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katshelluvacritic · 10 months ago

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Charlie Morningstar is probably one of the worst written characters I’ve seen in the series.

(This one’s gonna be a long one…)

Ok…. So I watched all six episodes and to be honest I’m pretty much pissed off by this character specifically. This might be more of a rant rather than a critique, so I do understand that not everything I say in this will end up being as constructive exactly but I genuinely need to get this off my chest, especially since she is a character I’ve specifically and recently been hyper fixating on before the show released…

(Side note: I realized the post was very long so, to have it be easier to read I added titles for each section! Hope this helps)

!!WARNING FOR SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES BTW!!

> Charlie lacks the qualities of being a main character.

Now besides the piss poor excuse of an introduction for her (and the rest of the cast) in the main series, I honestly question why exactly Charlie specifically is the “protagonist” in the first place (and I say protagonist with the biggest of quotes here, you’ll see why).

In the first episode of the series “overture”, we don’t really see much of her character, most of the time we’re shown screen time of Vicky (a nickname I made for v*ggie since I’m not gonna call her by her genitalia thank you) trying to make an ad for the hotel and even when we do get the screen time of her, she’s barely doing anything other than hearing viv’s self insert- I mean- Adam just go on and on about whatever he’s talking about.

And when Charlie does go on to explain her plan to redeem sinners she’s just interrupted and then stands there when they start singing hell is forever, she doesn’t “go off” like the hazbin Twitter says, she just stands there and then tries to say something only to get interrupted again and again and then gets pushed out of the meeting room before going back to the hotel to see it’s spread across in the news that the next extermination happens in 6 months.

Now although one might argue “Well didn’t Charlie at one point said in the show that giving orders is so mean?” Well yes but again, Charlie is literally the princess of pride ring, you would think that since her parents are literally rulers of pride, they would’ve probably teach her how to stand on her two feat, especially if your RUNNING A HOTEL. And the thing is, she has stood up and did so in episode 6 and the goddamn pilot (which is at this point is probably canon due to Charlie calling it the hazbin hotel instead of happy hotel), even going as far as to fight Katie Killjoy because she thought it was stupid.

Not only that but the episodes after overture, her screen time lessens until somewhat in 5 and 6. She doesn’t really appear that much in the between these episodes to the point where she feels like a supporting character rather than a protagonist. And when she does get screen time, she’s either forgettable at best and infuriating at worst.

> Charlie’s character is poorly written and just dumb.

In the episodes past overture, she’s literally rock solid stupid that I literally screamed in real life multiple times “you’re a fucking idiot” because of how frustrated I was from what she was doing, In episode 2 she literally trusted sir pentious to go to her hotel even though he almost destroyed her place and in episode 6 thought it was a hunky dory idea to let a person who literally exploded buildings to take charge of giving her employees a “good time”. Yes it could be played off as her being naive but if she’s that naive of a person then maybe she shouldn’t be a boss of a hotel to rehabilitate sinners.

Heck, in episode 4, Charlie gets pissed off and turns into her demon form because val literally started hurting Angel when he followed him into the room (and rightfully so) but when angel tells her to leave and drags her out of the studio, she’s just in her normal form and fucks off??? Reminder she’s literally the princess of hell! She could beat the shit out of val if she wants to, why did she just fucked off after angel had her leave?

“But Kat, what if something bad happens to angel if valentino dies?” Like what? If it was explained that if an overlord dies then the sinners that made a deal with them die too or something like that then yeah, that would make sense but we don’t know that whether or not that’s the case, if anything angel could be just fine after Valentino dies but we don’t know that.

And even when Charlie had the opportunity to go out there and apologize to him herself after he stormed out of the hotel, she and Vicky just send Husk to do it. And I have to ask, WHY? HUSK didn’t know what was happening to Angel earlier. HUSK wasn’t at the porn studio that Angel was working at. CHARLIE WAS….

“Well Kat, what if Charlie was scared about making things worse?” Fair enough, but again sending Husk is a stupid idea, I feel like it would’ve AT LEAST made sense if she sent Vicky out there. Because Charlie didn’t know if husk could fight (if you could even call it that, all he did was throw cards at people), BUT SHE KNEW VICKY COULD THOUGH. But nah we gotta do it for the ship right?

And then Charlie had the gull to be crying that angel forgave her after she fucked up, like shut the fuck up… it’s like if viv looked at a bunch of chars that had the optimistic care-free ‘ish personality and thought that meant making her as pathetic as a baby crying that they didn’t get a lollipop from their mommy.

Like I’m gonna be honest with you, it’s literally gone to a point where I think Orel Puppington (aka the 11 yo Christian kid who worships Jesus and gets harmful lessons from other Christians) makes a better Charlie Morningstar than the Charlie Morningstar herself!

And that thought is justified when he tried to go help people in Sinville, “Kat he ended up turning into a pimp at the end of the episode” yeah but AT LEAST HE TRIED TO ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING! Which leads me to another question….

> How is Charlie gonna redeem sinners exactly???

Like honestly, I’m serous with this one. How is Charlie gonna redeem these guys?

I ask this because in the series, she barely does ANYTHING to help these guys, she and the rest of the characters just sit around and then do an activity that is the equivalent of something you would do in kindergarten except it’s with ADULTS.

I don’t know about you but If your idea of helping people is doing just that and nothing else, then the only thing the people around you are gonna get is them being annoyed at first and eventually walking out with thinking your not helping them but rather just treating them like a baby who doesn’t know anything, and the only thing your gonna get personally is nothing because you did dick all.

Like other than that she pretty much just whines about sinners not going to her hotel and oh gee I wonder why, it’s not like your not doing anything to help these sinners not committing sins anymore, oh definitely not, your absolutely being helpful.

“Oh but Kat! Charlie was born in hell, how can she know how to help people? She’s not from the human world so, she wouldn’t exactly know how to help these people!” I would tell you to look at the world building for the series and it’s spin off but that’s a whole other can of beans that I don’t wanna cover today and this is already getting to long, so y’know what? We’ll go with that.

If Charlie didn’t know how to help people and was trying to figure out what she can do to help sinners get better, then why didn’t she just ask her employees for suggestions? Y’know, the other sinners who were from the human world and had experiences while they were alive and such?

Yeah, I get that not all of their advice would be exactly good or healthy (since they’re sinners who’ve done many bad things after all) BUT ITS AT LEAST SOMETHING FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!

She literally does nothing, she just expects you to immediately get better after some improvisations or whatever other activities she does and once you’ve done one nice thing then boom you’re close to redemption.

> Conclusion.

Charlie Morningstar is (like I said in the beginning) probably one of the worst characters in the hazbin hotel series, she at best a stereotype of the “everything is sunshines and rainbows” character tropes and at worst is a pathetic excuse of a main character and is nothing but a rotten shell of her character from the pilot.

I would go on about how her design’s also bad but I’m sure millions of people have already said the same issues and I’ve already posted my redesign of her before the show dropped.

I might plan on posting a rewrite of her or maybe explain my problems with another character or episode but I don’t know.

But until then, I’ll see y’all later!

#hazbin critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel charlie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #Kat’s rants #rant post #hazbin critique #hazbin criticism #hazbin charlie #charlie magne #watch as I get hate on this post and get called an anti #like I genuinely feel like that’s gonna happen but idc

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kiyo-cant-write · 1 month ago

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Heyya saw you're open, so I would like to request my favorite character. Seeing how I saw you write the guy.

I've been seeing a lot of RSA!Silver. So it's about Silver and MC/Yuu still not in relationships. Then some shenanigans happen. Where there's RSA version Silver shows up(temporary). I'm sure he's still the same. But, RSA!Silver is more up front showing affection to Yuu but Silver is not. It ends up confusing Yuu's feelings and makes Silver try his best to show his affection too. It's making RSA!Silver and Silver fighting over Yuu. Hopefully no problem.

RSA!Silver (Magic) VS NRC!Silver (Canon) ✧･ﾟ

Thank you for requesting! You're actually my first request on this blog! Congrats on that, anon! I love Silver so I hope I did this prompt justice! Enjoy! I tried my best for this ^^ !!

This is headcanons and a mini scenario. I don't take fic requests at the moment, and this is the length they max out at. Sorry if it's considered short!

TW/CW: None

Notes: established crushes, Silver/Reader not yet together, gender neutral reader, they/them pronouns for the reader, there are two Silvers lmao, reader is Yuu/Ramshackle Prefect

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Silver

Silver doesn't realize what is happening at first, to be honest.

He barely realizes he has feelings for [Name] yet and it's so off his radar that there could be another him.

He never could have imagined this.

He doesn't notice RSA!Silver until his [Name], who is already down bad for Silver, points out the situation, making it so obvious he can't ignore it.

It's almost sad that Silver doesn't realize [Name] likes him.

Though, [Name] doesn't point out Silver #2 so much as spend time with him only for Silver Prime to find them together.

Now he's confused. Why does that guy look like him?

Who the heck is this guy?

Is there magic at work here? (Yes, probably).

Silver is quick to jump into action, thinking he is "protecting" his crush from dangerous magic, he doesn't intend to make them mad. He doesn't understand why he jumps into action so quickly. [Name] is not his master, Malleus-sama is!

[Name] doesn't like that two Silvers are fighting, however. (Keep in mind that they are sword fighting, it's not exactly SAFE)

RSA!Silver is soft and sweet, always smiling and wanting to talk to [Name] or spend time with them. He's done nothing wrong!

[Name] finds it a bit jarring that RSA!Silver is so... radiant.

He is many words that [Name] thought only applied to Pomefiore.

Silver, after being told not to fight, sits down at the table with them.

He is trying his very best not to nod off.

He doesn't realize why this makes him annoyed.

[Name] is living both a fantasy and a nightmare, terrified about what might have caused this but enjoying two Silvers.

The peace doesn't last, however, because now there's tension.

Ultimately the radiant Silver disappears without a trace and [Name] opts to not tell a teacher if only to avoid more work for themselves since they already handle most school issues.

Silver uses the aftermath to make the most boyish confession.

"[Name], I don't think I liked you spending time with... shiny me..."

Also, yes, that is what Silver 2: The Silvering gets called, any assortment of weird nicknames.

Silver was not bothered by it, initially. He was calmed down after he was assured the other Silver was not dangerous (and after being told that sword fighting on campus was against the rules)...

But now? Now it was beginning to annoy him. A sharper feeling than when he wanted to scold Sebek for some kind of misbehavior toward the NRC student body, he felt a slight urge to throttle this man who looked like himself.

It was startling, actually, Silver never expected to see such a radiant version of himself, a young man with his same silver hair and unique eye color who was smiling brightly and happily chatting with [Name].

He wasn't sure how to feel about it. How does one respond?

"[Name].." he said, calling out to them.

There was no response.

He knew it was from the distance but something about it felt personal to him and it made his skin crawl. Why was [Name] paying so much attention to this other person? This person looked like him. He heard them comment about that very thing. So why did they choose this over the real thing? It was.... confusing.

He wanted to ask his father about it but the older fae was in a meeting in Malleus' place, likely off somewhere with Headmaster Crowley and the other housewardens.

"[Name]," Silver said again, a bit more volume added to his statement as he walked closer to the table where they sat, "I was looking for you."

"Silver!" [Name] said as they whipped around to look at him.

He didn't know who the professors had told about the incident where this other Silver showed up, but he was certain that [Name] knew it was not him... while it was still technically him, he supposed.

"Hello."

He greeted them in a deadpan tone as he sat down at the table with them, a serious expression gracing his features. The expression was opposite the glittering one the other Silver wore.

"It's so funny to see you two next to each other," [Name] laughed.

"Is it?" Silver questioned, raising a brow.

"I think it's funny too," the other Silver said, "But I am glad I got to meet you, [Name]. You're as lovely as any princess."

"Oh?" [Name] responded, face flushing at the compliment, "Thank you..."

Silver felt annoyance bubble in him, a vein about to pop on his forehead as he thought about it longer. Why was this version of him acting this way? He wanted to be the one to speak to [Name] during this free period. He did not need this.... this imposter here.

"!!!!"

His own thoughts startled him. Was he really so angry?

"Silver, what's wrong?" [Name] asked him.

"Nothing to worry about," he assured them.

"Are you certain you're alright? Do you need help?" the other Silver asked, a worried expression showing he was genuinely concerned.

"I am... fine," Silver told his other self.

[Name] returned to their conversation with the other Silver who was returning their comments with flowery words and compliments, the kind of language that Silver himself was often incapable of. It made something inside of him twist.

"You're the most beautiful person I have ever met, [Name]," the other Silver told them, "If you would let me, I would ask you to—"

A hand covered the other Silver's mouth. It was the true Silver.

"That is enough out of you," Silver said through slightly gritted teeth.

"Mnnfgph?" the other Silver managed.

"[Name], if you would excuse us, I think I am going to see if Professor Crewel has any updates about this situation."

It was said formally as if he was speaking to Master Malleus.

"Silver—" [Name] began, but Silver was already dragging the other Silver away, "I guess he has things to do..."

Silver and [Name] need to talk but that will happen later, we suppose.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

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think-like-a-poet · 3 months ago

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Do you do headcanons?

If so, can I request f2 headcanons, like ollie and victor martins

Headcanons

f2 edition

Let me know if you want an other driver

I dont know a lot about martins, so not all drivers would have the same head canons.

Ollie Bearman

Foto's you would take while dating them

What makes them blush

Ollie is a tall person, the height difference between you two is something he always loves. How you look at your beautiful eyes as you talk to him. But mostly, when you grab his Collar of his shirt to pull him down to kiss, or your arms around his neck, he turns into a blushing mess.

Favorite kind of quality time

Ollie liked to just do anything with you. A romantic candle light dinner or a movie night in bed, anything is good. Even the boring things, like grocery shopping, are nice as long as he has you in his presence. He walks grab your hand and let you guide him trough the store while he has to grab the things on the higher shelves for you.

Realize the were in love/ First time I love you

It was after the first race you attened that Ollie knew he wanted it more often. Your presence felt normal and confronting to have. He needed you by his side the whole weekend and when he wasn't it felt empty. That night when you were sutting in the hotelroom enjoyimg some roomservice, those three words sliped out of his mouth. Did he plannee it to be more romantic, yes, but it was perfect for you.

Meeting their family

You met his father when Ollie did his debut in Jeddah at the start of the 2024 season. Your relationship was still quite new and with all the traveling he did and your school, there wasn't much free time. When he got called to fill in for Carlos Sainz, you weren't going to miss that. It was awkward meeting his dad for the first time like this, but it helped as you were both nervous the whole race. After you went back to England with them and met the rest.

Can they cook

Ollie knows how to cook some basics, like pasta and eggs, but everything with more then three ingredients needs a little help.

"Love, can you help?" ollie yells softly through the hotel room as he stands in front of the stove.

You hurry off from the couch towards the kitchen. The stove was filled with milk and Ollie looked confused while holding the pan into the air. "It just exploded." he says and you laugh at his stament

"you have to keep stirring it and always look out. When milk boils it spills over the pan." you say as you put out the stove to let it cool of and take the pan from his hand to put it under water.

"I see that now."

Love language

His love languages is definitely quality. Being away all the time is difficult and he loves spending his free time with you. It doesn't matter if it is a fancy date, or a lazy night on the couch, as long as it is with you it is perfect.

Perfect date

On the first date Ollie took you to the arcade. It was really nice. You spend the day enjoying the games, while getting to know each other. He helped you score some points with basketbal, as he is taller and easier to reach the basket.

"Here, let me help you," ollie said while standing behind you. A blush spread over youe fave drom the thouch of his finger on your side and arm.

" you have to put your hands in a triangle," you did what he said and after some more tries you got the Ball inside the net.

" See i knew you could do it."

Gift giving

On your first date, Ollie gave you a bear stuffed animal, wich you later named, bear, kind of basic but fitting. He said he would be with you, even when he was away. You loved it, and every race weekend you couldn't attend, you and Bear were seated on the couch while cheering for him.

Victor Martins

Foto's you would take while dating them

What makes them blush

You and Victor have a little language barrier sometimes, ( if you speak french, you don't ;:) ) Sometimes he doesn't know the English words for something and says it in French. You have picked up some words, mostly the nicknames he would call you. in the beginning he called you cherie and bebe, but that changed to mon Cherie or mon amour for most of the time. Once when he came home from a training, you let the nickname slip out

Victor opened up the door to your apartment, seeing you seated on the couch.

"Hello, Cherie. How was training?" you walked up to him to give him a kiss. His head shot up bu the sound of the name as a bright blush spread around his cheeks.

he looked you into the eyes, before saying, "say it again."

you smirk at the effect it has on him as you walk closer to him,"Cherie'

"Putain, I love when you speak french." he kisses you deeply.

Favorite kind of quality time

Victor is someone who waork out a lot. Not only for his job, but he likes the morning runs. When he is at home he trains in the livingroom as you sit on the couch and try to not look at his shirless chest. Between his sets you keep him company with little conversations. He likes it. It makes the training go faster and after wards he could take you into the shower with him.

Love language

Gift giving, victor would always get you a little something when he was away with racing. Sometimes it was a local food product, if it wouldn't expire fast, or a Magnet for on the fridge. You liked them and have kept all of them since his f3 days.

Perfect date/ Gift giving

You attended the Australian grand prix, cheering for your boyfriend from his garage. It was a good weekend for him scoring points in both the sprint race and feature race. Afterwards he took you to a zoo, and got you a koala stuffed animal. You spent the whole day admiring animals together and it was a great day.

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kyanitedragon · 6 months ago

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I think the misconception that Touka isn't feminine comes from the fact that the original Tokyo Ghoul is told in Kaneki's POV.

(Seriously. When you read the manga and force yourself out of that mindset, you realize a LOT of different things.)

Because its through Kaneki's POV, we have a very specific introduction to Touka.

We see her briefly in her sweet waitress act, then glaring when Rize lures Kaneki...

...and then we officially meet her when Kaneki's having a breakdown and they yell at each other,

and then again when she beats up Nishiki and forces being a ghoul on Kaneki and having another nasty argument.

Through Kaneki, time and again, we see Touka as this loud, violent, informal ghoul girl.

It takes her a while to like Kaneki, and even then she doesn't let him know that. She doesn't let him see that side of her. It's subtle and hard to see - literally kept to the background at times. Look at that little fond smile!!

But remove Kaneki entirely from the situation for a moment. Look at Anteiku when he's not around. Before they met.

It's not that Touka's informal. It's not that she never uses honorifics. It's that she doesn't think age alone should warrant them. She uses them for people who she respects.

Yoshimura? Koma? Irimi? Yomo? Ryoko? Uta? Itori? She calls them all -san respectfully.

Look at how cute and happy she is to see Ryoko at the start of the series!

It's literally just Kaneki, Nishiki, and Tsukiyama who she doesn't use honorifics for, and then Hinami because she's younger and they're friends. She even uses the cute nickname Hina.

Everyone calls her by the cutesy honorific Touka-chan, and she's never been shown to mind it. Even at the start when Kaneki was only ever pissing her off.

And her violence? Kaneki was being rude to her, so she lashed out. Ryoko died and Hinami was in danger, so she lashed out. But if you saw her on a good day, a normal day, when nothing awful was happening? When no one was pissing her off? She wouldn't be violent. She wouldn't be rude. Sassy and playful, maybe, but not rude.

Take another look at her in Chapter 116, when she's not around Kaneki or Nishiki to rile her up. Just speaking to Yoshimura.

Not too much unlike her personality in :re, huh?

Or look at any of her scenes alone with Hinami, like chapter 22 or 89.

Touka likes rabbits. She has a rabbit mask that is canonically based on an in-universe series.

She has a bunch of rabbit plushies in her home.

She has a lot of potted plants.

She likes going to the zoo and seeing the animals with Yoriko.

Remember this scene? Of Yoshimura gently advising Kaneki to not judge ghouls? I think this can also be said for not judging Touka as a person. I mean, look at her here! Gently letting a butterfly land on her as she relaxes on her balcony surrounded by her potted plants! A complete 180 from what we've seen of her before this moment.

She has a rough and tomboyish side, yes, but she's also incredibly girly and feminine. And I really love that about her, that she's both at the same time. It's not a contradiction. Ishida lets her be both, and he always has. We see a little more of her rough side in the original, and a little more of her soft side in :re, but they've both always been there and always will be.

#tokyo ghoul #touka kirishima #tg meta #tg

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ryo-apologist · 8 months ago

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Racer! Link

Racer! Link x Reader

CW: Smut, Minors DNI, I will block your ass, author knows nothing about racing and it shows

AN: Yes, this is about that Link. The one with the elf ears, says "Hyah!". Yeah I'm a Linked Universe Nerd. Sucks to be y'all. Keep ya guessing on which fandom has my balls this week.

~Darling XOXO

☾ So, I hesitated writing this for a number of reasons, but I decided I don't care. Hozier has a new song, April has me face down in the mattress with how hard it's fucked me and I just want to write about a Link near and and dear to my heart.

☾ Mario Kart Link.

☾ He's just a silly lil goober who's always having a good time. Especially when I play as him because what is second place? He'll never know.

☾ I know, canonically, both are Skyward Sword! Link and Breath of the Wild! Link. I do not care.

☾ Because come with me, sinner, as we explore a whole new world. A world where Mario Kart isn't a silly lil game. It's an empire.

☾ Like Fast and the Furious (I think, idk I never watched any of them). OR like sk8 the infinity at S. I do know that one.

☾ There are real things at stake here. It's intense, and it's heavy.

☾ Here, give me a break while I do some worldbuilding here. Mystery blocks are still a thing, they work by magic idk, except getting hit by one of those things is devastating. It's why the newcomers don't last long.

☾ All the main screen players (Mario, Luigi, Bowser, Inkling boy, etc.) are high level racers. They are A-listed and the ones you look out for if you see them in the lineup.

☾ Including Link himself. He drives a motorcycle he named Epona, which he built himself from scratch.

☾ I spent a lot of time (three minutes) trying to figure out a clever nickname for him, and then I saw some of the names other people gave their Linksona's and, while there's nothing wrong with them, I quickly realized I was overthinking things.

☾ It's mostly a stage name, his name is Link and outside of the raceway, he goes by it.

☾ But, for shits and giggles, and point of discerning him from the others, I don't care. Call him ratchet, greaser, racer, cypher, tank, axel, sparks. I'm giving you all the freedom! Me? Personally? I'm going to call him:

☾ Neo- a combining form meaning “new,” “recent,” “revived,” “modified,”

☾ Great I gave you some background, let's get into the fun parts.

☾ Neo, where do we begin with you.

☾ Have y'all read A Court of Mist and Fury? You know Rhysand?

☾ He's Cassian coded.

☾ LMAO You thought.

☾ He's a fun, kind-of guy but when shit gets real, he can shift from zero to a hundred like that.

☾ He'll be laughing with a newbie, patting them on the shoulder, but the second that visor comes down, he's unrecognizable. He's an A-lister for a reason.

☾ He's infamous for taking shortcuts that are insanely dangerous. He's almost always bandaged somewhere, but not his pretty boy, play bunny face.

☾ So Cassian and Lightning McQueen.

☾ He's totally the kind to shoot a wink and a flirty wave, spend the night and then be gone by morning. Or have them escorted out by his Zelda in the morning, Tony Stark style

☾ He's a slut.

☾ Can you tell I like my men slutty?

☾ And he's such a....character in bed.

☾ He's a selfish lover, but make no mistake about it. His partner gets their end. That's right. I said lover. He's fucked bowser.

☾ I'm kidding

☾ No I'm not.

☾ He doesn't care who's in his bed. Man, woman, the funky others who say FUCK YOU to the gender spectrum /pos

☾ He'll bottom, top, switch it up mid-way through. He just like me fr.

☾But he's not lazy. Selfish, yes, but lazy? No. He's the best rider both on and off Epona, yk yk.

☾ And he has such a pretty cock too. A pretty flushed pink, circumcised with such a lovely vein running up the bottom of it. And while pretty, sorry his balls aren't much to write home about.

☾ They are dangerously sensitive though. Suck on them and run your thumb along the head of his dick and he'll whimper.

☾ SPEAKING OF-

☾ He whimpers so nicely. God, when he's in the middle of bouncing up and down on you (artificial or organic both are good), and his own hands are running up his chest, plucking at his own pebbled nipples and playing with the piercings as his head is thrown back in pure bliss-

☾ He's probably sponsored by Monster Energy

☾ Has a sugar daddy FOR SURE. God wish I was HIM.

#darling writes #legend of zelda #legend of zelda x reader #loz x reader #Linked universe x reader #lu x reader #linked universe #link x reader #mario kart link x reader #loz link x reader #legend of zelda link #if this has been done before...#my bad #im sorry

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earthearthearththearth · 1 year ago

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Third date head canons! Like when you know it’s ‘for sure’

When The Mercs Know It's For Sure(TF2)

Includes: The Mercs, Miss Pauling notes:Yes, squeet is a kurtis conner reference

🛠Engineer- Bringing out all those nicknames. Darling, sweetheart, love, honey. Yeah. He likes to be sure of his feelings before getting with someone and honey, he is SURE. I think that for a third date, like most of them it would be very casual. Sometimes he likes to sing some songs for the mercs, mostly just pyro, heavy, and demo because the rest ‘got better things to do’. He specifically tells you about it this time. Usually if you show up it’s because you over hear. He’d sing a few ditties, but since is he corny-comes from being a country guy, zing, he sings a song you can’t quite ping as a love song. If you do manage to pick up on that, who knows if it’s to you. But you know for sure when he ends up asking you to be official a little while later when it’s just you two

🔥Pyro-I don’t imagine Pyro to take you out on “real” dates. He asks you to come along with him on missions and just anything he decides to do. Or he asks(or doesn’t) to follow you around. So the ‘third date’ is just normal to you. He looks at you a lot. Just sits and stares. At first it scares you a little. Just big..black..voids..staring…into..your…soul. You ask him what the deal is sometimes and he just laughs or shakes his head like you wouldn’t get it. You like Pyro, but these signs you’re getting could literally mean anything. So you ask the one person who can understand him, Engie, who says Pyro’s just head over heels for you. You ask Pyro if this is true, who is a bit flustered that you told someone about it, even if Engie already knew. I think Pyro signs sometimes, so you two have a little conversationa and whabam. Yall get together

⚾Scout-So he’s like…quieter and somehow more talkative? A lot of “Uh Yeah, that’s stupid”s. You tell him you’re listening, but it’s a lost cause. When he’s not packing his little knapsack and walking away sadly, he calls you “toots”. Lots of that. Still lots of flexing both his skills at picking things up or his little noodly arms. The date isn’t a prom this time, but very reminiscent of Spy’s teachings since there aren’t any giant bread monsters to save you from. Unless…no. Too risky. The date is literally just a set up to ask you out.

“Sure are a lot of stars out tonight.”

“Kinda cloudy..”

“Nah, look, there’s one!”

“Scout, that’s a plane.”

“Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky-”

Turns out the plane is an enemy plane about to bomb the base. You both die immediantly.

Kidding, he just is kinda like “So…I’m kinda into you?” So of course you tell him you know, and end up asking him out instead.

🦅Soldier- A date for him is breaking the necks of anyone who dare disrespect america. Kilometer? He only knows squeet. But if you don’t feel like breaking the neck of your local Australian, then there’s other fun activities to do. Like fighting bears or getting naked and covering yourself with honey. Or perhaps you want to go break open a beehive to get said honey. No? Jesus, lot of fun you are. The date is just a plan then. Get out the blueprint, plan for the next mission, which will probably be one of the previously mentioned activities. Since you’re helping the planning stage, it’ll probably be easier to convince him to let you stay out of all that. I don’t know how he’d ask you out. He’d probably just announce that he has an s/o now and you’re like “this is news”. But since you’re here, you’re probably cool with it.

🗡Spy-Yes his dates are elaborate and fun and fancy, however him asking you to be official is not as much. When he realizes he knows that you and him are For Sure, he is flustered by you. Spy may be suave and French, but he is very easily flustered if you can outdo him with words, and do not let him forget it. Not that you could. The third date is set up by him. He makes a little spot in his smoking room for you two and cooks up something you probably can’t pronounce. You find the intimacy a little strange, and before now you couldn’t tell if he actually liked you or was just playing around. But now, with this whole set-up made by him, you knew. He gives you a little necklace, something simple but clearly expensive. With that, he finally pops the not-marriage question, but gosh does it feel like it.

💉Medic-So he gives you the Blu medic’s heart. It’s in a nice little box, and the next time you visit his office he hands it to you. This is because it’s the closest he can get to his own heart. He tried. Unfortunately during this he almost died, so the Blu heart is the closest you get. His plan was to have you guys dig it out together, but he is very particular. He can’t have his love get in the way of science. Hopefully you appreciate it because you are very special to him! Maybe he’ll let you dissect it for fun and definitely because he doesn’t have some strange feelings about seeing you covered in blood commiting atrocious acts.

💣Demoman-So the first few dates were not getting shitfaced, but now that it’s the third, he’s gonna take you to where he spends a fair majority of his time. Having a teleporter makes traveling real easy, but he figures it’s a bit more romantic to drive. So he takes you with him to drive to a little hole-in-the-wall bar, the only one around. It starts out rather calm, but eventually he gets shitfaced and real clingy. You drink some, but yall need a designated driver that can at least see straight. You guys probably fall asleep in the car in the parking lot, but you know. Sometimes it��s like that. When you guys finally wake up and discuss what you can remember, he says he loves you. Aw.

🦘Sniper-Everyone on this list is a little weirdo and he is no exception. The date isn’t a date. He’s not a date guy. Maybe he picks you up a flower or rock he sees poking out of the desert, but that’s it. It’s the thought that counts. So the ‘third date’ is probably really early in the morning when you two cross paths. He says something like, “I was thinking you and I could get together for a while.” And you ask how long a while is, which results in “I dunno, I just like you”. Sweet. Yeah he’s uh. Not the most romantic guy around, but he tries.

🐻Heavy-A bit more romantic. The third date is just the two of you. He asks if you’d like to cook together which you accept, knowing he won’t blow the kitchen up. It’s calm and quiet. Until Pyro decides he wants to use the oven and yall gotta practically shoo him out with a broom. What’s cookin is good lookin’. It is looking good. You guys win! I think you’d end up asking Heavy out because he is very patient and doesn’t want to put pressure on you since it is a war that you two are in still.

👓Miss Pauling-The same as the first. If she’s going out with you on one date, then she’s probably into you a lot. One day off a year, you know? So you two would just hang out. She’d be like really nervous for some reason-you had noticed it before but she seems kind of stand-offish. You ask her what’s up, prompting her to tell you a jumble of sort-of words that you finally make out to be a confession.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #headcanons #tf2 x reader #x reader #tf2 demoman #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #miss pauling #tf2 miss pauling #pyro tf2 #tf2 pyro #tf2 spy #tf2 medic #tf2 soldier #tf2 headcanons #tf2 heavy

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vodika-vibes · 15 days ago

Note

You mentioned posdibly doing a Kit x Reader x Monnk, where Kit is a Sith Lord trying to corrupt Young Jedi Knight Reader, and decides to do that by seducing the reader with the help of Monnk.

If it's no trouble, can I request that you write that, please?

Beauty's Wicked Wiles

Summary: Being a Jedi with the Galaxy the way that it is, is hard. It’s so hard. But you like to think it’s worth it. At least, that’s what you think right up until you realize that you’re being courted by a Sith Lord and his right hand.

Pairing: Sith! Kit Fisto x Jedi F!Reader x Purge Commander!Monnk

Word Count: 2840

Warnings: Reader gets injured

A/N: So this is kind of a flip to canon Star Wars. So everyone who was a Jedi is now a sith, and all of the Sith are now Jedi. This story has been done for several days now, and I'm pretty sure that it's not 100% what you wanted, but I'm so bad at writing seduction. Anyway, I hope you like it.

Click HERE to be added to my Taglist

“Why are you so damned cheerful?” You ask, grouchily, at the much taller man standing across from you. The much taller man who’s wielding a red lightsaber that, you’re pretty sure, is taller than you are.

“What’s there to not be cheerful about?” Sith Lord Kit Fisto asks as he twirls his blade with an expert precision that makes you want to shove said lightsaber up his ass. Sideways.

“You’re the embodiment of pure evil! You’re not allowed to be cheerful!” Okay, yes. That’s a child’s way of looking at things, but damn it, you’ve been trapped on this hell hole of a planet for weeks, you’re soaked, and freezing and you just want to go home, but you can’t because the Jedi don’t have a home and it’s all his fault.

…well, maybe not his fault, personally, but right now you’re in such a foul mood you’re inclined to blame him for everything, including inflation.

“I think our Dove is feeling a bit grumpy, General.” You twitch when you hear Commander Monnk’s voice from the left. You’re not going to look at him, because he’ll have that stupid smile on his face, and you’ll stop being angry when you see it.

Stupid charming Monnk and his stupid charming face.

“Are you cold, Dove?” Kit asks, sounding genuinely concerned, “I have a nice warm jacket you can use.”

“I’m fine!” Though you might as well be talking to a brick wall for all the good it does when a massive jacket gets flung over your head. “I think I hate you.” You mumble to the jacket.

“There you go! Go ahead and put it on, Dove!”

For a moment, you consider throwing the jacket into the river next to you. There’s nothing wrong with being a little petty, right? Only just as you think that, you shiver violently.

Dying from pettiness would be so in character for you, but also so embarrassing.

So, grudgingly, you pull the jacket on over your robes.

It swallows you whole.

“...it’s too big.” Of course it is, the jacket was made for a Nautolan man, not a human female. You won’t be able to fight while wearing this thing.

Plus, and worst of all, you can feel Kit and Monnk smothering their desire to call you cute. As if the humiliating nickname of Dove wasn’t bad enough.

“I’m leaving,” You announce, before you point your unlit, lightsaber at Kit, “Don’t follow me.” And then you turn to point at Monnk, “You either.”

“But what if you fall and get hurt?” Monnk asks.

“Then let me die in a ditch.”

“Nonsense! We’ll come with you!” Kit says cheerfully, “Just to your ship.”

“Absolutely not!” You’re going to lose this argument. Just like the last one. And the one before that. And every single verbal altercation you’ve ever gotten into with Kit and Monnk.

Kit and Monnk have been enamored with you since the day they first met you. That same day is the day you were christened with the nickname Dove, and they’ve been haunting you ever since.

And, although they both have completely different morals than you, you’ve never felt like you were in danger from them. You once got overwhelmed while on a mission, and Kit and Monnk came to your rescue.

They’re…horrifically confusing. And you wish that Master Dooku would do something about it. But he won’t, claiming that Kit and Monnk are not a real threat to you, so his hands are tied.

You take a step back, being careful to not step on the hem of the jacket. Tripping would just be too humiliating.

Later, you wouldn’t be able to explain what happens next. Maybe it’s the cold. Or the exhaustion. Or maybe you’re just not paying attention. Because the next thing you know the ground crumbles beneath your feet.

What you do remember is the way your stomach drops as the sinkhole appears beneath your feet and you start to fall. You remember the realization that you’re too tired to catch yourself. And you remember hearing two voices calling your name as you fall.

Funnily enough, the last real thought you have is being surprised that they remember your real name.

Luckily enough, you don’t remember the fall…or hitting the bottom.

“She’s going to be pissed that we brought her here,” Monnk says from where he’s sitting next to a bacta tank, his eyes not once leaving the young woman floating in the bacta.

The blue of the bacta makes her look sickly, but he can’t seem to bring himself to tear his gaze away from her.

What had started as a, slightly ridiculous, plan to coax a young Jedi knight into falling to the dark side and joining them, has grown into something real. Something important.

The memory of her falling into that sinkhole is going to haunt his nightmares for years.

“It’s not as if the people of the planet we were on were going to help her,” Kit says from where he’s sitting on a bed across the room. Monnk doesn’t even have to look at him to know that his General hasn’t taken his eyes off their Dove. “She’ll get over it.”

Monnk hums in agreement. Their Dove is a bit stubborn, she might not forgive them. But so long as she’s alive to be angry, then he doesn’t care. “Her robes made her look bigger than she is.” He notes, his gaze dropping to her stomach, where he can see her ribs.

He hears Kit move on the bed, “The Jedi are starving.” His General doesn’t sound happy about that, and Monnk thinks he understands. This…whatever it is, that exists between the Jedi and the Sith is no longer open hostility, so much as a slightly hostile rivalry.

The Sith don’t actually want the Jedi to die out. As Kit once explained it, they’re two halves of the same coin. If the Jedi die out, then so will the Sith. One can’t exist without the other.

Balance in all things, Kit once said with a solemn nod. The Jedi run the various Corps, after all. AgriCorps, MediCorps, EduCorps, ExploraCorps. Without the Jedi, all four organizations will collapse, and then the Galaxy will tumble back to the dark ages.

Monnk’s gaze drifts across his Dove’s body for a moment, even in bacta she’s still covered in bruises. “She’s going to be alright, right?”

“Yes. She is.” Kit sounds so sure, that Monnk is almost positive that he’s trying to convince himself of that fact. “Our Dove is a fighter,” He hears Kit get off the hospital bed, and so doesn’t even twitch when heavy hands land on his shoulders, “Will you stand watch?”

“That’s a stupid question, Kit.”

The Sith laughs and Monnk feels lips against the top of his head, “I know, but I had to make sure that someone I trust will be watching over her.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to send a message to Dooku to inform him of what happened.” Kit shrugs, “And ask if they need more food or medical supplies.”

“He won’t accept the help.”

“He might if I phrase it as helping their little ones.” Kit shrugs and then releases Monnk to leave the room, “Comm when she gets pulled from the bacta tank.”

“Yeah, will do,” Monnk replies, and then he’s alone with his Dove. His gaze drags across her pretty face, pretty even with the bruises and gashes marring her features, “You have no idea how much you mean to us, do you?”

All in all, their Dove remains in a Bacta tank for almost two whole weeks, and even after she’s pulled out, she’s still confined to a private medical room due to the severity of her injuries.

Bacta does a lot, but it’s not a miracle worker.

When she finally opens her eyes, Monnk has to fight the urge to fling his arms around her. And even then, he only doesn’t because of the way that Vacc, his younger brother, is glowering at him.

He’s glad he listens to the silent threat when he sees just how much pain she’s still in.

“Hey, Dove,” Monnk’s never seen her with her hair loose. She almost always wears it in a strict braid or knot on the back of her head. Her hair hanging loose makes her look younger, and he can’t help himself from brushing a curl (her hair is curly!) off her cheek.

She doesn’t even seem to have to energy to glare at him for the nickname that he knows she hates.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Her voice is raspy, likely from the ventilator she needed after they pulled her from the sinkhole.

“I’m not surprised, you fell almost 250 feet,” Monnk replies.

“How am I not dead?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. It’s the closest damn thing to a miracle as I’ve ever seen.” Monnk replies. This is…nice. Just talking with her without her throwing insults at him. “Kit will be here soon. He’s been worried.”

“That his favorite punching bag will die?” She sounds bitter about it.

Monnk winces, “Is that how you think we see you?”

She just glares at him, and yeah. Okay. That’s fair. They do tend to go out of their way to bother her.

“That’s not it at all. You’re important to us.”

“Sure.”

The door opens before Monnk can answer. Kit looks around the room, and then beams at her, “Dove! You’re awake!”

She winces away from him, and Kit pauses at the door. The larger man does something to make himself seem smaller, even to Monnk, and their Dove seems to relax slightly on the bed. A force thing, maybe?

“How are you feeling?” Kit continues.

“Bad.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sure that Vacc will get you all patched up.”

“When can I go home?” She asks, and Monnk can almost see when her guard rises. She doesn’t trust him, but she views Kit as an actual threat to her person.

“This is a perfectly acceptable medical facility—”

“I refuse to be indebted to you.” She interrupts, and the room falls silent.

Kit releases a slow breath, “You don’t trust us.”

“No. I don’t.”

Kit watches her for a moment, “We love you.” Monnk knows, immediately, that it’s the wrong thing to say.

Her face twitches, “So what? That’s your problem, not mine.” And then her eyes narrow at him, “Or did you think that saying that would encourage me to join you? That I’m just some vapid girl who’ll fall at the first sign of affection?”

“We never thought that,” Monnk interjects smoothly, “Your independence is one of the things we’re both attracted to.” She turns her glare onto him, and his winces.

This conversation is a damned minefield and he’d like an evac, now, please.

Kit closes his eyes for a moment, “Dooku will be here in a couple of days to pick you up. But we’re not done trying to win you over.”

She scoffs, “I’d like to be alone now.” Neither man moves for a moment, and then Monnk sighs and stands.

“Come on, Kit. I’m sure we have work to do.”

You think it’s kind of scummy that Kit and Monnk are trying to seduce you when you’re still trapped in a hospital bed.

It starts with flowers. Paper flowers, but flowers all the same. Delivered by Monnk with a sheepish smile. He admits that he learned to make them while he was watching over you when you were in the bacta tank.

That night, Kit and Monnk have their dinner in your infirmary room. They bring your favorite food, though you know you haven’t told them what you prefer meal-wise. Kit admits that they were told about your preferences on another planet months ago.

The following morning, Monnk washes and braids your hair for you, even though you tell him he doesn’t have to. Even though you swear you can do it on your own. His touch is so gentle that you find yourself relaxing without meaning to.

Kit eats lunch with you, and much to your surprise, the pair of you spend two hours debating the pros and cons of each other's fighting styles. Kit admits that he finds it impressive that you’ve managed to weave Makashi and Soresu together so smoothly. And you can’t help but ask why he’s chosen to specialize in Form I when there are better combat forms available.

Once again, both Monnk and Kit join you for dinner. Monnk brings a movie that you’ve never seen before. And, though you’d never admit it, it’s a nice night. Kit leaves before Monnk does when a disaster needs his management, and Monnk stays just long enough to tuck a curl behind your ear and offer you a fond smile.

The next day, you sleep through breakfast and lunch, intentionally. You don’t want to give them any more chances to worm their way into your heart. And when Master Dooku appears later than evening, you’ve never been so happy to see the severe man.

Kit and Monnk are much less happy to see you go, but honestly, you’re pretty sure that healing will go so much better when you aren’t anxious about what they’re going to do next.

For some reason, you think that being brought back to the Jedi temple (it’s not a temple, not really) will stop Kit and Monnk from trying to woo you. You’re wrong.

Because the first morning you wake up in your apartment, you get a delivery from them that has a new robe as well as your favorite tea in it, as well as a pair of love letters.

You want to be annoyed, but…as you find yourself reading the letters a third and then a fourth time, you realize that you’re fucked.

But, even that realization isn’t planet-shattering. It’s not like they can make you fall. You have too much self-control for that.

And so, life goes on. You continue getting letters and trinkets, even though you never write back, and your affection for Kit and Monnk keeps growing. But you’re still not concerned, it’s not like you’re going to act on it.

Then, late one evening, while you’re on a mission to the outer rim, you stumble over a scene that changes everything.

It was a relief mission. There was a natural disaster, and you were sent to help look for survivors, as well as help collect the deceased. It was a simple mission, there was no reason for the Sith or their army to be there.

But, as you follow a map that’s supposed to lead you to a compound that was hit especially hard by a mudslide, you come across Kit’s battalion. Kit’s battalion is being attacked by, what looks like, battle droids and soldiers wearing strange armor.

It’s not your business. You’re here to save people.

But you can’t help but move closer to the fight. And you watch, your heart sinking, as Monnk gets knocked to the ground by an assassin droid. By the time the man moves so he’s standing over Monnk, you’re already moving to intervene.

You’re too far away.

You won’t be able to save Monnk.

He’s going to die.

Time seems to slow around you, and you push the force to help you move faster, to help you get to Monnk in time to save him. There’s a flash of orange, as your lightsaber swings wide, cutting the force user in two.

You’re standing over Monnk defensively, your heart racing, and your arms tingling. You don’t know how you got there so fast, it shouldn’t have been possible, and yet you did.

You feel Monnk get to his feet, more than you hear or see it, and you turn your head to look at him. For a moment, he doesn’t move, and then he reaches up and pulls his helmet off, letting it fall to the ground with a thunk.

“Monnk? What—”

His hands are on your cheeks, and he tilts your head back slightly, “Dove, your eyes are yellow.”

You feel a spark of annoyance, he couldn’t even thank you for saving his life? And then his words hit home. You attacked out of fear. Not for yourself, but for another person.

You touched the dark.

You fell.

It wasn’t supposed to be so easy.

“I—” You don’t know what to say, and then it doesn’t matter because Monnk is kissing you, and his lips are warm and surprisingly soft, and you can’t help but respond to the kiss.

“Really, Monnk? In the middle of a battle?” Kit’s voice is light and teasing, and Monnk pulls away from you, a wide grin on his face.

“She saved me, Kit.”

“I saw.” His hand settles on the back of your head, and somehow you’re surprised when his lips settle over yours. Though, at the same time, you’re not surprised at all.

It’s not like Kit, or Monnk, have been subtle about their intentions towards you.

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@trixie2023

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@rebell-ious

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #Jedi Master Kit Fisto x Reader x Commander Monnk #Kit x reader x monnk #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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i-am-adlocked · 3 months ago

Text

Adlock Headcanon

We all know Sherlock's nickname for her is "Woman". But what is Irene's nickname for Sherlock?

Honey.

Hear me out.

Irene has called Sherlock many things: Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Holmes, Sherlock dear, and just Sherlock when she was speaking with John.

But post-hiatus, post-TFP, when he can freely call her up and tell her to spend time with him in 221B, behind closed doors... What does she call him? As an endearment.

At first, I wanted "dear" but I realized she calls people "dear" when she's in Dominatrix mode. When she wants to be dominating.

"Ah, thank you, dear." after literally beating him physically.

"Sherlock dear, tell me what you found when you X-rayed my cameraphone?" after literally beating him emotionally.

And she's not the only one who uses "dear" as a power move or just to manipulate someone. Moriarty does it. "So take this as a friendly warning, my dear, back off." And Mycroft uses it. "And in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has risen."

So, I don't want "dear" as Irene's pet name for Sherlock since in the show, it's used when manipulators try to get something from Sherlock.

And then "darling" came into my mind.

But I just love the thought that "darling" is a Watson thing. Since Mary calls both John and Rosie as "darling." And I just didn't have the heart to give that nickname to anyone else.

Then I thought "honey".

Sure, Moriarty uses it once. "And honey, you should see me in a crown." but it's not in a manipulative way. He's basically just bragging at this point so I don't associate it much with anything bad.

And then...

Canonically in the books, we know Holmes eventually retires to Sussex Downs to be a beekeeper.

In the series, we don't really see Sherlock's love for bees anywhere.

And I just started to think that what if Sherlock's real career goal was to be a beekeeper before all his trauma with Eurus?

Yes, Sherlock has a big sense of justice, and his trauma for losing somebody and the case being forever unsolved, add to that the urge to solve Carl Power's death at the age of 5(?) because his subconscious reminded him of Victor missing and never being found.

What if all of that not happening just let him have the freedom to actually pursue Melittology? That what he always wanted besides being a pirate is to be a beekeeper.

Or what if without the trauma, he still becomes a detective as a part-time job but still a full-time beekeeper because even if he does have a big sense of justice, he's not pushed to the edge of finding the thrill away from drugs because he's not emotionally in pain.

What if no one else knows about that in the BBC universe?

Except Irene.

And she calls him honey because bees make honey. And he's her honey. And it starts out as a joke when she finds out about his love for bees. Because "Didn't John said in his blog that I humanised you somehow?" and Sherlock rolls his eyes and she laughs. And she calls him that ironically until it starts being unironic huhu

Anyway, I'm writing a fic about it literally right now lmao

#sherlock #adlock #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #irene adler #adlock yacht #sherlock bbc

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 months ago

Text

About A Boy: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Dean gets turned back into a teenager and realizes one thing: his Mark is gone. Is this his salvation or his downfall?

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

Life without magic is a lot more difficult than you thought it was going to be. You've become so reliant on it that doing things like shooting a gun and hand-to-hand combat is difficult for you. When you're not out on a hunt, you're in the shooting range practicing or in the gym trying to work on your fighting skills.

That's the one thing the brothers have an advantage over you. They never stopped fighting. The targets you're shooting at are Sam and Dean in your mind. It helps when you picture people you hate. Well, hate implies emotions. You don't hate them. The world would be better off if they died, that's for sure.

Dean tries to stay out of your way as much as he can. He doesn't think he can take any more insults from you. He loves you with all his heart but when you say the shit you've been saying, a piece of his heart gets chipped away. He doesn't want it all gone for when you finally come back.

He's been researching the Mark as much as he can in his free time without you. He doesn't think you'd be too happy if you found out he was looking for a way to get rid of it. All that reading is making his head hurt but he doesn't think it's because of the books. You're inside him somewhere and he hopes that wherever you are, you can hear him.

He stares at himself in the mirror hoping that you can see him.

"Y/N, I don't know if you can hear me but I want you to know I am trying my best. God, I wish you were here. It's been so hard trying to tame this 'other you'. I need help," his voice cracks. "Please get better so I can get better. I need you."

"Hi."

"Hi," you whisper and look at him.

"Look, I'm sorry--"

"No, I'm sorry," you cut him off.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said. I should have never brought up what happened almost five years ago. I want you to know I've completely forgiven you for that whole thing. It was wrong of me to bring it up again."

"I'm sorry for what I said. I think you're the best dad our kids could ever ask for. I know you're scared of the Mark and what it's doing to you, and I used that to hurt you. It was wrong of me."

"Can we forgive each other?"

"On one condition."

"What?"

"You move back in with me. The bed gets lonely without you."

"Deal," he smiles.

Tears fall from Dean's eyes but he only allows himself five minutes to feel this way. Afterward, he wipes all evidence off his face and goes in search of Sam. Before he can leave the room, Sam comes in and sees the research for the Mark on his bed.

"Hey, find anything?"

"No," Dean sighs.

"I caught a case." Sam hands his tablet to Dean so he can read for himself. The headline reads: MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCES BAFFLE POLICE. The most recent victim is a man nicknamed JP. "Apparently something is taking people and leaving their clothes."

"Why don't you check it out? I'll hold down the fort here. Bring Y/N with you, please?"

"Dean, you haven't left the Bunker in a week. You can't live the rest of your life locked up in this room."

"I don't know. They don't call this a Bunker for nothing. It could be worse."

"Look, I know you're worried about the Mark--"

"Yes, Sam, I am. Not only for me but for Y/N, too. Plus, what I did to Charlie--"

"She forgave you, and you weren't the only one who did that. How about you forgive yourself?"

"I'm not exactly batting a thousand here, you know?"

"Yeah, I do know that, but staying locked up in here and sitting on the ground reading the same lore books over and over and over again is not helping you. You need to get back in the game for your own good. You can beat this, Dean."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Look what happened with me, Lucifer, and the Cage. Me being soulless? Me and the trials? We didn't think there was a way out but there was. We beat that. I believe we can beat this, too."

"You also believed in the Easter bunny till you were twelve."

"I was eleven."

"And a half," Dean smirks.

"Yeah, and a half." Sam sighs. "So?"

"Fine. What about Y/N?"

"I already talked to her. She's waiting by the car."

The best person to talk to who might have seen something is a homeless man who hangs out by the bar the most recent person disappeared from. Honestly, you think this guy is just happy to be talking to someone instead of getting weird looks from people passing by.

"I was minding my own business when all of a sudden, there was this bright light! Bam! The dude's hone. There was nothing left but a suit and shoes."

"Did you see anyone else?" Sam asks.

"No, sir, officer."

"What about a chill? Did you smell rotten eggs?"

"What? No, man. I smelled flowers."

"Flowers? What kind?"

"Flowery flowers." You roll your head to the side, bored of talking to this man. "Look. We all know what's going on here, okay?"

"Don't say it," Dean whispers.

"Aliens."

"He said it."

"Yeah, he did," Sam says to his brother.

"The dude was abducted. Believe me, I know. May 2003. Those suckers grabbed me and they probed me everywhere."

"Okay."

You three are already walking away from him but he keeps talking. He eventually stops when he realizes you're too far away and goes about his day with his shopping cart filled with trash.

"Well, the wheels just came flying off the bus," Dean scoffs.

"Yeah, no cold spots means it probably wasn't a ghost. No sulfur means no demons, What does that leave us?"

"A couple of little green dudes and a bucket of lube?"

"Fairies or angels," you say.

"I'd rather have the little green dudes."

"Alright, I'll scope out JP's place. You ask around inside." Dean looks concerned about being left alone and Sam catches on. "Or we don't have to split up."

"No, no, no. It's cool. I can handle a little twenty questions with the locals, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's a dive bar. It's my comfort zone, okay?"

"What about me? You have a habit of telling me where to go so what will it be, sir?" you ask sarcastically.

"You're going with Sam."

Dean leaves before you can even argue. You and Sam get into the car and leave Dean to the dive bar alone. You have no interest in finding out what happened to JP so Sam talks to his landlord while you stay in the car and listen to music. When he comes back, he is on the phone with Dean, you presume.

"How are we looking?"

"Not great. Turns out JP was about three days from getting evicted. His landlord said the guy blasted Neil Diamond 24/7 and that his bathroom was, 'like staring into the Devil's butt'."

"That's vivid."

"It's accurate. I saw it."

"How's Y/N doing?"

"Not saying much. She stayed in the car the whole time. Good thing, too. I don't want to know what she would have said or done in there. Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, I got Jack with two scoops of squat. I don't know, man. I think we ought to just call it a night and, uh—"

Dean immediately stops talking.

"Dean? What?"

"Sammy, I think I got something."

Dean immediately hangs up the phone. Sam knows he has to get back to that dive bar if he's going to help his brother. You turn the music down when Sam gets back inside the car.

"Where are we going now?"

"Dive bar. I think Dean is in trouble."

"So, tell me something, Sam. Why do you care so much?"

"About what?"

"About me. I got nowhere with Dean so maybe I'll try with you. Just let me go. If it weren't for you two, I'd be off on my own enjoying my time in the sun. Why won't you let me?"

"You're my best friend. What kind of friend would I be if I gave up on you?"

"See, there it is. That hidden mystery. There's more to it than that. What aren't you telling me?"

Sam thinks about your kids. Dean wouldn't forgive him if he let something happen to you. He wouldn't forgive himself. Your kids need you to get better. They need to come home. Sam barely looks at you but he doesn't answer the question. You two get back to the bar but Dean is nowhere to be found. You go inside with Sam and he pulls out his phone to call his brother.

Suddenly, you hear his cell phone go off from behind the bar. You look back and see the bartender with Dean's jacket. The bartender pulls his phone out, turns off the ringer, and shoves his phone back into the jacket pocket.

"Hey, buddy? Where did that jacket come from?" Sam asks.

"My Bar Mitzvah." The bartender walks around the bar to clean the counter. "It was a magical night."

You step forward and slam the bartender's head into the bar counter. You hold him there and glare at him. Every bar patron looks to see what's happening but you don't care.

"Wanna try that again?"

"I found it by the dumpster."

"Let him go," Sam says.

You shove off him and snatch the jacket back before leaving the bar with Sam. There are no street lights out here so you have to use your flashlight to be able to see. The only thing you notice by the dumpster are Dean's shoes shoved haphazardly underneath it. Upon closer examination, you also spot his gun. Sam picks it up and wipes some golden dust off it. He smells it and looks at you.

"It smells like flowers."

"Guess that homeless man was onto something."

"Come on."

Since you have no idea where Dean was taken or if he's even okay, the best thing you can do is research the kind of flowers this dust belongs to. If Sam can figure that out, you might be able to track down the person who left it, a.k.a. Dean's kidnapper.

Yarrow is a special yellow flower used for witch spells so along with that, Sam is researching Transfiguration Spells. You're lying on the bed flipping through the channels on the small TV.

"You know, I could use the extra help over here."

"Yeah, and I could use a vacation from you two, but it looks like neither of us is gonna get what we want." Someone knocks on the door and you meet Sam's eyes. "You get it."

Sam rolls his eyes and grabs his gun just in case something monstrous is on the other side of the door. He looks through the peephole but can't see much, so he opens the door just a crack only to see a young boy standing there.

"Can I help you?"

"Hiya, Sammy."

"Dean?"

Dean shoves his way past Sam into the room and you immediately bust out laughing from the state of your husband.

"Shut up," Dean snaps at you.

That only makes you laugh harder. Dean goes into the second bedroom and gets his duffel bag of weapons. Sam is still standing there in shock but manages to close the door. You're almost on the floor from how hard you're laughing.

"W-wait a second. Y-you're a--"

"Uh-huh."

"How?" you giggle.

"No clue." Dean grabs his favorite gun and takes out the magazine to check on it like he always does. "Some scarface-looking dude and bright light." He puts the magazine back in and cocks the gun. "The next thing I know, I wake up looking like Bieber."

"Why would someone turn you into—"

"Don't know." Dean puts his gun under his pants from behind. "Don't care. Hey, do we have any grenades?"

"What?" Dean tries to walk past Sam but the older younger brother isn't having it. "Don't—Wait, wait, wait. Wait a second. Talk to me."

"Really, Sam? Now? If I don't hurry, a girl is going to die. Sorry if I'm not in a chatty mood. Look, you wanted me back in the game so I'm back in the damn game. Come on."

"This is something I gotta see," you grin and grab your jacket.

You and Sam follow Dean out of the motel room. An elderly woman is walking to her room with groceries in her hands but drops her motel key. Dean sees this, stops the woman from picking it up, and grabs it for her.

"Ma'am, let me."

"Your son is so polite," she says to you and Sam.

"Lady, that's my husband," you smirk.

"Get in the car," Sam hisses and pushes you out of the way. "She's kidding." You get in the back while Sam gets in the passenger's seat. "Where are we going?"

"I'll tell you on the way."

Dean moves the seat up since he can't reach the pedals. Sam is squished like an accordion in the front and looks at his brother uncomfortably.

"Okay, okay. Hey, hey, hey, hey. Maybe I should drive?"

"Yeah."

Dean returns the seat back to normal and switches spots with Sam. If you were to drive, you'd drive away from this town and not to where Dean needs to go. When Sam gets on the highway, Dean tells the story of what happened to him. He met a girl inside the bar. Talked to her. Learned a few things about JP. Saw her leave. Saw a creepy man following her out. Confronted the man. Got turned into a teenager. Escaped the house he was in. Now he's gotta save the girl he met. Oh, and he was fed cake.

"Why would they give you cake?" Sam asks.

"I don't know. It wasn't even good cake. Too dry."

"Does this mean you have to go through puberty twice?" you smirk.

"This is no time for jokes!"

"This is the best time for jokes. Are you kidding me?"

"Okay, this is bizarre. Even for us, Dean. This is insane. You're, what, fourteen? How does that even feel?"

"Well, I'm me. Like, old me but as a kid. It's fucking weird, dude. And--"

Dean cuts himself off but Sam's interest is piqued.

"What?"

"There was a Taylor Swift song on the bus that I hopped to the motel, and I liked it, Sam. I liked it a lot." You snicker at this. "My voice is weird, I've got like nine zits, and I have zero control over this." He gestures to his cock. "I look at you, Y/N, and it's just up."

"I'm all for having a good fuck but even I won't fuck children."

"I know that," Dean grits out.

"That's enough. Yeah, thanks," Sam clears his throat. "Let's just call it puberty."

"Which sucks... again."

"Listen, we checked out the alley where you got jumped and I found Yarrow. It means we're probably dealing with a witch. Yarrow's a flower. They use it in a ton of spells."

"Do we still have some of that witch-killing shit in the trunk?"

"We should."

"Oh, to be a witch," you sigh and lean back in your seat. "I miss the feeling of power. Pure power." Your magic was tied to your soul. Isn't it a bit weird they aren't looking for it? Unless they already know where it is. In that case, why haven't they shoved it in you yet? "Where is my soul, by the way? It couldn't have disappeared, right?" Sam and Dean refuse to look at each other but they do stay silent. You slink up to Dean's side and give him a sweet smile. "Baby, where is my soul?"

"I don't know."

"I've lived with you for most of my life. I know when you're lying," you whisper.

They have more things to worry about so you'll let this go for now. You lean back in your seat again and look out the window.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #spn #supernatural series rewrite #supernatural season 10

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halfetirosie · 4 months ago

Text

▼✧♦ "Enter this contest!" they said. "It'll be fun!" they said. ♦✧▼

(Exercise 21 - 24 React-os!)

1) WILSONNNN!!!!!

Yes, I know I already made this joke, but I don't care. (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Funny coincidence tho; Cast Away was actually playing on T.V a few days ago! I of course had to watch it---I realized I haven't actually watched it in probably over 8 years---and it's a good-ass movie, ya'll!!! If you ever get the chance to watch it, you should!!!!

I also think it's neat that Eiden has canonically seen Cast Away...Or at least, he's aware of its existence through memes.

2) Fuckin hell bro, Quincy is so endearing, I can't handle it!!!!

It's so Dad Energy™ to zonk out at the beach and get buried in the sand, tbh. ♡

And Eiden's really living up to his Little Devil nickname! 😈

3) Premium Sooley + 🐾 Cat Dad Dante 🐾 content!!!

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

Dante: "Ha, look at you guys playing around! Pathetic!"

Dante: *Is literally playing with his cat*

Now watch, Dante's gonna claim this isn't "playing" but is just training Sooley to get used to the water---

PFFFT!!!! (≧∇≦) Called it!!!!

I mean, you do know it can be both playing and training, right, bub? 😅

He's such a prideful little stinker!!!! ♡♡♡♡♡

4) GUYS, IN THE AUDIO AT THIS PART

🚨🚨🚨DANTE LAUGHS!!!!!!🚨🚨🚨

*Obnoxious squealing*

*Swoons so hard I fall down the fucking stairs*

*static*

🎶 We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please wait for us to fix the problem. Thank you for your patience. 🎶

🎶🎶🎶

*static*

Dante is seriously having so much this event, and it's such a joy to see!!! This dude might have been borderline forced into participating, and he might be using "research" as an excuse, but this is the happiest we've seen him in, like, a long time!!!

No, seriously, think about it! The previous 3 event he featured in (Sunburst Fever, Blood Secret, and Desert of Dusk), Dante was busy with official business. They were pretty damn stressful for him.

But my mans has finally caught a break!!!

(⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ◡ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝)

5) ASSIGNED DORITO AT BIRTH!!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

I know that the lil' symbol is probably supposed to actually represent Dante's tattoos, but I'mma just pretend that they're his sharp-chin head on a Dorito body:

6) This can be interpreted in two ways---

Extremely horny

Extremely threatening

7) A WHOLE NEW MEANING TO THE WORD "LUMBERJACK"

(⊙ ㅁ ⊙)

BITCH BE FELLING TREES WITH HIS BARE HANDS!!!!

😱😱😱😱😱

Sometimes I kind of forget that Quincy has the potential to be really fuckin scary... He's so likable, but he could crush somebody's skull without even breaking a sweat...

8) I also kind of forget how excellent all of the clan members are in combat scenarios...

These dudes are literally sending lethal attacks back and forth, dealing with them all seamless.

On the one hand, it makes me proud of our bois, being so talented and all. But also, seeing them go all-out against each other is kind of a harsh reminder of how, at least in this respect, Eiden really is the odd one out...

9) Wait, did he have his tail out during this event????

THEN WHY DIDN'T THEY PUT IT IN HIS SSR?!?!?!

WHAT THE HELL, WE WERE ROBBED!!! 😡😡😡😡😡

10) Oh, come on! Really??? (◔_◔)

Did they really need to turn this into an "everybody wins" scenario???

Look, I love a happy ending as much as the next guy, and I know that the stakes of this event weren't exactly high. But this ain't a kids show that needs a squeaky-clean non-controversial ending. I want someone to win! Give us a clear winner!!!

Fuck it, I'll say it;

🔥 DANTE SHOULD'VE WON!!!! 🔥

I mean, COME ON!!! He absolutely crushed it this event!!! And he wanted to win more than anyone else, too!!!!

My dude finally had a mini-vacation for the first time in ages---LET HIM HAVE THIS!!!!!

DANTE GOT ROBBED!!!!!

11) Damn, poor Eiden! :(

Our boi was so close!!! I was really rooting for him!!! (I know I said Dante should've won, and I still think so; but if anyone else were to be the winner, it should've been Eiden. He really put a fuck-ton of effort into this event; gotta love an underdog!)

😂 Eiden really is being a great sport about this!

(And that was probably the funniest way of congratulating those three on their great performance in the competition.)

⚠️WARNING: GLOOMY COMMENTARY AHEAD!⚠️

But idk, man...

Maybe it's because I get way too immersed/empathetic when reading, but I feel way more sad about Eiden's loss than I probably should be.

Like, obviously, losing doesn't feel good. Nobody likes failure. And since Eiden is the protag, we're all sorta on his side by default.

I guess I boils down to what I said earlier; in comparison to the clan members, Eiden really is the odd one out. He doesn't even come close to their power; and even when he was trying his hardest in this competition, the odds were so insurmountable, there was no way he could ever win.

🤷 It just pokes at an inferiority complex that feels shitty.

🌸 End of report! 🌸

#nu carnival #nu: carnival #nu carnival event reactions #nu carnival eiden #nu carnival quincy #nu carnival dante #nu carnival sooley #nu carnival garu

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dustydaddyyy · 11 months ago

Text

v: continental drift | joel miller x f!reader

flash point (series) masterlist

pairing: pre-TLOU! joel x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: on a particuarly wet night, you run across tess servopoulos and joel miller, and they help you out of a tight spot chapter warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, depictions of death and decapitation (don't fucking ask), wound stitching (not sure this is a warning but for my queasy peeps), swearing, FEDRA is still an authoritarian regime, decent amount of POV-changing, the slowest slow-burn of slow burns (because I'm trash and like to make you all wait for it), a decent amount of angst

a/n: the way i giggled nervously when I realized it's been a month and a half since my last update......sorry you guys. also the sam tea is hot so please enjoy it. also this is officially the end of side a so the next time we see joel and reader will be closer to the TLOU canon timeline

The next day, you’re surprised to find Joel back in the coffee shop at the end of your shift.

“Need something else already? Or just coming to make sure I haven’t been kidnapped?” you ask him sarcastically, as he steps up to the counter, raising a single eyebrow.

“Just came for some coffee, thanks,” he says, and you sigh.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you tell him, peering around the shop, “I just sold my last cup.”

“Oh,” Joel lets out, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Joel seems awkward.

“I’ll make you a fresh cup,” you say after a second, giving him a tired smile, “I work here, after all.”

“Thanks,” he lets out, and you have to bite back a laugh at how woody he sounds.

Who knew coffee would stump Joel Miller.

“Did you hear what happened?” he asks you, and while his tone isn’t necessarily urgent, it’s clear the information he acquired is worth sharing as you get to work making an extra cup.

“I came home yesterday and crashed,” you inform him, “So no,”

“Really?” Joel’s eyes fall pointedly on something that looks suspiciously like a fresh hickey at the top of your collarbone, “You. . . crashed?”

You give him an unimpressed look. “60 years of life and no one’s ever told you it’s rude to stick your nose in other people’s business?”

“60?” Joel asks, eyes widening and gruff expression melting from his features almost entirely for a second, “You think I’m sixty?”

Your cheeky smile gives you away as you let out a small chuckle, shaking your head before giving him an expectant eyebrow as his scowl returns. “What happened, then?”

“They found bodies this morning,”

“Bodies?” you ask with a frown, looking up at him, “Where?”

“Abandoned church on Salem," Joel says, and for a second, your eyes widen, before your frown sets deep again, "Two young guys, both carrying assault-rifle type weapons,"

"You don't think –"

"–that when your little soldier boyfriend said there was a good reason it had been boarded up, he was damn right? That's exactly what I think, sweetheart,"

Your mind is running too many miles per hour to pay any attention to the nickname or the much more comfortable tone Joel seems to take with you as your fingers absent-mindedly reach for the coffee tin.

"Infected?" you ask him, and he nods.

"Overheard a few of his guard buddies talking about it. They're pretty sure it was infected, bodies were so torn up they couldn't ID them,"

"Jesus," you mutter to yourself, your fingers absent-mindedly reaching for the coffee beans tin, only to find it empty, "Shit,"

"Still sure you got enough for a coffee?" he asks, undertone sarcastic, and you manage to roll your eyes.

"Yes," you say pointedly, before turning to peer upwards, where you spot one of the 5-kilo coffee bean bags, "But you're going to have to help take down the new bag,"

Joel nods, walking around and behind the counter to join you as your arms reach out, fingertips barely grasping the edges of the bag. Joel has an easier time reaching, and together, you manage to lug the thing down.

"But why would they stay in the church?" you wonder out loud as you set the bag down on the counter with a huff.

"Beats me," Joel says with a shrug, which only makes the gears in your head whirr harder, frown deepening.

"Doesn't make sense," you mutter to yourself as you use one of the scissors on the counter to open a corner of the bag, leaning it slightly over the edge so you can fill the tin easily.

"What are you thinking?" Joel asks as he observes your face, and you look up at him for a second as your hands go on autopilot, dropping a handful of beans in the grinder.

"I'm thinking–" you say pointedly, "That they had no business being in that church, no reason to be there. . . the whole place was boarded up, there's signs everywhere. . . they may have been thugs but I doubt they were stupid enough to stick around,"

"Maybe they were just waiting to move the barrel," Joel says with a shrug, and you grimace slightly, shaking your head.

"There were three of them," you point out, pouring the ground coffee into a clean pot, the kettle whistling to your left, "And the checkpoint had already been abandoned for the night. . . best window to do it would’ve been immediately,"

"I'm not sure I follow," Joel says eventually as he stands next to you behind the counter, and you shake your head, bringing your hand up to rub your forehead.

"Don't mind me," you say with a sigh, "Been a long shift,"

The rest of the process happens in silence, neither you or Joel saying a word to each other as you finish making the coffee. Joel can tell from your expression that you're still pretty deep in thought, and the expression only clears from your face when you've made two steaming cups of fresh coffee. You hand one to Joel, who reaches into his pocket for a ration card.

“Don’t be silly,” you say, shaking your head with a frown as you finally seem to be pulled fully out of your thoughts, “I don’t want to see a single ration card come out of your pocket, Miller.”

Joel’s hand freezes in his pocket, and for a second, he doesn’t know what to say. He’s caught off guard by how friendly your tone is, and he’s silent for a minute before he clears his throat, his hands staying in his pockets.

“Alright.”

"Who was this job for, anyway?" you ask Joel as you take a sip of the coffee you've just made, and he shrugs.

"Dunno," he says, and you resist an urge to smile at the fact that he's talking to you now, "Some wiry fucker Tess knew. . . I think his name was Peter,"

You grimace. "Creepy name for a creepy dude,”

Joel makes an agreeing snort into his coffee.

“Fertilizer, huh?" you say, making a face, "What the fuck's he gonna do? Plant a garden?"

Joel lets out a hum as he swallows down his sip.

"And fuel oil, for some reason," Joel says, clearing his throat, "You put anything extra in this?"

"Wait, rewind–" you say, and suddenly your voice is serious as you set down your cup, "You never mentioned he wanted fuel oil."

Your mind is racing as you finally put together the pieces of the puzzle. The reason they asked for such specific items, staying in the church after, not wanting to be asked nosy questions–

Joel frowns as he turns to look at you, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. "Shall I write you a full report? Or just the transcript of our negotiations?”

"Who was he?" you ask him, tone urgent as your eyes become wide, and Joel frowns deeper, “Joel, who was he?”

"Don't know, told you that already," Joel says, before his eyes flicker with mild concern, "What's wrong?"

You give him an alarmed look.

"Joel, ammonium nitrate is the main ingredient in fertilizer," you say, your voice low and filled with panic as your eyes flit around the half-empty coffeeshop, "And fuel oil––. . .they're making ANFO, Joel, it’s a goddamn–"

You don't know how Joel understands what you mean, but his eyes blow wide as he finally puts the pieces together

"-bomb," he breathes, and at that moment, there's a sound of crashing glass as something shatters the front window of the coffeeshop. Some people scream, those sitting by the window jumping away. It's a brick, and just as people gather to look at it, something else flies through the shattered window.

"Joel–" you yell, and you only just manage to turn your body, hand flying over Joel's shoulder as you push him down behind the counter, going to do the same–

BOOM.

The explosion is unlike anything you've ever heard, and if you hadn't had the good sense to press your hands over your ears as the sheer force of the explosives propelled you against the opposite wall, you're sure both your eardrums would have burst as sounds tear through the atmosphere around you.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself on your back, and everything hurts. Your gaze is directed at the ceiling of the building, your temples pulsing with pain, and all you can see above you is smoke, half burning embers floating through the air as you try to blink the dust out of your eyes. Plumes of dust and smoke obscure your vision, but you can still see the gaping holes in the ceiling from which pieces of stucco rain down. There’s a deafening silence in your head, filled only with a distant ringing, and your eyes blink several times as your vision becomes less blurry, bringing into focus the burning embers floating through the air as if dancing on the wind.

For a single moment, the silence is almost peaceful as you watch them flutter down around you, eyes still blinking as your mind seems to process what has just happened, before you feel your lungs expand with a breath, and the illusion of peace shatters.

The next breath you take is stifling, the dust scratching the inside of your throat as you try to breathe any kind of oxygen in your lungs. You’re vaguely aware of something entering your vision, a familiar face, but your eyes don’t immediately focus on Joel’s face until you feel his hands on either side of your arms, pulling you upright and propping you up against the wall. You're still dazed as your eyes roll over the scene. Most of the counter is still standing, but the front, near to where you’d been standing, has been blown to bits and everything once standing on it, is either in pieces, or strewn across the floor.

Your eyes are torn away from the scene as you feel a squeeze in your arms, and your gaze meets Joel’s. His face is dirty, covered in grime, but his eyes are alight like you’ve never seen them, more present and alert than ever as they inspect your face. He looks relatively unharmed, except for a few bleeding cuts and scratches on his face as his eyes search your face, and you see something in his eyes you'd not seen on him before. He looks worried.

You watch as he moves his mouth, and it looks like your name, but you still can’t hear anything except for that damn ringing. Your eyes try to make sense of the movement of his lips, but you’re too distracted by the thundering of your heartbeat in your chest. Joel seems to finally understand you can't hear him as his eyes look into yours. They’re wide with shell shock, continuously flitting between him and your surroundings in an effort to gain your bearings.

Everything feels like it's moving in slow motion. You swallow hard, trying to clear your ears, but still the ringing doesn't subside. The only thing that seems to work is your nose, and the smell is horrible, a mix of acrid smoke, burning plastic and thick dust which oppresses your lungs. Joel gives your arms another squeeze, forcing you to look back at him, the shape of your name once again appearing on his lips. You shake your head at him, eyes wide with fear as they stare into his. You watch him as he swallows hard, eyes flitting around desperately, seeming to consider something. Then he moves beside you, taking your arm and slinging it over his shoulder. He says something else that you still can’t hear, but you nod as he looks at you, anticipating it as he pulls you up. You let him, trying to cooperate as much as possible, but your whole body hurts, screaming at you to lie back down again.

The minute your eyes focus on the full scene of the coffeeshop, your stomach turns and you wish you had never seen it.

Smoke and debris fills the air, casting an eerie haze over the scene; tables and chairs are strewn about like discarded toys, and the floor is a harrowing canvas of debris, bodies, body parts. . . you can see some people moving, crying, screaming. . . bending over others that lie face down and deathly still, blood smeared across the floors of the shop like morbid strokes of paint. The entire front of the coffee shop has been blown open, and the ground is littered in glass from the shattered windows which glitters dangerously in the fading daylight.

You can’t focus on it any longer as you feel Joel pull you towards the back door, keeping one arm around your waist to hold you up and using the other to push open the door. You quickly move past the backroom, before Joel is pushing against the heavy fire escape door, which sends you both stumbling into the alleyway as it gives way. You let go of Joel at that moment, and he helps you down on one of the upturned boxes against the wall of the alley.

Your hearing is slowly returning, the ringing becoming less and less as you can start to hear your own heavy breaths. It’s still muffled as you try and calm your thundering heartbeat, hand coming down to rest on your knees as your bow your head, shoulders shuddering. Your mind keeps flashing back to the images from inside, the acrid smell of smoke and burning flesh still so present in your nostrils it makes you violently nauseous; the tears streaming down one woman’s grime-covered face, the man screaming in pain as his hands desperately the thigh from which his bone is protruding, a teddybear lying in a pool of blood, loosely clenched in the hand of its lifeless owner. . .

Your breathing is shallow as you register what you've just seen, trying hard to keep your breath under control, but your pants are ragged as you try to steady your shaking hands on your legs.

"Oh god,"

You bring a hand to your mouth, the feeling of wanting to throw up overcoming you suddenly, but you find that nothing comes out except for a hoarse cough.

A voice drifts through the fog, muffled at first, before it becomes clearer as it repeats your name. You look up at Joel as your hearing finally sharpens, so you can hear the blaring of sirens in the street as several trucks drive past the alleyway, the shouts from outside and the screams from inside.

“Those people. . .” you stammer, your eyes wide as they meet Joel’s, glittering with tears, “We have to–”

“There’s nothing we can do,” he says, a little breathless, but his voice solemn, “We have to get out of here. . . there could be more–”

“Joel!” you let out, your voice still tinged with horror and shock.

“We can’t!” he lets out, shaking his head as he looks down at you, “We can’t help them, okay? We have to go. . . if they decide to blow up another building, or god forbid, the fucking FEDRA army descending on this place right now, we’re in deep shit.”

After a second in which you stare at each other, you nod shortly, heaving a breath.

“You still have the keys to your place?” Joel asks, and you take a second to feel for them in your back pocket. Thankfully, they appear not to have fallen out during your ordeal, and you nod.

“Alright,” Joel says with a curt nod, before looking down at you, “Can you stand?”

You nod weakly, before getting to your feet. Your legs are still wobbling a little, and you frown as you feel pain flare through your ankle. Joel notices, and doesn’t even ask before he stands beside you again, taking your arm again to steady you against him.

You go as fast as possible, but it still feels like an eternity before you reach the building in which you live, the people in the streets either too busy running towards or away from the wreckage of the shop to pay attention to you. The minute the door closes behind you, Joel walks you over to the kitchen table, and sits you on top, your chest heaving a pained sigh.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, and even though his tone is neutral, his hand comes up, two fingers gently taking your jaw to analyze your face. He tilts your head to look at the side of your face as you groan slightly.

“I can’t hear anything on the left,” you say, and he hums.

“You’re bleeding. . . eardrum must be bust.”

“Shit,” you let out, closing your eyes and trying to take a deep breath as you feel Joel's fingers leave your face before he steps away from you.

“You got a first aid kit? Anything like that?”

You nod, motioning towards the sink. “Cupboard under the sink.”

Joel moves towards the sink, before crouching down and opening the cupboard under it.

“What about Tess–”

“She’s a smart woman,” he says through a strained voice as he gets to his feet again, setting the kit down on the counter, “She’ll figure out where we’ve gone if she has any suspicion we survived that. . . ANFO. . . I should’ve fucking known,”

Joel feels his stomach churn with guilt; of course he knew what ANFO was, they use to use it quite a bit way back when he was still rebuilding houses for a living.

“What was that?” you let out, and Joel’s face darkens as he grabs a glass from the upper cupboard and fills it with water.

“Pipe bomb,” he mutters, before he looks over his shoulder briefly, eyes pausing on the scratches that litter your arms, “Something like nails of bolts in it, from what I can see. . . the ANFO packs a pretty big punch in of itself, but the nails and bolts do double the damage because they act like shrapnel. . . it’s what the Unabomber did,”

Joel vaguely remembers watching a TV documentary on the Unabomber with his ex-wife, which had detailed his similar methods. He briefly wonders– or rather hopes– that the dude died during the Outbreak.

“Jesus Christ,” you let out in a breath, burying your head in your hands, “Who the fuck would do that?”

“People who feel like they aren’t being heard,” Joel says darkly as you hear him step back towards you, and you feel like sobbing.

Hadn’t the outbreak been punishment enough? Weren’t people sick of pain and grief?

“We sold them that shit, Joel,” you say through your hands, the despair and guilt in your tone clear as day.

He comes to stand in front of you again, leaving the kit and the glass of water on the table next to you, before pulling one of the chairs from the side of the table to sit facing you.

“I know,” he says solemnly as he sits down and opens the first aid box, pulling out some rolls of gauze. You finally look back up, eyes meeting his, and Joel can see in your eyes that you’re struggling with grasping this particular fact.

Of course Joel feels guilty, to some extent, but he'd been in the smuggling business long enough to adhere to the policy that once it was out of his hands, it was no longer his business.

“Here,” he says, swallowing as he grabs your arm, zeroing in on the largest cut.

Ironically it looks much worse than it actually feels, and almost the majority of your forearm seems covered in dried and fresh blood from this particular wound. Joel works in silence, cleaning the large cuts one by one and dressing them. You don’t mutter a word either, as you sit still and stare ahead of yourself a little. Joel knows you must be in shock, and he feels a strange amount of concern every time a loud sound from the street makes you flinch.

“Sorry,” you mutter after a particularly loud bang in the street outside makes you jump, and Joel temporarily loosens his grip on your arm as he bandages it.

“S’okay,” he says after a second, looking up at you briefly only to find your eyes unfocused once again, staring almost vacantly at the window. He notices your ears straining for sounds from the street, brows tied tightly together like you were searching them. Then, you feel Joel’s fingers back on your chin as he gently turns your head away from him.

“Still nothing?” he asks as he cleans the trickle of blood that has run from your ears down your neck. You shake your head as you feel his other hand come up, “What about this?”

You assume he snaps his fingers, but you only hear it on your other side. You shake your head.

“No,” you say, swallowing.

Joel lets out a sigh before his hand falls back down to his lap.

“Shouldn’t last very long,” he says, in an attempt to distract you, “Maybe one or two weeks.”

You give a non-committal hum as you nod, eyes still not meeting his as he returns to the final scratches on your arms.

“Stop thinking about it,” he says after a second, and this gets your attention, your head turning to look at him as he hunches over your arm.

“How?” you return, and he looks up at you, “How do you stop thinking about it? I–. . . those people are all dead, Joel. . . that could’ve been us.”

“Well lucky for me you got some fast reflexes,” he says, his tone almost joking as he looks back down to your arm, and you shake your head ever so slightly.

“This isn’t funny, Joel,” you say, and your voice is heavy with emotion as he looks up at you, your eyes shining with tears.

“I know,” he replies with a sigh, looking up at you, “I never said it was.”

There’s a split second in which you look at each other, before you swallow shakily and look away again, silence falling over you both.

It lasts only a second before you speak up again.

“How come you’re always the one patching me up?” you mutter, your tone half-hearted, making Joel let out a small scoff.

“Maybe because you keep getting yourself into trouble, sweetheart,” he returns as he wraps the rest of the bandage over a particularly large gash on your arm, careful to keep his grip loose around the fresh scar of your stab wound.

“Saving your life, you mean,” you mutter, and Joel emits a dry chuckle, before looking up at you from where he’s sitting hunched towards you. He’s not sure what he’s thinking, or if it's even a good idea, but he finds himself putting a reassuring hand on your knee, which he feels under his fingers is still trembling.

“That’s twice now,” he says with a squeeze of your knee, “You done being a hero? ‘Cause I’m afraid there won’t be much left of ya if this happens again.”

His face doesn’t reveal much, but his tone is strangely gentle, caring. . . something you’ve never before heard from Joel.

“Yeah, I’m done,” you say with a groan as you try to sit up a little more, Joel’s hand leaving your knee with a slight pat, before he gets to his feet. Then, his eyes fall on something under your chair, and he frowns.

“Are you bleeding?” he asks you, looking back up, and your eyebrows knit together as you follow Joel’s eyeline and find, to your great concern, a rapidly growing pool of blood gathering at your feet.

“I–. . . I didn’t think I was,” you let out, frowning slightly, before Joel steps around you, and you listen as he takes a sharp intake of breath.

“Your shoulder,” he says as you watch his hand go into the first aid kit and reach for the scissors, “You don’t feel that?”

“I mean a little, but, fuck–. . . ! What was that for?” you ask him, turning around to glare at Joel, who just used what felt like his entire hand to press down on the wound, making your shoulders erupt with pain.

“Sorry,” Joel mutters, as you feel his fingers pick up the hem of your shirt. Then, you hear the scissors cutting through the fabric of your top, “Doesn’t look too deep, but you’ll need a few stitches I think.”

“More fucking stitches,” you grumble to yourself, shaking your head as Joel peels the shirt from your back, “At this rate I’m going to be, like, 90% scar tissue.”

“And water,” Joel adds in an attempt at a joke, and to his credit, you chuckle slightly.

“And water, I suppose,” you say with a nod of your head as he reaches into the first aid kit for something to suture you with. You sit in silence as Joel cleans the needle and then your wound, before you feel him put his hand on your shoulder and he starts to sew you up.

It hurts, and you immediately feel tears spring into your eyes as your shoulders tense and your fingers tighten around the edge of the table, knuckles whitening.

“If you relax, it’ll hurt less,” Joel says, and his voice is practically in your ear, his breath fanning over your exposed skin.

“I’m being stitched up by a stranger with no pain medication or alcohol. . . I think you can understand why I’m tense,” you reply with a sigh.

Joel says nothing, but you can hear him thinking. You wonder about what.

“Stranger, huh?” Joel asks you with a hum, and you snort.

“What word would you use?” you reply, eyebrows creasing, “Because something tells me you’re not the type to have friends.”

Joel says nothing, only letting out a grudging sound as you feel the needle pierce your skin again, which makes you grit your teeth, shoulder tensing up again.

“Jesus Christ woman, relax,” Joel says again, letting out a breath as you feel him put a hand on your other shoulder, “Or I’ll sew you up crooked.”

You try your hardest, letting out a shaky breath and forcing your shoulders to un-tense, but it still isn’t enough, and Joel heaves a sigh as he tries to think of a way to distract you enough so he can sew you up at least half-properly.

“Be honest,” he says eventually, “How the fuck did you survive a month and a half out in the open?”

You’re silent for a second, and Joel waits for your answer before getting back to work.

“I was by myself,” you say eventually, as Joel places another stitch, which you react less violently to than the last one, “That sounds stupid, but I’m pretty sure that’s how. . . you have nobody else relying on you, you’re responsible for nobody and only have yourself to answer to. . . you’re entirely alone.”

“Here I was thinking that’s exactly what leads people to giving up,” Joel notes, throwing another stitch, and you let out a breath.

“You’d think that, but spite is a good motivator,” you admit, “Most of my time traveling I was just angry at the universe for putting me through the ringer. . . so I kept going. . . kind of like a ‘fuck you’, huh?”

“So you’re telling me–” Joel says, stopping to place another stitch, which you hiss at slightly, “–that you survived 2 months of hiking through the American backcountry as a fuck you to the Universe?”

“Canadian backcountry, actually,” you correct, before chuckling slightly, “But yeah, pretty much.”

“Canada?”

“Hm,” you give an agreeing hum, “We’d heard the midwest was hell on earth. . . as much hell as you can get in an apocalypse, I suppose. . . so I crossed the border somewhere in North Dakota, walked along the border.”

“What about infected?” Joel asks, and you shake your head.

“Only in and around big cities,” you note, “The rest is mostly national parks and forest, so I ran into relatively little trouble. . .infected were really the least of my worries, it’s the people.”

Joel gives an agreeing hum, but before he can open his mouth to reply, your front door flies inward with an almighty sound and you hear someone’s hoarse voice call out your name.

You jump again, eyes widening. From behind you, you’re vaguely aware of Joel’s hands having left your shoulders, and you hear the unmistakable sound of a safety clicking off.

Sam doesn’t look too injured as his wide eyes search the room before falling on you. His rifle is slung over his shoulder, and he has some smears of grime on his cheek, as well as a bloody handprint on the side of his pants that looks too small to be his. When he sees you, his face simultaneously relaxes and tightens at once.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice hoarse as he eyes the cuts on your arms, seemingly not even noticing Joel sitting behind you, and you nod.

“Just a few scratches,” you assure him, and he lets out a breath, before his expression becomes stormy. Behind you, Joel moves again, his hands coming back up to your wound where you assume he’s almost finished.

“The fertilizer,” Sam pants in a panicked voice, “Who did you give it to, speedy?”

“I kno–” you say, but Sam doesn’t listen.

“–because if you mix fertilizer with fuel oil you get–”

“–a bomb,” you finish, “I know, Sam.”

Sam’s voice stalls in his throat, eyes widening. “You knew? You knew they were planning on blowing people up and you went along with it anyway?”

“Obviously, I didn’t know that,” you reply sarcastically, and Sam lets out a scoff as Joel puts another stitch in your shoulder, palms coming up to steady your bicep.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure this is a very important conversation, but I’m gonna need you to hold still for me,” he says, his voice low but still audible as he focuses on the stitch.

Something in Sam's face twists when he hears the nickname, and Joel recognizes the flash of jealousy behind the young soldier's eyes that makes him realize this might not have been his smartest move. He doesn't find himself caring too much, drawing some satisfaction in the way Sam sizes him up.

"I'm sorry, but who the fuck are you?" he asks him, moving his rifle towards Joel; not quite pointing it, but enough to tell him his attention has shifted, and not in a good way.

Joel takes up the challenge, moving his gaze from you to Sam, his shoulders setting imposingly as he gives Sam an almost unimpressed eyebrow from over your shoulder.

"Someone who doesn't have the fucking time for your little schoolboy crush."

"Joel," your voice is a sharp warning, "Not helping. . . Sam, I didn’t know.”

“I don’t care,” Sam says with a shake of his head, “Come on, you can’t be stupid like this, speedy.”

You close your eyes as you feel another stitch, face contorting in pain momentarily before you sigh. “I know.”

“–and all those people. . . did you know they killed fucking kids? I mean Jesus Christ,” Sam lets out again, and at this your jaw sets slightly.

“FEDRA hung an entire family for trying to come into the QZ last week,” you say, your tone cold, “You don’t need to lecture me on the blood staining my hands, thanks.”

There’s an uneasy silence between the two of you as Sam takes heavy, angry breaths, and after a second, Joel clears his throat, chair grating as he gets to his feet.

“All done,” he says, his voice back its usual stoicism, but neither you nor Sam pay him any attention as he walks to the other end of the room to clean his hands in the sink.

“You have to stop,” Sam says with a shake of his head, hands on his hips as he gives you a look.

“I have stopped–”

“No, I mean you have to stop smuggling,” he says with a shake of his head, “I don’t ever want you anywhere near this shit again.”

Normally you’d agree with Sam, but something about his tone irks you. It’s too authoritative, too controlling.

“Excuse me?” you utter, eyebrows flying up your forehead, “I don’t need you telling me to do anything, Sam.”

“Clearly, I have to– given you’re in absolutely no fit state to make any sound fucking decisions,” he hisses at you, and his tone has a venom to it you've only heard him use a handful of times.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you let out, and Joel can hear in your voice that you’re stung.

“You really want to know what my problem is?” he seethes, before motioning towards Joel, “This. . . ! This is my problem! This ridiculous rebellion you have going on, that you’ve had since the day you left the academy, that makes you run around here like some kind of untouchable, twisted version of Robin Hood. . . it’s stupid, speedy, and sooner or later it’s going to get you killed.”

“Hasn’t gotten me killed yet,” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest, and Sam lets out a sound of exasperation.

"I don't fucking care!" Sam lets out, his voice loud with anger and frustration, "You aren't listening–. . . the Fireflies’ cause isn’t any more noble than FEDRA’s regime. . . they’re all the fucking same, they lie and they kill, and sooner or later, they'll turn on you and you'll end up like your fucking dad."

"What?"

Your tone is shocked, and Sam watches with a guilty turn of his stomach as your eyes widen in shock, and grief, glistening with the oncoming threat of tears. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Sam says your name, but you interrupt him as you get to your feet suddenly, the sound of the grating chair filling the otherwise silent room.

"Tell me," you say through gritted teeth, and Samuel purses his lips, jaw clenching in frustration with himself as he takes a second to answer you.

The room is so silent that even with his bad ear, Joel is sure he could hear a pin if it dropped.

"It wasn't some random bystander that snitched on your dad," Samuel admits finally, and Joel realizes with a horrible turn of his stomach what he's about to say, "It was the Fireflies. They weren't happy he stopped helping them, and so they tipped FEDRA off that he’d been letting them run operations through the shop."

Your vision is starting to narrow as you take a shallow breath, eyes boring into Samuel. "How do you know this?"

“It doesn’t matter–”

"No– Samuel, how do you know this?" you say, your gaze going back to the boy you'd known for 13 years, your eyes filled with the puzzle pieces you're struggling to put into place, "If we were ever friends. . . please tell me."

Samuel's eyes plead with yours as your brain works overtime, before he lets out a defeated breath, shaking his head. "Burke is my mom's name, I took it when I joined the academy because I was sure they wouldn’t let me in otherwise. . . my dad's name is Hartwin."

Even Joel recognizes the name; it had been whispered in the streets for the past few years as word spread of the Fireflies' revolution and victory in San Francisco, led by a hardened ex-marine called Jack Hartwin. His name had been spoken with a twisted kind of admiration, word of his liberal use of violence somehow less known.

"Sam," you let out, your voice trembling as you blink once, tears still refusing to spill down your cheeks as your face becomes a mask of realization, "Oh god.”

“Speedy, please–”

He takes a small step in your direction, but you respond with a step back, your body almost flinching at that stupid nickname falling over his lips. It had been for a stupid reason, as well, a name he’d called you after you’d out-sprinted almost your entire class during a training exercise at the academy. You had let him, allowing the nickname to take hold until eventually he had started to use it more than your actual name. Now, the name sounds poisonous coming out of his mouth.

“How long have you known?” you ask him, your voice is trembling with both rage and betrayal, “And don’t you fucking even think about lying to me.”

Sam’s face becomes a mask of solemn guilt.

“Since the beginning,” he admits sorrowfully, “I found out who you were a few days after you joined.”

“You knew–” you say, your voice stalling in your throat as you hear your heartbeat thunder in your ears, “You knew all this time, and you never told me?”

“What would you have done with that information? We were sixteen, speedy,” Sam pleads.

“You were protecting him,” you accuse, your voice hoarse with pain and anger.

"I was protecting you," Samuel shouts back, his eyes wide and pleading, "That's all I ever wanted to do, okay? My father would've destroyed you if you'd gone after him. . . you were my friend, the first and only one I’d ever had, and I couldn’t in good conscience say anything–"

“That wasn’t your decision to make!” you explode, and finally the tears flow freely over your cheeks, “This whole time, you lied to me. . . you looked me the face and you lied to me, for thirteen fucking years, I–”

Your voice stalls in your throat as you take a shaky breath, your trembling hand coming up onto your forehead, your chest tight and uncomfortable as you fight the overwhelming urge to hurl.

“Speedy, please,” Sam says, and his voice is shaky, “I wasn’t protecting him. . . I want nothing to do with him. . . I was horrified when I found out what he’d done, I joined the academy out of spite because I wanted to get as far away from him as I possibly could.”

“How fucking noble of you,” you spit, your tone venomous as you refuse to look at him.

Silence falls on the kitchen, not a word spoken by anyone, until eventually you let the breath out again, just as shaky as when it came in. Sam tries one more time, saying your name, your actual one. . . but you interrupt him before he can get any further.

“Get out,” you say, and this time, your voice is firm and furious. His eyes widen with surprise and hurt for a second, before his brow creases slightly.

“What?” he utters, his voice filled with pain, his eyes even flitting helplessly to Joel for a second, who is still standing in the corner as quietly as he can, wishing he had the superpower to turn invisible right now.

“You heard me, get out,” you repeat, and you’re still not looking at him, fingers pressed against your mouth lightly as your eyes look down at your feet.

His expression becomes almost pleading. “Speedy–”

“Samuel,” you return, your eyes, alight with fury, finally meeting his.

You say it like a warning, and Sam presses his lips together as he watches your expression.

“Get out of my house before I do something I regret,” you seethe, and Joel watches your fists clench at your side. He feels his shoulders tense slightly, readying to move just in case your common sense fails you and he has to actually pull you off the soldier standing in your living room holding an assault rifle. When Sam says nothing, you repeat yourself, your voice raising. “I said get out, Sam, fucking get out, before I–”

“What?” Sam interrupts you anyway, shaking his head “Before you kill me. . . ?”

He doesn’t say it with scorn nor anger, tone maybe a little disbelieving but open and vulnerable nonetheless.

When you say nothing, he takes a breath. “You would do that to me, Speedy?”

Joel knows it’s going to happen before it does, watches as your fingers curl around the glass of water on the table, hears the sound of it shattering as you knock it over. It doesn’t hit anyone, but Sam jumps slightly at the sound, but to his credit, his gun remains unfired.

“Don’t fucking call me that! Don’t you ever fucking call me that again,” you shout at him, “Get out of my face. . . I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“You don’t mean that,” Sam says, and Joel notes that he actually sounds genuinely upset.

“With all my heart I fucking mean that, Samuel,” you say, your voice barely controlled as your eyes shine with tears of anger, “I mean it. . . I don’t want to see your face, I don’t want to hear your name. . .I curse the fucking day you ever even spoke to me, if you’d just minded your own damn business you’d have saved us both the fucking trouble.”

Sam is completely silent as he processes your words, the only sounds in the room that of your breathing.

“Get.out.”

Sam heaves a defeated sigh, his own eyes shining with threatening tears. He doesn’t seem to care one bit that Joel is witnessing this, his eyes focused only on you as his eyes plead with yours.

Finally, he turns on his heel and walks to the door, before pulling it open. He pauses there, before turning his head slightly over his shoulder, but without looking at you.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, before swallowing harshly, “I only did it because I love you. . . you’re my family, not him.”

Every word he says feels like a gut punch, and you show him your back as you try and take a deep breath, feeling your face contort as you’re overtaken with the sudden urge to cry.

The door clicks shut quietly behind him.

You take a deep breath, clearing your throat and looking at the ceiling for a second, before walking towards the door that leads to what he assumes is your bedroom, passing by Joel standing in the corner in silence. Your face is a mask of so many emotions Joel can hardly keep count; hurt, betrayal, rage, and he can see the tears pooling in your eyes and down your cheeks, but you don’t meet his gaze. He says your name, but you ignore him as you pass him by, only saying in a hoarse voice:

“Please do me a favor and show yourself out.”

Joel barely has time to nod wordlessly before your door slams shut with an almighty bang.

END OF SIDE A

a/n: ya'll i PROMISE it gets more exciting/more spicyyy. i just needed to establish this so i could flesh out the reader/joel dynamic and the basis for their relationship. please please bear with me, i have a plan heheheh. as usual, please let me know what you thought of this chapter and the story as a whole, i love hearing your input/feedback :)

taglist:

apart from those of you who explicitly asked to be added, i also took the liberty of tagging some of you that showed interest in more parts (if you do not want to be tagged, please please let me know, in which case i apologize in advance for doing so!)

@tanushreeg27 @user1112223334449890171 @frecklefacelm @samarav @alyssiamarierenee @platinumblondeedition @huntersandpie @lizlil @lumpypoll @pedro-pascal-3nthusiast @phryne-fish @ponyboys-sunsets

as usual, replies, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller fic

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