#maybe they’ll see Bill

[oneluckygoose]

Ok, guys. A lot of people have their fan casts for a Rat Grinders spinoff series, but hear me out.

What if season whatever of Dimension 20 was with the intrepid heroes, but Brennan didn’t tell them what their characters were. They get into the dome, The background is the normal Fantasy High background. The DM screen is the normal Fantasy High DM screen. They all sit as if they would for their Fantasy High characters. Brennan does the introduction, everybody’s smiling everybody’s happy, then he starts with the first scene.

But Nobody has a character sheet nobody knows who they are. “Strange, how do you play if you don’t know who you are playing?” A sentiment throughout the six heroes. The scene moves on, and he does it through one of the players perspectives, and it becomes clearer and clearer, slowly, that that person is playing their Fancy High characters antithesis from the Rat Grinders. Brennan hands them a character sheet.

The scenes go on, each hero getting their own. The character sheets are handed out. Horror: screams are heard throughout the dome, yells and shouts for Brendan to do unspeakable things. All the players are befuddled. All the players are filled with wishes for revenge.

The Intrepid Heroes, beloved of the characters they play called The Bad Kids, now play what they hate the most.

They are the rat grinders.

[paddockletters]

redeemed | lando norris

summary: After a messy breakup, Lando’s fans blame his best friend for ruining his relationship. request: yes! sorry took me too long :(( tbh, this had been sitting in drafts for a while because i wasn’t entirely convinced about it (still not 100%, to be fair), but i thought, “Well, maybe they’ll like it,” so here it issss

landonorris

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landonorris: Another race weekend!

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user1: I want to be Y/N so baaaad🤧 lando’sgf: love you so muchhhh!!!❤️ user2: Y/N made it again in Lando’s post, love them! user3: I’d love a friendship like Lando and Y/N’s 😭😭😭

yourusername: Great weekend, miss you alredy muppet 🤧❤️

landonorris: It was! When are you coming to visit again?

user4: Lando replied to Y/N but not his gf…💀💀 user5: THE fit, THE smile, THE overtakes 😭 user6: She really needs to back off from Lando and Alice user7: Photo 3 >>> everything else 🫠

lando’sgf posted a story.

yourusername

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yourusername: About last month 💗

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carlossainz55: Feeling special for being in your post 🤧

yourusername: You should, cos it won’t happen again 💀

user8: Lando’s smile in the 3rd photo? how do I sign up for your life? 😭 user9: She can’t post without Lando or some driver in it 🤮

user10: True that, she’s all about the fame

user11: living my dream life AND looking flawless while doing it?❤️😭 user12: always getting in the way of Lando and Alice, proper messing with them 🙄

user13: what are you on about? Lando and Y/N have been friends for yearsss 🤡

user14: well, why didn’t anyone know about her till now? she just wants Lando for the fame, no doubt

landonorris posted a story

lando’s gf posted a story.

lando’s gf

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lando’s gf: ❤️❤️

landonorris

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landonorris: Free time when I’m not driving a F1 car around the world

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user15: Lando— HAHAHA

user16: where’s Alice???

user17: y'all are obsessed with his gf, mind your own business ffs

user18: Bet Y/N’s asking Lando not to take Alice 🙄

user19: giiiirl, touch some grass! Alice has been back in her country

user20: Y/N’s always with Lando, so he’s footing the bill for everything

user21: Everything, mate—GP trips, holidays, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got him paying her rent too 🤮

user22: I wouldn’t want to be Alice, seeing Y/N everywhere around Lando 💀

landonorris just posted a story.

yourusername posted a story

yourusername

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yourusername: [No caption]

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user23: an unexpected crossover user24: Oh, so the gold-digger’s moved on to someone else now? user25: Hope you’re proud of yourself for ruining Lando and Alice’s relationship, biTCH user26: Hope you die

carlossainz55: should I feel proud because you went to a Real Madrid match or bad for "L" because you went out with someone from that team???

carlossainz55: nah, estoy orgulloso

user27: stay away from Lando, you slut

This post is unavailable

lando’sex-girlfriend

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lando’sex-girlfriend: A little miracle is on the way, and we couldn’t be more excited. 👼

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user28: Nearly had a heart attack, thought Lando was going to be a dad 😭😭😭 user29: No way, she was the one who cheated 💀 user30: 💀

landonorris

Liked by charles_leclerc and 1,928,388 others

landonorris:  I lost the best thing in my life because of all of you.

Because of your words, your hate, your accusations. You turned her into the villain when all she ever was, was my best friend.

You all tore us apart, pushed me to let go of the one person who truly mattered, all because you couldn’t mind your own business.

And now, seven months later, I see the truth—she was never the problem. I was. I should’ve fought for her. But instead, I let you win.

I’ll never forgive myself for that. I lost her because of you.

—Lando

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user31: lando, you did what you thought was best at the time. We’re all human, and nobody should have been attacking her like that

user32: we judged her without knowing the full story 🤧

user33: can’t believe we believed the lies

user 34: I feel so bad now

danielricciardo: Lando, I’ve got your back. It’s crazy how people act like they know your life when they don’t 🤛

user35: It’s hard to see things clearly when the pressure is on you. Glad you’re speaking out now, nobody deserves that kind of hate, especially someone as good

user36: It’s obvious she meant a lot to you but the media and fans never understood that

user37: We were too quick to judge her

maxverstappen1: People love to talk without knowing the full story. Stay strong, mate, always here if you need to talk 🤜🤜

time skip

landonorris

Liked by yourusername and 2,951,052 others

landonorris: I don’t think there’s anyone who deserves this more than her. From being the absolute boss she is in everything she touches to owning this year’s CEO of the Year award (seriously, she’s amazing), I couldn’t be prouder I of course I’m the best wag

View all the commments

user38: YOUR WIFE?!?!? 😱 i can’t even process it. Lando, what’s happening?!

user39: wait, I thought you were single?? How did we miss this??

user40: no… I THOUGHT THE WERE FRIENDSS????

user41: wait a damn minute—Lando’s married??!! And she’s holding CEO of the year??? I need answers 😭

user42: OH MY GODDD She’s literally living the dream!! And Lando, we all knew you were the best, but now you’ve just confirmed it

user43: HE’S MARRIED?!? And she’s CEO OF THE YEAR?!?! You guys are literally goals

user44: i’m happy for you but also I’m crying in my room so… mixed emotions 🫠🧡

user45: Y/N is literally TOO perfect and it’s offensive to the rest of us 😭😭😭

user46: No hate, but also… I’m fighting for my life over here while Y/N is living my dream 😭

user47: @/yourusername you wake up every day and think, ‘how can I flex on everyone today?’ Because wow 💀

[ladyshinga]

“lol you realize Barbie is only a marketing movie, right? it’s just SELLING STUFF, you know that right? capitalism? lol?”

You’re too late.

Like, you’re not wrong, but you are wildly late on this one.

No one is under the impression that this movie isn’t marketing a toy line.

But that toy line? Has been on this earth longer than you’ve been. Barbie is old. Barbie is everywhere. We’ve all seen a commercial if not owned at least one Barbie doll in our lifetimes (or a knock-off you get emotionally attached to even if the weird mean girl down the street keeps making fun of it) (fuck you Christie that doll was a hero)

Advertising is everywhere. I can’t turn the TV on without ads, even on streaming services that used to brag how ad-free they were. I can’t browse social media without ads. I can’t see a movie or a show without products being “subtly” shown off.

We’re haunted by ads at every goddamn turn, we can’t even talk to an old friend from high school without them trying to sell us something.

If you think you’re making some radical grand statement by pointing out that Barbie is a toy line made by a big company that wants to sell more things... bud. We know that.

We know.

Greta Gerwig seems like she had a lot of fun with this movie, the actors had a lot of fun, the set design is fun.

No one is looking forward to Barbie because we think it’s some kind of beautiful radical anti-capitalist message just WAITING to break the world of its delusions of consumerism. God, could you imagine?

We’re looking forward to a bunch of actors dressed in pink having a lot of fun. We know the movie will make people want Barbie stuff, maybe they’ll go out and buy it, maybe they’re too broke because the world is expensive right now and we’ve got bills. But if “this movie will advertise things to you” was a dealbreaker we’d never see anything.

Because Barbie isn’t unique in this. A LOT of modern movies just want you to buy things, or admire/join the American military, etc etc. Money runs things here. Even capitalism stans know it runs everything (though they’re generally okay with it). Ads are our lives even when we use ad blockers and do our best to ignore the ones we see.

We’re seeing Barbie because it looks silly and fun, not because we’re putting it up on a pedestal expecting it to change the world. And we’re kidding and being silly when we DO act like that. Because goddammit, IT’S BARBIE. We’re acting like we acted when we played with dolls as kids, we’re PLAYING, we’re having fun. When I was a kid I absolutely pretended my Barbies could save the world and were magical and powerful. Didn’t mean she actually was.

These are toys. And we like to play. That doesn’t erase the capitalist motivations of Mattel, but it doesn’t have to mean we “support” their evils. We want to play, we want to enjoy play, even when we’re trapped in a capitalist hellscape where like 80% of our day to day fun is sold to us

[badjokesbyjeff]

There were three race horses; ernie, bill, and ted. 

the three of them were good friends; they enjoyed racing each other and generally won and lost to each other equally. every evening, after the races, they went to a local bar to relax and drink some beer. they would often discuss racing techniques, their families, etc.

one season, bill wasn't doing so well. he rarely beat the other two, and was worried that he'd be sent to the glue factory if his luck didn't change. one night, at the bar, he talked with ernie and ted about it.

"you know, guys, i just can't figure it out," he said. "everything's fine at home; the kids are doing great, my wife is being nice, the bills are paid, my mother-in-law rarely visits - nothing could be better. maybe i'm just getting old. if things don't pick up soon, they'll send me to the glue factory."

the bartender, a big llama from peru, overheard the conversation. he looked around, to make sure nobody else was listening, then said, "hey, pal, i got something for you that'll make you feel like a young colt again." he reached under the bar and pulled out an unlabeled bottle of beer. "here, drink this; i guarantee you'll start winning again. come by each night for a week and I'll give you one. if it doesn't work, i'll give you double your money back!"

bill looked at ernie and ted, who only shrugged, then drank the contents of the bottle. "oh, just one thing," the llama said, "it'll make your ass itch, but that's okay; it's just a side effect. don't worry about it." the three horses stayed a few hours, played a few games of pool and darts, and went home.

over the course of the next three days, they went back to the bar each night, and bill continued the regimen of mystery beer. his racing times did improve! he was slowly moving back up in the rankings, and was soon back into the top three with ernie and ted. bill was ecstatic, and thanked the llama profusely.

"hey, my pleasure," said the llama.

a few weeks passed by, and ernie started slowing down. after losing three races in a row, he sobbed to himself, "i just don't get it. my life couldn't be better. i can't believe I'm getting old! they'll send me to the glue factory if i don't get back in the groove!"

that evening, at the bar, he told the llama bartender about his troubles, and asked if he too could try the mystery beer. "okay, but remember, it'll make your ass itch - but don't pay it no mind. it's just a harmless side effect."

"no problem. it'll be worth it to get back in the groove," ernie said.

a few days went by. ernie's ass did indeed itch, but after a few more days, his races improved, and he was back in the top three with bill and ted.

at the bar one evening, ernie bought a round of beers for all the horses, and thanked the llama profusely.

"i just can't believe how great that mystery beer worked!" ernie said. "you're sitting on a gold mine, there!" the llama said it was his pleasure, don't worry about it, etc.

a few more weeks went by, and now ted started slowing down, losing races. he, too realized that he'd be shipped off to the glue factory unless his races improved.

"say," he said to the llama one night after a particularly humiliating loss, "i think i need to try that mystery beer too. they'll ship me off to the glue factory for sure if I don't start winning again."

"no problem," the llama said, pulling out an unlabeled bottle. "here. come back every night, and i guarantee you'll be back in top form again, or i'll give you double your money back."

over the course of the next few weeks, ted's races continued to improve until he was back in the top three with bill and ernie. he pranced into the bar, full of vim and vigor, and thanked the llama profusely. "you know, my ass itches a lot; it's almost unbearable. but i can't thank you enough. they would have turned me into glue by now if it weren't for you. anything you want, let me know and i'll see what i can do."

"no problem," said the llama, "i make this beer at home using an ancient inca recipe. it's just my way of thanking my regular customers for their patronage over the years."

"i'm not kidding," ted said, "this is the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. anything, you name it, anything you want, let me know, and it's yours."

"well, now that you mention it..." the llama began -

right then, a greyhound walked up to the bar. he was obviously depressed.

"barkeep, give me something strong. i'm on a losing streak you wouldn't believe," the greyhound said.

ted looked at the greyhound, then at bill and ernie, and said, "hey, look! a talking dog!"

[simpforsoap]

Monstrous Lovers- Part 1

Part Two Part Three

It was honest a shot in the dark when you posted that ad, not wanting to let go of your dream house quite yet. However, you couldn’t deny that it was getting harder and harder to make the bills by yourself. There was quite a bit of back and forth between sending the ad out or not, but after a simple post online, you felt it was a good deal, your best friend thinking you were crazy, but you posted it anyways. 

Roommate Wanted

1 or more bedrooms, separate bathrooms ranch styled home in the country. Rent 2500/month includes utilities (including, internet, streaming sites, and electricity). Message me if interested, application and interview required prior to approval. 

Bit about me: lone female, mixture of at home and in shop work, quiet lifestyle. No pets.

Text preferred if between hours 9 pm to 4 am. Thank you! (xxx) xxx-xxxx.

-----

Soap couldn’t believe his eyes, half blaming it on the tiring mission they had just finished and possible lack of food, but the ad seemed like a great deal. Maybe a little high in price, but he reread that ad three times before nudging Kyle’s shoulder. Gaz’s bleary eyes turned to look at him, half awake.

“What’s up?” his voice was filled with exhaustion, but Johnny paid it no mind (his own energy seemingly endless sometimes) as he turned his phone screen letting Gaz squint and blink a few times to focus on the bright screen. 

Soap waited for Gaz to look up at him with an eye brow raised before speaking, “check it out, she posted this two days ago looking for a roommate. Seems like a good deal, maybe a bit pricey but it’s not like we can’t afford it.” 

“I mean, yeah it’s a good deal and seems like a good idea, but…I don’t think ghost or the captain will go for it.” Gaz shrugged his shoulders, reading through the ad one more time, unable to deny the way his stomach seemed to twist with the idea of coming back to a home, not just the base. 

“I think they’ll agree when they see it.” Soap shrugged, reading through the ad again, even going as far to click into your profile and scroll through some of the public photos you had. 

Soap couldn’t stop the giddy feeling running through him as he waited for them to get back to the base, wanting to talk with Ghost and Price regarding this steal of a deal ad. 

-------------

You were exhausted, after a long day of several interviews regarding the spare rooms you had, you were beginning to feel like you were gonna have to settle for either the roudy young couple in love, who happened to be expecting or the rather reclusive and silent male who you interviewed. They seemed nice, but you weren’t fully sold on the idea of one of them as roommates. 

As you sat in the cafe, a cup of cold tea sitting in front of you, you weren’t expecting your phone to ring. You sighed once before picking it up, “hello?”

“Yeah, I got this number from an ad for some rooms for rent. I wanted to know if it was still available and if we could possible tour it.” The voice was deep, a very slight hoarness to it that made you sit up a bit.

“Uh, yeah we can tour it but I would prefer to do a meet and greet first. I’m at the cafe on the corner of sullivan and market if you want to meet me here.” You glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing it was only a little past two meaning you could handle waiting around a bit longer.

“Perfect, we’ll be there in ten.” Before you could say anymore, the line hung up. 

You sat there for a moment, contemplating the risk you were running before deciding ‘what’s the worst that can happen?’

-------

You sat there playing on your phone, having ordered a new tea as yours had gone cold. As you sat there, you jumped when the chair in front of you pulled out, looking up quickly, alarmed before blinking a few times in shock. “Uh…can I help you sir..or uh..sirs?”

You looked up at the men, four of them as the largest of them sat in the chair. You could look at them and tell they were hybrids. It wasn’t uncommon in the area anymore of the hybrids, but you were a little surprised as they sat at your table, thinking briefly how you believed hybrids to stay with one another. The seemingly leader of the four, held his hand out, his lone dragon wing tucked tightly behind his back, tail naturally coiling around the leg of his chair to not take up too much space, “John Price, I believe we spoke on the phone earlier regarding the rooms for rent?” 

You blinked a few more times, watching the one with the mowhawk take a seat to your left, the other winged one sitting to your right while the one in an all black mask with his hood up stood behind John. ��oh…uh right yes, sorry I…I wasn’t..” 

You trailed off, not wanting to sound rude, the one to your left spoke up next a small laugh bubbling in his throat, “no worries, lass! Name’s Johnny, but you can call me Soap, that there is Kyle, or Gaz if you wanted to and the one back there is Ghost. We seen your ad for a roommate or possibly more, we’re very interested.” 

You gave a small nervous smiling nodding as you looked at Johnny, then to Price and then Kyle and Ghost, “right, yes. I don’t know if I put it in the ad or not, but it’s a five bedroom ranch styles home, each of us would have their own rooms of course and their own bathrooms. Rent would be 2500 a month, which I know is a bit high, but I tried to throw in as much as I could with that as I could.”

Price nodded giving a small smile to try and put you at ease, “course. Now, the four of us would be the roommates, the price is not a concern at all. We are active duty, often in and out of the home due to work, but we want a place to come back to as home. Something a little more homey than the base is.”

You nodded giving a small smile, “of course, I understand that. I am a hair stylist so sometimes I have clients in home, but most times I work in my shop. I have no pets or anything, house sits on 20 acres of forest land, much of it has been untouched. I’m open to changing things on the property but I don’t want to adjust too much as I like the feel it has.”

You noticed the way Price seemed to take lead, “course, we don’t expect you to change for us love. Now, to get the elephant in the room out of the way, as you can tell we are hybrids. I personally am a dragon, Soap here is a werewolf, Gaz is a harpy and Ghost back here is a wraith. Would that be a dealbreaker for you? And it’s completely okay with being honest.”

You were quiet for a moment, thinking it over before shaking your head a bit, “no, it’s not a deal breaker. I’m not really sure how that works or anything but I’m willing to learn.” You gave a smile, trying to put them at ease, not seeing the way the four of them seemed to look between one another before nodding. “Now, would you like a tour of the house?”

Soap gave a large smile, showing off his sharpened canines, “Would love one lass.”

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

HIIII do you have anymore tid bits for you au.... (share all of them. go ham. I LOVE IT SO MUCH)

So many. SO MANY!!

— After Ford gets his body back, Bill makes excuses to himself to watch over Dipper and Mabel when they’re dreaming, and interjects if they have any nightmares. This is definitely important to his evil plans, okay.

— McGucket definitely knows something is wrong with Stanfraud, and makes a scene whenever he sees him, claiming him to be the ‘devil in disguise’, or ‘the beast with one eye’. When Dipper and Mabel ask about it, Bill brushes it off as McGucket’s memory loss making him recall their fallout as worse than it was.

— Bill was roped into helping Stan teach Soos boxing when he was younger. He thought it was stupid at the time, but Stan wasn’t taking no for an answer. Soos still appreciates both of them for it, and Bill doesn’t mind the kid as much anymore. He’s smarter than he looks. He just has to put his mind to it.

— Bill actually likes stargazing. Stan’s surprised when he first catches Bill on the roof doing it, and Bill gets defensive when Stan pushes him on the matter, but he doesn’t exactly hate the company. When he’s left alone with his thoughts and the stars, his mind goes to a place that’s too dark, even for him. So, sometimes he and Stan will grab a drink — usually beer for Stan and some barely drinkable cocktails for Bill — and they’ll watch the stars. When Mabel finds out about it, she joins him. It’s one of the few places that he seems a lot… calmer. Not by a lot, mind you, but it’s noticeable enough for Bill.

— During Headhunters, there’s a lot of conflict between Stan and Bill. Bill thinks it’s weird how Stan is treating the wax figure, that just because he can’t pretend Bill is Ford, doesn’t mean he has to go speaking to a lump of wax. He has a lot of uncomfortable feelings surrounding Ford as is, ones he prefers to bury deep in the back of his mind, and this whole funeral deal, Stan’s genuine grief, it’s really putting a damper on his mood. Plus, he may be a little bit jealous. And maybe, just maybe, a bit concerned. I don’t have the details figured out yet, but I know for a fact they get into an argument over it, and the subject of Ford comes up again — no more avoiding it.

— Stan and Bill are banned from one of the town’s main bars for life. Why? That’s between them and the raccoon.

— I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but Bill actually dyed his, or, well, Ford’s hair brown, though he’s pretty bad at keeping on top of that so the grey roots tend to be showing.

— Dipper Vs Manliness actually has a small bonding moment between Bill and Dipper, where Bill essentially deconstructs gender and also tries to boost Dipper’s confidence, in his own Bill way.

He’s a strangely good influence in general when it comes to masculinity and gender and what not, being as he doesn’t conform to any human expectation. And he would absolutely sing Disco Girl with Dipper too. He loves that song, bitter memories be damned. Why would he let Sixer kill his groove.

And I shall leave it at that for now! If you’d like anymore tidbits I’m always keeping a thousand up my sleeves! And if you’d like any about specific characters, let me know!

[boringbones]

A Letter to Talented Creators

I've been part of this community for 20 years, watching artists rise, fall, leave for new journeys, or simply stop playing or creating. We've received amazing content, but we've also missed out on much.

I wonder how many of these artists could still be creating extraordinary content if they had the support of their communities. It’s common to encounter cliques of creators who vilify anyone considering making a living doing what they love. They’ll use every trick to convince you that not only do you NOT deserve it, but that pursuing it somehow taints you.

With every new friend and artist I meet, my first advice is always: FIND a way to monetize what you do. I believe that if you have the chance to make a living doing what you love, you gain MORE TIME to do what you're great at and, especially, what others love.

Besides, you don’t need everyone’s support—just those who, like me and many other players, are willing to contribute to ensure you have the time you need to keep producing and delivering something only you can create. There are ideas that haven’t been thought of and projects that haven’t been started. Life brings unexpected situations, and we never truly know what goes on behind the scenes for each person who shares their art with the world.

Let me tell you, people are willing to support you. In reality, there are more people willing to support a creator than those who aren't. The difference is that those who are willing don’t make as much noise, but they genuinely enjoy helping an artist who continually exceeds expectations.

I know some people think, “If I make money from this, I’ll have to commit to a level I’m not willing to.” And if that’s the case, that’s fine. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. However, I see this commitment as something positive, but I respect those who disagree. As an artist, you want a certain level of "healthy" pressure. After all, art requires it—not too much pressure, but not too little, either.

Criquette, for instance, is one of the best creators for The Sims 2 in my view. He made incredible things that nearly every player has used. He was ambitious on a level I’ve rarely seen. But he’s been inactive for years. I wonder how much more he could have created if he’d been able to monetize his work—cover household bills, put food in the fridge, or handle basic expenses. How much more time he might have had to create and share? How many brilliant things we could have today in The Sims if he were still here? But he wasn’t monetized, and maybe he was never interested in it, and that’s okay!

For every artist who monetizes, there are many who prefer to do it as a hobby. And that’s wonderful. There are many runners who do it for well-being, pleasure, social connections, or the benefits it brings to life. However, there are those who run professionally. They commit to a level an “amateur” NEVER would. They undergo training that a casual or hobbyist runner would NEVER endure. They maintain diets that others would NEVER tolerate. But the fact that some monetize running and turn it into a career doesn’t prevent others from running for love, fun, or enjoyment.

So, what I’m trying to say is: it’s all okay. If you believe monetizing your talent would give you more QUALITY time to sit and produce what you love, give you the chance to take someone you love to a special restaurant simply because you can, or allow you to be BETTER at what you do because it frees you from worrying about adult responsibilities—then do it!

Be prepared for the noise others will make, but remember that those people aren’t your target audience. Even if they make noise, they don’t consume what you produce. And if they do, they might do so in secret—because attacking a creator and consuming that creator’s work is contradictory. But believe me, there’s often more inconsistency than consistency in this world. And that’s okay!

Remember that on the other side, there are many kind people who don’t mind contributing a small, medium, or even significant amount to support a creator they love, appreciate, and benefit from. Keep this in mind when considering monetization, no matter which version of The Sims you create for. If there’s even one person willing to support you, that’s all you need to start.

I am sure that with this, you’ll have more time, more quality of life, more joy, and a healthy commitment to push yourself in a positive way to give back to your audience for the support and love they have for what you create.

If I have time to create and contribute today, it’s because of these people. They’ve changed my life, shown me that I have the chance to live the life I genuinely want for myself rather than the life circumstances might have dictated. They show me daily that I can LOVE what I do and make a living from it, and that monetizing it doesn’t take away my love for it—instead, it enhances it. I hope you consider my words.

In the end, remember this phrase: “Beyond daily life and what others think of you, what do you think of yourself?” Your value is something only you define. People will respect you to the extent that you respect yourself. If anyone says you don’t have a place “here,” remember, we’re always speaking about ourselves.

We can only give to others what we have, what we are. Trust in your talent and find a way to monetize it, whatever it may be—whether it’s making jarred cakes, selling pudding door-to-door, or creating content for The Sims. I’ve done all these things, and if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that our circumstances change according to our sense of worth. When we recognize that every job has value and that there’s nothing wrong with making a living if you’re providing benefits to others with what you have to offer... So follow your heart. Take risks, give it your all, and be the artist you want to be, because there are people ready to support you. You deserve it, and you will succeed. I hope this letter reminds you of your worth.

Never forget that each of your creations is a unique expression, something only you can bring to the world. May that value and uniqueness always guide you and give you the confidence to keep doing what you love.

[revelboo]

Please please please I am begging for more of vortex 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Sure

I Can’t Decide Pt 3

Vortex x Reader

• There’s something very wrong with you. But when it’s down to you versus some poor schmuck you don’t know? You like you. A lot. That doesn’t make choosing any easier. By day, the town’s alive. Busy with people going about their lives worrying about bills, work, school. The trick is to find someone that deserves it, because there have to be people that have earned some playtime with your big, psychotic new friend. Someone that’s not you. You’d gotten home that night, stripped, showered scrubbing your skin over and over using your nails until your skin was red and sore. Until the hot water ran out. After you’d dressed, you’d reached into the bedside table and lifted out the contents, placing it in your jacket pocket.

• Bored, bored, bored. Head falling back as Brawl and Blastoff argue, Vortex shoves up out of his chair, startling the other two Combaticons into temporary silence. “I’m sick of this. Sick of you,” he adds, thrusting a servo in Brawl’s face. “You’re just ugly, but I love you,” he adds, pointing at Blastoff. Hearing them scoff at him as he strides past them and down the hall. Nearly getting run over by Soundwave as the other Decepticon runs past. Rotors flaring slightly, he watches the communications officer go. And thinks of you, realizing he’d almost forgotten all about his new friend. And that lovely fear of yours. Now that’s not boring at all.

• Hunching deeper into your coat, you glance at your watch. You’re running out of time until you have to bring that monster a new toy. Or fill the role yourself. They’d found the body from last night. You’d heard all about it on the morning news, the anchors half rabid with excitement, because nothing like this ever happens. Not in your sleepy town. But a man brutally dismembered? They’ll run the story for weeks, milking the drama. Tugging your hood up to hide your face better, you walk past the taped off alley and look up. Heart racing when you see the little security camera. No one has shown up on your door, so if that camera had caught you running from the murder victim, they hadn’t been able to ID you for questioning. Yet. Dragging your eyes away, you study the people around you. Trying to decide.

• Outside the Nemesis, he swaps to his altmode and does a lazy circuit over the human city below. Watching the little insects scurrying about their business. And they’re fun, but they break so easily. Too easily. Where are you down there? Are you keeping up your end of the bargain? Struggling with your own morals and the impossible task of finding him a suitable replacement to save yourself? Just thinking of your horror and self hatred is a thrill. Are you going crazy yet? Broken down?

• Those two on the corner look like thugs. Probably crackheads. Maybe they sell drugs to school kids. Maybe they’re robbers. Murderers. And maybe they’re just idiots with awful fashion taste and nothing better to do than hang out on a stoop. One of them catches you looking and gives you a slow once over that you ignore. Because you’ve got to find someone and you’d prefer it to be a bad guy. Maybe you can just sic the psycho robot on the jail. That’s full of bad people. Right? Or innocent people falsely accused. The sun’s already down, streetlights coming on. And you’re out of time.

• Dropping and transforming in the empty street he’d found you near the night before, he stalks across the asphalt, seeing the small shape of you sitting on the steps of an empty building. “Where’s my new toy?” He asks, drawing a rotor blade and gently prodding you with the flat of it. And you slowly stand, chin lifting as you stare up at him in defiance. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t find anyone. You bugs are everywhere.” Oh, those furious eyes do things to him, go straight to his spike. Bending, he grabs you in his free hand and lifts you to optic level. “Well?” Eyes narrowing, you shove a hand in your jacket and come out with a tiny, pitiful little gun. And he laughs right up until you aim and shoot him in the face.

Previous

[rewritingcanon]

What would you say are your more controversial opinions about the hp characters?

ohhhh okayyy. i feel like my opinions on a lot of the characters aren’t controversial because i dont feel super strongly towards anyone in any negative light but here are some i could think of at the top of my head:

i’m glad the malfoys faced more extreme backlash after the second wizarding war. a lot of people in the fandom seem to be very sympathetic towards draco and scorpius for getting dogpiled with the brunt of it (which yeah, it sucks, especially for scorpius) but the prejudice makes complete make sense to me. if i was someone who didn’t know scorpius’ character, and had someone from my family get killed in the second war due to death eaters or something— seeing the malfoys still be wealthy and walk around freely without any jailtime, i would be bitter too. they’re hated on but they’re still one of the richest families ever, so they’ll live LOL

another anon has asked about this and i haven’t responded to them yet but when i do i will link it here for my reasons. basically: the best character in the cursed child is harry potter. i think the way they wrote his character and ptsd carried the play. it was def his story, not albus’.

i do think dumbledore has some aspects of him that may be considered morally gray, but mostly i dont think he is. he does everything for the good of the world, and his complete selflessness leads him to sacrifice anything for it— even himself and the people he loves, when necessary. i completely understand why people wouldn’t agree with his methods though.

james potter isn’t a sunshine character he’s a dickhead. fans of him made him a golden retriever character to be more palatable for modern times. i like him the way he is: an asshole and then less of an asshole 👍 this is what true stanning looks like

pansy parkinson is racist and out of all the female side characters, developing HER is so questionable from fandom

harry had questionable descriptions about a lot of male characters to make people think he could be a little 🏳️‍🌈 there was bill, there was sirius, there was cedric. but draco is not a part of that list. harry was not feeling draco whatsoever throughout the series but drarry shippers cling to that one ‘obsessed’ line

furthermore, harry rejecting draco’s offer of friendship wasn’t a sad or a ‘what if’ scene. draco was being a classist piece of shit and harry didnt want to fuck with that, there isnt any way in any timeline he wouldve accepted draco’s friendship.

slytherin sucks just generally lol. people want so bad to pluck anti-heroes out of a series that was written specifically with the mind to make all the characters suck.

hermione and ron’s drama isn’t as toxic as people make it out to be. yes, this includes the time hermione sent birds after him. people act like its the end of the world but she was tackling puberty and the end of society soooo i give her a pass to tweak out.

mostly every harry potter character has horrific names. like literally mostly everyone. even the name harry potter 🙁

movie romione wasn’t that bad LOL

severus snape’s ‘redemption’ or whatever was so ass. he bullies kids for five years and then everything is chill because… true love? on harry’s mum? are you kidding me 💀

weasley family angst goes hard but people (especially percy stans and some ron&ginny stans) acting like they’re the most toxic family to walk the earth make me want to rip my hair out and eat it. molly loves her kids guys shes not evil. jesus.

genuinely trying to think of more but i can’t right now…. maybe i will reblog and add to it. i feel like most of my opinions aren’t that controversial though 😭

[yparkwrites]

MR. DETECTIVE S.JY FF

Pairing: Detective Jake x Female reader (Y/N)

Content warnings: explicit content (smut), blood, murder, killing and more to be added

Word count: 27.6k

Synopsis: Jake is a known detective, as they transfered the case to his unit of a serial killer, Y/n a police rookie will arrive to find the truth about her brother's death and unbeknownst to them, the serial killer has been with them from the start.

Publish date: January 6, 2025

Comment for tags.

NOTE: LONG WAIT IS OVER IT IS FINALLY HERE. CHAPTER 1 -9 ARE NOW OUT ON WATTPAD. TUMBLR UPDATE WILL BE ONCE A WEEK.

Son of the mob P.SH FF Completed

MR. DETECTIVE S.JY FF COMPLETED

Chapter 4 & 5 will be published on monday

Chapter 6 on tuesday

© 2025 Y. PARK WRITES. All Rights Reserved.

tags: @strxwbloody @dreamiestay @fancypeacepersona @heeaxvhhoon @jakeswife @evjirvninvitnvrnvirivn @candypopinluv

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

1

“You’re an early bird.” Jake said, seeing Y/n cooking breakfast for them. 

“I’m not, I’m just thankful that you took me.” Y/n replied, serving him his plate full of food. Eggs, bacon, toast and potato fritter. “You know you need to go grocery shopping, your fridge is empty.” She added, taking a seat in front of him. 

“I don’t really cook,” Jake said. “Jay was the one who usually cooks for us,” he uttered quietly.

“Jay is a good cook, a great one. I don’t know why he chose this path, maybe if he didn’t he would still be by my side.” Y/n stated, eating the bacon she had cooked earlier.  “Tell me about my brother, when he was working with you.” Y/n said, looking up at him.

“Hmm, what can I say about him? Jay is a hardworking guy, he’s good at everything, he never rejected any job offers despite their dangers, he doesn’t care, if he’s receiving a nice amount of money he takes it, without any doubt, no second thoughts he takes it, that’s why everyone envies him, until now, the department just simply can’t find someone as good as him. Whenever someone asks him why he takes dangerous jobs, no questions asked, he’ll always tell them he wants to give you a nice life, that he wants you to have nice clothes, nice foods, nice places, everything.” Jake shared. 

“I told him I don’t want any of that.” Y/n replied to him, sighing. 

“When he was offered the job, the job that took his life, he told the chief he’s not taking it. He told him that if  he doesn’t come back to you, no one will take care of you, but that same day he found out you’re sick, you needed treatment for your surgery. I could’ve told him I’ll pay for your surgery expenses and hospital bills but instead I told him I’ll take care of you.” Jake added on his story.

“It’s not your fault, he would’ve taken it anyways, it was my fault, I got sick.” Y/n uttered quietly, finishing the last toast on her plate, as she took her empty plate on the sink, with Jake watching her. 

2

Entering the office together, silent murmurs can be heard throughout the hallways, as the news of Jake taking a rookie spreaded like a virus, it was a big deal, as he never liked the idea of taking a rookie. 

“Why’d you never take a rookie?” Y/n asked, entering the elevator with Jake. “Are you nervous?” Y/n asked, seeing Jake being uneasy.

“Y/n, if they mention Jay, don’t react, if you react I don’t know what they’ll do. And to answer your question, your brother was my first rookie. After his death I told myself I’m not taking more rookies again.” Jake replied at Y/n.

Y/n followed behind Jake, who’s leading her to the meeting office to talk about the serial murder case that’s been happening for almost 3 years now. 

“Mr. Sim Jaeyun, it’s been awhile, and well what do we have here, a rookie after 3 years a rookie.” The leader of the investigation greeted them, as soon they entered the room.

“This is Y/n, she’s my rookie and she’ll be helping us with the case.” Jake said, looking at the man in front of him, who has been looking at him with a smug look on his face. 

“Well Y/n, I’m Lee Eunyeok, call me Mr. Lee or just simply Eunyeok.” He said, introducing himself to Y/n. 

“Shall we start?” A guy asked, as they all nodded in response. 

“I’m Park Sunghoon, Jake’s partner.” Sunghoon said, introducing himself to Y/n as he sat beside Jake.

“I’m Y/n, he didn’t mention he has a partner.” Y/n replied at him, grinning softly.

“Not that type of partner, little one.” Jake whispered in her ears. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Y/n whispered back.

“Okay, so latest murder happened a few nights ago, victim is 40 years old male, arrested for rape but charges were dropped due to insufficient evidence, no murder weapons were retrived  nor any fingerprints were detected.” Eunyeok said, showing everyone the slideshow to show them the stab wounds of the victim. “Our theory is that the serial killer used a kitchen knife to stab the victim,” he continued.

“That’s not a kitchen knife stab wound,” Y/n said, interrupting Eunyeok from speaking.

“Excuse me?” Eunyeok asked, while Jake signaled her not to say anything more. 

“That’s a pocket knife stab wound, you can see it from the tissue damage, it’s not a clean cut from a single stab of a kitchen knife, but a cut created by multiple stabs from a pocket knife.” Y/n explained.

“And who taught you that? Cause that doesn’t make sense, it’s bullshit.” Eunyeok said, chuckling as everyone in the room started laughing.

“That’s an absurd theory.” One of them said as they continued to laugh until they shut them off.

“Jay taught me about it.” Y/n said, making the laughter die down.

“Y/n, stop it.” Jake said, as he signaled her not to say anything more than that.

“You know Jay?” Eunyeok asked.

“Yeah, the officer you got killed 3 years ago. The job was offered to you but because it’s dangerous you offered it to my brother knowing he won’t decline the offer.” Y/n disclosed. 

“Let’s continue the meeting tomorrow, Y/n let’s go.” Jake said, but he was stopped.

“Why don’t you send her with Sunghoon, stay here for awhile,” Eunyeok said.

“That girl, that’s Jay’s sister?” Eunyeok asked.

“Yes, but please, leave her out of it, she doesn’t know everything.” Jake replied. 

“Well let’s hope that, because you know what will happen.” Eunyeok told him before leaving the room.

3

The car ride was silent, as Jake decided to buy some groceries with Y/n to ease his mind. 

“Sorry.” Y/n said, breaking the ice inside the moving car. “Please say something,” Y/n uttered again, as Jake didn’t respond. 

“I told you not to mention him.” Jake said through his gritted teeth.

“Can’t help it.” Y/n replied quietly.

“From now on you’re not going to the meetings, nor near the building, you’ll only go there to report your status.” Jake told her.

“Why?” Y/n asked.

“Because you got yourself in their radar, and now I have to keep you beside me at all times, because if not, you’ll end up like your brother.” Jake replied, parking his car near the grocery entrance. 

“He got my brother killed yet he’s standing there leading the investigation.” Y/n said before coming out of the car, as Jake sighed.

“Jay, give me strength, your sister is adorable when pissed off.” Jake whispered.

Jake followed Y/n inside the grocery, who’s now running like a little kid as soon as she got the shopping cart, making Jake chuckle at her. “No wonder your brother loves you so much,” Jake whispered. 

“Take any food you want,” Jake told Y/n, helping her push the cart. 

“Should I cook something for dinner?” Y/n asked, looking up at Jake. 

“Let’s just order take out.” Jake replied.

“What will I do at home?” Y/n suddenly asked.

“I’ll print you all copies of the cases from 3 years ago, and help us like that.” Jake responded, grabbing a pack of ramens to put on the cart.

“You know, I really like spicy ramen,” Y/n mentioned, seeing him only getting mild ramens.

“You do?” Jake asked.

“I love them.” Y/n replied with a little smile on her face.

4

Arriving at Jake’s place from the grocery, Y/n helped out to take all the groceries he bought for them inside the apartment.

“It’s been 3 years since I’ve bought this amount of groceries.” Jake said, as he struggled to carry all the foods they bought.

“I told you I can help carry them,” Y/n mumbled.

“Has Jay ever let you carry more than 1 grocery bag?” Jake asked, looking at Y/n as he finally set down the groceries down the kitchen table.

“No, he never let me carry one.” Y/n replied.

“Great, your brother will now have a reason to hunt me in my sleep.” Jake said, panting.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Y/n replied, handing him a cold glass of water.

“Thank you.” Jake said.

5 

During dinner they both ate the take out they bought at a korean restaurant on their way home. 

“Are these all the cases?” Y/n asked, as she skimmed all the printed cases Jake had printed her.

“No, there are more, but I have to grab them at my office, so stay put, I’ll be back, call me if there’s an emergency and don’t open the door unless it’s me.” Jake said as he grabbed his car keys to get all the remaining files printed from his office.

“Jake, would you mind buying some midnight snacks?” Y/n asked.

“We bought a lot of snacks,” Jake said.

“I forgot to take lays.” Y/n mumbled.

“I’ll get them on my way back here.” Jake said before going out. 

After Jake left to get the remaining files, Y/n started skimming on the files Jake had already printed.

First victim: Male, 30 years old arrested for murder, case dropped due to insufficient evidence. Stabbed 10 times on his chest and 3 times on his back. No murder weapons retrieved. No fingerprints recovered. Murder weapon: kitchen knife. 

“Are they dumb? That’s clearly not from a kitchen knife.” Y/n mumbled as she continued reading the first case of the serial killer. 

Second victim: Male, 25 years old arrested for sexual assault, case dropped due to insufficient evidence. Stabbed 10 times on his chest. No murder weapons and no fingerprints recovered. Murder weapon: kitchen knife.

“Why do they keep putting the kitchen knife when it’s not a kitchen knife,” Y/n mumbled, but her thoughts were interrupted when the bell rang. 

Forgetting what Jake had told her, she opened the door. 

CHAPTER 3

1

Y/n kept reading the files on the case they’re working on, there’s a lot of them, from the last 3 years they haven’t caught the killer, the murderer. The biggest question in Y/n’s mind is, what’s his/her motive of doing this. 

On all the case files, all of them end with a dead end. No murder weapons, no fingerprints, no clue, there’s nothing, the serial killer is very smart. 

“Will Jay be able to solve this if he’s still here?” Y/n quietly asked herself. 

Jay was once the best rookie, he can solve anything not even detectives can solve, he’s one of a kind. Jake was his mentor, however being the same age, they treated each other like brothers, they’re friends, Jake was just his senior for 2 years, he graduated earlier than him, he’s a smartass. Jay graduated later because of his sister. He wants his sister to be able to handle herself first before going to the university, but that changed when their parents died in a car crash. He needed money, he worked 3 jobs a day for a year until he decided to go inside the academy.

After 3 years of being in the academy he was finally sent to the police department of crime teams, Jake took him as his rookie. He never made a mistake during his rookie year, not even after. 

Jay was offered one of the dangerous jobs, spy a frat group by going inside, just for a year and receive 6 figures monthly, he wasn’t going to take it, but hearing the amount of money he took it, he can use it for his sister’s heart surgery, he accepted it, however he didn’t make it to his sister’s 18th birthday. 

2

The doorbell kept ringing, making Y/n sigh in frustration. 

“Can’t you fucking wait?” Y/n asked, opening the door, Jake told her not to open it. “Shit!” Y/n exclaimed. “What the fuck happened to you!?” Y/n asked as she tried helping him up to get inside Jake’s apartment. Successfully helping him inside she flopped him down the sofa. 

“Wait there I’m calling Jake.” Y/n said, leaving injured Sunghoon in the living room. 

“Fucking answer Jake,” Y/n mumbled. “Goddammit!” Y/n exclaimed as she threw her phone on the bed. Going into the living room to check on Sunghoon.

“Hey, you up?” Y/n asked, shaking the guy in front of her, who just groaned. “At Least help me lift your shirt,” Y/n mumbled, trying to remove his shirt to see his injury. 

“Don’t,” Sunghoon mumbled, stopping her from removing his shirt.

“We have to treat it.” Y/n said sternly, fighting Sunghoon’s grip. 

“You don’t want to see it.” Sunghoon said weakly, coughing up blood.

“I’m calling the ambulance.” Y/n said, just to get stopped by him. “You’re gonna die.” Y/n said, panicking. 

“He won’t.” Jake said, slamming the door open. “Little one, grab me a towel and some water,” Jake said, sending Y/n away to check on Sunghoon’s wound. 

Y/n went inside Jake’s room to grab a towel, not forgetting to fill up a basin with water. 

“Oh my god!” Y/n exclaimed, turning around as she saw Sunghoon’s big injury on his stomach. 

Jake stood up from his position to grab the towel and water from Y/n and told her “I can manage little one. Go and keep reading the files, oh and that’s your midnight snack.”

“He’s gonna die if you don’t bring him to the hospital.” Y/n said.

“I won’t let it happen.” Jake said, trying to calm her down. 

Jake started cleaning his wounds, hearing grunts from Sunghoon he pressed harder on his wounds. 

“It fucking hurts.” Sunghoon groaned, opening his eyes glaring at Jake who’s already glaring back at him. 

“What the fuck happened?” Jake asked as he continued treating Sunghoon’s open wounds. 

“Nothing, but I made a mistake,” Sunghoon responded, groaning.

“What did you do?” Jake asked.

“I dropped my pocket knife.” Sunghoon replied quietly. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it tomorrow.” Jake replied to him quietly.

“What will you do about Y/n?” Sunghoon asked. 

“I don’t know.” Jake responded.

“She just dug her own grave.” Sunghoon replied back.

“She’s mad about her brother’s death, and she finally met the people who put her brother’s life on the line, and now he’s gone.” Jake said.

“You like her don’t you?” Sunghoon said teasingly. 

“Shut up.” Jake retorted, making Sunghoon chuckle.

“Remember when you told me a lot of stories about her when we met in the academy and years later you met her brother again,” Sunghoon reminded him.

“I did talk a lot about her.” Jake responded. “I can’t be with her, her brother will haunt me if I try dating her.” He added, making Sunghoon laugh who groaned in pain right after.

“You know you can’t keep her here, you should get her an apartment or something or maybe a car if she drives so she doesn’t die of boredness here, she can’t be reading files 24/7,” Sunghoon said.

“I’ll talk to her about it.” Jake said as he continued to treat his friend’s wound that just stopped bleeding.

3

Y/n continued reading the files for the next hour but her mind kept drifting to injured Sunghoon. Sighing, she decided to leave Jake’s office. 

She saw Jake cleaning the blood off the floor and Sunghoon sleeping on the couch. 

“He’s fine.” Jake announced, making Y/n sigh in relief.

“What happened to him?” Y/n asked as she sat on the floor to check on Sunghoon’s wound. 

“I don’t know little one, ask him tomorrow.” Jake replied. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Jake added, trying to lift her. 

“I can walk.” Y/n mumbled. 

“I’ll carry you.” Jake said as he successfully lifted her up, carrying her to his bedroom. 

Jake dropped Y/n on his bed before going inside his bathroom to clean himself up. Getting up from the bed, Y/n knocked on the bathroom’s door. 

“You need something?” Jake asked from the other side. 

“I also need to wash up.” Y/n replied, the door unlocking, revealing a topless Jake.

“Wash up here, I’ll wash up in the other bathroom.” Jake stated as he came out of the bathroom to let her wash up.

After washing up, Y/n flopped down on the bed to get some sleep. And after 10 minutes Jake opened his bedroom door to find Y/n fast asleep, making him chuckle.

“No wonder your brother loves you too much. Jay don’t worry, I’ll protect her no matter what.” Jake said quietly, pulling the blankets over Y/n’s body before he flopped himself beside her. 

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

i like you, and it scares the hell out of me p2

pair: Fred Weasley x reader requested by anonymous

Could you maybe possibly do like a part 2 of I like you, and that scares the hell outta me I think it would be cute if reader went to the burrow for either summer or winter break and she gets to meet all the Weasleys and maybe also Sirius and Remus, and they all have their collective opinions of her since she's a Slytherin, but everyone also just teases Fred about her and how she's a Slytherin, and mostly his older brothers tease him

masterlist | navigation | p1

❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

Winter break at The Burrow was chaotic, noisy, and full of life. Fred loved it, but this year, he was on edge. This year, you were coming to stay for the holidays. You, his Slytherin girlfriend.

As he stood in front of the house, waiting for you to arrive, George nudged him with a smirk. “You nervous, Freddie?”

Fred shot him a glare. “No.”

George’s grin widened. “You sure about that? You’ve got that sweaty, panicky look.”

“I don’t panic,” Fred muttered, glancing toward the gate.

The rest of the family was already inside, bustling around with Christmas decorations and setting the table for dinner. Fred wasn’t exactly sure how his family would react to you. His mum, bless her, would probably be polite. His dad, too. But his brothers? Merlin, they’d never let him live it down.

When you finally appeared at the gate, Fred's breath caught. You looked a little nervous, clutching your bag tightly, but you smiled when you saw him. Fred’s nerves eased, and he hurried over to meet you.

“Hey,” you said, your voice a bit shaky. “Ready for this?”

Fred took your bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Yeah. Don’t worry, they’re a bit mental, but they’ll like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Even though I’m a Slytherin?”

Fred chuckled, leading you toward the house. “They’ll love you. And if they don’t, I’ll hex them for you.”

You laughed softly, and Fred felt a swell of pride at being able to make you feel a little more at ease.

The moment you stepped inside, the chaos hit full force. Molly Weasley was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm, and Arthur was busy tinkering with some Muggle contraption. Fred introduced you quickly, and Molly gave you a warm hug, while Arthur asked a few curious questions about your school experiences. They seemed welcoming enough, but Fred could feel the judgmental eyes of his brothers on him already.

“Is this her, then?” Bill’s voice came from behind, and Fred turned to see his oldest brother standing with a teasing smile.

“Yep,” Fred said, narrowing his eyes at Bill. “This is her.”

Bill extended his hand to you. “Bill Weasley. Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you.”

“Hopefully good things,” you said with a small smile, shaking his hand.

“Mostly,” Bill said with a grin, glancing at Fred. “But, you know, Fred’s been saying for years he’d never even look at a Slytherin, let alone date one.”

Fred groaned. “Not this again.”

“Oh, we’re definitely bringing this up,” Charlie chimed in, appearing from the living room. “This is the Fred Weasley who said he’d never date a Slytherin. And yet, here you are.”

You gave Fred an amused look, and Fred muttered something under his breath about disowning his brothers.

“Don’t worry, Fred, I think it’s sweet,” you teased.

Fred rubbed the back of his neck, his face turning slightly pink. “Yeah, well, don’t let them fool you. They’re just jealous I’ve got the best girlfriend.”

George, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Sure, Freddie. That’s why you spent half of last year sulking around saying you’d never date a Slytherin, and now you can’t stop staring at her.”

Fred gave George a light shove. “Sod off.”

The teasing continued all through dinner, with each Weasley brother taking their turn to make a comment about Fred’s choice in a girlfriend. Even Percy, who was usually more serious, made a remark about how “unexpected” it was for Fred to end up with someone from Slytherin.

But despite the teasing, Fred could see that his family was warming up to you. His mum kept asking if you needed more food, his dad was fascinated by your tales of Beauxbatons, and even his brothers seemed impressed by your quick wit and charm. Every now and then, Fred would catch you laughing along with one of Bill or Charlie’s jokes, and he’d feel a warmth in his chest.

Later that evening, Sirius and Remus arrived for a visit, bringing with them the same easy-going banter and lighthearted teasing. Sirius, upon learning you were a Slytherin, made a show of pretending to be offended.

“A Slytherin, Fred? I thought I taught you better than that!” Sirius said with a mock gasp, ruffling Fred’s hair.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You dated plenty of Slytherins back in your day.”

Remus chuckled from the side, clearly amused. “Don’t let him fool you, Fred. Sirius always liked the troublemakers.”

Sirius grinned, wrapping an arm around Fred’s shoulders. “Well, if you’re going to break tradition, you might as well do it properly.”

Remus leaned toward you, offering a kind smile. “Don’t let them overwhelm you. They’re all bark, no bite.”

You smiled back, clearly more relaxed now. “I think I can handle them.”

Fred couldn’t help but smile as he watched you fit in with his family. Sure, the jokes about dating a Slytherin would never stop, but seeing you laughing with George, trading stories with Bill, and even getting into a friendly debate with Sirius made it all worth it.

As the night wound down, you and Fred found yourselves sitting by the fireplace, the warm glow casting soft shadows across your faces. Fred slipped his hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“They like you,” he said quietly, glancing over at his family.

You smiled softly. “Yeah, I think I like them too.”

Fred grinned. “Told you they would.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. It didn’t matter that you were from Slytherin or that Fred had sworn he’d never date someone from your house. None of that mattered anymore.

All that mattered was that, somehow, against all odds, you and Fred had found each other.

[pnfc]

here is some unresolved(?) perryshmirtz whumpfic(?), rated T. i call it “doofenshmirtz talks on the phone a lot”. idk if i’ll put it on ao3, it depends on if i continue.

disclaimer: in this fic the owca agents are brain-modded, for purposes of juiciness. typically i prefer that pnf is just a goofy cartoon world with smart animals.

EDIT: i'll leave this post up but i finished this, on ao3 here

---

“It’s actually a net good for society if you climb the trees, Perry the Platypus,” Heinz is telling Perry as they stroll the orchard path. He’s sagging a little under the weight of a basket they’ve mostly filled.

“See I know there’s that rule, ‘no climbing’. But that’s for the 8 year olds who fall and crack their heads open -- the emotionally unbalanced teens out to break an arm. Not for you, Perry the Platypus. Treehopping is a cakewalk for you. You’re like a ninja up there.”

Perry flips his wool scarf and surveys the lowhanging branches, pointedly ignoring Heinz. He vaults up to snag a Golden Delicious, dunks it square into the basket from over his shoulder, not looking. Heinz whistles, even as the impact buckles his knees. “That’s what I mean.”

He catches up to Perry -- “What about the apples at the top of the trees, Perry the Platypus, do you think of them? Nobody can pick them, so they rot on the tree or rot on the ground. No one comes to an orchard to pick apples off the ground.”

Perry signs: Two-year olds.

“Besides them,” Heinz insists. “That’s like a third of all the apples just going to waste, so nobody can enjoy them.”

Birds and bugs, signs Perry. Can enjoy them.

Heinz ponders this. “Maybe. But I can tell you they’d enjoy my fresh-baked strudel a lot more.”

Perry makes a “yeah, yeah” wave to brush off Heinz’s winning point. Heinz can see the smile curving up his bill from behind, as he walks ahead. “Hold up, Perry the Platypus,” he says. “I think we have enough.”

Heinz sets the basket down, intensely grateful to rest his arms, and Perry skips back over to survey their haul. An even mix of Jonathan, Smeralda, and Goldens. “The best for baking out of the October set, in my experience,” Heinz explains to Perry. “These Goldens look a little young, but I think they’ll cook up okay. Could also use them for a syrup, I’ve been meaning to try that.”

The walk back to the exit is when it hits.

Perry reaches out a paw and pushes it against Heinz’s leg, tentative. Then he wrenches the fabric into both fists, hard, and chirps, frantic. This makes Heinz stop.

“Perry the Platypus? What’s up?”

It’s like a hypnic jerk, the sensation -- a dizziness cresting over him like an ocean wave, a loudening roar of foam. Perry looks up at Heinz, finds his blue-ringed eyes wide with alarm, like his own. And he holds Heinz’s leg like it’s the last stable thing, as the wave swallows him up in a gulp, then silence.

Perry thinks I’m having a stroke, before he can’t think it.

“...Perry? You okay?” Heinz has dropped the basket and is crouching down to Perry’s level. “What’s wrong, did I forget something? We have enough apples,” he says, knowing that’s not the problem. “If you want more, you’re carrying and paying.”

Perry’s still linking his gaze with Heinz’s, clutching his knee like he needs it for balance. He chitters out an anxious exhalation. Heinz taps him on the bill. “Hey. You gonna clue me in here?”

Perry shakes off the touch and backs away from Heinz, pinwheeling his arms and toppling onto the ground. The scarf gets trapped under his forepaw, pulls taut around his neck -- then he’s racing forward in a panic, growling at a high pitch, through the red leaf litter, scarf trailing after and under him.

“Perry!” Heinz exclaims, craning around to follow Perry’s tracks -- he bumbles into the basket, shooting apples out like poolballs. “Settle down -- tell me what’s wrong, okay? You’re scaring me.” He pushes himself up. “And that’s not how you treat that scarf. That’s Merino, Perry, it took me weeks to knit. You’re grinding dirt into it.”

Perry halts, at the tail of Heinz’s upbraiding, and looks at him with saucer eyes. Heinz approaches him slowly, like he’s an animal he might startle away. But Perry doesn’t run, when Heinz leans over him -- actually seems to settle, as Heinz clasps his hands around his shoulders.

“Perry the Platypus.” His brown eyes blink. “What is going on with you?”

Heinz picks him up. “You’re going to have to say something,” he says. “Or I’m going to assume this is an emergency. Are your arms malfunctioning? One blink yes, two blinks no.”

This gets no blinks.

Heinz drops Perry into the basket and runs out to the parking lot -- dropping a 20 on the checkout stall as he does, to cover the apples still in the bottom of the basket. They need to get home.

The OWCA watch beeps while Heinz is driving, Perry basket-bound in the passenger seat. Perry jolts and lifts his paw, looks at the glowing screen -- in the side of his vision Heinz sees Perry press his beak into the watchface. “God, not now, Francis...” he mutters.

Heinz parks right next to the elevators in the apartment garage. His phone buzzes right as he shuts the car door. “Perry the Platypus, we’re going upstairs, okay?” he says. “You want to stay in the basket?”

Perry’s just staring into him as he’s addressed, no reaction to the question. So Heinz exhales and walks to the elevator, basket steady in his arm, and checks his phone. It’s from Carl: Dr. D, this is urgent: is Perry okay?

He freezes in the elevator lobby, and dials.

“Carl, are you there?”

“Yes, Doofenshmirtz, hi. Listen, I need to --”

“Do you KNOW about this? What’s going on with him?”

“I -- oh dear,” says Carl, sounding sad. “I guess it worked. How is he? Can you describe his behavior?”

Heinz balks at that, staring at his phone -- Carl just confessed to screwing Perry up somehow and now he’s asking after him like a caring orderly, shameless.

“Are you kidding me? His behavior? He’s not himself, Carl,” Heinz shoots back. The metallic echo of the boxy room amplifies his voice, so he tries not to yell too loud -- Perry is out of the basket on the floor of the room, staring nervously up at him from a few paces away. “He doesn’t seem to get what I’m saying, he had a major panic attack out of the blue -- and he won’t talk to me. Like, no signs, no nods. He’s walking on all fours, Carl. What did you do?!”

“It wasn’t me,” Carl squeaks defensively. “I mean -- it’s this audit, Heinz, the agent program investigation. They didn’t even notify us they were sending people over today. It’s FBI people, they” -- his voice tightens to a whisper -- “they busted into every office, they found some of our server rooms and -- look, I can’t get into this right now, but I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Just ... just keep Perry safe, take him home. And for the love of god don’t let him escape.”

Carl hangs up in a hurry, before Heinz can yell a reply. He scowls at the red call-end sign.

“What the hell is wrong with that kid,” Heinz asks the room. “Maybe Francis knows. I have to give him a call. I hate when it comes to that, Perry the Platypus.”

Perry is doubling back to the apple basket, slinking close to the floor with visible nerves. He clambers back inside. Heinz pushes the elevator button.

Upstairs, Heinz drops the basket on the kitchen island and budges Perry’s hat aside to place a hand on his head. “First things first, Perry the Platypus. We’re going to give you a checkup. Okay?”

Perry still doesn’t react, but Heinz will keep treating this like a two-way conversation. It’s an old habit that he hasn’t slipped into in a long time. He didn’t miss it.

Heinz leads him to the bathroom -- Perry mostly sticks by his feet, but stops in place once or twice, swiveling his gaze around the spacious penthouse canopy, either like it’s new to him, or like he’s remembering it. He snaps back whenever Heinz calls his name -- there’s that, at least. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Phineas’s housewarming gift, one of them, had been a platypus first-aid kit. He’d presented it to Heinz back when Perry had just told his family about them and Heinz was hosting a “win Perry the Platypus’s family over” lunch (unofficial title that Perry had deleted off the invitation cards). Heinz had read a kind of parental judgment into the gift choice, at the time, like the kid wasn’t trusting him to take adequate care of Perry on his own, without being handheld. Maybe Heinz’s reading was unfair -- he has a chip on his shoulder, when it comes to mom behavior.

He unsnaps it. The case is overstuffed -- it pops open with decollapsing trays of portable disinfectant and numbing wipes, surgical sewing kits, cut-closing gel and fur-safe teal bandages to cover it in all sizes, claw trimmers and medicated toothpastes and endoscopes. An impressive degree of overkill -- he really likes that kid, past misgivings aside.

“I’m just checking a few basic things,” Heinz tells Perry as he rummages through and pulls out a stethoscope. “Fever, stress, blood oxygen. You never know what can affect the brain -- a lot of things, really. Including Carl. Well we already know it’s Carl,” he grumbles. Perry’s irises contract at the flashlight shine, and he blinks and squirms in Heinz’s hold. “I’ll just have to squeeze him for answers later. Knowing the brain geniuses at OWCA they activated some stolen villain tech without back-engineering it first -- a mind-control beam, some harebrained monotreme-dumbdowninizer. Are they still using my memory eraser?” He huffs -- pulse and blood pressure readings are normal. “Why’d I ever make that thing. I can never recall.

“Everything looks fine so far, Perry the Platypus. That’s... that’s good,” he says, not feeling it. Perry is poking his bill inquisitively into the trays of the first-aid kit. Heinz will need to break out the MRInator. Been a while, so he’ll need to tune it first, which could take hours. Better get started on it right away. He needs to be working right now, because if he stops he thinks he will gelatinize into a ball of terror. That wouldn’t help Perry.

He’s 15 minutes into his work, checking that the gradient coils are aligned, when the phone rings. His screwdriver hits the ground as he lunges for it, ready to yell the full story out of Carl. But it’s Peter calling. He stares at the profile photo, which is many years out of date.

“...Hello? Peter the Panda, since when do you call? What’s up?”

“Hi, hi -- Doofenshmirtz?” comes a voice on the other line. It’s pitchy, so he has trouble placing it at first.

“Mystery? Is that you?”

This is weird. Heinz never talks to this guy. He isn’t even up on whether Professor Mystery’s still practicing evil -- just gets the impression from Peter that they’re doing alright together, whenever the two of them cross paths.

“I’m calling because something’s wrong with Peter,” he says, a quaver in his voice that Heinz can hear he is trying to suppress. “And I wanted to ask if you know anything. Did you do something to him, Doofenshmirtz? Or, if you didn’t. Can... can you come over here? Can you help me talk to him? I thought maybe he’d respond if he saw a familiar face, or maybe you’d have one of your... weird machines that could help him.”

“Verdammt noch mal,” Heinz hisses through the hand raking down his face. “That agency. It’s all of them?”

“...What?”

“It’s OWCA, Mystery, they did something to all of the agents. Apparently, if it hit Peter. Perry’s the same way.”

“...Oh,” responds Mystery. He sounds lost. “So can you come up here? I’ll -- I’ll cover your tickets. Both of them.”

Like he’d fly there commercial. “Mystery, I’m getting details out of the OWCA guys right now. I need more information before I can make any plans. Sorry.”

And Mystery couldn’t pay him enough to take Perry out of the city right now. Perry’s been hopping between the sofa and the carpet, then walking over to Heinz and bumping into his side as he works, before cycling back to the sofa, a knot of agitation. Right now he’s digging his forepaws into a couch cushion, like he’s trying to find something that isn’t there.

On the end of the line Mystery sniffles -- oh, no. “What happened to him, Doofenshmirtz?” he says, voice cracking. “My parents were trying to figure it out, they were asking me how old he is -- but it was so sudden, like something hit all at once. My dad asked if I let him go near any black holes recently.”

“Did you?” Heinz asks, genuine. Mystery got up to some hardcore science in the old days.

There’s an ursine growl on the other end, angrier than Peter sounds. “No. That’s their baggage. But I was worried,” Mystery says, “about the age thing. Because. Well.”

Heinz knows Peter’s well into his 20s, by now.

“There’s only so many more years, for him,” Mystery says, faltering. “And so -- what if this is -- if this is how he is now,” he wavers, “then that means I didn’t even... have the time, have the time I thought.”

This precedes a total breakdown of his speech into wracking sobs, that don’t transmit prettily over the phone audio. Heinz pulls the phone away from his ear, frowning at it with no little sympathy. Mystery’s age, like so much about him, has never been clear to Heinz -- but he can tell the guy’s young, comparatively. Whatever their relationship passes for there’s a strained mentorship quality to it -- Mystery has turned to Heinz for answers, in the past, and has repaid him with petulant resentment every time. It’s very bratty. Like when Vanessa would ask him for help with science projects. Heinz can’t resist another opportunity to help each time he’s asked, even knowing the outcome.

But consoling this man wasn’t on Heinz’s docket for today. “Mystery,” he says, “You’ll get that time. You cannot have so little faith in Peter the Panda, so soon after something happens to him. You’re a scientist -- you’re a master of mystery. Give it a few days, before you have a breakdown, alright? That’s what Peter would want.”

Heinz thought that was pretty good, but Mystery just cries harder on the line. He feels shaken -- he doesn’t want to be hearing this right now. That’s selfish, he knows -- but Mystery has family. Mystery can handle himself, and he can handle Peter. Heinz cares deeply for Peter’s wellbeing, still, but part of caring has meant learning to trust his choice of partner, just like Peter trusts his.

“Look, Mystery, I have to go,” he says -- he looks up, and doesn’t see Perry. Suddenly he meant what he said, with an urgency. “Get your parents to help, and tell them all morbid speculation is banned. Give them a furbrush, tell them go to town on him. They’ll love it, he’ll love it. Bye.”

He snaps off the call and rushes through the house, looking for Perry. The kitchen, the balcony ledge, the pool. This place is too big, when he doesn’t want it to be.

He finds a puddle in the bathroom. Perry knew enough to go in there, apparently, but not how to use the toilet.

Perry is back in the sitting room hiding under the glass coffee table, tail curled under like he’s ashamed. “Oh, Perry the Platypus,” Heinz sighs, kneeling at the table and reaching under to stroke Perry’s head. “What are we going to do with you.”

Mr. Fluffypants’ old litterbox is in the storage room that used to belong to Norm. He sets it up next to the toilet. Their bathroom has ample room. He exits, knowing he has to keep the inertia rolling, has to work, can’t process that he just set out a litterbox for Perry. How is he supposed to process that.

Right across from the door, in the hallway, there’s an elongated picture frame with photos from a family beach trip, when Heinz had more color in his hair. The left side highlights Vanessa, who’d brought along a friend -- she’s laughing in some of them, more unrestrained happiness than she showed in her gradeschool years. There’s the massive sandcastle they’d constructed, Norm using his vacant head to scoop, Vanessa lifting Perry up to decorate the upper echelons with fine detail, the two of them focused on this process for a long time while they’d chatted. And then photos of Perry, the surf breaking over his feet as he poses with a notch-tailed surfboard, cool confidence in the line of his smile. Heinz loves that picture: he looks so handsome, his white beach shirt open and playing in the wind.

He finds himself staring at it. This was Perry an hour ago.

He calls out: “Do you know Vanessa, Perry the Platypus? Va-ne-ssa?”

No response, obviously -- Heinz is convinced he could jostle some kind of reaction out of Perry if Vanessa stopped by in person, like Mystery had been aiming at with him. But he has no intention of letting her see him in this state. Perry would hate that.

Heinz collapses into his folded arms on the kitchen island, amid the newly-purchased bags of flour and sugar, for the apple pie they will not be making tonight. He doesn’t want to eat.

But Perry should, he realizes after a minute, lifting his head. Perry seems less agitated now, has been wandering the floor. Right now he’s peering out at the balcony sky, seated. Heinz walks over to him. “You’re not going to try and run off of that, right?” Perry looks up. “Carl made it sound like you were gonna bolt if I so much as left a door open.” But Perry’s been keeping near to him, following him from room to room. The real Perry isn’t this clingy. “I don’t trust you to operate a parachute right now, Perry the Platypus. And don’t let me see you going in the jetpack closet.”

More empty eye contact. “Let’s get you dinner.”

It’s reheated lasagna they’d made a few nights ago, beef and zucchini. Heinz stares hopefully at Perry as he eats it off the plate, thinking the taste might stir a memory. He noses the fork off the table, jumps a little at its clatter, then starts nibbling bites off the edge of the lasagna block. Heinz is over there cutting it up with a butter knife when Carl’s return call finally buzzes in his pocket -- he puts it on the tabletop set to speaker mode. “Carl. I hope you’re ready to talk.”

“Yes Doofenshmirtz, hi,” returns the tinny nasal voice. “I had to get home -- Monogram’s getting grilled over there, and he wouldn’t stop yelling back at them, at the FBI agents, who were jumping at the bit to arrest him. I managed to broker a peace,” Carl ends, proudly.

“That’s fantastic, Carl,” says Heinz. “How about explaining what you did to Perry the Platypus’s brain? It hit Peter too, by the way, I know this is a bigger problem than you want me to think.”

“I don’t want you to think anything!” says Carl. “This wasn’t my choice, Heinz, or Monogram’s for that matter. They turned off the agent control switch. I kept telling them they didn’t need to do that, they should just leave the agents alone -- it’s more safe that way, honestly, we didn’t even know what would happen if they used it. But they just said if it’s part of the animal program, it needs to go.”

Heinz’s stomach sinks lower than he thought it could. “Agent control switch? You’re controlling them?”

“No!” says Carl. “It’s not a -- clear term. Nobody’s controlling the animals, Heinz. It’s like a remote control hub, with a binary state, on and off. They shut it off.’

“So that’s good,” Heinz falters, trying not to let the ominous weight of whatever this implies overwhelm his thought. “You can just switch it back on. It sounds like you can literally fix this with a button press, Carl, so do it.”

“Well, yes and no,” Carl dithers. “They shut it off. Then they confiscated all our equipment. They said ‘classified’, when I asked where it was going. so my guess is it’ll end up in some storage basement or the FBI dumpster, based on how badly they mishandled it. They split open the casing just getting it out of the room, it was hard to watch.”

That sounds about right for OWCA, 70s-era supercomputers filling up rooms they were never intended to leave. “So the switch controls something in Perry’s head?” Heinz asks, steadily. He’s thinking of the giant magnet he was about to put Perry inside. “Like a metal chip?”

“It’s a bioelectric material, I’m pretty sure,” Carl says. “Part of what makes it so hard to access, once it’s inside. The investigators were going to make us lobotomize all the agents, if I hadn’t told them about the switch, it was the only choice. They’re serious about stamping out this program, Heinz, like they’re trying to erase it from the public consciousness. Because if people see a dog in a hat they’ll mob up and burn the government down, apparently.”

Heinz feels on board with that plan at the moment. “Carl. Professor Mystery’s having a breakdown, I had to talk him off the cliff this afternoon. Neither of us knew about this. You didn’t tell any of us,” the heat is rising in his voice, “that Peter and Perry had something in them that you controlled, that this could happen at any minute. Did they know about this?”

Carl is quiet a second. “... I’m not sure,” he says. “I thought Perry knew. It’s not a major secret, it’s just what we do, to promising recruits. It’s had a less pronounced effect in the newer ones, since we stopped putting them in babies. But Perry’s always had it. That’s why he’s so intelligent. But he might not have known about the control switch -- it’s really a relic, we haven’t run power through it in decades, since we’ve had no reason to deactivate the agents.”

Perry’s nosing around the table, his lasagna half-eaten -- he makes a small noise of complaint. “Oh -- I didn’t give you water,” Heinz realizes. A cup seems too optimistic, so he fills up a bowl.

“Is that Perry?” asks Carl from the phone speaker -- Heinz rolls his eyes. “How is he? I’m really sorry, by the way, Heinz -- there’s a lot on our plates over here, I’m just trying to keep us afloat and Monogram on a leash. You know I care about him, too.”

“Then fix him,” says Heinz. Carl goes quiet, while Perry drinks from his bowl.

“...We’ll figure it out. Good night, Doofenshmirtz.”

Heinz looks out at the silent space of his apartment -- the living room lamp is taking on the brunt of lighting it, now the early autumn dark has fallen. With the phonecall battles over and done for the night, it seems quieter than usual.

This space is normally filled by just him and Perry, now that Norm and Vanessa are out on their own. Perry doesn’t talk, and employs his platypus noises judiciously, only making sound when he really wants Heinz’s attention, or is in a temper. But his presence fills the space, in a way that’s hard to explain, easy to feel.

Normal nights, Heinz gabs his way into the late hours with Perry as his receptive listener, and responder, accompanying Heinz on their end-of-day tidying chores, toweling dishes off for him to stack on high shelves, shooting him dry looks and signing quick sentences that make Heinz scoff. Perry believes Heinz is worth listening to, which makes Heinz want to keep chatting with him, more and more, a self-feeding loop that would overload the casual conversational partner. But Perry is no casual.

Normal afternoons, they work on parallel projects to the sound of old radio serials, to audiobooks of bestselling mystery novels, to the Landmarks in Evil podcast. Perry will grab Heinz’s attention to sign some withering remark on the spotlighted villain of the week, and Heinz will snort into his construction tools. Perry’s presence grants him undesired OWCA updates around the house, that they both groan at simultaneously. Perry grants him gift-laden drop-ins from Ferb and Phineas -- literal balcony visits, often, since those kids and their friends fly around the city in more novel contraptions than Perry once did. Perry gives him looks that say everything.

Now, Perry has hopped off the kitchen chair and is padding around Heinz into the living room space. He turns to look at Heinz, like he keeps on doing, but his face expresses only a primal distress. He chirps a high, querulous note, cry-like, foreign on Perry’s tongue. Heinz could step on Perry’s tail ten times -- he has -- and not hear a noise that heartrending.

“I know, Perry the Platypus.” Such a thing you say to pets. But he shares Perry’s sentiment.

A flash of guilt twinges his stomach, and he pulls out his phone to text Peter’s number: Got the intel - I’m fixing it. Take care of Peter the Panda tonight.

A quick reply: I AM. Heinz’s lip quirks.

Heinz raps on the shell of the MRInator -- its completion feels less urgent, now that he has a better concept of the problem. He’ll finish it after a night of sleep, so he doesn’t risk frying Perry’s neurons. He doesn’t want to sleep, knows it won’t be easy, with this mountainous weight hanging over him. But dire times call for proper rest, he’s learned to accept, after 50-some odd years. He downs a plastic cup of Nyquil.

“I’ll have to fix you tomorrow, Perry the Platypus,” he tells him. “Or else I’ll start owing everyone an explanation. Really don’t wanna give the ‘Carl Scrambled Perry’s Brain’ apology tour to your family. I don’t think they’d talk to me again, even though everything is Carl’s fault. As established by the name of the tour.”

Perry wails again, a haunting trill sent into the darkness of the penthouse.

“But don’t worry,” Heinz adds, hurrying over to Perry -- he bends to pet his head. “I will fix this for you. And for Peter the Panda too, and all the other agents. I promise.

Perry whines again, more quietly, in Heinz’s hold, looking up at him with sad brown eyes. Heinz rubs his old hands through the fur of his head -- Perry looks so different right now, hunched in a dog’s sitting posture. Whatever they did to him, whatever pathways are now shut off in his mind, must have enabled or encouraged more human postures, better standing balance -- who knows.

Heinz isn’t sure what to make of Perry now, this animal shell of him. He wonders if Perry feels the same about him -- what is he to Perry now? His partner, his mere protector? Is he less than he used to be?

Heinz takes his left paw, gently, lifting it in his hand. He thumbs the metal ring on his finger.

“For the MRI tomorrow,” he tells Perry. “In case I forget.” He removes it.

Perry pads after Heinz as he gets a glass of water from the sink, as he walks to the bedroom. He feels odd dressing down to his boxers, in front of him now. Perry doesn’t pay him any mind, though -- as soon as he walks in he jumps his way up to the bedspread, scrabbling at the blankets on the edge to barely avoid falling.

“Not letting you in any apple trees,” Heinz muses emptily.

He slumps back into the pillows, feeling the doxylamine fog roll in. “But I’ll need you back soon,” he says, “so we can do the Haunted Haymaze with the kids.”

Perry trods up to him on the blanket. He makes a quiet noise -- not scared or confused, but a regular krrr, like he used to make. A gentle declaration of presence, a little care-package growl. Heinz lifts his arm, and Perry crawls under it, pushing his head into his neck. This movement isn’t forgotten, to him.

Heinz hugs his other arm around Perry’s body, and he falls asleep.

---

[princesssukunalover]

Smiles for the camera

Terushima Yuuji thinks he's going insane when he sees his cute little college crush on a porn site.

Terushima Yuuji x Camgirl!reader

CW: NSFW, enemies with benefits -> enemies to lovers, sex, oral sex, dick and tongue piercing, masturbation, porn, praise kink, hair pulling, creampie, camgirl!reader, college/University AU.

wc: 4320

You're halfway through your first year of college. It seems to be going relatively well, excluding a couple of irritants. The early classes. The busy hallways. The monthly bills. The noisey hallways. But worse of all. Terushima Yuuji. You’re not particularly sure when your little feud began. Maybe it was when he irresponsibly found a way to spill his entire energy drink all over you in the first week. Or maybe it was when he’d completely ruined your spring project with him as he refused to work properly. It could’ve been that he would always ask you for stationary, only to never return it. You don’t know, and you don’t care. One thing you do know is that Terushima Yuuji was not your friend.

Tiredly, you sigh as you take your glasses off, trying your hardest to ignore the pest beside you. A handsome one at that. “If you rub your eyes like that, they’ll get damaged.” Terushima warns you. You roll your eyes, looking down at your watch eagerly. “Why so agitated, cutie?” Yuuji teases. You gag. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop with these pet names?” You complain. Terushima only smirks. “What? You don’t like that one either?” He asks you, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan. “How about my actual name?” You ask.

“Where’s the fun in that baby?” He jokes. You groan in response, practically slamming your head on the desk in annoyance. Terushima only smiles in adoration. Anything and everything you do seems to please him. In reality, he obsesses over you. Every name you call him, every time you slap him, he loves it. He loves the attention. He can’t help it. Not when it’s you, the cutest girl he’s ever seen. But why can’t you realise that?

The end of the day approaches fast. Soon enough, you’re in your dorm, studying, as Terushima is in his, although, he is not quite studying. His delicate fingers slightly tremble as he types into his phone. He feels guilty. Sexualising you like that. But he can’t help it as he searches on whatever porn website, “Girls with glasses..” “College girls..” “Nerdy girls..” He scrolls lazily in slight anticipation. Suddenly, he scrolls back up, his heart stopping immediately.

No way.

No fucking way.

He thinks he’s dreaming.

He thinks he’s crazy.

He thinks he’s officially lost the plot when he sees the girl of his dreams, on Pornhub. Pornhub of all places. He almost cums when he sees your pretty face in the thumbnail. Your pretty body is set in a very compromising position. The first thing he does is screenshot what he’s seeing, to save it for later. The next thing he does is the beginning of your interesting relationship with Terushima Yuuji.

Still in shock, Terushima, so nervously, clicks on the video. It’s only a minute or so until your erotic moans are playing into his, now blushy, ears. His mouth falls open, amazed. The throbbing in between his legs is unbearable. But despite that, he can’t bring himself to move. Not when he is watching you fuck yourself with some sort of dildo. Not when you’re moaning like that. The image of your angelic body will forever be burned into his restless mind. He could never complain. Terushima stares in awe as you grind your hips fluidly, rolling your eyes through your trademark glasses. He can’t help but wish it was him beneath you. The next 16 minutes are discourteous. He strokes his dick slowly, trying to hold himself for whatever reason. Maybe it’s because he’s imagining you. Imagining what you’d feel like riding his dick. In a matter of seconds, he begins to wonder what you sitting on his face would be like. He spends the rest of his evening going through your content, tipping all kinds of bills under a fake name.

As you stroll on through the rowdy hallways of the college, you spot Terushima in the corner of your eye. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you catch him walking with the smallest limp. Oddly, you of all people notice it. Curiously, your mind wonders. Did he trip over? Did he do something stupid and irresponsible again. Your eyes scan his face and you realise he seems awfully chipper about something. You then sigh. The idea of Terushima having sex with other girls irks you. You’re not sure why it makes you angry. Maybe it’s because you’re supposed to hate him. Or maybe it’s because you’re jealous. Who knows? Your mind couldn’t come close to figuring out just why Terushima is acting like this on such a boring day. Not even an inch close.

You avoid sitting next to the boy in your next class, instead opting to sit near a friend. Regrettably, you fail to see the way Terushima’s eyes fault in distress as he is under the impression that he has done something wrong. Yes, he did stalk your entire account the day before, going 4 or 5 rounds before he called it a day. But you didn’t know this. What could possibly be the issue? Eventually you are distracted from all and any work at the buzz of your phone. You move to switch it off until you see that the notification is from a recipient by the name of Terushima Yuuji. Inquisitively, you turn your head to look at the blonde boy, a questioning look on your innocent face. He only shakes his phone, signalling for you to read the message. ‘Did I do something?’ The message reads. ‘What a stupid question!’ Is all you can think. You ask him what on earth he is on about, to which he responds explaining how you’re not sitting with him. This has you puzzled. Since when did he care?

In time, the conversation gets to a point where you ,so boldly, state, ‘I’m not interested in being one of your fangirls or flings.’ When he asks you what you mean by that, you bring up his subtle limping. The conversation stops for a minute. You look around the classroom confused, only to see him smirking at his phone before he’s typing again. What is he up to? Yuuji is quick to clear up the miscalculation as he explains that the reason he is limping is because he was up all night fucking himself to you, attatching the screenshot before sending the message. After reading the bombshell of a message, you turn around to see Terushima smirking slyly at you, pure confidence in his dark eyes. You’ve never looked back down at your desk so fast, stressing out as your heart rate increases.

At the end of the lesson, Terushima apprehensively follows you out of the lecture hall, his light footsteps echoing behind you as you speed up. He calls your name tauntingly. He does it again. When you’re further away from the crowds, you turn around, your precious eyes locking with his own. Yuuji is left in a duel state of excitement and shock after you slap him across his smug face. “Fucking pervert.” You complain. You couldn’t fully complain when the idea of him getting off to you is all you can think about. “My bad, sweetheart, I was under the impression that you wanted people to masterbate to you.. Especially if you’re a camgirl.” Yuuji responds, gracefully taking your hand and lowering it. You cannot help but become flustered at the statement, and the fact that he is holding your hand lightly. “But if you wanted to be pleased, you could’ve just asked me.” He jokes. Although, he most definitely isn't joking. And you are very much aware of that.

Enough of his constant fooling around, you decide to bite back. “I don’t know Teru, I wasn’t under the impression that a boy could please me the way I need to be pleased.” You tell the boy. Terushima’s eyes widen. “Well that’s just because you haven’t tried me yet.” He argues. He’s desperate and you both know it. You take a step forward closer to him and look him directly in the eyes. “Hmm..” You falsely begin to ponder. “Who knows, maybe you could put that tongue piercing to use.” You suggest, sliding one of your fingers onto the shiny ball sat on his tongue. Yuuji blushed tremendously, surprised by your unexpected gesture. “I’ll see you around dumbass.” You mock him, walking off into the distance. Belatedly, Teru pieces everything together, baffled that he could’ve made such a huge mistake of thinking you were a sweet, innocent girl. He recalls how you would always seem to have new clothes and expensive things, wondering where you could have possibly gotten the cash from. You were going to be the death of that poor boy.

Terushima is doing some last minute studying when the clamorous sound of an untimely message alerts him. He sighs, picking up his phone, only to relax as your name flashes on his screen. He reads the message. Simply put, it’s your dorm room and an instruction. Bring condoms. That evening, his homework is neglected and so is his self respect and composure when he practically runs across the campus to your dorm. He couldn't care less about the strange looks he receives on the way. You almost jump as you hear an urgent banging at your door. You roll your eyes bitterly and stand from your sofa to open the door angrily. “Terushima what the hell is wr-” You’re cut off with the feeling of his soft lips on yours. The door slams behind him as his hands slide down to your waist, gripping the sides of your body. You shudder as the metal ball of his piercing slides off your tongue.

As if this story wasn’t cliche enough, he bends down slightly to grab onto your soft thighs, lifting you up to press you against the pale walls as the two of you kiss lustfully. Small moans escape from both of your mouths in anticipation, only yours become more frequent as you feel the rock beneath you. Terushima has never felt so hard and needy in his life. His dick, which is covered by pesky clothing, rubs against your clit, which is protected by the thin layer of silky underwear. It’s only until you feel an odd, ball shaped structure roll against your throbbing clit when you are brought out of your daze. “What is that..?” You question in a slow mumble. Teru only chuckles against your lips as he carries you towards your bed, gently laying you down on the soft sheets before he moves to kiss your neck sweetly. You run your gentle fingers through his blonde hair, gripping onto it tenderly as he smells the sweet perfume radiating off of your chest area.

The boy wastes no time taking off your clothing, careful not to rip them. You fail to see when Yuuji sneaks the silky pair of panties that you were wearing into his trouser pocket. He lowers himself back down to cover your breasts and stomach with kisses, very affectionately. Finally, his face is between your legs, and you feel him smirk against your supple skin. Terushima sticks his tongue out, licking the wetness from your pussy. You relax in exhilaration as his piercing glides up, down and around your throbbing clit. Your graceful hands make their way back to Yuuji’s head as you pull him closer towards you and tug at his hair. “Teru..” You begin to moan. A small creak of the bed echos throughout the room as he rubs his hardened cock on the edge of your bed, moaning into your wet pussy. “Just like that..” You whimper.

It doesn’t take long before you cum onto his tongue, gripping his hair harshly as he continues at a faster pace. Your thighs begin to close around his head as it starts to become too much. But that’s when the fun begins. Terushima forcefully pushes your thighs apart and grips them lovingly. He goes right back into your pussy, lapping up your cum with his tongue as if he was starving. You begin to think that he’s not doing this for your pleasure. And you’re right. Just the act of you whimpering beneath him is enough to get him gone. He begins to thrust his hips towards the edge of your bed, hoping for some sort of stimulation as his dick throbs painfully. “Oh, God! Yuuji that feels so good.” You burst. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as your hips jerk up and down his tongue while he overstimulates your sensitive clit. Your glasses are now starting to fog up from the heat and pleasure coming from your body. At last, he finishes eating you out when he leans upward to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Do you wanna continue?” He asks you. You nod undeniably.

Teru steps away from the bed to undo his jeans. The sound of the buckle on his belt has you rubbing your thighs in anticipation as Yuuji undresses before you. When he finally lets his hardened cock free, your mouth widens slightly. His dick is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, you think. It’s perfectly long and thick, with a few veins here and there. But that’s not what you’re focused on. It’s hard not to stare at the bold piercing at the tip of his dick. “Teru.. I didn’t think you’d actually pierce your dick.” You mutter in surprise, referring to a joke he’d made a couple months back. Teru only chuckles in response, focussed on the task at hand. You sit up as he crouches onto the bed before your lips meet for yet another makeout session. This time around, you’re sat straddling his toned thighs, which feel hard beneath you. “Let’s see how big you can get for me.” Teru groans as you tease him, jolting in pleasure as you feel the veins from Yuuji’s dick rub against your clit. While you’re busy kissing the boy, your hips automatically begin to grind on the boy’s lap, causing him to bite onto your soft, cherry-red lips. “God, I've been waiting weeks for this..” Terushima confesses as he pulls away to breathe. This suddenly gives you a brainwave.

“Oh yeah?” You change the tone in your voice, questioning the needy boy.

“Fuck yeah..” He admits. You smirk, raising your hand to meet his pretty face. The look of confusion on Terushima is adorable as you push the boy down onto your bed, his head slamming softly against your pillow. “Well you’re gonna have to wait a little longer.” You reveal. “Come on.. please don’t do this to me, baby.” Yuuji begs, tears in his eyes as he feels he can no longer hold it in. He gushes internally as you giggle before climbing onto his face, your soft, plush thighs hugging the sides of his head as you straddle him, your pussy directly on his mouth and his nose pushing into your clit as you set out to ride his face. This is Terushima’s dream come true. The boy refuses to complain as his hands find their way to your thighs to support you as you, so elegantly, ride his face. You hold onto Terushima’s strong-built, muscular thighs for support as you grind yourself on his tongue, becoming addicted to the feeling of his silver piercing exploring all over your wet pussy.

Head thrown back in pleasure, you moan in ecstasy as Yuuji licks everything you have to offer down there. You fail to see as Terushima’s hips jerk upwards, his dick DESPERATE for any kind of stimulation, which he has yet to receive. By now, there is plenty of cum already seeping out from the tip of his huge cock, which is ready to cum all over himself. His dick is twitching in agony as he slowly gets off to the act of eating you out. Your thighs completely crush into Teru’s head below you as you cum for the third time that hour. Your hips slow down drastically as he laps up the remains of your cum. It isn’t long before you feel an abrupt wetness on your hand, as you turn around to see that Terushima Yuuji has cum from simply having you sit on his face. “No way..” You fawn. Finally, you climb off his face, sitting down next to him to regain your breath. You look at Yuuji to see him blushing in embarrassment. He is about to explain himself before you interrupt him. “You’re so fucking cute.” You tell him before grabbing his face and kissing him.

“Please.. I just wanna feel you.” Terushima begs. You take his pleading as a sign to straddling his thighs for the nth time of the evening, lowering yourself onto his cock which is already smothered in his own cum. “The condom..” Yuuji winces.

“Forget about it.” You order, as you start to bounce onto his cock and wrap your fingers in his hair and hold onto his precious face. The idea of Yuuji fucking you raw has the two of you feral. Yuuji is already whimpering as you bounce on his cock, your beautiful tits flaunting themselves right in his face. He takes the opportunity to lick on your nipples before accepting your breast into his mouth as he sucks on them. The pleasure that Yuuji’s dick is feeling is barely explainable. It doesn’t take long for him to fall in love with the warm feeling of your wet pussy, which is tight, despite all the pleasure you are feeling that makes you relax around his perfect dick. There is still some pain from the sudden thrusting but you’re quick to forget about it, your mind only focussed on one thing.

Tears threaten to prick from Teru’s darkened eyes as he’s overwhelmed with unknown pleasure. Being with you is new to him and he’d like to get used to it. The feeling of his tongue piercing rolling against your hardened nipple has you feeling like you’ve never felt before. You swear to yourself that nobody has pleasured you like Terushima has. It only gives you a bitter feeling as he must have fucked several women before to obtain such skills. “What’s wrong?” Yuuji chokes out as he manages your change in expression.

“Nothing..” You stutter before grabbing onto his face and kissing him. Teru’s soft hands wander around your body and settle at your waist, bringing you closer to him. The warmth that he’s feeling is just right and he promises himself that he’ll do things right this time around.

The two of you are close to orgasm, which makes Yuuji’s body act alone as he begins thrusting hard into your pussy, shocking you in the process. He leans back against your headboard and he grabs the bottom of your thighs, lifting you upwards to fuck you himself. You fall slightly onto him and hug him close, your head resting on his broad shoulder as he brings himself close to cumming. “You want me to pull out?” He asks you, concerned.

“I’ll just get plan B.. Yuuji I’m gonna cum.” You respond, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hug him tightly. That’s all he needs to hear before he’s fucking himself at a godly pace, ready to cum inside you. You moan erotically as you cum for the final time of the evening all over Yuuji’s dick. The sounds are what brings Terushima Yuuji to his orgasm, feeling a small sense of pride as he cums all inside your throbbing pussy. He slows down to ride out both of your orgasms before you completely fall onto his chest and he relaxes back, his cock still buried inside you. He takes a few moments to recollect himself, as you calm down.

“Oh fuck me..” Yuuji sighs angrily.

The sudden shift in mood has you confused. “What’s wrong?” You ask Yuuji, confused, to which he responds, “I forgot to complete my assignment that’s due tomorrow and I’m fucked.” You pull away from him to face him.

“What topic was it?” You ask him, equally concerned as him.

“Literature..” Terushima mumbles. Literature happened to be your shared topic in your sociology and liberal arts course. It also happened to be your strong suit.

“Well, if you want I can help you finish it tonight? I did mine already and it wasn’t too hard.” You suggest. Terushima lets out a quiet sigh of relief. He looks you in the eye before thanking you. You lean in and provide a final kiss on his forehead before easing off his dick. It’s at that point in time when Teru realises his feelings for you are not just lust, but love. Terushima Yuuji is in love with you. And you still can’t realise it.

The two of you have been going at it for a few weeks since the moment he found your little collection online. You’ve tried out new things, recorded some things and shared quite interesting moments between the two of you. However, it is still strictly a frenemies with benefits situation and Terushima cannot help but die internally. He cannot seem to find a way to confess his undying love to you or figure out exactly what you want from him. Maybe that’s what happens when you have a reputation for being some kind of fuckboy. Since your first sexual encounter, Teru’s feelings for you have only grown stronger and more secure. He’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. As the days go by, Terushima watches as boys from your class start to take a liking to you. He watches with a heavy heart as you give them small bits of attention, despite knowing that you’d never give them a chance. It puts him at ease to know that it’s his face you’re sitting on every week, but he simply wants more. It’s starting to eat him up inside. He never thought he would be in this predicament. As opposed to searching up your name online, he starts to search for answers.

How to ask a girl out? How to make her know you want her? How to know if she wants me?

Terushima Yuuji is down bad.

And you’re not helping him as you flirt with him like it’s nothing.

At the end of the week, Yuuji is at his limit. You, on the other hand, are only beginning to realise your feelings for the blonde. He’s grown on you. After a couple weeks, he stays on your mind 24/7, but this time, it’s out of love. Terushima’s presence used to irritate you and inconvenience you, but after many interactions, it’s made you feel safe and happy. Which is why your heart aches when you hear Teru’s voice coming through your speaker, not sounding as cheery and excited as per usual. “Can you come over?” He asks, trying to hide the pain in his voice. “Sure.” You respond, thinking it’s just a casual fuck you’re in for.

You’re quick to finish up your work and get changed before heading to the boy’s apartment. The door is already open as come in and make yourself at home. Yuuji is found on his bed, lying down lazily.

“Morning loser.” You joke, despite it being the afternoon.

“Good afternoon, beautiful.” He tiredly responds. Something is definitely not right here. You calmly remove your soft jacket before you go to straddle Yuuji’s tired legs. You’re confused when he doesn’t sit up or aim to hold your waist. “Did you not wanna fuck today?” You ask him.

“Can we just lie down?” Terushima nervously asks.

“Sure.” You sweetly respond before moving upwards to rest your head on his chest, covering the two of you with his blanket. You wrap your arm around his toned, naked abs. He’s only wearing pyjama bottoms. Teru gently runs his slender fingers through the hair at your scalp and strokes your hair.

This is nice.

At least for you. Yuuji is dying on the inside as his brain searches for ways to start the conversation and confession of him wanting more than to be friends with benefits. Something wrong is confirmed when you hear his heartbeat increase as he grows nervous. Just as you are about to ask what’s wrong, he speaks up. “I can’t do this anymore.” He claims. You start to worry. It's probably not the best conversation starter. You sit up to face him, your hand resting beside his body for support. “What do you mean?” You ask him, making the most uncomfortable yet heartwarming eye contact. “Not like that..” Yuuji corrects himself. “I can’t take this anymore, woman! I am in love with you for fuck's sake. I don’t wanna be your fuck buddy anymore. I wanna be your boyfriend.” He finally confesses, an evident blush on his face. You feel your face heat up, and your stomach does flips while your mouth opens in surprise. Yuuji realises you are silent. “Sorr-” He starts.

“How long have you felt this way?” You interrupt nervously.

“Months.” He answers shortly. Suddenly it all makes sense. The reasons for him making you avoid certain boys. The reason why he’s barely seen talking to other girls these days. The reason why there’s an unexplained look plastered on his face whenever you flirt with another boy. “Teru..” You start.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way.. I just had to get that off my chest.” Yuuji calms down, at ease as he’s confessed it all. “Shut up.” You mumble before leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you.” You tell him when you pull away. He is shocked for a split second before he accepts your affection and returns it seconds later. “I love you too.”

not edited :(

[thelastofhyde]

the likeability complex.

chapter 3. the butterfly theory.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. two seasons pass before joel’s very eyes and, without the presence of his sol, neither the spring nor the summer seem to heat his aching bones. what’s meant to be a simple drop off at bill and frank’s becomes a whirlwind of events that send you barrelling right back into joel’s arms, and all it takes is one horrified shriek: otis is missing!

warnings. no use of y/n ( reader has the nickname of sol ), grumpy x sunshine dynamic, unspecified age-gap ( but i personally picture the reader to be mid-20s at this point in the story ), pining, love as obsession, mention of previous s.a. & miscarriage, death, reader is implied to have had a good relationship with her mom, smut ( handjobs, male masturbation, dry humping, joel is desperate and begging, fantasies of piv, oral sex, and anal sex, mentions of virginity loss/younger joel having been a milf lover )

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. instead of addressing the reasons it took so long for this part to come out, let me address this instead: joel miller is a man who loves himself some prone bone! nothing gets that old man off quite like fucking his lover down into the mattress, the carpet, the dirt-floor, full body weight pressed against them, head buried in the crook of their necks as he literally smothers them with his love. in this essay i will...​

read on ao3. series masterlist. previous chapter. following chapter

Time, as a matter of fact, does not fly.

At some point, Joel may have claimed it ticked, from one minute to another, until the hours passed by and another day’s work was done. He can no longer agree with this sentiment, for a multitude of reasons. For starters — and perhaps the most obvious — a broken clock may be right twice a day, but it is eternally silent. The dials on his wrist stopped ticking long ago and, with it, so did time.

So maybe time crawls. Slow as a newborn finds its feet, over carpeted floors and through cramped spaces. It seems to do so in spring, the tease of the impending heat of a summer’s sun on his back while the fading chill of winter in the breeze messes his overgrown hair. Joel can almost feel himself bending to match it’s slow crawl, his knees aching, a few of his fingers breaking — the consequence of a sloppy punch, thumb trapped beneath his four curled fingers, thrown without a second thought at the sight of one of Robert’s lowlifes placing a filthy hand on Tess. At the very least, the asshole’s nose burst with a bloody red, a reminder of the roses in Frank’s garden. 

The trading is kept to the boundaries of their gates this season and, no matter how hard he twists his neck, nor how far lets his eyes run off ahead of him, there is no glimpse of a skirt billowing in the wind, nor the sound of smile-woven words. Just Bill, face as scrunched up as a constipated hole, gruffing out the bare-minimum of words to let Tess know one of his generators is starting to fail, before handing over a list of things they’ll need to bring with their next visit.

Joel cranes his neck one last time before departing and, still, there’s no sight of you.

Summer brings a whole new meaning to things and, thus, time begins to flow, like a river swimming towards the sanction of the ocean. The days wash away, sleepless nights slip into hellish mornings. The couch is being used so much that Joel’s indent has become stained into its very fabric. 

This time, they are let in. Bill needs the help, in over his head with how easily he’d be able to fix the failing generator, and so they wind up being pulled through the gates and presented with the dying power source. Bill still wears a frown, even as he thanks Joel for fixing the damned thing. The four sit and break bread at a table, that seat which sits directly across from his empty in a way that he can’t avoid or ignore. The nerves to ask why you aren’t around never quite work themselves up.

What, or better said who, he does see is Otis. And what a relief it is to be sent near stumbling to his feet, the fully grown beast’s size a laughable contrast to its excited whines and wagging tail. He lets himself be tricked into taking the dog for a walk, in which every kick of Otis’ legs reminds Joel that his sol is still here, hiding in plain sight, not a single hope in hell that you’d leave your fur-friend behind.

In Autumn, the leaves begin to fall.

Joel’s dwindling hope seems to follow.

Time has become a threat. A jagged rock clasped in the hands of a volatile assailant. It is the impending feeling of bracing for impact, only for it to never hit. Because a threat can no longer be a threat once it is enacted, and time is no longer quite time once it passes by.

In between the pause of the present and the future, that is where time sits.

And, on either side of it, Joel and Bill occupy a seat.

“‘S quiet,” Joel’s not talking about the tense silence that has blanketed the past ten or so minutes, however long it’s been since the two were left in no company but one another’s.

Bill, aware of his implications or not, shrugs. “Is that a problem?”

Joel shakes his head, and swallows down that lump he gets in his throat every time he lies. He’s been doing that more often than he’d like recently, lying.

To Tess, whenever she’d ask him where he disappears to, slipping out of their shared bed in the middle of the night. She’d not enjoy the truth of him pacing the living room and lamenting upon the cracked leather of their couch.

To FEDRA, when a group of so-called soldiers ambushed him in demands to know why he’d been spotted attempting to smuggle a dress. They’d not believed the tale he spun of it belonging to Tess.

And, to himself, when he’s searching for answers of what’s been keeping him awake at night. Between the cries of whom he lost, and the moans of who he desires, he’s a sleepless wreck.

Laughter comes from another room. The distant duo of Tess and Frank bring more life to this deadly atmosphere than either of the two tense men. Theirs is a complicated relationship. No smiles exchanged, no warmth shared. Respect seems to be the glue that holds them together, a mutual understanding between natural protectors. Just as Joel snaps his bones without hesitation on behalf of Tess, Bill double-locks the doors and secures the perimeter each night as Frank and you lay sound asleep.

With this in mind, Joel treads with care as he descends further into the topic at hand. He decides to treat his own self the same way he’d once taught a stubborn curly haired girl to swim: throwing himself into the deep end.

“Ain’t seen much of your...” He pauses, considers what word best suits Bill’s affections for you. He finds himself at a loss. “The girl. She doin’ alright?”

That’s it, he’ll keep it casual.

Passive, hardly-caring.

Totally not headache-inducing each time a new tally is added to how many days it’s been since he’d last seen you — two hundred and four, but who’s keeping count?

“She’s fine,” the answer is curt. A coughed out sort of thing, heaved out of Bill like it aches to even speak. He’s not entertaining Joel’s longing.

“That’s... good, yeah,” he’s not sure he believes his answer. Good has never sounded so distasteful. “I’ll let Tess know, give ‘er some peace of mind. She’s been wonderin’-”

“Cut the shit,” Bill barks over at him. “You aren’t asking for Tess.”

He could try lie, again. Play the innocent, shrug his shoulders or furrow his brows, an image to mock what could be confusion. But the other man would see right through him, each and every time. Joel has no choice but to surrender. “Where’s she been? Can’t remember the last time I saw her.”

“Didn’t realise you were keeping count.” Is it that obvious? Perhaps he needs to adopt a new method of going about the ways in which he approaches the subject of you. Does Bill know he’d gone back to your room that night, instead of the toilet? The man has a fondness for cameras, perhaps he set one up in your room, or all over the house. Joel’s heart-rate spikes as he wonders if there’s one in the kitchen. “She’s out.”

Out.

A simple enough word, yet it crashes down on Joel like a ten-ton bag of dynamite, imploding his thoughts and reality. Because out to Bill means something far different than merely being out of this house. Out means beyond the electrified gates. Out means danger, someplace Joel can’t stomach the thought of you being, much less if it’s without him.

“You sure that’s the right thing to do?”

“I don’t need your opinion on how I raise-” Bill cuts himself off with a deep breath. He clears his throat. “I don’t need your opinion on how I take care of my people. She’s a smart girl, and it’s not her first time. She’s been going on solo runs since the end of winter.”

An act you’d never have been able to achieve, had he not taught you how to hold your own behind the wheel. That fact alone is enough to send bile burning to the back of his throat. He’s scorned you with the ability to put yourself in harm’s way.

A question of why seems to slip past his lips as his own thoughts abuse his heart, the word sounding far too pathetic and pleading for a man of Joel’s stature, reputation and morals.

“We’re old, she isn’t. There’s gonna come a day where she’s alone and needs to choose if she wants to stay here or move on.” The other man’s risen from his seat, paying no mind to the way the legs of it screech against the hardwood floor. He speaks passively, as though he’s merely reciting the weather as opposed to speaking of the approaching closing of the curtains on his life, and where that would leave the most valuable possession Joel could only ever dream to smuggle: alone, defenceless, in need of a new home. He too could use a new home these days. “And if she doesn’t get a choice and has to run, she needs to be able to adapt. She needs to know how to survive out in that shit-hole of a world.”

Ask me, the words crack like thunder in his head and shake his very core. Ask it of me, and I’ll make sure she’s never alone.

Bill never asks.

The floorboards creak behind Bill as he makes his way to retrieve his partner, leaving Joel to his solitude without the sparing of another word.

Scanning the room, Joel lets himself indulge in the freedom to be curious, to let his eyes wander for more than a few threatened seconds in which he runs the risk of a frowning Bill ringing his neck for snooping.

The place is homey, that has never been in doubt.

The first time he ventured inside nearly left him retching on their bathroom floor, skin chilled and eyes burning as that uncanny-valley feeling overtook his guts. Playin’ house, that’s what he’d proclaimed to Tess on that first journey back to the QZ. Rest ‘f us are out here fightin’ for the right to exist, and these two assholes are playin’ house.

The misplaced anger was truly Joel’s green eyed envy.

And his own self-hatred.

Maybe if he’d been prepared like Bill, he’d have less blood on his hands. Maybe if he’d foreseen the day that shit would hit the fan, he’d never have felt how thick her blood ran, through his fingers and down his arms. Maybe if he thought smarter, worked harder, all his losses would have been nothing but a whisper in passing winds, brushing past him and taking the impending storm they promised over to the next unfortunate bastard.

A polaroid picture captures his attention, pulling him away from the edge of his mountain of self-loathing thoughts.

It lures him out from the safety of the dining table and over towards a cabinet. Meaningless memorabilia and porcelain trinkets decorate the ageing furniture, a blob of motionless browns, tans and beiges that seem to match the colourless feeling in his chest. Among it, a burst of red. Joel has it in his grasp in a matter of seconds, calloused hands likely tainting the image with his fingerprints, and blinks in an attempt to focus his ageing eyes.

When the haze settles, you greet him.

You look young, younger than you are now. Your hair seems just that tad lighter with the sun’s rays shining a spotlight somewhere off-camera to the right. There’s a cheek-splitting grin across your lips, while bags puff out from beneath your closed eyes, lines to match his own crow’s feet forming under the pressure of your radiant joy. The image cuts off just below your shoulders and captures how your two hands sit parallel at either side of your chin, the source of the red gripped in each of them: strawberries. One for each hand. The left has a chunk bitten out of it, a perfect match to the shape of your mouth and the red tint at the corner of your lips. But it’s the right hand that holds his attention, it’s grip on him as powerful as your hand on the strawberry. He imagines you were excited, buzzing with too much energy and with no place to put it, your nimble fingers resorting to burying it in the layers of the fruit, the tips of your nails stabbing into the surface of the berry.

As his gaze traces the grainy image of berry-blood pouring down your fingers and over the back of your hand, he pictures his heart in the place of the red fruit. He’d want you to squeeze tighter, dig your nails in until you’re knuckles deep and his blood paints you, dripping off your elbow.

The thought of whether you washed your hand after the image was taken, or merely shrugged and licked the juice off yourself sparks his curiosity.

He snuffs the flame out before it can make itself too comfortable.

Getting the polaroid back into place feels an impossible task, with Joel’s shaky hands and prone-to-overthinking brain not willing to work together to get it back to where it originally sat, to where Bill won’t immediately notice it’s been tampered with the next time he so much as walks past it.

His eyes catch onto the faded black marker at the bottom of the picture. Baby’s first harvest, ‘13.

It sparks a memory in him, one of hearing your overexcited whispers over the radio-com at an hour far too late to justify being awake, Tess’ figure scooted down to the bottom of the mattress in an attempt to not waken him. Strawberries, Tess, you’d gushed in excitement, voice so pure he could feel it cleansing away all the sins stained within his fingerprints. We grew strawberries! You need to come visit soon! Do you think Joel likes strawberry jam?

He does like strawberry jam.

And he’d been afraid you’d never give him another batch after his dismissive acceptance of it the first time. The growing collection of empty jars he keeps are evidence of the truth, the yearly harvest of the berries bringing him the promise of something to feed his sweet-tooth.

With a baritone growl from his stomach, Joel’s attention carries him off into the kitchen, eyes struggling to look past the spot of the counter he’d had you pressed up against. Only now, standing within the room, does he realise he’d not been in it since that night.

His mouth runs dry at the memory.

This time, it is not through messy scoops of water that he chooses to quench this thirst. Instead, he zeroes in on the large bowl of ripened strawberries that sit atop the counter and digs, till his fingers wrap around the largest, reddest, juiciest looking one of the bunch.

Heaven makes a home on his taste buds with just one bite.

Tangy, fruity, fresh. Wet on his tongue, delicious in his mouth. It paints him memories of you, hand grasping the hem of your own skirt, hips tilting ever-so-slightly back and thighs shaking under the stress of his teasing tongue.

A second bite, a whole new wave of sensations.

His body, with a mind of its own, awakens the pumping of blood down to his crotch. Replaying the sound of your knife falling from your grasp, his cock hardens within the confines of worn-out jeans.

If he were to disappear off into the bathroom to rub one out, would the others even notice? 

Perhaps he could take a detour, get lost on his way to that familiar toilet. The third door. It would creak upon opening, but maybe he could cover it with a cough, or simply pray the other three remain too far away to notice. From what he can remember, he’d be able to reach your bed with four steps. Sit on your sheets, bask in their warmth, their softness, their smell of you. Wind his hand down beneath his belt, grip his aching cock as he bathes in your unpresent presence. Stain your sheets in the thick, creamy white poison that shoots out his tip. How long would it take you to notice it painted on the back of your pillowcase? Would it happen instantly, or would it be late into the night, nothing but a lamp to light up the room, as you sleepily flip it over in search of the cold side, only to lay your face back down and be met with the sticky substance against your cheek? Would you lick it clean, drag the tip of your nail through it before caressing that very same finger over your pretty clit and-

“Ok, so I didn’t manage to get, like, anything you guys asked for! But, guess what I did find?”

Joel nearly chokes on the stem of the strawberry.

That voice.

Too kind to be Bill, too lively to be Tess, too feminine to be Frank.

It’s all you, rambling over excited breaths and stumbling around your words. He can’t see you yet, and it nearly kills him to not run off in search of the sound. He needs to sit and wait, and pray the tent being pitched in his trousers deflates by the time you reach him.

You���re getting closer by the second and life grants him no relief. If anything, the pulsating ache that sits between his thighs grows stronger as your footsteps get louder. This is it, he’s really about to see you. Finally, after so long.

What will you say? Will you say anything? Will you smile at the sight of him? Have you noted the lack of him in your days, just as he’d lamented it through his nights? Have you missed him?

Mind a frenzy of questions, it steals away the joy of watching you step into the room.

Instead, you seem to almost manifest before his eyes, two steps through the door and two hands behind your back. Scanning you from head to toe — and confirming a lack of bumps, cuts or bruises — his shoulders fall slack as he reaches your face at last.

You are smiling.

At him.

“Howdy, stranger!” Normally, he’d find your attempt to mimic some poor stereotype of his accent irritating at best, infuriating at worst. Right now, however, still riddled in withdrawals of you, Joel allows a corner of his mouth to quirk up. “Long time no see!”

There’s a million things Joel thinks to say to you.

Like how your absence has been painfully noted. Or tips on the proper ways to throw a punch, lest you wind up like him, bruised fingers and all. Or like the way he’s missed tasting your cooking, and the way you standing there, lit up in the doorway, radiant smile and electric eyes, seems to be healing a little piece of his fragmented heart, yet shaking his nerve-stricken hands. None of these thoughts manage to reach the surface.

Instead, Joel inhales. 

And chokes on the stem of the strawberry.

“Oh my god, Joel!” You’re quick to react, shrugging off the bag from your shoulder and rushing over to him. You clap your hand over his back several times, and perhaps it’s the heat of feeling you touch some part of him at last, that final piece of confirmation that you’re real, and breathing, and standing so close to him in this kitchen, but he continues to feign choking even moments after he rids himself of the blockage. “You okay there, big guy? Don’t go dying in this kitchen or else Bill’s gonna lose his shit!”

Big guy. That’s new. Joel’s indecisive as to how he feels about such a name.

He means to say he’s fine, but then your hand is soothing over his back in comforting rubs. And when he works up the nerve to tell you he’s okay, you’re holding a glass up to his lips and feeding him water down his burning throat.

It’s nice to be comforted.

It’s even nicer to be comforted by you.

Catching himself moments away from leaning into your touch, Joel stumbles a single step back, colliding with the very same counter edge he’d tasted you against, and looks past you. Because he can’t look at you, not when the unfocused version of you that takes up space in his peripheral seems so tangible, bright, touchable. If Joel wanted to, he’s mere inches away from being able to sink his teeth in and eat you alive.

It’s dangerous, how much he wants to.

He spies your backpack, discarded on the ground, contents from it spilling out across the tiled flooring. Most of its junk — some nuts and bolts he’s sure Bill will find a place for, scraps of papers and faded movie posters that reminisce on what the world once was, a miscellaneous cloth stained in the red ink of death that has Joel questioning just who exactly had been bleeding — but there’s something else capturing his attention.

It’s not fully out of the bag, merely a corner of it peeking out the pulled-back zipper and gifting him the view of a worn-down box he’s sure was once a colour more akin to yellow than its current rotting brown.

“‘S that ya got?” He slips past you, hands reaching out and heading straight for the obscure item. The cardboard welts under the pressure of his grip, the top of the box popping open with an uncomfortable ease.

“Oh, that’s what I wanted to show Frank-” The moment Joel’s eyes read over the faded slogan, he has no time to wait on a real answer, flipping the lid to a trash can open and dangling the box over the top. “Hey, what are you doing?!”

“Throwin’ this shit out-” You’re near him. No, next to him, body heat mingling with his own as you shoot forward and try your luck at prying your treasure out of his grip. But Joel is stronger, larger, quicker, arm stretching up above his head and holding the box out of your reach. 

He doesn’t comment on the fact the little jump you give as you try to reach only invites him to ogle the bounce of your tits under your shirt.

 “Why? It’s harmless,” you plead against him, with your tone of voice and your eyes of sorrow, pitiful in the way they twist up his insides and leave him craving your blinding smile. Still, he’s an immovable force, grip tightened on the box as his other hand clamps down around your wrists, prying your hands away from him. “It’s literally just cake mix!”

You fight back, wriggling and squirming, trying your best to slip through his fingers. Joel squeezes tighter, ignoring the bile that burns the back of his throat as he pictures you come sunrise, bruises of his fingerprints burnt into your flesh. A new wave of nausea follows as the familiar heat returns to his loins, a feral part of him preening at the fact you’ll own some part of him, even as he’s miles away and crawling back through the gutters of the QZ.

“Ain’t no way in hell I'm lettin’ you eat that.” He says it for your own good, your own safety.

All the same, the eerie calm that comes over you makes him feel dirty and immoral for letting such words slip out.

“Letting me?” You parrot his words. With frozen features, you seize all fighting, all resistance, hands going slack in his hold. An unsettling smile overcomes you, something malevolent lurking beneath the surface of your typical kindness. “Joel, you’re no one to let me do anything. You have no say, no control, whatsoever. Understand?”

It’s a kick in the guts.

And not because he wants to control you. Or, maybe, if he’s honest with himself, a part of him does want to. Wants to keep you wrapped under his arm where no threat can approach you, longs to spend his working days awaiting the return to safety in the shape of a bed warmed by you, him and all the delicate sins you could share. But, more-so, because it makes him feel powerless, unable to put distance between you and harm’s way.

He’d felt true powerlessness years back, blood on his hands and a lifeless daughter in his arms. A shot missed and a whole lot of sobbing later, he’d vowed to never put himself in a position to feel that again. He kept Tommy close, to an obsessive degree. And when Tess came along and he eventually let himself give into the feeling of accepting another pair of lungs into his family, he kept her closer, living a life of keeping a watchful eye and a ready hand for any moment of violence. He’d do the same with you, if you’d just let him pull you into his circle, a space freed up ever since Tommy left him with nothing but a string of curses and an I don’t ever wanna see your face again to remember him by.

Of course, Joel doesn’t tell you that.

Instead, he gives in to the irrational anger your fighting back awakens in him.

“The flour, you stupid girl, ‘s what started all this shit.” He spits the words out, mind barely registering the way you flinch back when his face inches closer to yours. “But if you wanna turn yourself into some mushroomed freak, then go ‘head and be my guest.”

It’s like a fog clears and, suddenly, your calmness feels less threatening and that tinge of whatever it was — violence, disobedience, assertiveness? — in your eyes slips away and makes space for amusement. Only, the amusement will not sit still, seeping out of you in bright eyes and poorly held-back giggles.

He’s so caught up in it, caught up in you, that he fails to register you stepping closer. It’s only when he feels the brush of your breath against his cheek, and the bump of his nose against your own as he leans down into you, that the lack of space between you sinks in.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Joel.” The biggest lie of the century. He’s well aware of your prone-to-accident self, losing count of the amount of times he’s spotted bruises all over you and listened to Frank recount tale after tale of how you’d walked into a door, and stumbled down some stairs, and tripped over your laces. If anything, you’re the only thing Joel has to worry about. Especially with how much closer you’re getting, your own breath starting where his ends, chest pulling in to inhale and make space for his exhale. Perfect sync, a flowing motion, just begging to be ruined by locked lips and urgent kisses, feaverish passion that’ll leave him at a loss of both words and breath. “Besides, this batch is harmless...”

God, you’re so close. All he can smell is you — sweat, and wilted flowers, and vanilla, and a trickle of gunpowder. He can feel you, breasts pressing against his chest, hand pressing down on his aching shoulders, mouth taunting him a hair’s breadth away from his own. What he sees of you is far more torturous, bathing him in the impurity of coy looks, and teasing smiles, and soft skin yet to be marked by time and the torture of living. If Joel could just taste you, for just a second, then all those two hundred and four brutal days and sleepless nights would suddenly feel worth it.

Your eyes level with his own as the hand on his shoulder pushes him further down. It’s going to happen, he knows this, he’s accepted this. You’re going to kiss him, and he’s going to let you, and then he’s going to spend the rest of however long it takes for you to kiss him again thinking of how your lips feel.

Just a little closer...

That’s it. Kiss him.

Kiss him.

God, please. Kiss me.

“Check the production date for yourself!” Like whiplash, you pull back and send him reeling, muscles stiffening in a rapid attempt to keep him from keening over at the loss of your supportive hold. The disappointment that follows robs him of the horror of realising he’s now empty-handed, the withered box of artificial flavours and powdery evils secured tightly in your own grip.

You’re holding it out to him, finger pointing at a faded black ink. He squints his eyes and, sure enough, there it is: Mfg. 2001.

“Still don’t mean you should eat it,” Joel’s stubborn, despite all, and can’t seem to tamper down the burning in his loins that warns him against you eating such a thing. “‘S gonna be long past its sell-by.”

“Please,” you scoff, a snark-filled smile upon your face. You seem to be enjoying this act of defiance, or perhaps it’s the helplessness upon Joel’s face you find amusement in, torturing the older man with his inability to take care of you. “Sell-bys are just recommendations for the weak-stomached.”

A disturbance comes in the sound of thundering steps. The door behind you slams open, handle leaving its indent in the wall with a brutal force.

There stands Tess, a shine of sweat on her forehead and nervous twitching in her fingers.

Something is wrong.

Joel feels sick.

Merely a moment passes before the two owners of the home join the scene, Frank’s hand nervously tugging back on Bill’s arm the moment the man notices you, Joel and the nonexistent space that lives between you both.

“Tess!” Bless, you seem unaware of the heavy atmosphere settling within the kitchen, throwing your arms out and darting forward to wrap them around the older woman. She halts you, holds you just that bit out of reach, and Joel nearly scolds her for leaving you looking like a lost puppy, deflated as your hands come to rest at your sides once more, cake-mix forgotten in your newfound disillusion and hitting the floor with a muted thud as it slips out your sweaty palms. “What’s wrong? Why are you breathing so heavily?”

“Me and Frank... we were walking...” She keeps pausing to heave in breaths. The grip she’s got on you loosens and her hands slowly come to rest on her knees as she haunches over. Joel steps a little closer to you, hackles rising at the thought of danger. “A hole... Under the fence...”

Red alert. Loud, angry, threatening thoughts invade his mind, blaring at him like a siren refusing to go ignored. He’s got his fingers wrapped around the holster that houses his revolver in a matter of seconds. The safety’s on, he’ll need to remember that before he dares use it.

“How many?” He mumbles out, in true Joel fashion, and watches Tess meet his face at last. Confusion flashes through her features. “Raiders, infected, or whatever. How many of ‘em got in?”

He can’t help the anger that rises in him, teeth grinding down to hold back the curses aimed towards Bill. He warned him, that first time they’d met, to upgrade those damn fences.

“No,” Tess struggles in another breath. Frank seems worried, but that’s not what makes Joel sick to his stomach. It’s Bill, who’s pale as a ghost and uncomfortably quiet, eyes locked on the ground, that scares him half to death. “Nothing’s got in. It’s out, something got-”

“I swear I turned my back for one second, kid,” as if everything else wasn’t enough, Bill makes himself gentle and cautious, approaching you like you’re a wounded fawn and Joel’s some menacing stag behind you, ready to stab his horns into the heart of any who mean you harm.

“What-” you start.

“The hell are you lot talkin’ about?” Joel finishes.

They exchange looks among the three of them, each one more pressing in the way they plead the other to speak up, explain the situation.

Frank takes the fall.

“It’s Otis,” he’s exasperated, exclaiming it like it’s the heaviest of burdens. Joel can’t quite see your face but he imagines whatever expression you’re wearing must be heart-wrenching, so much so that Bill can not bring himself to meet your eyes. “Otis is missing!”

There’s a sharp silence that takes over the room, scratching at everyone’s eyes and burrowing itself down your throats, making a nest that gets in the way of what’s spoken aloud.

Joel watches your head sluggishly nod. You stumble a few steps back, catching his boots beneath the heel of your own. His hands make haste with supporting you, physically and emotionally.

“He was with me this morning,” Bill picks up again, tension thick in the air as his words slice through it. He’s explaining himself, voice layered with guilt and other emotions Joel’s never imagined the man capable of. “Out in the chicken coop. Started barking at something past the fence and... none of us have seen him since.”

The revelation has Joel retracing his own steps and, indeed, no four-legged creature had launched itself at him earlier, as he and Tess entered the gates. Nor had any paw-prints followed his footsteps through the mud, and no ball had been dropped before him, followed by a demanding bark that was guaranteed to get him to give in and throw the damned thing, if only to shut the dog up. Otis has not crossed his path once, a realisation he never imagined would bring him desperation.

A deep gasp cuts through the tension.

A few deep breaths. Four, to be exact. As you attempt a fifth, you waver and your exhale grows shaky. You pull air in deeper and it doesn’t seem to be enough, forcing your mouth open. The descent into hyperventilating is quick, a path Joel’s all-too familiar with, and the panic swells through your heart before anyone can try to stop it.

Joel acts fast, instinct leading his actions. He turns you to face him, grip firm on your shoulders as he holds your attention on him, big hands on your soft cheeks and tilting your head back to find your eyes. Glassy, wide, panicked. It's the hopelessness behind them that gets the best of him though. 

“He’s fine, alright? Probably just saw some rabbit he wanted to chase.'' It's hard for a man like him to sound optimistic. Were you anyone else, he’d be telling you how dumb you were to keep a pet in the first place, nothing more than another mouth to feed and another life to watch out for in an age where safety is a luxury. But you aren’t anyone else, and Joel Miller will always be partial to his Sol. “Hey, hey, listen t’me. He’s gonna be okay. Bet he’s out there right now tryna find his way back, we just gotta meet him halfway.”

You nod along to his words, as though you’re listening, but your thousand-yard-stare says otherwise, eyes gazing past his wide shoulders. Unblinking, unmoving, you seem lost in a daze of emotions Joel's never prepared himself to see on your features. It twists at his guts to watch your figure attempt to follow him in the first steps he takes away from you, halted only by his own hands clasping down on your frame, coaxing you backwards until you find grip upon the kitchen counter.

After a cautious step back, eyeing you like you’re a wounded bunny two seconds from bolting, he turns to Bill. “Give me a few hours. I’ll track the dog and bring him home, alright?”

A half hour, a packed bag, and a rifle slung over his shoulder later, Joel finds himself at the scene of the crime, chicken shit on his shoes and his usual scowl on his face. Not having even stepped a foot out of the gated paradise and he’s already encountered his first obstacle: Otis has not clawed his way out of the fence but, instead, dug his way under it.

Fresh mud lays ahead, faint yet visible paw-prints lead off into the array of woods. He grabs a hold of the fence’s newly exposed bottom and justifies the way he further destroys it, bending the metal to his will and proning his way under it, with his faith in Bill's ability to fix the hole up in the time it takes him to find the creature.

Moving to a crouch, and ignoring the crunch of his bent knees, he eyes up the prints in the mud. The sight of only one set of tracks gives him a fleeting moment of comfort, until the thought of Otis having chased after something already so far in the distance pops into his head.

Your voice calls out his name from behind.

Sweat slicked skin, your fingers grab at the wiry fence, ripping the thing up with far less care Joel had given it. Bill will still find a way to blame him for the extended damage.

“I'm coming with you,” you speak with such determination behind your voice, Joel nearly forgets to actually pay attention to what you’re saying.

His reaction is instinctual, shooting back to hold the fence down, struggling to keep you within its confines, gritting out a firm no. “You sure as hell ain’t.”

“Yes, I am.” You tug uselessly at the fence. The wires stretch a third time, until a few snap.

“No.”

He holds his ground.

“Yes.”

You wriggle a hand under the fence, an action that forces him to loosen his grip. He can’t risk harming you, not even for your own good.

“No, you are-”

“Joel, please,” there’s exhaustion in your plea. A hint of desperation, too. He catches how you glimpse over your shoulder and observes the only item you carry — a distressed looking stuffed bunny with an ear missing. You glance over your shoulder again and it hits Joel. You’re nervous, in a rush. You’re here without anyone’s knowledge, that same look of panic in your eye as a teenager sneaking out of their window. “Just- I don’t want to sit around doing nothing. I want to find Otis.”

Talking is limited.

Instead, what fills its place is the sound of crunching leaves beneath heavy boots, and birds cawing and cooing in the trees above, and your incessant need to hum along to some melody playing in your head, distracting Joel to a dangerous degree.

This distraction leads to a close encounter, one where it’s only your swallowed scream as you stumble closer to him in fear, body seeking out some form of protection — he can’t tell if you view him as a mere shield or a sworn knight prepared to draw his weapons and, frankly, he winds up too caught up in your hands grabbing at his sides and your shaken figure melting against his own to care — that clears the haze in his eyes and sets his sights straight, gun drawn and aimed directly at the infected creature running towards you both.

He misses his first shot — shaky hands, one he partially blames on your proximity and the adrenaline it brings — but makes up for it in his second one, shooting point blank range and sending the creature crumbling to the ground, a bullet-hole in its forehead.

You both wait a few minutes, listening out for anymore rustling, before Joel deems things safe enough to continue and motions you with his head to follow.

From then on, you stick closer, alternating between walking a step or two ahead or behind him. He keeps a grip on the gun, unwilling to reholster it, and wordlessly hands you a shiv he has, ignoring the way you seem to perfectly curl your fingers around the weapon and practise a swinging motion, stabbing at the air with a deadly confidence Joel's never imagined to associate you with.

It forces him to rethink everything he’s come to believe about you over the years, and requestion just how exactly you’d wound up under Bill’s roof.

You interrupt his thoughts, the first to speak as always.

“If you don’t mind me asking-”

“I do.”

Undeterred, you smile and push through with your probing. “Who taught you to shoot?”

“My old man,” it takes him a few minutes to gruff it out. Or maybe it’s a bit longer than a few minutes, the sun’s shine seeming a lot less dim from when you’d asked. You say nothing, however, don’t even gasp in surprise at his eventual answering. “Dragged me out back to where he’d tied up our dog, poor thing had been sick for a while. Told me we weren’t goin’ back in till I shot it. Must’a stood there for hours.”

And that was that.

As much as Joel had felt you wanting to say more, you’d dropped the subject — maybe you’d noticed the dullness in his voice or the way his grip on his gun had tightened — and he’d never been more grateful for your ability to read him, without him even needing to open his pages for you.

You make camp by nightfall.

A clearing amongst the wooden areas, small enough to keep you hidden yet big enough to stretch out your legs. you ask for a campfire, and Joel denies you of it. ‘S too risky, he’d explained the instant he caught you deflating his objection. Don’t need no smoke signals bringing us any unwanted visitors.

He’d given you the coat off his back instead, a token to heat yourself up with as the pair of you quietly ate away at the tin-can meal Joel had been saving for the journey back to the QZ.

Chef Boyardee has never tasted better, however, after watching you place the can up to your lips and tilt your head back, swallowing down the artificial flavouring.

You don’t seem to agree, grimacing at the taste. “I don’t know how you can eat that.”

“If you think that’s bad, you don’t wanna know what they’re feedin’ us in the QZ.” It’s a privilege you’ll never understand, this sheltered life you lead among Bill’s traps and fences. You eat fresh eggs, and cook red meat, and nurture food out of the ground, while Joel fights tooth and nail to scrape up some measly ration cards. Oddly enough, he's not angry at your lack of understanding. He’s glad, happy you have a quality of life far better than his own.

“I'm surprised they feed you at all,” for all your grimacing, you’ve yet to stop taking mouthful after mouthful of the canned food. You must not have eaten much out on your run, Joel concludes. “Considering you eat Bill out of his whole stock each time you visit.”

He wants to defend himself, tell you it’s not true. Tell you it’s only the food prepared by your gentle hands and caring soul that he devours, in chase of satisfying another hunger he should not dare place upon you. That it is nothing more than Joel settling for a piece of your love, hoping that if he takes enough bites and chews enough times, it’ll seep into his skin, his bones, his bloodstream. It’s the only way he figures he can hold a piece of your heart next to his, until it stops beating.

But that is a burden a man like him does not place on a woman like you, so he bites his tongue and swallows down the rest of his dinner.

“The hell are we, middle-schoolers?”

A squawk of birds fly from their perch in the trees above, spooked by the unexpected boom of Joel’s voice. It’s an accident, flying out of him before he can really stop it and consider the dangers of loudly proclaiming your whereabouts to anything — living or dead — within a ten mile radius to hear. But you’re being ridiculous.

Your suggestion is ridiculous.

And you’re shushing him, a giggle behind the index finger you press to your lips, eyes shooting up to where the birds have fled, catching the reflection of the stars in your pupils and knocking the wind out of his chest, momentarily, with how bright they seem to shine.

“No, we’re two adults about to engage in a serious game of 21 Questions,” you speak like you live: much softer than Joel. No creature seems to hurry away at the sound of it and, in the fading memories he possesses, he can almost picture your voice drawing in all the critters of the forest, like that Disney princess she’d loved so much. “And that counts as one of your questions, by the way."

He has no plans on entertaining your childish play. He’ll sit there, he’ll watch out for any suspicious shadow lurking about in the dark, he’ll listen to whatever ridiculous questions you throw at him, and he’ll let you talk yourself silly, going in circles as he remains mute, and observant, and completely unwilling to answer to any of your-

“Which means,” you drag out the word, a sing-songy melody to your voice. “It’s my turn to ask you something, mister.” Mister. A warmth blooms in the pits of his stomach, one that threatens to creep lower, beneath the waistband of his blood-stained jeans. “What’s your favourite colour?”

If looks could kill, you’d likely still be alive.

Perhaps a little bruised, but it’s the worst stare Joel can will himself to pin you with. No doubt, it feels more threatening to you that it truly is, splashed across his stoic face.

“What?” You question, and somehow have the nerve to laugh. “It’s like… The most common question people ask in this game. That, or who took your virginity, and I really don’t think you want to tell me-”

“I’d just gotten my first job as a pool-boy. Pay was shit, but it covered my gas and left me enough to buy a six pack and a tub of wings,” the words fly out of him with an ease they never have before. Somehow, this feels easier, less intimate than matters like his favourite colour. When he thinks that answer is enough, he finds your face, expectations written across it. You’re waiting to know more. “I ended up with a few shifts working for one of our neighbours. She was a friend of my mom’s, recently divorced, and with a whole new body she’d bought with the divorce settlements.”

A spark of amusement flares in your eyes, that pretty smile stretching over your lips. He purses his own, trying not to think of pressing them against your mouth. You’d still taste of the canned food you — reluctantly — devoured and, somehow, the thought messes his head up even more, the potential taste of the food, of the care he had been the one to provide you with.

“That sounds like the beginning to a really bad porno,” you muse. Joel watches how you sit up a little straighter, legs tucking themselves up against your chest, chin resting atop your knees, arms engulfing yourself in their warmth, nose turning to take a quick inhale of his coat. He hopes he’ll smell you on it, too, next time he does the same.

“Surprised you even know what that word means,” he regrets it the moment he says it, that sickening reminder of your youth against his own ageing disgrace. He doesn’t know the exact years, but he know the difference would surely be enough to disgust a younger version of himself, the young father who once scowled at the sight of grey-haired men trailing their eyes down the bodies of wide-eyed girls, giggling by the bar as they flashed their fake-ids and sipped their first taste of — horrifically overpriced — alcohol.

“Porno?” You cut through his train of thoughts, unknowingly saving him from the downward spiral into memories best left behind, before the world went to shit. “You’d be surprised what a little bit of courage and a whole load of ration cards gets you past FEDRA.”

That word, that name, that organisation, it sets off an alarm in Joel’s brain, red-alert and siren sounding. And it pulls forth a question, echoing in the woods before he even realises he’s speaking his thoughts aloud.

“You were in a QZ? You weren’t always with Bill?”

“Pittsburg QZ, if you want to get technical. And then Hartford. No, I wasn’t always with Bill.” He tries to picture it: you, confined to the horrors of city living, bargaining things for survival, facing the harshness of the power-tripping FEDRA officers. The thought proves too disconcerting, so out of line with the you who exists only within the confines of safety and comfort in his mind, that Joel has to stop himself from imagining more, imagining worse. You and pain do not, should not ever exist in the same space, not if Joel can do anything about it. “And those count as two separate questions, so now I get to do the same.”

He hadn’t even meant to play into it, entertain your silly game. He’d just needed reassurance, answers, to know no scars litter your skin and no wound has fractured your psyche. But you’ve given him none of that. No comfort for his ailing soul, more questions for his troubled mind.

“Was it a one time thing,” unaware, or simply desensitised to his ways, you continue on with your questions, despite the frown he feels wrinkling at his forehead. “With your neighbour?” He’s glad to see you bring the conversation back to his own debauchery.

“No.”

“Ooh, scandalous! Joel Miller, local pool-boy turned toy-boy.” If he wasn’t so busy fighting off images of you, young and scared, standing before armed FEDRA soldiers, Joel might have found it in him to crack a half smile at the amusement the sexual endeavours of his youth seem to gift you. “Did you fuck any other of your clientele, or were you and Miss Recent-Divorcee exclusive?”

“No,” he says once more, then quickly clarifies. “I didn’t sleep with other clients. But also no, we weren’t exclusive.”

“Did your mom-”

“‘S my turn, darlin’,” Joel surprises even himself, cutting in before you can sneak a third question his way. It’s like it finally hits him, the way this game has handed him the opportunity of a lifetime to learn the answer to any question he’s ever pondered over you. But all other questions, topics, seem to slip out his conscience’s grasp, like sand slipping through fingers, as he feels himself dragged further into the fear you’ve awoke within him, a fresh layer of worry he now holds for a version of you he’d never known, a version of you he can barely stomach the idea of. “How did you meet Bill? Were you with Frank before?”

“God, you’re bad at this game! Two questions, again!” And, yet, you say it with more humour than chastisement. You turn your face, again, nose bumping against the collar of his jacket. “But no, I wasn’t with Frank. I met them both at the same time, after I spotted them through their fences. I passed out, dehydrated, and I probably wouldn’t have been brought in if it weren’t for Frank insisting they couldn’t just leave me out there to die.”

“You were alo-”

“Ah, my turn!” Your hand shoots out, index finger pointing across the space between you both. “Did your mum ever find out about you and her friend?” 

“No, it ended before that could happen. She got herself a man her own age, and I…” Got someone pregnant. The words stick to his throat, refusing to come out. 

Reading his closed off pages, like you always do, your voice cuts through the air before he can let himself slip too deep into the sorrow.

“I was alone, when I met Bill and Frank. But I wasn’t always.” Those four words are enough to make him ache. But I wasn’t always. Who had you lost? How long did they survive? Did you feel their blood on your skin? The questions fly by so quickly, he’s struggling to pin-point which one he wants to ask first, which ones he’s allowed to ask. “Have you ever been in love?”

That quiets his mind. For a moment, it’s a welcomed incident. Then his heartbeat fills his ears, and it’s pounding, skipping over beats of its own rhythm, threatening to spread too much of that fear, too quickly to every vessel under his skin, that Joel has no choice, he has to give you an answer he doesn’t want to, just to save himself from the impending tightness in his chest.

“Green,” the words are a struggle to get out but he manages it, watching the confusions bleed into your soft eyes. “I never answered. Before. When you asked my favourite colour. It’s green.” If you find his answer to be too late, or you’re disappointed at his clear avoidance towards your latest question, you don’t give it away. You just nod, smile softly, and wait for him to take his turn. “Why were you alone?”

“Everyone changed, got bit, or died. I didn’t want to be next.” Perhaps he’s a fool. Perhaps he underestimated the resilience you keep under warm sweaters and easy-going smiles. Because you sit there, not a tear welling in sight, and talk about the things you’ve lost like they don’t haunt you. Like you haven’t spent every waking moment since trying to find them, evidence that they were real, and that they’d mattered, and that they’d loved you. Like you haven’t drowned in grief, the way he has. You’ve swam, instead, against the current, crawled to the safety of shore.  “Who’s your butterfly?”

The question catches him so off guard, so out of left field, so completely and utterly nonsensical, that he just can’t help himself. “My what now?”

"You know, the whole ‘if a butterfly flaps its wings’,” you trail off, hands curling tighter around yourself after performing air quotes. “Who's one person that changed the trajectory of your life?"

He cannot run.

He cannot repeat his earlier trick, deflecting with the answer to a previously spoken — and visibly ignored — question. Because, no matter which of your two questions he chooses to focus on, the answer remains the same. That little girl, with a smile like sunshine, sitting at the breakfast table, egg yolk on her cheek, ketchup all over her tiny, chubby, little fingers, an incoherent babble of excited squeals as he, once again, drives the choo-choo train — in truth, a fork-ful of food — towards her lips.

You’ve got him backed into a corner, no out, no escape. His mind, a cruel torturer that takes advantage of his own panic, thrusts yet another memory into the VHS of his mind, broadcasting it against the back of his eyelids, forcing him to see the granny pictures every time he blinks. Her first step. Her first day at school. Her first time trying a sip of his beer and absolutely hating it. Her. Her.

Suddenly, he’s angry. The only response he ever seems to conjure at the memory of her.

“‘S this what this whole things all about, huh?” It’s snarky, it’s cruel, and it's punctuated by a scoff. The fact you don’t even react, face unchanging beneath the shine of the moon, only seems to make him angrier, outrage for the fact you’re letting him speak to you like this, fury for allowing himself. “You want me to tell you somethin’ traumatic, somethin’ for you to pity me over? And then what, you gonna give me your own little sob story so we can have ourselves a lil’ pity party? Newshflash, princess, you ain’t special just cause your mama died and your daddy never wanted you.”

“Are you done?” You speak only after a silence has permeated the space between you for a few minutes, nothing but Joel’s laboured breaths filling the night air.

He’s not even sure when he started breathing so heavily. His heart is still working itself into a frenzy, his mind still off the rails. The eire calm that remains over your face seems to bring him momentary respite from the pain, if only to feel himself bracing for a new wave, a worse wave. One born from you. From your pain. And one that Joel’s entirely unprepared, and undeserving, to have wash over him. 

"I didn't really notice it at first, you know?” You speak so softly, he almost doesn’t hear you. But he does, and it hurts. “Hell, it wasn't even really me that realised. Bill did. I’d only been staying with them three nights, just until I got back on my feet. Back then, he used to barricade my door at night, and he wouldn’t let me eat at the same table as them both, not even when Frank insisted. But, suddenly, Bill flipped the switch on me. He became apologetic, careful, asking me if I was feeling okay and actually sounding… interested in the answer.”

Much like the thought of you in a quarantine zone, the thought of Bill being anything but utterly protective and completely trusting of you does not seem plausible in Joel’s mind, no matter how much he believes you. The image, simply, will not conjure in his mind, too out of shape with the current reality he’s witnessed.

You continue talking after a pause for composure, those eyes that trap him so easily now frozen to the ground, staring at some smudge of mud on your boots.

“Frank was the first one to actually say it out loud, to ask me if I... Anyway, it was hard to tell but we all agreed, eventually, that I had to be around three or four months along. It made sense, timewise. There were some raiders, they found my camp a few weeks before I collapsed outside Bill’s gate. I… I don't even really know which one of them sealed the deal. All I know is all of them were on me, and none of them cared about how hard I could kick.”

He almost calls you by your name, then by the name he’s given you. Sol. But it’s too pretty a word, too undeserving of being tainted by the anger he feels coursing through his veins, a bloodlust like no other making home for itself in his loins.

“I didn't really care that much about it, as horrible as that makes me sound.” It doesn’t make you sound horrible, at all. Joel could show you horrible, if you just gave him a few faces and the permission to do with them, punish them as he pleased. “It was just a means to an end. A deal to keep myself safe. They'd let me live under their roof, and I'd give them the baby. We never… discussed what would happen to me, once I held up my end of the bargain. Never got the chance to, really.”

And suddenly, Joel Miller is the greatest asshole to ever walk the planet.

Not only the greatest asshole, but a hypocrite, too. You ain’t special. Well, neither is he, moping around life with a chip on his shoulder and baggage the weight of a dead daughter. He isn’t the first parent to outlive a child, to lose a child, and he won’t be the last. He’ll just be another name on the list, another poor soul.

The hoot of an owl. It’s somehow a reminder that you’re both out, huddled in the privacy of a few trees, waiting for night to pass and the search to continue.

Those tears in your eyes still haven’t fallen. My brave girl. But it feels condescending, and wrong. Not because you’re not brave. Because you’re not his girl. You’re the sun, and he’s just another planet that’s been sucked into your orbit. Dense, unfeeling, and miles away, forever circling you.

“One minute, it's just a burden weighing down on my whole body,” your voice is so soft, it’s almost a whisper. Perhaps he’ll be the one who cries. It sure feels like it, if he has to continue watching you fidget with your fingers and look anywhere but him.  “And the next minute, it's screaming torture and the heartbreak of holding her barely-there body in my arms. That guilt... of not even knowing how much I wanted her until I got the chance ripped away, that’s something that never really goes away. It lingers, it changes you, forever."

God, does it linger.

He’s tried to lose track. He’s tried to make himself forget the years that have gone by, all in the hopes of getting through that September day, completely unaware of it. But he can’t.

Just like how he can’t think of what to say right now.

He knows he should comfort you.

He thinks he should tell you his own story, his own loss. Let you know that the grief you feel is not a lonesome one. But then he’d be worse than a hypocrite. He would be a liar, and that’s one thing he’s getting tired of being, especially when it comes to you.

“What,” he pulls in a deep breath, eyes flickering off you for a moment to watch figures that move in the distance. Tree branches, swaying in the wind. The temperatures are dropping even more, and he’s got no other layers to keep you warm with. “What were you gonna name her?”

You’re gracious enough to utter a name, softly, and finally your eyes flicker up from the ground and meet his own. The tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of your mouth, the moon casting shadows down your face. You pull in a breath and stutter on its exhale, clearing your throat as if that’s enough to regain your composure.

“That’s her name. We buried her out back, under one of Frank’s flowerbeds,” there’s a sickening kind of envy that coils itself around his chest. Even if it visibly hurts, you’re talking about her, you’re honouring her enough to share something about her existence. Joel can’t do the same for his girl, a pain too harrowing, and, once more, he reminds himself that he’s the greatest asshole alive. “It’s silly but… I like to think it’s her whenever the snowdrops bloom.” 

“'S a nice name," he’s a pathetic excuse of a man, no courage to pull you close and tell you it’s okay. Tell you he’s sorry, for your loss and for his earlier harsh words. Tell you about his own daughter. Would you think he’s trying to outshine you in the pity party, if he told you he doesn’t get to see what life blooms from atop his daughter’s grave?

"It was my mom's,” you snort over an unexpected laugh, as if you can’t believe you’re admitting this to him. Or maybe it’s not that. Maybe it’s a sense of relief, a lightness coming over a heart previously weighed down by grief. If he could do that for you, even if just slightly, he’d feel as though the tears shining in your eyes are worth it. “She'd have hated to see me use it, she was never a fan of it, but I couldn't think of a better name for someone I love so much."

Something awful hits him, square in the jaw and deep in the gut.

He can’t remember why he called her Sarah.

You’re sleeping next to him.

He’s spent the better half of what feels like an hour trying to ignore this fact. Stared at the sky, just to count each freckled star that shines through in the dark. Closed his eyes and tried counting sheep. Rolled over, back facing you, and tried to just fall asleep, once and for all.

But it’s sisyphus. Each time he feels himself about to slip into the discomfort of sleep, you twitch a leg or mumble something incoherent, and he’s back to being far too aware of you, squeezed in beside him in what must be the world’s least spacious sleeping bag. The worst thing is, it had all been his idea.

You’d been yawning, eyes slipping shut just to be opened in defiance by your own stubborn self, unwilling to give into the sleep you so visibly needed. He’d told you to go to sleep, the words coming out soft for once yet, somehow, still a demand. When you nodded in agreement instead of standing your ground, Joel knew you must have been exhausted.

You told him that you hadn’t imagined the search would last overnight, that you hadn’t grabbed a single thing to sleep with. Not even a blanket. Which was fine, really, because Joel had no intention of closing his eyes. He’d rolled out his sleeping bag and told you to take it, he didn’t mind. It would be one more thing of his that smells like you.

But you wouldn’t stop tossing and turning. Restless, cold, and completely distracting to Joel as he tried to will himself to focus on what was important, any approaching threat, and not the shape of you wrapped in his belongings. A fruitless endeavour, that earns him nothing but a string of words rolling off his tongue: “Move over.”

And now he’s here, regretting ever thinking he could possibly lay next to you, exchange body heat, and somehow just will himself to fall asleep.

You squirm, hand fisting at the well-used material of his sleep roll. Laying on his back, he glances over at you. The itch to snake his arm beneath your head, offer a makeshift pillow to spare you from the hard floor, grows harder to ignore the more he looks at you.

It’s not the only thing that grows harder, however.

Maybe it’s because he can smell you, all over and around him, staining your memory into the fabric of the sleeping bag so he can lament how empty it feels the next time he sleeps it in. Maybe it's because he can feel you, scattered points where the heel of your foot rests against the slope of his ankle, and the swell of your ass presses into his upper thigh, and your back brushes against his arm with every slow breath you take. Maybe it's all more simple than that, like the mere knowledge that you’re actually here, in his presence, after so many months, and Joel Miller is just a man, susceptible to the pleasures of flesh and starved of you.

Whatever the reason is ultimately doesn’t matter. Lamenting over it won’t change the stiffness of his cock as it fights beneath denim confines, an uncomfortable throb that demands his attention. And he’s trying so hard to resist, trying so hard to pretend he’s not aware of his own body and the erection it’s bestowed upon him.

But you won’t stop moving, you won’t lay still. Deep in sleep, you taunt him, unawares to the way each soft sigh sends his mind barreling down into the depths of sinful thoughts, and each wriggle, squirm, repositioning of your hips serves no purpose other than to push you closer to him, deeper against the straining fabric.

He flirts with the idea of unbuckling his belt. It would be easy, his hand already resting stiff by his side, itching to shove down layers and feel the weight of his own cock. It barely even makes a sound, a soft clink muffled beneath the blanket, followed by the pop of a button, and the zing of a zipper sliding down. He glances at you, heart rate picking up, and confirms you’re just the same as moments ago: fast asleep.

As much as he wants to peel off his layers completely, he settles for the safer option of pulling down his jeans and briefs enough to free himself, full fist wrapping itself around his base. A swift tug, a tight-jawed hiss. The thrill of it runs right up his spine, a torture that he wants another taste of.

He wants to snake his hand up to his mouth and wet the palm with his spit, but he can’t, won’t, the risk of too much movement waking you. So he settles into his fate, a series of uncomfortably dry and unfluid strokes of his cock, nothing but the drops of his own precum to lubricate his movements.

Slow, steady, he runs his palm over his length in sync with your breathing. Your lungs expands, his fingers brush the tip, they deflate and he’s down at the base, trying hard not to brush against his heavy balls. Images of you, the same ones he plays on repeat when he’s working himself to an orgasm in the safety of his and Tess’ apartment, or balls-deep in some faceless stranger, hidden in the darkness of some back alley. Breathless in the kitchen, gripping a knife like your mind grips at its sanity as he bruises his knees from drinking between your thighs. Perched atop his lap, the metal of the truck’s hood creaking with each bounce you give, fuckin yourself further down his length, forcing him deeper and deeper.

His eyes slip shut as he lets the memories take over, replaying for his own viewing pleasure. He tries to match the tightness of his hand to the tightness of your cunt, but his own touch is cold, unfeeling, dry, nothing like the sweetness of you. The version of you that lives in his mind throws her head back lips parted in a cry of pleasure. Joel, she — you — moans, gripping him tighter, pert nipples straining through the thin fabric of a shirt. His shirt. God, you looked so good, so safe in his coat, he should’ve stripped you down to nothing but it, and taken you there against the dirty woodland floor, on all fours, ass in the air, face in the dirt, Joel all over you. 

Joel, he can hear it, the way you’d sink down fully to the floor, forcing him to follow you, smother you in his whole weight, hips tilted up enough for him to keep drilling himself deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

“Joel,” he hears you. Real you, turning towards him in the tight squeeze of the sleeping bag. Sleepy eyes meet his own and he sees it, the recognition. You know what he’s doing beneath the surface of the sleeping bag. Before he can fully register this, the touch of another hand —  far more delicate — envelopes his own, tightening his grip before he can dare to retreat. “You should be asleep.”

“Can’t,” he grits out, powerless to the sudden movement of your hand, the slow drag in which you guide him to jerk at his cock.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I do,” you admit with a soft shrug, eyes glued to his own. “Still, I wanna hear you say it.”

One glance down and he sees the way you touch him beneath the blanket, wishing he could rip it all away and watch your fingers, intertwining with his own, smother over his leaking tip, staining your skin in his pleasure.

It’s embarrassing how much of a mess he’s becoming, all at the mercy of little old you, and your sparkly eyes, and your sleepy smile, and your guiding hands. It’s embarrassing how softly the confession parts from his lips.

“Because of you.”

“Me?” You question immediately, feigned innocence striked across those tired, doe-like eyes he likes so much. “All I’ve done is try to sleep. You’re the one who can’t keep his hands from wandering. Are you really that weak Joel?”

“Yes.”

“Do I make you weak?”

“Yes, fuck!” He feels like he’s gone back in time and you’re playing with him, twenty-something questions or whatever the fuck you’d called it. Feeling his balls tighten, an urgency to touch you, feel you, make you feel good takes hold of him. “I’m gonna- Ahh, baby, let me- Let me feel you.”

But you won’t let him. Tightening your hand around his cock, continuing those up and down motions, inching him closer and closer to the orgasm he’s trying so hard to stave off.

“No, I’m too tired,” even your little whine is enough to drive him mad, a sigh out your nose as he watches you snuggle into the width of his chest, a throbbing pain taking over his heart. How can you seem so sweet with your fingers sitting tight around his cock? “Let's just lay like this, feel me like this. Let me make you feel good.”

“Tell me you’re wet,” it becomes a need, a desperation, born in his heart and spreading all throughout the rest of him, to know you’re enjoying this torture as much as he is. To know you’re not simply touching him as a means to get him off, over and done with, mind silenced to sleep by the haziness of spilling his cum.

“I am,” you soothe his minor fear, and he feels the gentle roll of your hips into his thigh, leg tangled between both of his as you grind your clothed cunt against him. “So wet. Love touching you, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He croons back, voice teetering off into literal begging, his free hand perched on the tip of your chin and tilting your eyes up to meet his. “Then let me fuck you, please.”

“No, just…” You say, shaking your head, rolling your hips, teasing at the slit in his tip with the tip of your finger. He can’t help but hiss, a grunt catching in his throat. “Just wanna focus on you. Wanna see you cum for me, Joel.”

Never have seven words been enough to make his resolve snap.

With a pathetic cry of your name, Joel feels the first rope of cum spray against his knuckles. Sticky, hot, thick, it dribbles down the cracks of his fingers onto your own, making a mess out of both of you. You’re there, closed palm, sweet lips, soothing him with words of kindness as you carry him through the motions of his orgasm, no doubt working your wrist into a dull ache as you squeeze every last drop of cum out of his weeping tip. He doesn’t want to think of the mess that awaits him beneath the sleeping bag, sticky cum staining soft skin, and rough jeans, and nylon material.

What he wants is for you to keep going, stroke him until his cock regains its full stiffness, standing to attention and ready to feel you in the ways he’d pleaded moments earlier, like he felt you months earlier.

Maybe this time he’d try your other hole. He’s wondered, on lonely nights where nothing but his hand has kept him company, how much convincing it would take until you’d bend over and present him with the pretty little creases of your puckered hole. You’d protest, he knows. call him disgusting, degenerate, dirty. Shame him for even wishing to touch you in such a vile manner. Joel could handle it. He’d always had a preference for the chase, the thrill of wearing a pretty thing down off its high horse of holier-than-thou syndrome and onto their knees before him.

He’d not be kind. No, not when the time comes. He’d ease himself in, sure, but the true battle would begin once he’s sheathed inside and the tightness of your hole hugs his cock in the warmest of embraces. He’d push, and pull, and break you down into whatever surface he takes you against. His hands would join in, bringing an electrified pleasure to your neglected cunt while his hips piston into the plumpness of your cheeks. They’d move in sync, working to ensure no second passes where you’re not full of some part of him - be it his cock in your ass or his fingers in your cunt.

Exhausted and defiled, your poor body would have nowhere else to run than to the comfort of his embrace and the sweet serenity of peaceful sleep, once he’s through with you. And, should you wake to cry of a newfound pain in your rear, Joel would waste no time in snaking his way down between your legs to mouth at your cum-stained hole, laving his tongue over you and painting your thighs in apologetic kisses until you can no longer speak of pain, his name the only word you’ll ever need to know.

But, alas, time is catching up on him and the blood refuses to return to his cock.

Exhaustion wraps you both in its blanketing warmth, melting your head down against his chest with ease, hands still missing somewhere between his thighs. Every soft breath that leaves you hits the skin of his neck, a physical, timely reminder that you’re there, in his arms, closer than you’ve ever been.

The thought is frightening, enough to get his heart racing in his chest. He can only assume you hear it, feel it beating against your ear.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper, just when he feels himself teetering towards the edge of sleep.

“Hmm?” He hums back in lieu of a verbal response, eyes he’d not even notice close peering open to look down at you.

“I didn’t mean- I wasn’t trying to make you angrier with the questions.” Angrier. That word leaves a sour taste in Joel’s mouth. “It’s just… You’re a good man. You care about others. About Tess, and Bill, Frank too. About me. But you have this chip on your shoulder… I just wanted to try to understand you better, I wanted to make you feel better.”

With your soft voice echoing in his head, he feels himself sinking into a dreamless sleep, a reply caught on the tip of his tongue.

Something wet wakes Joel.

It’s a slow return from the land of sleep, the longest that it’s taken him in years to go from peacefully resting to wide-eyed and alert to every surrounding. The first thing he registers is how warm everything feels, how cosy. How much he enjoys the weight of something in his arms, breathing softly into his chest.

Then, that something wet itches at his skin, drags across his cheek. He tries to open his eyes, only to hiss and squeeze them shut, the bright burn of the morning sun nearly blinding him. A few birds sing from the trees above, exchanging their good-mornings with the rest of nature’s critters.

A groan comes from his left, muffled against the flannel of his wrinkled shirt. He readjusts himself, pulling the weight even closer, and finds out he was right: your smell already lingers in his sleeping-bag. A third lick of wet, this one from chin to eyebrow, a cringe overcomes his tired face.

Lick. 

His eyes snap open, fight against the burning of the light, and there he sees him. Otis, to the right, mouth panting, tongue dangling out his mouth, tail wagging somewhere in the background. Joel tries to move as slowly as possible, fearful of spooking the dog, and even more fearful of spooking you, eyes still shut and hand nestled atop his groin, fingers tangled in coarse hair and poking beneath the layers of his top.

“Sunshine,” he whispers, shaking gently at your shoulder, and nearly apologising as you crack an eye open and pin him with a deadly stare. You’re not much of a morning person, a fact Joel fools himself into thinking he’ll need to remember for the future. He gives your shoulder another shake, a gentle squeeze too, for extra measure. “C’mon now, gotta open those eyes properly for me. Got someone here who’s mighty excited to see you.”

That seems to entice you, eyes peering fully open and giving him a once-over before mumbling a soft, “what’re you talking abo- My baby-boy!”

No sooner than you’ve shot up straight, arms wide and reaching for the furry creature, Otis has bounded over, trampling over the mess of limbs you and Joel make up beneath the nylon. Pathetic whines fill the air, a tail that moves a hundred miles an hour, as the canine smothers his snout into you, his luscious mane shining beneath the sun’s rays.

You’re pressing kisses against the dog, tears brimming your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck and tell him, over and over, “don’t ever do that again! I was so scared!” The happiness is contagious, spreading with a small smile upon Joel’s lips as he peels himself off the floor, chest pressing into your back and hand stretching out over your shoulder, fingers tangling in the threads of Otis’ soft fur.

“Must’a caught scent of you, followed it all the way till it brought him to us,” Joel musses, feeling you laugh as the dog licks a kiss over your cheek. “He’s a good boy. Aren’t’cha, boy?”

Neither of you mention the sticky dilemma between Joel’s thighs as you pack up. You roll up the sleeping bag while he wipes himself clean with a dirty shirt, quietly passing it your way as he slips off his belt and loops it around Otis’ collar, becoming a makeshift lead to guide the dog home with.

Though, as the four-legged creature sniffs on ahead, with the occasional pull that tests Joel’s grip on the belt, he almost seems to need no guide, leading you all in the direction of home. Your home, not Joel’s. But, what a wonderful thought that would be, if he were just a man, and you were just a woman, and you were both taking an early morning walk around the woods with your dog, catching the first rays of sun, together.

As if hearing his thoughts, Otis turns his head, looking at Joel over his shoulder, tail wagging as he lets out an excited bark. Up ahead, closer than he’d like it to be, stands the borders to Bill’s sanctuary. Up ahead, sooner than he’d like it to be, the place where you’ll part ways.

He finds himself slowing his pace. You do the same, no question, happy to simply have your fur-friend safe, by your side, the occasional brush of his snout against your upper thigh, searching for the affectionate stroke of your hand.

He needs to speak soon, act now, before it’s too late and the chance slips through his fingers. Joel clears his throat.

“My, uh,” a lump catches the words as they try to leave him. He swallows it down in a gulp, and tries again. “My daughter.”

Your face turns so quickly from the trail ahead to Joel, that he swears he hears a snap of something in your neck. Silence settles in like fog, mist on the horizon, a pause pregnant with so many questions he can see running through your pupils. You don’t speak them, however, and it strangely eases his nerves, taking away the feeling of demand to reveal his pain, leaving him to peel off the band-aid at his own pace.

“She was my… Whatever you called it, last night.” He sees you nod along, in the corner of his eye. You’ve both slowed to a mere shuffle, unaware of the three figures manifesting ahead, crowding on the other side of the fences. “The one that changed my life. She was so… bright, I used to worry one day she’d blind someone with her smile.”

In his memories, she’s always a beacon of light. Shining, even in darkness. Joel’s almost convinced glitter, or starlight must have been weaved into her skin, her eyes, her smile. 

“She was everything good about me,” he says, and finds he can’t help the small laugh that claws its way up his throat, scratching as it goes. “None of the bad.”

“Can’t imagine there’s much on that list.”

“I know, ‘s hard to believe there’s even one good thing about m-”

“No, Joel,” he swears he feels his heart still at how you say his name, firm, and with conviction, like you’re trying to drill the sound into his head, remind him that he has a name, has a heart. “The bad, it must be a short list.”

Three of you — man, woman, dog — find another similar trio waiting by an open gate. Frank, Tess, Bill, each more relieved than the last to see Otis nearly pulling Joel’s feet from under him as the animal surges forward, pulling against the belt-lead with all his might. You release both man and dog from the tug of war, unbuckling the belt from the German Shepherd’s collar and freeing him to pounce on Bill who, despite the frown embedded in his forehead at the dog’s incessant licking, claps a hand over its back.

Joel feels a hand clap down on his own back, snaking its way up to squeeze at his shoulder.

"C'mon, Texas,” Tess proclaims loud enough for all eyes to fall on them. Yours included, kind and questioning, making him wish he could stay. “We're gonna be in shit if we're not back by sundown."

Bag already on his shoulder, Joel can’t feign a reason to linger a little longer.

“Wait!” You call out, parting from Frank’s side, fingers scratching at Otis’ head as you pass. Without warning, you throw yourself at Joel, arms wrapping around him and holding him close in the gentlest of embraces. “Thank you, Joel.” It’s just a whisper. He’s not even sure exactly what you’re thanking him for. Still, he lays a hand against your back and pulls you a little tighter, one last rush of your shampoo hitting his nose before you’re stepping back and parting ways. You, heading back into the safety of Bill’s gates, and Joel, walking off towards the desecrated city, back to the cold of his apartment.

When he wakes the next morning, beneath a roof and upon an uncomfortable couch, he feels time reset itself.

One day since he last seen you, who knows how many more days to go.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

RoR x Eri who finds Kittens?

What if Eri finds a box of kitties and takes them home with her, but she tries to be sneaky about it because she’s not sure how her family will feel about them

However she was found out after she tried to be sneaky with taking the carton of milk and a few small bowls to her room

Eri comes clean as she reveals the kittens to her family and that she found them alone and wanted to help them (She feels guilty for trying to hide this from her family)

However her family isn’t upset as they can see Eri just wanted to help the kittens since they’re a bit dirty and look hungry, so they promise to help Eri take care of them but they’ll try to find good homes for the kittens

Her family helps clean, groom, feed and show Eri how to care for the kittens, all while taking dozens of pictures of Eri with the kittens napping on or around her

Eri finally finds homes for all the kittens after a week and says goodbye to each one, feeling a little sad that her kitty friends are gone, but tries to be positive because she and her family found good homes for all the kittens

But maybe her family sees the responsibility Eri was willing to put in and surprise her the next day with a kitten of her own? (They plan to help teach her how to raise a cat)

-You peeked inside, going through the back door of your home, seeing if the coast was clear before you turned back to something you had carried all the way home.

-You peeked into the box, a smile appearing on your face as the kittens inside all peered up at you, looking dirty and hungry, but that’s why you brought them home- so you could take care of them!

-You did your best, trying to maneuver both the door and the box, trying to sneak in as you didn’t know how your family was going to react when someone grabbed the door, holding it open for you, “Let me get that for you Y/N.”

-You beamed up at Hades, “Thank you Papa Hades!” You went to continue with the box before you instantly froze, your eyes going wide as you turned to look up at him.

-Hades had an amused smile on his face, seeing what you had tried to do, but eh didn’t look upset as you looked a bit guilty, getting caught.

-He kneeled and ruffled your hair gently, “Now then, what do you have in that box?” You set it down and opened it, showing him the kittens as you held the end of your shirt, feeling a bit nervous, “I found them all alone, they were crying, and I wanted to help them!”

-Hades smiled softly, seeing your big heart, ruffling your hair again, “Well then let’s help them. Rally the troops!” You beamed brightly, hearing his words and you ran to go get other members of your family to help.

-After ten minutes you were sitting next to Jack who was holding a bottle up for one of the kittens that had just been bathed and dried, getting all the dirt and grime off of it while you ‘supervised’.

-Loki was drying one of the kittens carefully, “Besides being dirty and hungry they look to be in pretty good shape. And they look old enough to be adopted out.”

-You looked up at him, hearing his word and while you felt happy you were helping the kittens, you felt sad, hearing that they were going to get adopted to their own families, just like how your family adopted you.

-You kept a cheerful demeanor as you played with the kittens and made sure they used the litter box and ate enough when it was time to feed them. You were very attentive, and your family could all see this, seeing how hard you were working.

-After a vet visit and a clean bill of health, including some shots which made you scared for the kittens, given your own trauma with needles, the kittens were cleared to be adopted out to good families.

-Your family all did their homework on whoever was taking the kittens, making sure they would be taken care of and one by one the kittens disappeared.

-Your family could see you trying not to cry when the last kitten was taken away by an older lady who you all knew was going to pamper her new friend, but when Adam asked, you turned, putting on a brave face and a bright smile, “I’m happy they’re all safe and sound now!”

-They knew you were taking it rather hard, as you loved the kittens, and to watch them go one-by-one, not getting to keep one, you were rather disappointed and disheartened.

-That is until the following day, after you arrived home with Hercules, who took you to the park to play, when you saw a cat carrier in the living room along with toys, a bed, a litter box, and cat food.

-Your eyes went huge as you turned to your family who all had bright smiles, “Surprise!” You were quickly in tears, happy tears, which made several of them hug you, trying to calm you down so you could meet your new friend.

-It was a tiny black kitten with bright gold eyes, it was a little shy coming out, but you were sitting quietly, waiting for it to approach you as you were vibrating on the inside, something your family was able to see.

-They knew, after seeing you helping so much with the kittens, that this would be a good learning opportunity for you, helping raise a kitten, as they were going to help you learn along the way.

[elizabebabe]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 ೀ 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: you're scouted for love island and you and your manager think of it as a business opportunity but what happens when you actually want to find love?, you're in for the summer of your life.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: use of y/n!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k!

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬: i'm insanely nervous to post this but, here we go, i based this off usa love island even though the uk version is typically my favorite maybe after i finish this series i'll do a british version?...you will find out which brother i'm using soon, feel free to imagine what you're wearing this is meant to be an inclusive story so, hair, makeup, fashion, is all subjective, i'll remember to make the dialogue about your appearance vague, i hope you enjoy.

'love island'

you had heard about the show but you never expected to be scouted for it, so when you got a call from your business manager you were surprised…and disappointed.

“hey, y/n”, she said with anticipation.

“what’s up?” you quickly replied, you had already settled in for bed having already grabbed your favorite read off your bedside table, your own phone ring making you jump. 

“got a very interesting email today..” 

that grabs your full attention, putting your bookmark into your book and nesting it in its favorite place on your side table.

“and that is?” you say excitedly.

“love island wants to cast you.”

your smile drops, “oh.” being the only thing to leave your mouth, you can’t help but feel upset you were expecting more, maybe someone liked your designs enough to sign you. you’ve been building your own business up for a while now but having a contract with a ‘real’ company would definitely help your bills being paid.

“what do you mean..”

“oh” she mimicked your voice.

“was expecting better news.” you say calmly picking your book back up.

“y/n!!, this is great news!. you can go on and wear your designs and if people like them they’ll buy from your website.”

you turn to the next page, “maybe..” you bookmark your place again closing the book.

“i’ll give you time to think about it.”

you scoffed, a mere “fine.” escaping your lips. 

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you picked up your last rinsed dish, putting it in the dishwasher, quickly closing it then drying your hands. you then examine the prune on your fingers but it’s cut short by a ring, you hurried over to your phone left on your coffee table.

“hi” , you say to your manager: rhia.

“hello…so?”

“i can’t, i'm sorry.” you say nesting into your couch.

“but this is a huge business opportunity!”

“it’s a love show, not ‘shark tank.’” you say sarcastically, getting up from your couch and grabbing your laptop you left in another room. 

“y/n..? where did you go?” she notices your absence 

“right here.” you say carrying your laptop back to the coffee table sitting in-to the butt groove you’ve perfectly molded just for you.

“okay..two birds, one stone.” rhia comments, gaining a confused look on your face.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you say while opening your laptop.

“you’re single, unless you count that damn butt grove on your gross couch.” your jaw drops, you close your laptop, dropping it on the table ahead of you.

“that is…so messed up.” you said dramatically 

“okay, i'm sorry but it’s true.”

“not many people get scouted for shit like this, you have to go.” she adds

“okay, okay..” you're reluctant but rhia has never steered you wrong before…right?”

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

“i’m y/n..”, you said awkwardly at the camera as you fidgeted with the lacy bits of your outfit, this was going to be your introduction on the show so you knew the pressure was on, what if the public didn’t like you? what if you came off so unlikeable and nobody wanted to speak to you ever again?

they scouted you from your instagram and after seeing a few of your reels they knew you’d be a great, you were casted to fit a certain role “the hopeless romantic.” the producers knew bringing you in and a few interesting characters would make for fireworks on television.

“i’m 21 and i have my own company, “i’m funny, romantic, maybe a little bit shy.” you motion with your hands. 

“but that doesn’t mean i can’t stand my own, i open up a lot once you get to know me.” you giggle shyly

you were nervous especially when it came to what felt like 10 cameras staring at you, don’t forget the people behind them being extremely intimidating. it was a new environment for you, you naturally spent most of your days inside sketching so to do something ‘out there’ was scary.

“i’ve been single for a bit now.” you thoughtfully and playfully count on your fingers.

….“yep, it's definitely been a bit.” you chuckled.

“my type?” , you repeat the question from the people off camera. “i like funny, i just want to laugh!.” you exclaim. “oh probably someone nice as-well.” you laugh.

“physically?”, you tap your finger on your lips, trying to come up with an honest answer.

“hmmm…” you reckon, i like dark hair quite a bit but i’m definitely not opposed to a lighter color. “i don’t think i really have a physical type..i mean i like brown eyes quite a bit to be fair.” you smile. 

“hopefully i can find the love of my life here on ‘love island’. “ you comment bashfully. 

 you remember the main objective is to show off your brand but you can’t help but feel genuine hope to find someone here, rhia was right it has been just you and your butt groove for a while which made you a bit embarrassed causing your lack of interest, but now you might actually be invested in the ‘love’ part..

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you have never been to a tropical island or at least one like fiji, it was gorgeous, littered with clear water and the smell of a tropical summer, you were being driven up to the villa in a cabriolet, the hot wind brushing through your hair and your bikini straps almost sticking to your skin from the heat.

it was new to you, and it felt so freeing. you pushed your hands in the air, the gentle breeze touching the beads of sweat on your arms.

you felt confident for the first time in a while looking at the bikini you chose to wear, a neutral color but it matched your skin tone so perfectly you couldn't help yourself. you decided to pear a wedge alongside it, you looked good and you knew it.

the car stopped as it approached the villa doors, the cameras around you catching your reaction, it was beautiful. if the villa looked this good from the outside you couldn’t help your mind from wandering about the inside. 

you opened the car door, and took a step out, you put on your best smile and strutted towards the open doors.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

your first extinct was to explore but you were guided towards another set of open doors, they revealed a sort of backyard, you could see a massive pool and a few day beds under some gazebos, before your attention was taken by girls squealing in your direction, you snapped your head towards them noticing they were at a table with a few drinks.

a tall blonde waves at you excitedly followed by a shorter kinky haired woman, you walk towards them, the smell of the island mixed with their perfumes hitting you nicely, “hi!” you say excitedly.

“hey!”, they both reply, you hug & swap names.

clair has chocolate skin that glistens in the sun, she wears a sparkly red bikini to compliment it, her curls bounced as she hugged you. 

abby joked about wanting a tan to catch up with clair, earning a side eye from her, making you and abby giggle, she wears a lilac one piece that praises her curves. they were both gorgeous and also had good conversation, they made you feel quite comfortable already.

“how are you?” clair mentions curiously. 

“want a drink?” abby says as she begins pouring some champagne into a glass and holding it out for you.

“i’m doing okay, a bit nervous.” you say as you take the drink from abby.

clair giggles, “we feel the same way.” 

“there’s no need to be nervous!” abby says with an upbeat attitude. you smile at them, “what do you do?” clair questions you.

“i sell clothes, i'm actually wearing one of my designs.” you say motioning towards your bikini, rhia would be proud you were actually able to mention your business.

you collect “ooo’s” and “ahh’s” from the girls which gave you a boost of confidence, “i’m going to need to borrow that.” abby says quickly.

you find out clair works in tech and abby works as a beauty therapist during your continued small talk. you typically hated this part of getting to know people but they made it so easy, especially abby since she comfortably led the conversation. 

the continued convo stopped once you heard heels coming closer and closer to you all, making all of you turn around, you observed two new girls, they were holding hands and strutting towards the rest of you. you all cheered, giving them an appropriate greeting.

you hugged them both, one of their perfumes being a little too strong for your personal liking but you were never one to judge. 

one of their names was kaia and she looked like trouble at first, since she had quite a stern look on her face but when she smiled it lit up the room. she had short black hair and a tattoo on her chest that popped out of her deep blue bikini.

the other girls name was leah, her hair was wavy but it looked styled, her skin being soft was the only thing you could think of when she hugged you. she was wearing a silver bikini and a tiny white cover up.

trying to get to know kaia and leah was quickly interrupted by ariana madix the ‘love island’ host walking out the doors. 

you had never really watched the show, maybe just seen a few clips but seeing the girls reaction to her stupidly made you feel a little left out, they were so excited.

truthfully you had started to feel a little overwhelmed, whether it was the environment or the large amounts of conversation. you take a few sips out of your glass hoping it would take the edge off.

while being lost in your own thoughts ariana had already walked over, sharing hugs with the girls then opening her arms for you, you give her a gentle hug then pull away. 

“who’s ready for a summer of love?” ariana questions in a high genuine tone.

“me!!” abby quickly replies

“we are!, “more than ready.”, different responses coming out of different mouths.

“perfect, let’s go to the fire pit.” ariana states.

the firepit was tucked a little away from the pool you noticed right when you walked out, it was basically a couch shaped like a half circle.

you all follow behind her as the warm breeze hits our skin, all the girls take a seat at the fire pit, you’re not far behind sitting next to clair and across from ariana, the other girls branching out in the middle.

“how is everybody doing today?” ariana questions making eye contact with each of us.

“good.”

“excited!”

“excited.”

the girls talk over each-other, “y/n?” 

“i’m a bit nervous but i’m ready.” you giggle, the other ladies laughing alongside you.

“you've come to the right place for romance. the sun is shining. we're at a beautiful villa in fiji. pretty soon you will have some gorgeous guys to share it with. buuut before you meet them, i need the hot goss.” 

“abby, what are you looking for on the island?” ariana adds.

abby squeals excitedly, “i need a guy that can keep up with my energy, i want a break from leading my relationships, i'm so used to having control of the conversations and…many other things and i'm so bored of it.”

“oo and definitely someone long term.”

“i like it!” ariana replies.

“what about you, kaia?”

she smiles, “i typically like a bad boy.” she chuckles

we all playfully sigh at her comment.

“but, i’m here to change that. i haven’t had a relationship longer than like 3 months.”

we all nod, ariana giggles “well you’re at the right place.”

“i hope so.” kaia responds.

“leah?” 

she sighs, “i mean i unfortunately agree with kaia, but i just need a specific look and they all happen to be assholes..so.”

ariana scoffs jokingly, “clair, what’s up?”

“kind hearted is all i need, emotionally intelligent, smart.” clair replies quickly almost like she planned what she was going to say.

“y/n?, how long have you been single?”

“looooooong time.” you drag your words and follow with a chuckle, making the other girls laugh.

“i mean, well, hopefully you’ll meet your future boyfriend in a few minutes. i'm so ready for you to meet these guys.”

“are you ready to meet them?”

“yes!!”

“yeah.”

“yes.”

“whoo!”, you cheer, trying to push any nerves you feel away.

okay. let's do this.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you find yourselves in a horizontal line on 5 hearts, clair decides to stand next to you, you share a smile with her.

“this is it, you guys. this is the moment we've all been waiting for.” ariana states standing across from you all.

you're about to couple-up for the first time. what that means is you have to pair up with one of the boys. 

“oh, my gosh, i have goosebumps.” clair comments, rubbing her arms and looking at you, you take a look at them. she wasn’t kidding, you notice the bumps lining up her arms.

“one by one, the lucky guys will enter the villa and choose one of you.”

“before they do, you will step forward if you're attracted to them. you have the power to influence their decision. if you like them, you better step forward because they might get snatched up.”

“alright, let’s meet the first boy.”

you all look at each-other , the anticipation killing you.

“here we go.”

what will the boys be like? who will you couple up with? find out next time on ‘love island’....

i hope you enjoyed, i'm a little bit worried about the pacing of this so any criticism is definitely appreciated, this was just an intro so be patient with me bc it will be getting juicy, thank you for reading! ˙ᵕ˙