#its mostly honey lollll

[megumiluvv]

finally got 100 boops sent to others

[diorstarr]

fics without happy endings are so important ‼️ and with a character like Joel who is like you said, doomed by the narrative, it is only soooo fitting that no matter what he does right, he still cannot secure happiness for himself in the way he desires - so important!!! and joel will never be happy. sorry </3 he will do the best he can and will go to absolutely insane lengths to get what he wants and he will always fail. 

I’m def seeing Joel seeing reader in a halo of light despite all the guts and gore - and a choir of of angels and gold sparks.

I never say this enough about your writing but I just loveee how effortless it all is. Each sentence transitions into the next so silky smooth and there’s never a delay in between a character’s inner monologue and description of the surroundings. You are so talented. I genuinely wish you’d publish a book akldfjasd

STOPPPPPP I LOVEYOUUU THIS IS THE NICEST THING ANYONE HAS EVER SAID TO MEEEE. IM ACTUALLY HYPERVENTILATING STOPPPPPPP

the flip from Joel’s understanding and care to this is so perfectly put - joel is a smart man!! and absolutely guided by his emotions in a way that makes him absolutely ruthless. he’s already attached himself to reader and, ofc, wants to see her be safe and healthy but also knows that he can’t be too much of a mother hen bc it won’t lead to the type of relationship he wants. 

HONEY???? ASDFAJSDFASODFI HELLO ADLFJA THAT JUST NUKED MY BRAIN - imagine him saying that in his thick texas accent and his gruff voice….oooooo i need him lol 

LMFAOOOOO please I laughed -  i debated whether i should include this line LMAO but decided it was too funny to leave out and im glad u laughed lollll

but this is still fucked up on so many levels. - tbh i get it!! looking at tlou and the tlou verse thru the experiences we have can be so hard bc ive never had to do things for survival the way they’ve had too but its also like….joel….was this really necessary?? and to him it definitely is. he needs to have a tight reign on reader and her emotions and the way she has to live w him. he sees this constant reminder of your failures as something necessary to remind you that you do need him. what chance do you have without him? 

Not in an endorsing way but more in the ‘I’m trying to keep you alive, the least you can do is trust me’ way - yuppppppp. he definitely bounces between that angry ‘don’t you see im doing this for you?’ and the pathetic ‘can’t you see im doing this for you?’ and both are fucking awful lmao but at the same time you can see why he would do that 

Joel really is not holding back at all - lollllll he can’t!! also he doesn’t see the point in holding back. its the truth isn’t it? (thats how he would justify it LMAO) 

Dior what the actual fuck. WHAT THE FUCK - lol. um. ok. yeah i know i know lolll 

watching Joel soak up every little thing reader gives him - the man is touch STARVED 

You having this in Joel’s POV is just too good. He downplays the seriousness of his actions, his feelings, his thought processes to such a degree that even as a reader, for a split second, I find myself being like yeah I get it before I catch myself - it was sooo fun writing in his pov and it was also important to me to write it mostly in his pov bc i really really wanted to show just how fucked up he is and how far he’s fallen. and he totallyyyyy always downplays his actions (we see this time and time again) and tbh it was so easy to justify his actions while writing LMAO + i had to remind myself that HE’S A BAD GUY 

This scene?? Are you joking? This was incredible. Joel’s defenses, his lack of remorse, him justifying why you don’t say anything. God, you nailed every awful thing about a nice guy right here - eeeeeee this was one of the first scenes i wrote lmao and tbh kinda what inspired this whole thing and what i centered the story around lmaooo (what does that say abt me…go!) but this is hopefully the scene that made u pause and be like….what the fuck is wrong with joel. it is so obvious that reader doesn’t enjoy what’s happening. sure she’s being “pleasured” or maybe even “deriving pleasure” from what’s happened but its against her will! and joel knows this and his justification for all this is sooo. he really is the creepy nice guy here lol

I wanted to do a play by play comment but this fic really took me by the throat and wouldn’t let me go until I finished it. - im selfish for loving that it had u in such a chokehold lollllllll 

Because I think that acceptance is far too cruel for even the universe to let go without punishment. - SPEAK ON ITTTTTTTTT. like what did reader do to deserve this?? nothing!! and the fact that joel continues to justify AND downplay his actions and sees readers acceptance of him and the life she now lives as something inevitable and almost owed to him is something so evil fr 

The POV switch...magnificent -  i almost debated not having her pov!! but there was some info that i did need to get across lol that just didn’t make sense coming from joel pov lol. im glad that u liked it tho! i think her snippets were incredibly important in showing how joel is an unreliable narrator and a bad bad man. 

The implication of her knowing how Joel wormed his way into her life through a series of awful events (at least that’s my understanding!! I could be projecting LOOL) - nah she def knows!! but there’s only so much that she can do. and at a certain point he had to have broken thru to her and drilled the message of ‘what can you do without me?’ and that constant reminder of how she failed did more damage than we will ever know i think. esp after what she had to do to her mom, yk? 

Dior, this is so fucking incredible. I know I’m repeating myself but really. I’m gonna be thinking about this for weeks. God, what I’d do to read this w fresh eyes again - shut up i love you and im gonna cry. 

sullen girl

18+, minors do not interact with my work or my blog. if you follow me w no age in ur bio i will block you

pairing: dark!joel x f!reader a/n: fiona apple said "is that why they call me a sullen girl, sullen girl?" and i was like oh? and ran w it. but im also not rlly sure how i feel about this lol. this is set a few years before the show and ignores a lot of canon (per usual lol) + its set in the boston qz. feedback is greatly appreciated! lemme know if u liked it at all. on ao3 summary: joel stumbles into you by accident. but how can he just let you go? wc: ~4.7k + this fic DOES NOT have a happy ending. below the cut are cw/tw and they include SPOILERS. tags are not exhaustive. please feel free to send me a dm or an ask if you would like more info abt the warnings i've listed. if you don't like DON'T READ.

cw/tw: dubcon/noncon, obsessed!joel, overprotective!joel, dark!joel. he is not a good person here lmfao that cannot be overstated, alternating pov's, m + f masturbation, nonspecific age gap, pet names galore, canon typical violence and gore, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome esque, references to drugs and drug use, references to suicide (nothing super specific), inaccurate wound description and care, and death of reader.

---

The first time Joel sees you, you’re covered in blood and holding a rusty wrench covered with bits of bone and brain. 

There are two bodies laying at your feet; a little boy dressed in threadbare pajamas and an old woman, her hair covered in a headscarf printed with flowers. He cannot tell where the flowers end and the blood begins. 

You don’t notice him at first, eyes trained on the people on the ground. It’s a perfect opportunity for him to leave. He’s not exactly in the business of saving people. 

But ain’t you a pretty, little thing? Even covered in mud and sweat and tears, he can see that you’re lovely. Soft and lush, like sunlight and spring. 

So, he takes a step forward. It’s a split second decision, one he finds that he doesn’t regret as he clears his throat. You look up at him, eyes bright with fear. He can’t help but think that you look like an animal being hunted. 

You blink at him slowly. Sluggishly. The air is muggy and thick with the rotting scent of summer and the coppery tang of blood. 

“Stay away from me!” you shriek, voice high and shrill, arms already shaking with exhaustion. Whatever adrenaline that possessed you earlier seems to be making its way out of your system. 

“I’m safe.” 

You keep holding the wrench up to his face. He wonders if you’ll run up to him. Try and clobber him in the head with the thick piece of metal in your hands. He would like to see you try. 

“My name’s Joel,” he says, taking another step forward, keeping his palms up. “I can help you.” 

You let out a little hiccup and drop the wrench. It clatter to the ground, the sound of metal on concrete bites through the air. You sway on your feet before attempting to take a step forward. Your knees are weak and you begin to crumple to the ground.  He catches you -- arms wrapped securely around your waist -- before you can fall. 

“I got you,” he whispers. “I got you.” 

---

He takes you back to his place. Uses the meager amount of soap to clean the blood off your hair, uses the finite amount of hot water to scrub the layers of dirt off your body. Looks over the smooth expanse of skin that’s now on display -- scanning for bites and scratches -- and doesn’t find anything. 

For the first time in a long time, things may be looking up. 

He wipes you off with a thin, scratchy towel. Rubs ointment on the superficial cuts on your hands. Sits you down on his couch and pushes a bowl of soup in your hands -- thinned out broth with chunks of carrots and potato skins. Throws a blanket over your shoulder and smooths your hair back behind your ears. 

You don’t eat and he doesn’t expect you to. 

He thinks about giving you one of his pills, maybe you’ll be easier to handle, but he can’t afford to have you get all lethargic and stupid. 

The metal spoon he slipped into your hand clatters to the ground and you look at him almost guiltily. 

“I’m--shit--I’m sorry--” 

“Hey, it’s fine,” he interrupts as you blink up at him in confusion. He feels something bordering a smile split his face in half and he says your name softly. “I bet you’re tired, huh.” 

You nod, pulling the blanket tighter across your shoulders. “Yeah,” you mumble as he gets up, grabbing the bowl of soup out of your hands and setting it down on the ground. 

He runs his knuckles over the soft curve of your cheek and grips your elbow gently. “Let’s get you to bed then,” he says. 

You get up off the couch easily, almost falling into him. He helps you over to the bed and you sink into the thin mattress, letting out a soft sigh of relief. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you say, voice barely louder than whisper and he feels his heart swell with something akin to pride. Something that teeters on joy. 

---

It’s almost morning when he slides in next to you.  

You let out a whine and try to scoot your body away. He smooths his palm over your hip, digging his fingers into your skin. 

“Shh,” he says, pressing his face into your neck. You smell like his soap -- antiseptic and foamy -- with something distinctly sweeter underneath.  

You squirm for another minute before settling into him. He can hear your heart rattle in your chest. 

“Tell me about ‘em,” he rasps. 

Maybe they were strangers. Maybe they were more. It would serve him better to know exactly what it was. 

Your breath hitches. “I--I don’t--” 

He lets his lips skim over the shell of your ear. “You can tell me, honey. It’s ok.” 

Affection and empathy is coming back to him a lot easier than he thought.

“My brother and grandma,” you whisper, voice thick with tears. “They got bit, and I--I don’t know how.” 

What is he supposed to say to that? 

‘M sorry. It was bound to happen. That’s life. 

I’m happy you’re here. 

Well, maybe not that. 

You seem to deflate and you wrap your arms defensively across your chest. “I was supposed to keep them safe and I couldn’t even do that.” 

He smooths his palm over the soft skin of your stomach. “Don’t think about that,” he says. “Just go to sleep.” 

You don’t answer, breath uneven and scratchy, and that makes him uncomfortable. He’s desperate to appease you, make you happy. But there’s no enemy to fight. No one to smite down to get you on his good side. 

“Will you--can I--I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you admit quietly. “And I don’t--” 

“You can stay here as long as you need,” he firmly interrupts. 

You nod. “Thank you,” you whisper into the pillows underneath you. 

He has to bite back a smile. “Sure, sweetheart.” 

---

Summer bleeds into fall -- the air turning grey and soft with the smell of snow -- and still, you stay. 

Gaining your trust isn’t easy -- you’re a sullen, stubborn thing who likes to fight back -- but once he reminds you of your family, the one you couldn’t save, you become almost elastic in his hands. 

He knows that you cry -- your eyes are rimmed red more often than not when he comes home -- but you never let him see you snivel and sob. He knows that you dream -- most nights you wake up screaming and he has to cover your mouth with one of his big palms so you don’t wake up the entire complex -- but you never talk about what’s in them. 

He knows that you yearn -- staring out the dusty and cracked window, fingers curled over the rails as you blink almost dreamily at the grimey markets -- but what it is exactly that you want, he’ll never know.  

He tries asking -- about the tears, about the dreams, about what you want -- but you just bite your lip and look past him, almost like he isn’t there. 

But he knows that you can’t play this game forever. One day you’ll get tired. One day you’ll just give in. One day, you’ll understand that he’s just trying to keep you safe. 

---

Joel likes to bring you gifts. 

Just small things, really -- a thick, knit blanket that’s a gorgeous chocolate brown. Chipped mugs with cartoon characters painted on the front. DVDs that play old pop music (he sings along to Beyonce and Destiny’s Child when he thinks you aren’t looking). 

He expects thank you’s to be given freely and repeatedly and you comply. 

“Thank you,” you murmur when he drapes the blanket over your legs.

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing his hands when he hands you the mugs. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning into the warm expanse of his body as he slips the DVD into the radio.  

One day he brings you shampoo and conditioner -- the good stuff, the stuff that you missed -- you kiss him on your own volition and you swear he stops breathing.

“What’s that for, pretty?” he rasps, pulling you onto his lap. 

You wrap your arms around him. “Just saying thanks.” 

He squints up at you. “Hmm.” 

“You do so much for me,” you say, dropping your head into the crook of his neck, trying to ignore the sharp and comforting scent of his shampoo. “I just want you to know that.” 

---

He insists on the two of you having dinner together most nights. It’s a pleasant way to end the day and he likes this uninterrupted time with you. 

He knows that you like it too even if you don’t admit it. 

But today you’re almost petty and short with your answers. He lets you stew in it -- you’ll end up regretting it anyhow -- and doesn’t say another word. 

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “When do you think I can start going out again?” 

Bits of anger and fear swirl deep in his stomach as he watches you push what FEDRA tries to pass off as rice into small piles on your plate. 

“Excuse me?” 

You bring one shoulder up and avoid looking him in the eye. “I can’t keep living here without working. We need the cards, you know. Things are getting more expensive all the time.” 

You keep on talking, something about how you worked before and how you were good at it. How you made things and sold them for a high price on the black market (what do you know about shady deals that happen in alleyways in the middle of the night?) 

But he can’t focus on any of that. 

You said we. 

We need the cards, you know. 

“No,” he says. “I won’t have you going back out there. You’re safer here.” 

We need the cards.  

You frown. “But Joel, that’s not–” 

He slams a palm on the table. “No,” he repeats. 

We need. 

You blink at him, mouth open in shock. He never raises his voice at you. Never brings the bits of violence that have become a part of him into the space he now shares with you. It’s the rules he’s given himself. But he cannot fathom what his life would be like if he lost you. 

We. 

“Hey,” he says, softening his tone. “Just want to keep you safe, honey.” 

You nod, averting your eyes from him. “Ok.” 

---

He’s a man with needs. 

That’s what he tells himself when starts feeling too guilty. He doesn’t even touch you, not really. But you’re so soft and so warm and so willing that he can’t help himself. 

He’s a man with needs. That’s what he whispers in your ear when he pulls down your thin sleep shorts, before sliding his throbbing length onto the smooth skin of your ass. He’ll hear you whimper and feel your hips buck forward, no doubt looking for your own release. 

“Joel,” you whine.

“I know, honey. I know,” he says, voice thick with arousal. 

He softly bites on your shoulder as he comes, his warm spend dripping down onto your thighs. 

Sometimes, when he’s done, he’ll notice that you’re crying. He’ll wipe your tears with his knuckles and press a soft kiss of apology on the corner of your mouth -- never on it -- and lets his come dry on your skin. 

Neither of you talk about it. After all, what could you say? He keeps you safe doesn’t he? Keeps you fed, keeps you warm, keeps a roof over your head. What do you have to complain about? 

And, as he’ll tell you time and time again. He’s a man with needs, ain't he? 

--- 

He doesn’t know how things get lost in translation. He thought he was crystal clear -- leaving no room for argument. 

You don’t go out unless I’m with you. Got that, sweetheart?

Yeah, ok Joel. I won’t, don’t worry.

But now you’re here. In front of him in a crowded area where anyone -- anyone -- can hurt you. 

He also wonders how you got out, but that's a question for another time. 

With his sights set on you he practically runs over, pushing the idiots that don’t jump out of his way. 

His blood feels hot as he watches you unconsciously run your knuckles on the underside of your chin, the delicate spring sun making your hair glow, all shiny and smooth. You throw your head back and laugh, reminding him of sparkling water bursting on his tongue. 

Joel thinks he could kill something. 

Gravel crunches under his boots, alerting you of his arrival. Your smile drops as he grips your elbow -- so hard he knows you’ll be bruised by tonight -- but he can’t find it in himself to feel bad. 

Stupid little girl needs a reminder on how things have to be. 

He grits his teeth and lets the anger in him simmer. 

“Joel, wait--” you say, trying to pull your arm back. 

But he’s too strong, don’t you know that? 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snarls, pulling you into an empty alleyway. 

“Joel--” 

He shoves you up against the wall. Your breath leaves you in a short, sharp gasp. 

“I ask you for one thing,” he says, voice shaking with anger. “One goddamn thing, and you can’t even do that.” 

All you can do is stare at him -- eyes wet and wide -- and flashing with panic as his fingers dig into your arms. 

“I ain’t asking for much, sweetheart--” he interjects as much cruelty as he can into his words and watches you wither “--so what the hell do you not understand?” 

“Joel,” you gasp. “St-stop, you’re hurting me.” 

He does not let his grip loosen. “You think I’m hurting you? What the fuck d’you think will happen to you without me?” 

You’re crying now, pathetic little sobs that pierce the air like thorns. He curls his lips and almost snaps his teeth at you. 

He shakes you and watches your head snap back and forth like a marionette without its strings. 

“What do you think will happen?” he repeats. 

“I’ll ge-get hurt,” you stutter and he lets you go, watching you sag into the brick wall. 

He brings a palm up, smoothing it over his beard before bringing his head down to look you in the eye. 

“That’s right,” he says softly. “And I’m just trying to keep you safe. Can’t you see that?” 

You don’t answer him, wrapping your arms around yourself and blinking down at the sidewalk. 

He lets out a sigh. “Look at me, honey.” 

You sniff and tighten the grip you have on yourself. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says as snow begins to fall. 

The seconds fold into themselves -- uncomfortable and compact -- but he just waits it out. Waits for you to bring your eyes up to meet his. 

He cocks his head to the side as you lick your lips. 

“I’m sorry, Joel.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

You shrug, jerky and uncoordinated. “For making you worry.” 

He squints down at you. “That it?” 

“And for going against the rules.” 

“That’s right,” he says. “And the rules are there for a reason, aren't they?"

You nod almost enthusiastically. “Yes.” 

“And you gotta follow ‘em?” 

You wipe your face. “Yes.” 

He leans in and watches you take in a deep breath and hold it. 

“Ever gonna do something like this again?” 

“No,” you whisper. 

He cradles your face in his palm and wishes the two of you could merge. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

He swallows thickly, feeling himself go impossibly hard at your compliance. He takes his hand off your face and takes a step back. That’s when he notices that you’re shivering. 

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he frowns. 

You give him a jerky nod. “Just wanna go home, Joel,” you say, dragging your heels back through the gravel. “Please.” 

“Alright then,” he grumbles, more to himself than to you, and holds his arms out. 

But you stay there, back up against the brick wall and arms wrapped tightly around yourself. 

He presses his lips together before saying your name. 

You shake your head, brushing the snow out of your eyes. 

“Home,” you say. “I just want to go home.” 

---

He keeps the nauseatingly orange pill bottles on the kitchen counter. 

“Valium?” you ask one day, thinking of a worn blue dress and mint tea. 

“What?” 

You cross your arms over your chest. “It looks like Valium.” 

“And how the hell do you know that?” 

Quietly, and to his back, you say, “My mom used to take it.” 

He turns around with a frown and you flush. Jesus, not like that. 

“She was sick,” you rush to explain. “Cancer or something, they never really told us.” 

He’s still frowning. “So they gave her this?” 

You don’t know what he’s more shocked about; the fact that you’re sharing personal details about your life unprompted or that FEDRA actually gave a damn. 

You nod. “This was, like, way in the beginning but she--” 

My love, help me put on this dress. Your brother is out with his friend, yes? Good. And your grandmother is getting some sun? It will do her well, you know. Going out. 

“--you know, it became too much for her. The pain and all.” 

“Right,” he says in that annoyingly flat voice of his.  

Will you make me some tea then? And not too much sugar, please. 

You shake your head and let out a shaky breath, unable to look him in the eyes. 

“You watched her do it?” he finally asks once the silence becomes too much. 

Crush them, my love. Put them in the tea and give me a kiss goodbye. 

You shrug, ignoring the way your ribs seem to shake with how hard your heart is pounding. 

“I mean–” he takes a step closer and you take a step back. It was like watching her sleep, but you don’t want to tell him that. “-- I helped her.” 

“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging his palm over his face. 

You wonder if he’s worried that you’ll try and do the same thing -- like mother, like daughter, you suppose -- but you cannot have him be any more paranoid or controlling than he already is. 

So you throw him off balance -- or try too anyways -- pulling the rug from underneath his feet in the clumsiest way possible. 

“I was gonna ask if we could shower today?” 

FEDRA has everyone on a strict schedule -- lack of water and all. But Joel is the big, bad man everyone listens to.   

He narrows his eyes. “Really?”   

“Mmhm,” you say with a nod. “I’m really, really dirty, Joel.” 

He smiles -- you’re nothing more than a harmless little girl to him -- and he takes a step forward. 

“Sure honey,” he murmurs, pushing your hair out of your face. “Whatever you want.” 

You try to smile but you feel it wobble. He presses his calloused fingers onto your cheeks. 

“Whatever you want,” he repeats and you close your eyes and nod. 

All the man does is lie. 

---

One night -- when the sky is soft and blue with the promise of dawn and he’s got his hands all over you -- you finally let out a sound, a whimper as you rut your cunt against the scratchy bed sheets. 

And, for once, he pushes his own needs away and flips you on your back. 

Your cheeks are flushed with arousal and your forehead is damp with sweat. Your eyes flash with something that can only be described as fear. 

“Wanna touch yourself, honey?” he asks, threads of desperation taking root in his words. 

You whimper as he presses his palms on the inside of your thighs. He thinks if he takes a bite out of you, you’ll melt in his mouth like something sweet -- sugar, spice and everything nice. 

“That what you want?” 

You swallow and nod. It’s quick -- blink and you’ll miss it -- but of course he doesn’t. How could he?

Your shorts are rucked around your knees and your cunt is already glistening and swollen. 

He trails a hand down your smooth skin to slide his middle and ring finger through your folds. He brings his fingers back, pressing his fingers to his thumb before slowly pulling them apart; showing you the glistening slick that now coats them. 

“All that for me?” he asks softly. 

“Oh,” you breathe, cheeks darkening with embarrassment. “I’m not--I don’t--” you say, trying to bring your knees together, eyes already sparkling with tears. 

Joel wants to see them fall. He wants to poke and prod you until you’re sobbing. Taunt you until you’re stuttering from embarrassment. But he knows he should take it slow. You’re too delicate for the games he wants to play. 

“Ah, ah,” he scolds. “C’mon now, sweetheart. You don’t want to make yourself feel good?” 

“Joel,” you say, mouth curving around the soft syllables of his name. 

He grabs one of your hands that are gripping at the bedsheets, and brings it down to your cunt. He presses your pointer finger onto your clit and watches your hips buck up into the air. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmurs as he takes his own hand away. 

You touch your cunt softly, and he clicks his teeth. When you finally slip a finger in, the look of pure bliss on your face is enough to make him believe in heaven. 

“Jesus,” he rasps. “You’s as pretty as a picture.” 

You moan, arching your hips up, and he hears your breath hitch. Knows that if he lays his palm flat on your breastbone he’ll feel your heart beat a million miles a minute. 

“That’s it, that right there,” he says. 

“Joel,” you sob. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, rubbing your thumb hard on your clit. “Yes.” 

And you do; your pretty little cunt clenching tight around your finger and he groans out your name. 

Your blink at him slowly as you come down from your high. He sees you open your mouth to say something before biting your lip. 

He tilts his head to the side. “Yeah?” he rasps. 

Your request is softer than wind rustling through leaves and it gives him pause. 

“Can you kiss me?” 

He looks down at you and your breath quickens at his lack of an answer. 

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “‘m sorry I asked--” 

“Why?” 

Your brows furrow in confusion. “Why what?” 

“Why do you want me to kiss you?” 

You shrug and avert your gaze. “Nevermind,” you repeat, quietly. 

“Stop that,” he scolds. “Now why would you think I wouldn’t want to kiss you?” 

“I don’t know,” you bite back. “Maybe--” your voice breaks in a childishly insecure way “--maybe you don’t find me pretty.” 

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “I find you gorgeous, honey.” 

Your mouth opens in confusion. “Oh,” you say, blinking quickly. 

He smiles -- something soft and slow like the smooth drip of honey -- and lightly flicks your nose with his thumb. “My most gorgeous girl,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes -- hazy with pleasure -- light up with his compliment and he dips his head. “Want a kiss?” he asks. 

You nod, bringing your hands up, fingers skimming his bearded cheek. “Yes, please,” you whisper. 

“What are you gonna do for it?” 

You shrug, moving your face to the side so that your nose bumps into his. “Anything,” you breathe. “Anything you want.” 

He grins -- you really are sugar, spice and everything nice -- and presses his lips against yours. It’s a chaste kiss -- tasting of toothpaste and sleep -- but he finds it satisfying, soothing the aches that never seem to go away. 

“Joel,” you sigh into his mouth. 

And he takes it as an admission that you care.

---

He doesn’t think of Texas often -- Boston is too snowy and grey for that -- but sometimes in the summer he thinks about his old life, remembering how the sun turned everything golden and wet. How the air was thick with the smell of roses and bluebells. 

Today reminds him of that. The air is heavy. Stagnant and muddy -- in a way that makes his stomach flip -- and perfumed with the promise of something dreadful.

But….it can’t be. 

He watched you eat canned peaches for breakfast this morning; licking the sticky sweet syrup off your finger. You even smiled at him, letting him kiss your cheek before he left. 

Things have to be ok. He doesn’t know how he’ll survive if they aren’t. 

---

It happened quick, so quick, and you think there’s something almost awful about that. 

You expected fire and brimstone. Maybe something more heroic and sacrificial -- like a bloody wrench and a twisting mass of clickers -- not dying all alone and scared. 

The pain is now a dull throb and all you can really focus on is the laundry basket that’s tipped over; socks and jeans slumped on top of each other and gathering up all the dust that never seems to go away. 

You pull in a deep breath and feel your heart rattle in your chest. 

What a waste of soap. What a waste of your time. 

---

When he opens the door the first thing he sees is the curtains fluttering in the soft summer breeze. Then he sees you -- on the ground -- with shattered glass surrounding you like sprinkles in a birthday cake, and he wonders why the hell you won’t get up.

Then. 

He takes in the wood and how it’s slick with your blood -- dark brown and rusty -- and hears your raspy breathing. 

He drops his gun and it clatters to the floor. He lurches forward, arms outstretched, ignoring the door that stays wide open behind him.

---

The sounds of bullets being fired was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact it was disconcerting if you didn’t hear it. 

But this time it was different. A soldier was yelling -- get the fuck back! right now! -- then there was screaming and crying. 

Then. 

Someone was sobbing -- not my baby! please, not my baby! -- and you stopped what you were doing. All you could think about was that wrench and the butterfly on the wall and that worn blue dress and cracked linoleum countertops and blood in your mouth. 

Then. 

The glass shattered, flying every which way, and you dropped the basket of laundry with a resounding, final thud. 

---

He crouches down on the ground and pulls your shirt up with shaking hands. 

The thin material sticks to your skin and you try to push him off of you. “Joel--” 

He swats your hand away. “I got you.” 

You’re shaking your head now. Sobbing. “No, I don’t--let me--please--” 

“I got you,” he repeats, trying to ignore what you’re asking. 

He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming. The wound itself isn’t bad -- the bullet just grazed you, really -- but you’ve lost too much blood for him to do anything. 

But he can’t--

It’s not like--

How can he--

---

He’s cradling you now; a hand wrapped around the nape of your neck and the other curled around your waist as he pulls you into his lap. 

You let your eyes flutter shut and you breathe in the smoky scent of his skin. 

“Joel,” you slur, rubbing your nose over his sternum. 

His fingers dig into your skin but he does not say a word. 

---

The night is cold and the curtains continue fluttering in the breeze. Shards of glass dig into his skin but his grip on you stays strong. 

Your breathing has gone soft and scratchy and he knows it's almost the end. 

Someone laughs outside and the sound is carried in by the wind. 

You let out a long, low moan, gripping at his shirt and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“I got you,” he says. 

He’ll carry you to the afterlife in every lifetime, he vows to himself as you leave his world how you entered -- covered in blood and wisps of despair. 

He closes his eyes and stays with until the sun rises once more. 

His destiny is doom and demise. 

It’s about time he accepted that.

[aliferous-ly]

ya girl back at it again with the headcanon splat of ideas, splabbles if you will

(drabbles, splat, sprabbles, yes? no? i’ll see myself out)

FARMER BOY VIRGIL

yknow analogical is just so good so why not duderinos lez go

yes yes this is strange but hear me out

virgil lives on a farm with his grandparents and two cousins

u guys are v creative im sure you could come up with wonderful people to be them, shorts characters or cartoon therapy characters or ocs

he likes gardening mostly while his cousins take care of animals n stuff

but he does have a pet goat named Anx who he loves dearly, he would die for her tbh

side note on Anx she was a v nervous lil kid and he was the only one who managed to calm her down

she liked the smell of his big hoodie and his hands smell like plants 

she lets other people milk her but she heavily heavily prefers virgil, and gets stressed when she doesnt see him for a day or two 

he’s 100% ok with this

AGAIN MORE UNDER THE CUT I JUST KNOW ITS GONNA GET LONG

they go to a farmer’s market every saturday morning, it’s 9am to 2pm

they sell fruits from their orchard and veggies from the garden

originally virgil didn’t go at all, he stayed back to ‘watch the farm’ but he really just. freaked out a lot about dealing with people 

his gparents understood and so did his cousins, plus then his cousins get more pocket change lollll

(they give virgil some because virgil ~basically~ grew all the veggies and some fruits /raspberries mostly/)

eventually virgil goes, one of his cousins convince him bcuz this one stand has honeycomb and he’s literally obsessed with honey and bees, forever sad their farm doesnt have any (one of his cousins are deeply afraid of bees + allergic, and virgil would never get bees w them so scared)

anyway he goes to the farmers market and mostly sits behind their stand in the back

at one point he works up the courage to go to the honey stand which is like. right next stand

there’s so much honey 

so much

they’re all different colors and have different flower labels on them , and there are even some books people can look through, and a tiny brochure almost that has lil facts on bees

he’s in awe he just loves it all so much

anyway he clears his throat and buys some honeycomb from the man behind the counter, who has glasses and a tie and a lil nametag that says “Logan”

Virgil goes back to his stand even though he wants to stay there so bad and read about BEES

he loves BEES

~ fast forward to the next week ~

he goes and its wonderful he buys some acacia honey

to go with his tea

he loves tea

the dude selling it is different tho, he’s wearing sunglasses and a flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows, unbuttoned with a white undershirt virgil’s bidar (get it bisexual gaydar) starts going off 

dude has a nametag “Remy” which sounds p cool to virgil’s deviantart oc ears

anyway he slinks back to his fam’s stand

and they teach him how to sell and he realizes it’s . pretty easy, people buying fresh veggies in a farmer’s market are usually not Super Angry

two boys walk by, one wearing a wicked t-shirt and the other with a black t-shirt and a tie

“how much would you give me if I ate a raw radish” wicked t-shirt boy says

“fifty cents” tie boy replies

“that’s it? the radish costs more than that!”

“I’ll buy the radish then”

he buys the radish and virgil links tie boy to bee boy and blurts out “hey, i know you!” 

logan blinks at him. “yes i work at the bee stand. this is roman, sometimes he works at the gelato stand.”

logan gives the raw radish to roman and he just. chomp

he spits it out like five seconds later and virgil can’t help laughing, esp because logan’s face is so smug

“fifty cents lost. what a waste”

“stfu”

virgil thinks this is hilarious 

~ fast forward again yey ~

time passes and virgil hangs out w bee man logan bcuz logan figured out virgil’s obsession with bees are like his so they just. geek out. over bees

i love them

roman works at the gelato stand sometimes because his sisters and mom usually are there, but when he does work there he sometimes drags his friend patton along and they work together 

virgil had never had gelato before . roman and patton think this is a True Crime,

logan finds out about how virgil wants to take care of bees or see them or literally . something. he’s starved. but he cant because of his cousin

so logan invites virgil to his house. he and his brother remy work the stand , his parents were involved in the start but now they just let their boys do their thing 

they live somewhat in the country? but not on a farm just a house with. a lot of land

logan has a whole system down and virgil is so fascinated with it and 

i cant believe they fall in love over bees 

so many honey puns too bad i suck at puns

someone hmu with a good punny name for this bee au

roman, remy, patton, virgil’s two cousins, and virgil’s grandma all have a betting pool over when they’re getting together. roman and remy have the biggest money in the pot, followed closely by virgil’s gma 

break to breath omfg so many bulletmarks

ok we resume

logan visits virgil one day and virgil’s grandma gives them a cherry pie and tells em to enjoy it in virgil’s tree house thing

it’s like a platform in the trees p much, with branches surrounding it

virgil keeps honey up there because he doesnt want his fam to steal it from him 

but he doesnt remember having spoons

theyre chilling in the tree house, eating cherry pie with spoons directly from the pie tin, being eternal icons

logan picks up one of the honey jars and it’s his honey

virgil mumbles something about how much he loves lavender honey, and logan always has some of it 

logan flushes and says that he keeps one hidden until virgil comes over to his stand, so virgil always had one to buy. if he didnt buy it logan would sneak it back under the counter for next week

now they’re both blushing messes

virgil looks at his spoon, and at the honey, and just. snatch

and he gets a spoonful of honey, not too full so he doesnt accidentally spill because his hands are shaking so bad, and he holds it out to logan, feeling like his heart is about to burst

virgil and logan feel a charge in the air and virgil is so so nervous

logan slowly. slowly leans forward wraps his mouth around the spoonful of honey, pulling away just as gradually

logan feels like he’s going to explode

anyway after logan did That virgil just . squeaked and covered his face with his hands and scarf 

(side headcanon when its not cold enough for sweatshirts he has some cloth to cover his face if he gets embarrassed, because just hands feels too oily for him)

their faces are so red

they leave the treehouse hand in hand and the betting pool is OVER !! they finally did it!!! they got together!!!!!

(virgil’s gma wins the pool)

(they think she planned it out but they have no proof)

(she did)

(100%)

anyway honeybee gays is slaying me in this chillis tonight join me in this pit

MINI BONUS ROYALITY BCUZ THIS IS SO LONG ALREADY

roman’s family makes the gelato themselves

mostly

patton loves giving random flavor suggestions

before they got together there was so much pining, so many pet names but “it’s just platonic!! :’)”

after they got together there’s so many gelato dates

many many pet names , they see who can come up with the most sugary

logan and virgil die basically when they’re around them/go on double dates

relationship competitions , ie who can win at chicken at the pool

all of roman’s sisters love patton so much

(there’s three of them but one of them has a v serious gf so roman counts her as the fourth)

super cute 

#relationshipgoals