#like he cares a lot about things for better and for worse

[wrotebymii]

MAYBE ITS ME? … | Date Everything x gn!reader

Summary: After leaving your house because you can’t handle being hated in your very own home, Sam talks with you while your house becomes quiet…

This is a part two to this: PART ONE

Warning: minimal angst, honestly it’s a little fluffy with you and Sam. The objects are miserable now. There will be a part three!!

Sam has been the most understanding friend what felt like your only friend she tries her hardest to bring you out of your slump and rationalize while simultaneously making fun of you as to why your relationships within your home have a burning hate for you.

She’s pointing fun yet logical, allowing you to rant about what you did and where you possibly went wrong with each. She sat across from you, leaned forward with her elbows on her knees in full concentration. You were sat back practically melting into the furniture that didn’t despise you, moving a hand around to exaggerate your speech with the other stuffing your face with food like you haven’t eaten in weeks. Lowkey, you haven’t.

“When I talked to Hoove, being nice and supportive while telling him not to work too hard—I thought I was being sweet ya’know—“ You stuff your face and swallow.

“—but apparently NOT?? He got angry with me, when I tried backtracking and apologize which crazy by the way he said he HATED ME?!” You shout, you can feel your face heat in anger at the thought before tears well up.

“Or how I tried to speak with Daisuke—“

“Who’s that one?”

“Oh my tableware, he’s like tall about yay-high with black hair a portion of it in a bun with like dishware themed robes…I heard from others in rhe kitchen that he’s into taking things seriously” You explain with a wave of the hand.

“I actually…heh I thought that we’d get along, he likes taking care of the dishes and even tries to fix them if they crack due to me but that’s not the point I too like fixing things, I want to fix things…but I guess unlike him or fake it till you make it like Tony…I just make it worse…”

“I…I just wanted to be friends or the I don’t know? Date? The whole reason of the damn glasses.” You mutter, you push the snacks away and use a napkin to clean yourself.

Dating them, any of them wasn’t the main goal. Sure it’s interesting but realizing the things around your home have their own lives in the house was so cool!

Being a hermit, a homebody it felt like a this was a way to help you as well, to get better with being social and maybe let you learn that the outside wasn’t so scary and not everything was out to get you.

But, you messed it up—perhaps you tried too hard, pushed too much, didn’t push enough, didn’t flirt when needed to, too flirty for some, or didn’t have enough specs for the correct dialogue and it came out lame. Now, you’re both miserable in the house and out of it.

Sam was trying, really was. As you spoke she’d occasionally glance around her apartment as if the ranting was making her paranoid about her house. Sighing she runs her hand down her face. She should’ve said something about the weird black stuff in that bathroom, maybe it was the fumes getting to you, but she shook her head.

“What else happened?…”

“The breaking point?”

“Yeah, what made you take off the glasses?”She asks, you groan, slumping back and wiping away a few stray tears as you remembered.

“I was going to the Breaker Box Club, ‘cause Eddie and Volt were still nice-ish from our previous conversations—I hadn’t talked to them in a bit by then cause I was trying to salvage whatever was going on between Harper the hamper and Dirk dirty clothes. I wanted to catch up and help Eddie with some of his work like last time.” You shift in your seat uncomfortably.

“When I entered it was packed, I was happy for them that their business was getting bigger but I knew it was gonna be a lot to take on so I went to find one of them to offer help…”

“…you try and help a lot…”

“I do, it’s…the only thing I can give to them—“ you stop yourself, continuing the story of the night prior.

“But, I knew I wasn’t welcomed. Everyone avoided me, whispering around like I was back in school. Again, Volt saw me. I remember waving at him as he walked over way too quickly. We talked as he pushed me along the way I came from, when I noticed I was confused and…worried I lost another person again…” You take in a deep breath.

“I did…the gossip around the club didn’t go unnoticed by the owners he wanted to get rid of me so it didn’t disturb the customers. I tried talking to him saying that I wasn’t a bad…person…” You don’t sound convinced yourself by that statement.

“He wasn’t having it, his…skin almost turned this light blue? His hand gripped my arm to drag my away from the prying eyes, it hurt…not to make him anymore mad I let him, throw me out…” Voice trailing off, Sam looks stunned, like this was the most juiciest soap opera ever.

“You got kicked out of your own break box—“

“YES, I GOT KICK OUT” you yelled but not at Sam, yelling at the absurd thought of being thrown out of your own break box.

“Crazy…” She elongates the ‘zy’ in the word, unsure how to handle the rest of this.

“Do you think there’s a way to start over with them? All of them I mean?”

The sun was setting, making the silence seem light and comforting. You’re tired, and don’t know where to tread next, so many ideas run in your mind that you—wait…

There might be a very dubious way to get your life back to normal. The thought felt terrible, too personal and guilty, but you don’t seem to have any other option. At least not right now. So, you’ll pin the idea with Keith in the back of your mind. And let it fester or wilt as you and Sam brainstorm together.

Back at the house.

The ones that cheered for your leave are quiet, basking in the dullness of the house. Sure they can talk to one another but…that’s uneventful. The house is missing apart of itself the part of you. The human part. The fragile, unpredictable, unproductive, and lonely ways of you has gone missed.

But everyone refuses to say it out loud. They’re all still bitter and angry with how you treated them—wait…why exactly are they all mad? Some can’t remember but feel justified, although, looking back they just remember you trying. No.

No. You hurt them. They think…

…

…

Okay—well they aren’t sure…not anymore.

The lights are off because there’s no need to see, the sinks and baths don’t run because there’s no one to draw it for, the wall creaks and settles sadly, coffee pot remains unused along with the beauty products, television, books, sofa, stove—all of it. All of them are…completely bored?

Maybe, making your life inconvenienced and almost down right harassed in your day to day life after you stopped interacting with them wasn’t the right way to express their anger. A day turned to four then a week then two weeks.

Dorian can feel the worry in every room about when you’ll return, he huffs. Bedroom Dorian stands still, looking up at the ceiling then down to the floor, watching Florence quickly scramble around her time book with all the new complaints and meetings for Celia.

He reluctantly…steps forward. Away from his position to stand right in front of the poor woman. He rather be doing his job, the thing he thinks so highly of. However, he too is miserable more miserable than laundry room closet Dorian because what is his purpose now that the one who he open and closes for…is gone?

But he’s convinced himself that speaking with Celia will help.

Or so he hopes.

Taglist:

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[mrs-weasley-reid]

PRETTY FACE

bau team x liaison!reader

Synopsis: As the BAU's communications liaison—with a pretty face—you're in charge of peace. But what happens when you're not feeling so peaceful? Word count: 2.2k WARNING: fluff. but also fem rage lol. a few curses. not proofread oopsie A/N: I'm still rusty, so sorry, my lovelies (; _ ;) but I tried my best I promiseeeee. I missed writing so much <3 let me know what you think!

Three years.

Three years of grueling hours. Three years of sweat and hidden tears. Three years of nonstop compensation for multiple skills you aren't born with.

You take pride in your work. You show up. You follow through.

It's no secret. No surprise. You're a beaut, and you don't feel shy. It's normal. So be damned if you curse the parents who gave you such wonderful genetics. 

But that does not make you just pretty.

If anything, it just makes your learned skills, strong will, and assertiveness much more credible. You're not just beauty, but also brains and brawn.

With that in mind, one shall have the mature intelligence to understand the itch on your palms to smack the shit out of the man right before your eyes.

"We told you that I'll be taking care of the media." You start as you follow behind the local precinct's detective. Might as well call it chasing. He's been walking around like you're a fly he's been trying to ward off.

"Like I said, Miss—" He says that to diminish you. To make you smaller. He ignores the fact. He can't grasp the idea. The truth. That you're not just a pretty face. "—The press was there. I didn't know they were going to ask questions that can make things worse." Oh, yes, he did. A liar. And a bad one, too.

That is exactly why the plan is solid. To have you right on the podium, fighting the urge to blink from the flashes. The plan is preventative. To keep the UnSub from thinking that they are winning. 

You manage to keep your eyes from rolling, subtly grinding your teeth. "And we made the plan for that certain reason. I'm used to questions that we have to avoid. I'm more skilled in—"

"Are you saying I'm incapable? That you're better than me?"

His voice rises. Loud enough to shut the entire precinct up. Loud enough to get your team's attention. To prompt judgment and, worse, to make you seem weak.

"You're twisting my words, Detective. I'm telling you what I'm trained for and why we're making use of that advantage." It's simple. It's clear. A grade school level of intelligence can understand just what you said.

But the issue remains the same.

You can't teach someone to fish if their goal is to hunt.

"Listen, doll face. I'm not going to let my city live in false hope by some chick."

If the silence isn't deafening enough, his words are. They exploded like a bomb made to leave you into fine dust.

Three years.

Three years of constant backlash to the idea that a communications liaison can do more than just pick up the phone and connect two vessels of justice into one.

That's why you chose to stay in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They give you the freedom to do your job. They aren't filled with cheap people who'll mansplain as simple as using a copier. 

Three years, and you learned a lot. You learned your role and their role. You learned how to read, observe, and listen.

So, you know just how much the team filters you from violence. You know how much the BAU team expects less from you when it comes to battling UnSubs. Or going against prideful local detectives, police officers, and more. 

You knew, but you didn't mind. Because despite that, you knew they cared for you dearly. Respected the hard work you put in. Wanted your job to be as easy as possible.

Today, however, is a different story. You're not about to let the team fight your battle. Not when it's with a guy like him. Not when you know damn well how crucial the case is. Not when you're more than some chick he tries to insist you as.

As usual, Hotch is about to step in when gasps echo throughout the room. He stopped in his tracks, bolting his feet on the tiled floor. Maybe even wide-eyed.

Swift.

One swift pull on the detective's tie and the height difference between the two of you shifts. You glower at him as if it’s a crime to be the type of person that he is. And in the back of your mind, you agree.

He's sitting on a chair now. Your left foot is between his thighs. The point of your heels sits three inches from his crotch like a gun to his sorry proof of manhood. 

And even with the stretch, you're nowhere looking lewd despite wearing a skirt. Emily thinks you look badass. Her wide grin can testify to that.

"It's Agent." You announce softly. So soft that the back of Derek's neck shivers in fear. "And if it weren't for this chick's team, another dead body would’ve made your city much, much worse."

Fire spreads inside your body. Rage seeps in. A strong rope that finally snaps. 

“Should we stop the kid?” Rossi asks lowly without batting an eye. He’s worried that if he blinks, you’ll turn into a criminal he can’t bear to catch. 

Hotch only shakes his head in response. Nonetheless, he moves one step every five seconds. Steadily approaching a lion to tame her. It’s not that he thinks you need taming. It’s the fact that he has no idea how to. You’ve never snapped before. The team is at a loss for words.

The grip you have on the detective’s tie can easily choke him then and there. But one thing you're great at is control.

Terrifying control, that is.

"So unless you cooperate, I'm not afraid to pack up and pull us off this messy case." You lightly tug him closer. You watch as a bead of sweat run down the side of his face. "And if you think you can drag our hands into the mud. You'll have your hands dirty all by yourself, because I'm damn great at keeping ours clean. Do I make myself clear, Detective?"

No one’s ever thought it’s possible to mock a worthy title such as detective, but you’re as shocked as everybody else.

How far can your beauty get you? The answer is nowhere, but he doesn’t need to know that. He's already too busy blinding himself from the fact that you're not just that. What more is tricking him into thinking it can get you farther?

A light hand lands on your shoulder. You turn to find Rossi with an unreadable expression. It's his way to pull you back to reality, to calm you down.

Hotch reaches for your hand on the detective's tie. "I think he understands," He insists. Stern but not harsh. More of a plea if you had to say so yourself.

Then, again, he’s always been confident with his words that most of them turn into law, which the entire team abides by without question.

Your hand lets go of the tie, blinking as if you’d been possessed, overwhelmed with rage. Tension dissipates from your body. The furrowed brows on your forehead finally separate.

"JJ and Morgan are going back to the dump site. Go with them."

An order.

Cool off, then we’ll talk later. That’s what Hotch meant, and you know it by heart, considering the amount of times you heard him utter the same words to the team.

It’s first for you, though. So it stings. Embarrassing, for lack of a better word. Part of you knew it was coming. It’s not you to step over a line you know you’re not allowed to cross. Still, it doesn’t change the suffocating feeling in your chest. 

You nod and turn around. Your fists clench so tight crescent indentations sting your palms. Even Rossi's gentle tap on your back didn't make you feel better.

You'd done it.

You broke their trust.

Who are you to say those things anyway? You're just a communications liaison. You have no power.

You can’t even bear to look up ahead to where the others stood. You're afraid that the indifferent looks on their faces will be the final blow.

Despite that, another feeling brews. It creeps right from the marrow of your bones. 

Disappointment. 

A feeling so familiar you can’t bear to feel it at all. Not when it comes to the team. Not when it comes to the people you find comfort with.

The detective coughs loudly as if you really did choke him to death. "You better control your liaison, Agent Hotchner. It’s not a good look to have someone rogue in the FBI." He demands. A snide comment about the team’s power. He’s been intimidated from the start, and he chose you to relieve himself of any jealousy that runs in his blood.

What a wimp, you thought. And unbeknownst to you, your team did too.

"Sorry," Your ears perk as soon as it comes out of Hotch's mouth. "I don't control the person that keeps my hands clean. If anything, I give them soap."

You're out of the door before you can even hear more, getting into the driver's seat without realizing your tight grasps on the wheel.

"Remind me never to piss you off," Derek immediately implores as he sits on the passenger seat next to you. “I’m glad I don’t wear neckties that often.”

Tears uncontrollably fill your eyes and soon enough trail down your cheeks. The adrenaline finally crashes down, and you're back to the realization of what just transpired.

You feel JJ's arms around you despite being in the backseat, "Thank you for being there for us. I know how hard it is to be in your position."

And the sobs come second. "Oh, my gosh! I almost choked a detective. What am I supposed to do? I’m just a liaison. I’m going to jail or something." You cry in almost inaudible tangents, earning a chuckle from the other two, to your dismay. “And did Hotch just make a joke about giving me soap? What does that even mean?” You think you’re going insane. Laughing and crying at the same time like a lunatic. 

“Yeah, I think he likes that one lemon scent you brought in the kitchenette,” JJ adds, rubbing your side to calm your senses down. There’s a motherly feeling in the way she tries to comfort you, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Derek grabs your hand and places a small tissue pouch. “Listen here, Agent.” He smirks proudly. “You’re not just a liaison. You’re our liaison. The behavioral analysis unit’s communications liaison. You’ve worked more than what your job description says. None of us would be here if you didn’t show up. Do you have any idea how many times the group almost fell apart when JJ left us? Left the role empty? This team needs you.” He ruffles your hair, to which you're quick to swat before grabbing a napkin.

Sobbing in front of the team is a first, too. Albeit just JJ and Derek with you, it feels like all the members somehow know you’re crying like a child, too. 

A phone ring momentarily distracts the three of you. Emily’s name flashes on JJ’s phone. She waves it with a knowing look before putting the call on speaker.

“Yes, Emily?” JJ answers as if to inform Emily that the three of you can hear her.

“[I’m gonna need pointers how to get a man in line.]” Emily starts, clearly talking to you. Though, you don't think she needs any pointers.

“Is that for self-defense or some freaky stuff?” Derek playfully interjects, grinning at the sight of the screen.

You can hear the way Emily rolls her eyes despite not seeing her at all, “[Wouldn’t you like to know, you dog.]” Laughter erupts inside the van. “[Also, I think Reid’s traumatized for life. He’s clearing out the table from all his folders, something about our liaison asking him to stop hogging the table.]” 

The tears stop, then. You shake your head while you wipe under your eyes. “I can’t believe I did something stupid. I’ll have to write a report about this.” You groan, leaning against the headrest.

"If you ask me, I have no idea what you're talking about.” Derek shrugs nonchalantly.  

JJ nods, “You're going to sound crazy if you add that to your report because none of us wants our hands dirty." She bites her lower lip to sound more serious, but it doesn’t help her at all.

“[Oh, guys, here’s Hotch.]” Emily interjects, prompting static from the other end of the line.

Hotch clears his throat, signaling everyone. “[Can you take me off speaker phone for a moment?]” He directs.

JJ passes you her phone, and you step out of the van.

You take a deep breath before attaching the device to your ear, “Hotch? I’m so so—”

“[I’m going to stop you right there, Agent.]” He cuts you off. “[Don’t ever think that defending yourself is a fault. That’s not how I run my—our team.]”

“I know, but I technically assaulted a cop. And technically threatened him.” There’s nothing technical with what happened. You did them exactly as is, and not to be braggy, but you did so with poise and assertiveness.

“[Well, that’s something we can talk about never. I just wanted to give you a formal apology for not stepping in before it even happened. You’re essential to this team. An insult to you is an insult to all of us.]”

It's as if a heavy weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You can breathe better. And the embarrassment completely melts off your skin. Better yet, the disappointment with your team downright disappeared. 

You shouldn’t have doubted them. 

You snap out of your trance when Hotch says your name, “Yeah?”

“[Where do you buy those scented soaps?]”

You bit your lower lip in hopes of keeping your tears from drowning your eyes. You really should’ve known better than to think the team would ever believe you are just a pretty face.

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 1

SUMMARY: You wake up in a forest — no memories, just pain, confusion, and the feeling that a stranger might have once meant the world to you. As threats close in and others offer shelter, the questions won’t stop: Who are you? Who can you trust? What comes next?

Something inside you says you’ve been here before… but nothing is the same.

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

A/N: This story is inspired by the game The Last of Us. Thank you so much for reading — it truly means a lot. English isn’t my first language, so I appreciate your patience with any mistakes along the way. I hope you enjoy the story!

W/C: 2.6K

Series Masterlist

You wake up in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, your body sore and heavy. The air is damp and slightly chilly, and the rustling leaves, mingled with the distant calls of birds, only deepen your confusion. No memories surface—you have no idea who you are, why you’re here, or what happened.

Slowly, you sit up, cautiously scanning your surroundings. Not far behind you, a young man about your age lies motionless at the base of a tree. Your heart tightens unexpectedly, though you don’t understand why. Even without knowing who he is, a strange sense of familiarity rises within you. As if… you once trusted this person deeply.

You get to your feet, staggering a little, then approach him. Kneeling, you gently shake his shoulder.

“Hey... wake up.”

The young man stirs slightly, his heavy eyelids slowly opening. He looks at you with a dazed expression, then lets out a weak, hoarse laugh.

“We’re... still alive, huh?”

You frown, concern threading through your voice.

“Alive? What do you mean?”

He blinks a few times, still disoriented. “You don’t remember? We were ambushed by a group of bandits. I thought we weren’t going to make it... but I guess we were lucky. Still...” — he glances around, his expression darkening — “They took everything. Our supplies, our gear… all of it’s gone.”

You help him sit up. He winces from the pain but manages to stand with effort. Then he looks at you, worry clouding his eyes.

“How’s your head? Back there... you hit it pretty hard when that guy knocked you down.”

Almost instinctively, you reach behind your head. A sharp pain spreads as your fingers brush a swollen lump.

“It hurts a bit... but I think I’m okay. So… what do we do now? And… why are we even here?”

Matt — the name suddenly pops into your mind, though you have no idea why — stares at you, his gaze gradually shifting to suspicion. His voice is raspy, tinged with irritation.

“What’s wrong with you? You were the one who said we were running low on supplies and suggested we go out to find more. Now we’ve got no food… and no bullets either.”

You press your lips together, on the verge of asking more—but stop. A wave of unease rises in your chest—partly because nothing he said stirs even a flicker of memory, and partly because you don’t want him to know that your mind is completely blank.

Maybe… it’s better to stay quiet. To figure things out—little by little. You walk behind Matt, keeping a careful distance. The sound of dry leaves crunching beneath your feet blends with the soft rustle of wind weaving through the treetops. Neither of you says a word. Silence drapes over you both like a heavy blanket—but in your mind, a storm of chaos rages.

You can’t remember why you’re here. You don’t remember who Matt is, although something in his eyes, his voice, and the way he always slows his pace to wait for you fills you with a strange sense of familiarity—warm, safe, and oddly comforting. Every step you take, every sound in this unfamiliar forest feels like walking through a blurry dream—or worse, a nightmare with no end in sight.

Food? Ammunition? Bandits? What kind of life was I living before this happened?

A hundred unanswered questions whirl in your head like a storm.

Matt suddenly stops and turns around, making you jump.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice much softer than before. “I was a bit short with you earlier. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. Are you okay? You’ve been quiet today.”

You meet his eyes. In those deep brown eyes, there’s something that feels… familiar. A sincere concern is written clearly across his face. You offer a small smile, trying to seem at ease.

“I’m fine. Just… thinking about a few things.”

He squints slightly and takes a step closer. “What is it? You know you can talk to me, right?”

You hesitate. In that moment, you almost want to tell him everything. You want to ask: Who am I? Who are you? What were we to each other?

But a flicker of unease passes through you. You’re not sure if now is the right time—or maybe… you’re afraid of how he’ll react if he finds out you don’t even remember him.

You avoid Matt’s gaze, forcing a small smile. “It’s nothing. Just random stuff.”

Matt keeps watching you, as if trying to read the thoughts behind your smile. Silence falls again between you—not an awkward silence, but one heavy with things left unsaid. He seems like he’s about to speak again, but—

Clop. Clop.

The sound of galloping hooves echoes from the distance. Matt tenses instantly, his expression shifting in a blink. Instinctively, he spins around and grabs your arm, pulling you to his side. You barely have time to react before both of you duck behind the trunk of a large tree, bodies pressed close as you crouch in the underbrush.

His breath brushes the side of your face — fast, quiet. He doesn’t say a word, but his body shields you like a barrier.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You can hear your own shallow breaths — and Matt’s, quick and close beside you. One arm stretches protectively in front of you like a shield, while his eyes stay locked on the direction of the sound, ready for anything.

You glance at him, crouched beside you, dagger in hand, eyes sharp and alert. Dappled sunlight filters through the leaves, casting shifting shadows across his face. For a moment, your chest tightens.

Partly from fear—but also… because something inside your heart stirs. You can’t name it yet, but you know one thing for certain: This person… once meant a great deal to you.

You don’t know who the riders are, but Matt’s hand tightening around yours tells you one thing clearly: he’s tense. And he’s trying to protect you.

You hold your breath and listen. The sound of hooves halts somewhere beyond the trees. Voices drift through the canopy—not loud, but clear enough to reach you through the rustling leaves. They’re talking. The words aren’t distinct, but you’re certain of one thing— only two voices. No more. One, with a low and commanding voice, is chastising the other over something. It sounds like an argument, but not an angry one—more like the kind that happens between people who’ve traveled together too long to stay truly mad at each other.

You press yourself closer to the tree, trying to steady your breathing, heart pounding so loudly it nearly drowns out everything else. But then—your whole body tenses.

Movement—just below the leaves near your feet.

A small snake, thin-bodied and sleek-skinned, slithers toward you, silent and swift. You freeze, barely breathing, choking back the rising urge to cry out. But when its body brushes across your ankle, your instincts betray you—you flinch backward, and a strangled sound nearly escapes your throat.

Immediately, Matt whips his head around, eyes sharp with alertness. Without a word, he lets go of your hand, reaches out, and clamps his palm gently but firmly over your mouth, pulling you close against him. The two of you blend into the shadow of the tree as one. His breath is hot and fast against your ear, filled with tension.

You don’t dare move. You don’t even breathe.

But it’s too late.

“I know you’re there.” a man’s voice cuts through the silence—crisp, sharp as a blade. “Show yourself before I make you.”

Matt goes still. A short, heavy breath escapes him. Then, slowly, he rises, lifting both hands in the air.

“We mean no harm.” he calls out, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “Just travelers passing through—we’re not a threat.”

A middle-aged man watches, his expression cold and unyielding, eyes like knives slicing straight through Matt. He doesn’t lower his weapon— instead, he raises it higher, aiming it squarely at Matt’s chest.

“We?” the man echoes, voice dry, lingering on the word like a challenge—as though he’s not satisfied with a half-truth.

Guilt coils in your stomach. You should’ve been more careful. If it weren’t for you…This wouldn’t be happening.

Slowly, you step out from behind the tree, hands raised reflexively. You stand behind Matt, steadying yourself, and lift your gaze toward the two strangers.

And then—it happens again.

That feeling.

A flicker of confusion ripples through your mind. You’re certain you’ve never seen these people before—at least, not according to the fragile pieces of memory you have left. But something in the older man’s eyes strikes a chord deep inside you, like a forgotten song echoing from long ago. No clear image, no solid memory—but a flood of emotion.

That same strange pull you felt the moment you first saw Matt.

The man aiming the gun at Matt is tall and broad-shouldered, his posture in the saddle steady and practiced, like someone born and raised in the saddle. His salt-and-pepper hair is cut short, tousled by wind and road dust. His face is all hard edges, worn by time and battles, with a beard streaked with silver and black tracing his jaw and chin. His brown eyes are sharp, cold — the kind that have seen too much and grown tired of anything unfamiliar.

The one riding beside him looks younger—his features sun-warmed. He wears his dirty blond tied back, a well-groomed beard giving him a seasoned look. He has a gentler air than the first man, his gaze not sharp but searching, weighing whether you’re a threat… or just another lost soul.

Both men stay mounted, still and wordless, eyes locked on you and Matt—watching, waiting, as if weighing whether to trust you… or to act. 

“I think they’re telling the truth.” the younger man tilts his head, voice low but loud enough for his companion to hear. “Nobody survives out there unarmed.”

The older man—his gaze still locked on Matt—is frowning

“Doesn’t matter. We don’t drop our guard—not after what happened. You forget how many raiders roam this area? Or the group we just cleaned out?”

The younger man furrows his brows, then pauses as if something clicks.

“…Earlier—didn’t one of them mention they’d just looted a decent haul off two people? You think it could’ve been them?”

The older man doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick over you and Matt again, sharp and calculating. Matt is still standing protectively in front of you, arms raised. But it’s obvious—neither of you carry anything of value. No bags, no weapons, no water, no food. Like everything has been taken.

Matt catches that scrutinizing stare, and something in his jaw tenses. He snaps, his voice edged with frustration:

“Can we go now? I already said we’re harmless and have nothing. How long do you plan to keep that gun up?”

The older man’s frown deepens, lips parting as if to reply—but the younger one speaks first.

“Are you clean?”

The question cuts through the tension like a blade. You frown, not understanding right away. Clean? What does that mean?

You open your mouth to ask, but Matt beats you to it, his voice colder now, almost defensive:

“Why would we answer that? That’s none of your business.”

The younger man gives a casual shrug, his tone lighter than his companion’s, but not careless.

“Hey, man, we’re just trying to help. Out here, walking around like that you won’t last three days.”

He glances between the two of you before continuing.

“Besides… looks like you’ve got nothing left, right? After we dealt with those raiders, we found some supplies. I’m guessing they were yours.”

A flicker of tension passes through Matt’s eyes, but he doesn’t respond immediately.

The silence stretches. Only the whisper of wind through the treetops and the steady shifting of hooves breaks it. Then Matt finally speaks—slow, deliberate, resolute:

“All right… what’s the deal if we take your help?”

The younger man relaxes a little, shoulders easing as though relieved not to keep arguing.

“We’ve got a shelter. Food, beds, basics. In return, you two will work to earn your stay. Nothing too hard. Just small tasks.”

Matt turns to you.

For the first time since the gun had been pointed at him, his expression wavers—uncertainty clear in his eyes. He isn’t wondering whether they can be trusted.

He is wondering whether you will be okay… if he trusts them.

Whether this is a safe choice for you—the person by his side, disoriented, empty-handed, clinging to the only familiar thing left: him.

Whether he is about to walk you into something worse—something he can’t protect you from.

He doesn’t have to say a word. You see it all in his eyes—that quiet, unwavering protectiveness that doesn’t need to be spoken, but is strong enough to make your chest tighten.

Matt stands there, hesitating—because all he cares about—more than the offer, more than the risks—is whether you will be safe.

“If you don’t want to come, that’s fine. We’re not forcing you,” the younger man says, tilting his head slightly. “But… if you need help, we’re willing.”

Matt doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you again, as if confirming something one last time—then replies, voice steady: “All right then.”

The younger man immediately dismounts. He approaches, not quickly, but with firm, deliberate steps. Instinctively, Matt pulls you half a step back, shielding you completely.

The older man remains on horseback, gun still raised, his watchful eyes never leaving Matt.

But the man walking toward you raises both hands, palms open as if to show he means no harm. His voice softens, calm, and reassuring:

“I’m Tommy. The guy up there is Joel. We live in a town nearby—Jackson. We’ll take you there. Don’t worry,” he glances toward Joel, “he won’t shoot… unless you give him a reason.”

Tommy. Joel. Jackson. 

You don’t know why, but those three names stir something deep in your mind. Like echoes. Like something once familiar. Something you should remember. But your memory remains a fog you can’t lift.

Tommy offers to have you ride with Joel while Matt comes with him.

Matt frowns instantly. He doesn’t like that idea—you can see it in the way his eyes flick to Joel, quickly and cautiously. Subtle, but telling. Like he doesn’t want you anywhere near that man—an instinct, a protective reflex against anything he can’t control.

“No,” Matt says firmly. “I’ll go with Joel. She rides with you.”

Tommy pauses for a brief second, then gives a small nod, saying nothing more.

Matt climbs onto Joel’s horse, every movement careful but without hesitation. Joel doesn’t react—not a glance, not a word. He simply turns his horse around in silence.

You ride with Tommy. He looks back and gives you a friendly smile, one hand loosely holding the reins. Along the way, he speaks to you—his voice light, easygoing. He asks simple questions: where you are from, how long you’ve been out there, whether you are hurt.

You don’t say much—maybe because you can’t remember, or maybe because you don’t fully trust him. Or anyone. You reply vaguely or stay silent, your eyes fixed on the thinning forest ahead.

But Tommy doesn’t push. He keeps talking, casually, like he doesn’t mind the silence.

In stark contrast, Matt and Joel say nothing the entire ride. No conversation. Not even a glance is exchanged.

The four of you ride through the sparse forest. Dry leaves crackle under the horses’ hooves. Above, the sky fades to a pale orange—sunlight dripping through the canopy like it is dissolving into the air. Beautiful, but not enough to quiet the strange weight pressing against your chest.

You don’t know where you are going. You don’t know what awaits in that place called Jackson.

But for now… at least you aren’t alone.

[directdogman]

Hey doggo, I finished season 3 of squid game, how was it for you?

Personally, im feeling like davetrap in dsaf 3 after the legacy ending. Not well.

Its also 5am so imma try to head back to bed after this

I watched it and I gotta say, I felt disappointed. I really liked S1, kinda liked s2, and felt they had more potential to really wrap things up, but somehow it wrapped up less cleanly than s1's cliffhanger ending (instead going for a second cliffhanger ending with less clean arc resolutions overall.)

I didn't hate everything in it, dgmw, but it doesn't seem like they really learned the right lessons from what people really loved about S1 and actually somehow went backwards despite having a lot of useful feedback on what they could've done better. I'll give some examples. (spoilers below)

I was really excited to see the VIPS again bc their inclusion is the one thing everyone who saw s1 agrees could've been better executed. I read that the VIP dialogue was really stilted because it was translated badly and they just didn't have time to rewrite it before the scenes were shot (even though the main VIP guy in the lion mask had line revision suggestions to sound more natural.)

Somehow, it was arguably worse this time around, despite them having time to get help with the lines. Really unnatural dialogue that worsened the scenes people were the most excited to see. It would've been very easy to fix the dialogue's phrasing. Hell, they could've hired me for $10 and a sandwich! I'd have done it!

The CG baby was really off-putting and also completely undermined its own inclusion, as the audience would obviously care less about an uncanny CG baby than a real one, esp given all the close up shots of the face, which badly conflicted with the visual style of the show. They could've 100% used a doll for the faraway shots and then filmed the closeups separately to the action.

Using the theme of bartering for the safety of an innocent life works less effectively when every time there's a closeup, you wince slightly at what's being saved. The fact the baby was also unnamed on top of it meant it acted more as a macguffin/symbol than as a character, which I get was a writing choice, but with it also being CG, it led to the narrative closing around a character that essentially was just an unnamed CG object. Not crazy satisfying.

I also wasn't crazy on the ending of Gi-Hun's arc itself, which basically just ended with the exact thesis statement of The Platform, another Netflix original with the same themes/commentary, with Gi-Hun taking Goreng's place, saving an innocent child after being corrupted and declaring "the child is the message. the child is the future." I think the Platform executed this idea much better and having the crypto-bro sacrifice himself for his kid would've been more narratively satisfying, as it would've refuted the Front Man's point in the same way S1 ended with a refutation of Il-Nam's point, that some humans ARE good, and Gi-Hun getting to raise the child and being a better father this time around would've been a better followup to the promise he made.

The cop arc also largely went absolutely nowhere and could've been removed from the show entirely after S1. All that time spent on boats.

Though, I did think the game ideas were largely good (though the rope bridge was pretty much a 1:1 equivalent to the glass bridge from the previous season. I think the human chess theory was way cooler.) I liked them fleshing out the wimp character and making him snap.

The "one more game!" guy was fantastic, top tier character (though I felt his ending wasn't as satisfying as it could've been. Given the amount of debt he had, the logical way to end the character fittingly would've been for his followers to realize that even with the 'required' number of deaths per round, he logically would've needed another corpse to escape his death, and realizing they had no reason to let him live. he sorta just died like the others, with that point basically going nowhere.)

I also liked the arc of the eliminated entrant getting saved from death and getting to rejoin his sick kid. That arc was genuinely very well resolved and did kinda make me smile. I also liked seeing some flashbacks of the frontman as a player, but would've liked way more in the place of the boat scenes, thanks.

So, yeah, there's some good things in it, but I have to say, it didn't seem like they exactly knew what they wanted after finishing s1.

[rainrot4me]

love your trans jeff take tysm for pointing out the metaphor of his story, i've always thought about it. do you think his relationship with his own transness would affect his [ability to have a] relationship with a trans partner?

Thank you!!! I love talking about trans Jeff in a way that honors the complexity of the metaphor in his story. personally, I think it would absolutely affect how he approaches a relationship with another trans partner—for better and worse.

Jeff sees himself as unquestionably, undeniably a man, no matter what his body looks like or what his paperwork ever said. It’s almost delusional, but in a protective way, like a mental armor. He’s rewritten his story so hard that he literally sees childhood photos of himself as a different person, someone who died the night he “became Jeff the Killer.”

So if he was faced with a trans partner, I think it would initially rattle him, if their experience was more self-accepting or more “out and proud” than his. He might feel confronted by how they can be open about their history while he buried and destroyed his. Like, if they said “Yeah, I’m trans” without any shame, Jeff could react with this weird discomfort—not because he doesn’t accept them, but because he can’t handle thinking of himself the same way.

He’d definitely support them, though. Jeff is twisted, but he’s ride-or-die loyal in a relationship, and once he got over the initial weirdness of seeing someone else talk freely about transition, he’d basically go: “You’re mine. That’s all I care about.” He would never see them as anything but the gender they desire to be, because he demands the same for himself. In fact, if someone dared misgender his partner, Jeff would be ten times more violent than usual. Nobody questions him, and nobody questions you, period.

At the same time, he might not connect with a partner who wants to talk a lot about dysphoria or their past. He’s so deep in denial and dissociation about his own pre-transition life that hearing another trans person process theirs might make him uneasy. He’d rather pretend those things don’t exist—he sees them as dangerous to his fragile sense of self. So it might mean a bit of a learning curve, but Jeff would absolutely love a trans partner and fight for them. It would just take him a minute to navigate those really complicated parts of seeing his own experience reflected in theirs, especially if they approach it in a healthier way than he ever did.

Either way, he’s clawing and holding onto you like a feral dog who just realized you’re not trying to hit him, but actually trying to pet him.

꩜ .ᐟ

[tiredartist86]

First of all, thanks for disagreeing with me so I can see another points of view. Now, I'm gonna explain my point more further and maybe correct myself a bit in the process.

Ten was ruthless in a way of giving no second chances, and we get to see his Time Lord fury multiple times, yes ("I used to have so much mercy" "He was being kind") but he would never commit full on genocide if he wasn't saving mankind, and even then, he did it with remorse and not totally careless and indifferent, like Tentoo. Ten committed a sort of genocide killing the new cybermen in such a cruel way, I'm not saying he's a saint; but Tentoo did it without hesitation to a lot more Daleks and seeing it as an immediate solution. That's one big difference, I think. Tentoo was way more ruthless for that.

Ten could make similar things in a smaller level when things got out of hand, people were in danger or, especially, if Rose was in danger. Which leads me to the second point: Rose

She cured the Ninth Doctor, grew along with him, and then he became Ten. Ten was born to love Rose and loving her, out of the care and love that she gave to him: that's what I mainly meant. Now, I gotta correct something, I think. It took me a few days of investigation and reading to notice, but I totally see why people say Ten and Rose made the worst out of each other. And, even if I couldn't see it because it's the first time I watch DW and I like the couple too much to see it first time, at the end I think I noticed, subtlety, how much the both had changed. Especially Rose. Jackie was right on point in saying she changed too much by Doomsday, and even if I love Rose, I was angry at her multiple times throughout the season for leaving other important people in her life behind because of following the Doctor. And, in the end, she became kind of a soldier, and created a dependency on Ten that lead her to do things that were maybe really dangerous. That relationship was wonderful, and but it was unhealthy, and now I see that part too (though I'm gonna still love their love).

About making Ten worse... I would say he was born literally depending on her and that he loved her in a way that was life-threatening for the ones who hurt her and, ultimately, for himself if Donna hadn't been there in the events of The Runaway Bride (as we can see in Turn Left). Yes, he could be really ruthless if Rose was in danger and all that stuff, but I still think that what I said previously in the first post was part true. Let me explain.

I think that if Nine hadn't met Rose, he coould've never become better or hardly cure from the Time War trauma. And he loved her for that, so much that he regenerated in a man that was born to love her whatever it took. If Rose was never there for Nine and Ten, he would surely have committed some type of mass murder, genocide, or directly become Time Lord Victorious way earlier. He would've been Tentoo.

Yes, Ten was a twat with Martha because he wasn't over Rose at all. In fact, I have another post where I talk about that, but I'll repeat myself.

Martha didn't explicitly cure the Doctor herself, it was more like Ten using her to cure himself. He was better when he met again with Donna. In The Runaway Bride we can see a totally dehumanized and ruthless Ten after losing Rose, and Donna is kind (not too much) with him, starting this sort of curing process. Ten obviously was still heavily hurt when he met Martha, and she fell for him , something he didn't neither see nor planned, but she did. And I'm not saying it was her fault, not at all, and in fact I was really mad at Ten all of season 3: half of that season was a bit hard to watch because of Ten dismissing Martha's feelings, and the other half was a nightmare because of the dark nature of the stories. If you want a deeper dig into my opinion about Martha, I have a post called "Why the endings of seasons 2, 3 and 4 were so sad", a week ago or so, where I think I explain myself further. Oh, I must add that I think that Martha never got back nearly as much as she gave up or did for Ten.

I can't really think of Ten being racist and calssist out of Human Ten, and if that's the case, I agree with you, I also kinda wanted to beat him up. If we're talking about normal Time Lord Ten, I ask you to quote me an episode or line, or to put an example.

I also think that Donna was the best companion, the one who really grounded him. She was the best companion for Ten. Rose lifted up his feelings in a pretty risky way for everyone around him, and he treated Martha poorly. Now, Donna was perfect. No romantic feelings involved, perfect platonic chemistry, fun but also being aware of danger (something he lacked quite a bit with Rose), caring for each other but not sacrificing way too much... She was SO good for him. I also have a more explained opinion on Donna in the post I mentioned at the ond the Martha paragraph.

So, I hope this is a good response. Oh, and sorry for not answering earlier, I noticed this reaply about five hours ago and didn't have proper time to reply till now.

Hope you're having a good day,

Midna

Ten and Metacrisis Doctor/Tentoo

Their biggest difference, asides from being a Time Lord and a human/Time Lord, is the conditions they were born in.

Ten was born in love and care. He was born in loving Rose and to love her. He got care from the moment he was regenerated, from all the Tyler family and Mickey. That's why he's so joyful, comprehensive in most cases, non-genocidal (this is also because all of Nine's PTSD).

In the other hand, Tentoo was born, like Ten said, in anger and war. There's a big difference. It made him genocidal and kind of careless, but in a ruthless way that Ten would never be. Ten saw himself without Rose when Ten annihilated the Daleks.

What if Rose had never come? What if Martha never cured him and Donna never accompanied him? Maybe the answer would've been Tentoo.

(Sorry for the bad quality, again)

[turtleblogatlast]

I love Raph and haven’t said that enough so to be more specific I love that Raph is a soft boy who loves bear plushies, a gross boy who eats an assortment of things that are definitely better left alone, a smart boy who is more than capable of taking down villains through planning and fortitude alike, a strong boy who is dedicated to training his muscles and fighting prowess, a teenage boy who loves his brothers but is more than happy to tease and roughhouse with them, an angry boy who sometimes lets his anger take a hold of him to cover the fear, a gentle boy who is generous with hugs and affirmations to those he loves, a capable boy who takes on more than should ever be expected of a teenager, a good boy who just wants to be a hero and slowly comes to realize the cost of that duty, a good boy who has no reservations about putting himself in the way of harm coming to his family, a good boy who’s a great brother and son and person and deserves only the best the world has to offer.

[deoidesign]

Random update sorry everything is taking so long. I've paused Patreon and I'm working on various things, but some people have started to express concern for my safety/living status so just letting you know I am alive!

[heroes-of-lemuria]

Anyway shout out to stormy maybe someday I’ll post my stupid lemuria family ocs. Making an oc who’s a guys parents feels so embarrassing what if I get a bad grade in characters-

[edensgaia]

Tbh my feelings on the sunkissed breakup would be very different if the first instance of a betrayal/doing things behind each others back/not taking each other seriously started with the whole giving Bacon hearts thingy, but it didn't, the trust hasn't been totally there for a longer time than that

[cluescorner]

The most important thing about a Megatron ship is that it cannot end well.

[moeblob]

Erin, to her crush: You're a dick

Mason, the crush: I won't argue! But to clarify -

[wardensantoineandevka]

it would easier if I could just dump the entire conversation I had in DMs about this for the actual nuance and rationale and thought process, but the starting point was: it's both comically reductive and entirely accurate to argue that an appreciable portion of Illario's issues could be alleviated if he had any actual friends or stumbled into a stable relationship and these things would still go a long way, especially after he's forgiven

[e-adlirez]

Hey winions has anyone brought this up yet

If I'm hearing it right the Different Beast motif is a melodic reprise of Survive o o it's set to a lower key and is simplified/altered a little but it's basically the same melody

Here lemme prove it with some timestamps-- if you need help visualizing it, listen to the trombone (? tuba?) in Different Beast and sing "six hundred lives at stake" along with it. You'll have to start at the second note of the Different Beast motif, but you're gonna see it I think hopefully. It's especially obvious when the Different Beast motif is brought up in 600 Strike

Anyway I wound up picking up on this because I was in the weird situation where I listened to Troy and Cyclops saga last (before you come at me for that, I do know the story of the Odyssey from OSP's summary), so when I heard Survive's chorus I was like ":OOO WAIT THAT'S THE MOTIF DIFFERENT BEAST IS REPRISING"

Have fun with this now every time you hear the Different Beast motif come up haha

[biddy-biddy-biddy]

maybe i should talk/show more about my oc now that i’m thinking… idk! everyone is doing something for their ocs/self inserts idfkkkk…

like i just made her for funsies like haha what if i’m eltingville also everyone is eltingville/northwest why not do it…

[skitskatdacat63]

misc lore drop day 18/?

re: this post

Vettonso like to tease each other in public and private. But Seb mainly only does so in private, and Fernando mainly in public(exhibitionist kink go brr...?) There's not a lot of joy in teasing Fernando in public because he cares so much about his image that he takes it all in stride, and Seb will probably end up coming out of it worse. But teasing him in private? The greatest joy ever. He still tries to retain his stoic image, but in private is when he starts cracking. Seb doesn't have to keep any amount of propierty at all in mind and is free to tease Fernando to his heart's content. Saying and doing whatever comes to mind.

Again, even though Seb is an untraditional emperor in many ways, he still has to retain that lofty, above it all attitude in most formal settings. Both him and Fernando stick to it, but Fernando is a lot better at keeping up that mask(his issue is moreso being able to drop it lol.) It's very fun for Fernando to be able to push Seb, because Seb usually has the upper hand. Seb is just so unabashed in private, like constantly being all over Fernando, saying obscene things, so it's so hard for Fernando to catch him off guard. But while Fernando is generally unflappable in public, Seb is always just barely holding onto the stoic image, just waiting to drop it. So it's so easy for Fernando to catch him unawares just by simply brushing fingers with him, or god forbid, touching a sliver of his bare skin.