat?🎃

[amistyeyedmoontide]

my phantoms are always dancing on my skin.

it’s a game of hide-and-seek, but the apparitions always win.

the ones i always feel are the ones that crawl.

i don’t like to think of the memory they call.

the second worst has always been his hands,

they grab my wrists and leave my hips with brands.

his breath is on my neck as he presses closer.

he then disappears, but it’s far from over.

i turn to sounds no one else can hear.

and i wonder if the end of reality is near.

and if while everyone else stays on the ground,

i’ll be flying with my phantoms, running abound.

then, will everyone else see them too?

or will they still only be mine to view?

i would like at least a folie à deux.

maybe then, i would know what to do.

[imfrom-neptune]

I’m going to think of you.

There’s going to be songs that remind me of dancing with my closest friends.

I gonna fall into a habits I picked up from past partners on accident.

On a late night, I’m gonna bundle up under that blanket my best friend bought me for Christmas and pretend she’s still close enough to hug me.

I’m probably going to think of my friend when I wear the necklace they got me and remember how we were so stupid in love that we denied it.

I’ll look at yearbooks and think of my favorite teachers and how they made school a little less painful.

There will be silly memories of me and my besties pop into my head at work that make me laugh.

I’ll still randomly remember the messages online friends sent me and how they made me smile.

I’ll think of all the times I went out for lunch with someone. That time he bought me dipping dots, or when she went to dinner with me before homecoming.

One day I’ll find friendship necklaces in a box and wonder if my friends still have the other halves.

When I find old Valentines from elementary school I’m going to wonder how those kids are doing now, and wonder if they’re okay.

Twenty years from now, I’ll look back and think about all the lives that have crossed mine. The present isn’t going to last forever, and when I think of everyone I’ve ever loved, and I’m going to think of you.

[misstressshelby]

Tommy and Freddie are two sides of the same coin. its important to remember that they where raised toward the end of the second industrial revolution. This was the first time in history that poor people started to consider their place in society on a larger scale. Birmingham being one of the major cities changed by the revolution. With the people in the city making up most of the factory workers and exploited the worst. It was the first time workers began to talk about unionizing.

They are both young men who grew up in poverty. They are both minorities at the bottom of the social ladder. So when they come across the idea of communism it gave them hope. It gave them something to focus their frustrations towards. Tommy is passionate and already prone to getting into trouble. Freddie has a very strict thinking of black and white. I don’t have a hard time believing either of them had a lot of anger toward the wealthy.

Then Tommy goes to war, changing him fundamentally as a person. He loses faith in humanity, righteous causes, and religion. Anything that isn’t concrete. He returns with the mindset of ‘i’m already dead so what's the worst that can happen’? Maybe I’ll die but at least my family will be taken care of in progress. No one else can matter but them. His people. His squadron. Nothing matters but getting them out of the hole.

But Freddie comes back with a new sense of purpose. He killed for his country. His comrades died for this country. So how dare they throw them away now. He wants nothing but a revolution. He, like Tommy, wants another war to fight. Just like the one he just left he is willing to die for it. He’s ready to take Ada and Karl down with him. Nothing else matters but the mission at hand. He is apart of something big than himself.

They are both stubborn and single minded. When Tommy is talking about why Freddie can’t be a husband or father i believe he was also talking about himself. What life can he provide? What can a man on the run do for his family? They both came back from the war on different sides.

[tariah23]

White people are miserable, racist losers period. They’ve even been getting mad at Japanese people for correcting them about Yasuke as well.

[humming-fly]

I love how Gerald was trying to keep Shadow from spoiling anything about the future meanwhile literally everything Shadow says and does around Maria is the biggest death flag ever

[astramirror]

Mrrp mrow :3

Um meow?

[silversoul713]

Not that anyone asked but I came to realize a while back that I no longer have social anxiety. It just poof, not sure how or when.

Anyways, just wanted to tell you guys that apparently this shit gets better and it's actually possible even when not actively working on it. Maybe one day you'll be talking to someone and just go "oh wow. Huh"

[lady-raziel]

right wing trolls acting up on tumblr always fascinate me like what are you doing making a fuss about pronouns on the pronouns in bio website you’re in enemy territory like are you lost or something

[chloesimaginationthings]

The secret ending in FNAF into the pit..