#;some of us don't have time to die cause people count on us to survive (interactions - ganta)

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

One thing I do like about TOTJ's take on Dooku's fall is that it really highlights that the Dark Side makes you absolutely masochistic. (Mega long post ahead).

One thing TOTJ establishes is that Qui-Gon's death is absolutely on Dooku (no matter if the show itself doesn't seem to be aware of it).

His tone is concerned and his attitude sympathetic and supportive, but he knows. He knows it's a Sith Lord (he even knows Maul's name). He knows Qui-Gon almost died and is marching right into another trap, but he asks questions anyway and affects ignorance.

"I've been warning them about the coming darkness for years," he says, "never to be taken seriously." Using the Council's skepticism as an occasion to complain about how they didn't believe him while lying by omission is a great case of that hypocrisy Dooku loves denouncing in others. Dooku would rather Qui-Gon share his disillusionment with the Jedi than actually do anything to help Qui-Gon. The Council don't believe him? Okay, Dooku, but YOU DO. You can just tell him what's going on.

But he doesn't.

On some level, Dooku has to be aware of what's about to happen. Qui-Gon is walking into grave danger, and Dooku's response to that - before it happens, when there is still time to stop it - is to put the blame on the people who don't know shit while not doing shit himself. (Why can't Dooku be there to protect Qui-Gon, other than because he's already slavishly loyal to Sidious' plans?)

And this moment puts every subsequent action of Dooku's throughout the Prequels in perspective - particularly his relationships with Obi-Wan, Ventress and Yoda.

Dooku is a glutton for punishment.

I've written here about why I think the 'Box' from TCW 4x17 is meant to parallel Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's mission on Naboo. The dioxis, ventilation shafts, the catwalks and lightsabers, the ray shields, the fire pit... Dooku's idea of a test to find the best mercenaries around is to have them survive what killed Qui-Gon (what he allowed to happen).

During the challenge, it's pretty obvious he starts to suspect Hardeen is Obi-Wan.

Or at the very least, he's taking an interest in the man who supposedly killed Qui-Gon's own apprentice - Dooku's spiritual grandson (see RotS novelization), whom he's been trying very hard to either recruit or kill himself. And what does he do with that interest? Tries to push "Hardeen" to kill Eval in anger.

Dooku, who still mourns the Padawan he knowingly let walk away to his death, watches a pantomime of his Padawan's death, while putting in mortal danger all he has left of said apprentice. If he knows Hardeen is Obi-Wan (and it's pretty obvious that he does), he tries to get Obi-Wan to Fall (or potentially die) in a scenario reenacting Qui-Gon's death. If he doesn't know for sure, then he's encouraging his all but grandson's killer to win the tournament because he admires him (for killing someone Dooku wanted by his side).

Whatever the outcome, Dooku chooses to relive his guilt and chooses to make the same choice to kill his loved one all over again, even though we know he hates that he made this choice:

He misses Qui-Gon and needs him but tries to kill or destroy Obi-Wan, whom he needs and wants by his side. (I haven't counted just how many time he does try killing Obi-Wan in TCW while still expressing his indefectible admiration for him - it's frequent, the Box just stands out to me as one of the most noteworthy occasions.)

And he keeps doing stuff like that!! He keeps choosing the path that causes him the most pain. He does it with Sifo-Dyas, he does it with Yaddle, he does it with Yoda and he does it with Ventress.

Just look at him confronting Sidious about Qui-Gon's death:

He KNOWS following Sidious got Qui-Gon murdered and he KNOWS Sidious will continue to kill or order him to kill people close to him. And yet he's quick to reassure Sidious that this doesn't change anything. Securing his position with Sidious matters more than his rage and grief. The ONLY WAY this behavior makes sense is if Dooku is fully aware that he had a choice about Qui-Gon's fate, and decides that this is the path he's on now: Sidious might make him kill everyone he cares about, but he's going to do it. Every time, things will play out the same.

Sidious tells him to kill Ventress, his new apprentice? Sure, why not!

(And it's not even out of true loyalty for Sidious, because he constantly tries to double-cross him later on. It's pure self-destruction:)

He hates it, Sidious promises him more of it, and he goes along with it!

This is why Yaddle's attempts at bringing him back don't work, in my opinion:

"Whatever lies he's told you, whatever you have done, you can make up for it now by bringing him to justice." This might convince a man who is looking for atonement, except Dooku isn't. He is looking for punishment.

Killing or harming those close to him leaves him broken, furious or in pain? He'll just keep doing it.

Sidious offers him nothing more than agonizing slavery? He'll keep on kneeling.

That's when Yaddle literally offers him the Light - the light that is so much more powerful than the Dark that it has Sidious cowering, the light that can save him if he wants - Dooku just strikes her down, even though he was heartbroken over thinking he had killed her just a moment ago.

He chooses to kill her, regrets it and hates himself for it, and chooses to kill her again. HE KEEPS MAKING THE CHOICE THAT HE KNOWS WILL HURT.

His remedy to guilt is to pick a shovel, because by God if he hasn't hit rock bottom yet he's going to dig!

#long post #meta #dooku #darth sidious #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #yoda #yaddle #tales of the jedi #count dooku

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

DAY SIX OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: slasher au (still takes place in the tlou'verse) + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, soft dark fic, horror, murder mystery

summary: bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in jackson. as the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

word count: 10k (i don't know what happened)

warnings: dubcon at the end, knife kink, descriptive canon typical violence, blood & mild gore, grief and death, an unpleasant guy hitting on you, murder, face-sitting, throat-fucking, mutual oral sex (69), dirty talk, possessive!joel, exhibitionism (tommy watches very briefly, he also kisses you in a platonic way), sex in the woods, piv, Joel is actually quite nice if you exclude the murders, mild breeding kink, size kink, little bit of blood kink

a/n: the owl mask joel wears in this to hide who he is is inspired by @softlyspector's post about the tawny owl mug joel uses in tlou part 2 which I still get sad if I think about it for too long 😭

Bodies have been dropping dead all around you long before the outbreak. 

Maybe not in the everyone-you-know-is-getting-infected-and-killing-people type of way, but more so in a death-never-felt-like-a-stranger-to-you sort of way. Yet, you still don’t know how to deal with death. Your grief is as violent as a butterfly flapping its wings; the strength of it non-existent but you never know where, or when, it’ll cause a storm. 

First, it was your grade school teacher. You didn’t have a particularly strong bond with her but you did like her. You still remember how your friend's voice quaked as she gave you the news on a landline. You couldn’t believe it and had to accuse her of making a joke, even though you knew she would never joke about something like this. Then your dad took the phone from you and you just assumed your friend's mom did the same. The next week, when you went back to school and the funeral was now behind all the children in the classroom, the custodian cut the last tablecloth your teacher had used for her desk and gave a piece to each and every one of you. It was a vibrant orange cloth with daisies scattered around – ugly, but you still cherished it.

Then it was your pets, grandparents – there was also the time when your pet-crazed neighbor adopted another smaller dog while she still had two untrained, over-energized dogs, and the two twins ripped the other dog apart. You had seen the carnage. By some miracle, that small, fluffy dog named Sugar was still breathing, alive. You had held a blood bag over the dog's head, hoping that the small animal wouldn't die.

She didn’t die that day, but it sure as hell left a scar on you. 

As a kid, you never seemed to quite grasp the ways of grieving. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t cry. You just. . thought about it. However, the emotions came differently when you became an adult. Now when someone close to you died, you felt it more violently, oddly enough you still fought against the tears and only cried when you were alone. 

On Outbreak Day, you lost everything. 

Your family, your friends—your life, now it was all about survival, but survival towards what, you didn’t know. You killed for it, fought for it. Yet every move you made felt automatic like you were wired to at least try and survive — to wait it out and not be left behind when civilization rebuilt itself once more.

You made some friends along the way and lost some friends too. You locked their faces and their memories in your heart, only unlocking the box when you were truly and utterly alone. 

Then you found Jackson. 

And you met Joel and Tommy Miller.

Your official title is scavenger but you much prefer to label yourself as an explorer instead. 

You’ve adapted to your quite well life at Jackson. You go beyond the borders, sometimes alone and sometimes with other fellow explorers, and gather supplies or try to pinpoint other locations threats might be lurking in. You’re about to go on another trip, this one shorter than your regular one to two-week expeditions, but before heading out you decide to stop by the only bakery in Jackson named The Last Crumb—previously named The Cordyceps Crumb but Maria decided it was in bad taste. You, on the other hand, had found it funny and topical. 

As you patiently wait in line, your camping bag waiting for you outside the bakery, someone bumps into you from behind, then never moves back. 

You turn with a raised eyebrow, not enjoying the close proximity, “Excuse you,” you snap. The man looks at you with a hint of mischief in his eyes, you roll your eyes when you recognize the face. “Move back a beat Tucker, I’m not in the mood this morning.” 

“Someone didn’t get her beauty sleep,” he grins but moves away regardless. “Want me to come with you this time? Sweet thing like you alone out there? It’s ain’t right.” 

“You can barely aim. Why would I want someone that’s most likely to get me killed around me?” 

“I think you’ll find my company to be plenty entertaining.” 

You’re about to gag when the bell of the bakery chimes, the sharp sound echoing through the wooden walls. Your face must've shown immense signs of relief because Tucker turns around to see who you're looking at. His instant frown makes you want to laugh and chuck him between the two men you’d describe as a wolf den. 

“Well, if it ain’t the Miller brothers,” Tucker tuts, attempting to give one of them a friendly pat on the shoulder. He stops midway when Joel’s gaze flits between you and him, his glare hard enough to cut diamonds. 

So he ends up slapping Tommy’s shoulder instead, which isn’t the best thing since you know the younger Miller hates Tucker. But among the brothers, he’s probably the one with less probability of getting your hand bitten off.

“Mornin’ Tucker,” Tommy answers, forcing a smile. 

Joel is less friendly, his words directed at you, “Is this dumbass botherin’ you again?” 

“I wouldn't exactly call a greeting among friends “botherin’,” Tucker says. “We’re just catchin’ up, no need to get your panties in a bunch Miller.” 

“God, you’re one word away from ruining my morning,” you hiss, glaring at the unpleasant man. “And we’re not friends.” 

His brows furrow, eyes going hard with an ugly snarl accompanying them, you feel braver when Tommy and Joel are around so you hold his gaze, not flinching away. 

Tommy is the one to ease the tension. He lays a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing the man’s attention away from you. “I’ll get you what you want a’right Tucker? It’s on me. Just go wait outside.” 

“But—” 

“Outside, Tuck,” Tommy repeats and you shudder at his tone. 

Tucker’s shoulders drop, defeated, “Fine, get me a raisin bagel.” 

He doesn’t wait for Tommy’s response and heads out the bakery. You finally release the breath you’ve been holding, your muscles relaxing along with the exhaled breath. Joel is by your side in the blink of an eye, his broad shoulder brushing yours providing comfort. 

“You sure you’re a’right?” he asks, gently curling fingers under your chin. “The prick didn’t do anythin’?” 

“Nah, nothing. He’s all bark but no bite. He asked if he wanted to join me today as if that buffoon wouldn’t get me killed.” you shrug, men being assholes was nothing new to you. You’re just glad that in Jackson it seems that there are more good apples than rotten ones.  “Too bad even paradise comes with drawbacks.” 

Joel snorts as Tommy cuts in, “Maria would be thrilled if she heard you calling it paradise.” 

“What are you smiling at? You think you can find anywhere better?” You playfully nudge Joel with your elbow. “You know there’s nothing but hell out there.” 

“I do, I just think callin’ here a paradise is a bit of a stretch is all.” 

The line moves and the three of you are finally at the counter, “You’re just a grump,” you tease Joel before turning your gaze to Poppy, the barista who knows everything about everyone. “Hey there, Poppy, the usual please.” 

“And a damn raisin bagel,” Tommy adds. 

“Well, isn’t it my favorite trio,” Poppy grins. “I’ll get all that ready for you in a second,” she locks her blue eyes on you and leans closer, you mimic her by instinct. “By the way have you heard of Ian? He wound up dead right outside the chopping block, an axe right through his chest.”  

You frown, “Good morning to you too, Poppy. Jesus Christ.” 

“I’ll confess I didn’t love the guy but isn’t it worrying that there’s a killer among us?” she murmurs while stuffing the goodies in paper bags. “Be careful out there.” 

“Well, if the culprit is here I think I might be safer out there,” you say and turn to Tommy. “Does Maria know?” 

“Of course, she does,” when you part your lips to say more, he lifts a finger and shoots you a crooked smile. “It’s confidential.” 

“Aw man, can’t you just tell us who she thinks it is?” Poppy asks, Tommy shakes his head and she lets out a dramatic sigh, “I miss my murder mystery books.” 

“I’ll try to find you something while I’m out,” you say, ignoring the way your heart began to race. Jackson is still a small town, it’s jarring to think someone might be out there, looking for their next target. “Though I think we could all do with a little less murder.” 

You hadn’t expected your voice to crack but your tone had betrayed you. Poppy extends you the bag of goods and a latte, as you reach out you feel Joel’s hand on your waist. His lips touch your ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m sure whoever it is is only goin’ after those who deserve it.” 

You lock your eyes with him, blinking heavily at the weight of his words. His voice had dropped, nothing but gravel as he whispered the words into your ear. A cold sensation slithers down your spine, chilling you to your core and making your throat tighten. 

His hand never leaves your waist as the three of you head out, and after a while, that chill slowly dissolves into a pleasurable warmth. 

You find solace in the woods. You love Jackson, but being in the woods away from everyone and everything makes you feel comforted. The first time you went scavenging, there was a slight fear in your movements; no matter how good your aim was, any kind of infected was difficult to kill.

But now you walk with ease. There isn’t an ounce of worry in your bones. The trees rustle happily and the smell of flowers and pine fills your nostrils. You can feel your lungs rejuvenating with every breath. Trickles of orange sunlight pour from the gaps of the trees. The sun sets, meaning you need to set up camp soon. 

While unpacking, you think of this morning. How Joel and Tommy stepped in when Tucker started bothering you. Honestly, you didn’t need their protection; Tucker is just one of those men who think they might have a shot if they bother you enough times. Still, it was nice to be claimed in a way, to be accepted into a family and cared for.

Your breath hitches slightly. Tommy, you see as a close friend, a brother perhaps, but Joel... Joel is another thing. Just thinking about him is enough to start a wildfire between your legs. You wish you were brave enough to do something about it, though. Whenever you two patrol together or stay awake late at night drinking, you always chicken out in the end. It doesn’t matter how his hands linger on your thighs or his eyes drop to your lips; you're just never convinced that the Joel Miller would be interested in you beyond a friend.

An unease starts to settle in the pit of your stomach. As the air grows colder with the approaching night, your skin prickles and you feel the phantom sensation of claws dragging down your back. You set the tent as quickly as you can, your eyes darting around the depths of the forest. Briefly, you bend over to adjust the ropes. 

A breath warm and damp ghosts the back of your neck and you jump, gun in hand as you turn around only to find—

Nothing. 

And no one. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest, adrenaline pumping in your veins, a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead. You've never had a trigger finger, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to just shoot every shadow you see.

“Dammit Poppy,” you mutter, annoyed that she gave you the brutal knowledge of Ian’s death right before you were heading out. Guilt stings at your heart. Ian was an asshole for sure, and you don’t exactly feel bad that he’s gone, but still, it was an eerie thought that someone had murdered him so violently. It had to be personal. 

Some part of you wishes Joel was here, or even Tucker, just another human being to tell you you’re just seeing things. 

You take a deep inhale and follow it up with a long exhale. You’re fine. There’s no one here. 

You give your surroundings one last suspicious look before going back to setting the tent. 

No matter how hard you try you can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you amongst the shadows. 

Joel hears crickets and owls. The night had always been his friend since the outbreak. He had become a violent man with an equally violent heart. He waits in the shadows, watching. Laughter and playful shouts echo from the bar, and soon the door swings open; the man he's been waiting for crawls out of the establishment, shit-faced. The drunk man shouts his farewells and staggers toward his home.

Joel follows, his mask heating up the skin that lays underneath. His fingers itch with the need to wring that asshole's neck. One by one, he had been cleaning Jackson for the better. His tendencies subdued while also doing some good. Ian was one of those people who deserved it and Joel had enjoyed the chase, the pleas, he especially enjoyed the way he tripped and cried right before he sunk the blade of the axe through Ian’s chest. 

Tucker trips, making Joel want to laugh. The idiot might not even realize he’s being hunted. Joel looks around, they are far enough for the chase to begin. Tucker continues to slip and fall as he attempts to get up. Taking the opportunity, Joel walks towards him with quick steps, making sure the first thing the asshole sees is his mask. 

Tucker notices him before he gets up, his hands bracing the ground, his eyes go wide, “What the fuck?” 

Joel only tilts his head. He sees the trembles rolling down the other man’s body, he relishes in his fear. 

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble, whoever the fuck you are so. . . scram.” 

Joel’s eyes dart to his hand on the dirt, without a second thought he lifts his foot and curb stomps Tucker’s hand. Then he kicks the side of his face, an audible crunch echoing before his scream could. The man whimpers and falls back in his attempt to crawl away. He holds his jaw, blood streaming down his broken nose. 

“Who the fuck are you?!”  

He steps closer and watches as Tucker’s eyes bug out. He’s too drunk to properly run away or even scream. Such an easy target. He grips the other’s hair and lifts him to his feet, he can feel the strands starting to rip from his scalp one by one, Tucker’s face twisting in pain. “Your worst fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel answers eerily calm. It doesn’t matter if Tucker recognizes him. He’d be dead soon enough anyway. 

“P-Please,” he begs, realizing the same thing. “I’ll do whatever you want promise. I don’t want to die.” 

Joel grunts, not dignifying his pleas with an answer. Lifting his other hand, his knuckles connect to Tucker’s face with a loud crunch, body flying to the ground headfirst. 

He pulls out his knife and drops down, ignoring the ache in his knees, he grabs Tucker’s arm and aligns the sharp blade against his wrist. Tucker notices, his face going pale as a ghost. “D-Don’t—” 

Joel doesn’t bat an eye as blood spurts violently over his clothes and the dirt. Drops of crimson seeping into the fabric. The knife cuts through the flesh like butter, severing hand from bone. His hand clamps over Tucker’s mouth. Joel smiles as his screams bounce off of the palm of his hand. 

You come back to Jackson hand empty and earlier than intended. You were too much at unease, and being so jarred wasn’t the best while scavenging for supplies alone. During your trip, you did end up scribbling something for Poppy. It wasn’t finished but you hoped she would enjoy the first draft of the first chapter. It was mostly descriptions of what you felt, a cat-and-mouse game between two people who had bumped into each other accidentally. 

While heading into Jackson, you notice a crowd in the distance. You promptly get off your horse and walk with haste. You recognize Joel and Tommy easily, both brothers standing on each end of the crowd like gates keeping a herd of sheep in check. Ellie is standing right next to Joel, lifting herself on her toes to see; Joel is holding her back by gripping the cap of her hood.

“What’s going on?” you ask. 

Joel turns to you, his eyebrows raising when notices it’s you and not some random person he has to ignore, “You’re back,” he says. A statement rather than a question. 

“Yeah, wasn’t feeling that well,” you shrug him off. “So what happened?” 

His eyes turn to steel, his jaw locking in place. Before you can ask again, he gestures for you to move up the crowd with a tilt of his head.

“Lucky,” you hear Ellie murmur as you walk ahead, gently pushing those who were looking at the sight with concern. With every step you take, the murmur of the crowd fades into the background, becoming nothing more than white noise. Maria is addressing the crowd, you think, though you're not entirely sure. The scent of blood is thick in the air, disorienting you as you get closer.

Your eyes go wide, the earth slips from beneath you but your expression remains emotionless.  

It’s Tucker. 

You feel as if you’re standing alone. As if you’re the only one taking in the sight of absolute horror and gore. Tucker is lying in a pile of his own blood face first, his eyes are open and lifeless, his one hand is outstretched like he’s about to crawl away.

His right hand, however, is chopped off. 

It’s not even a clean-cut. The edges of his flesh are jagged and crooked, his blood-caked where his hand should be. Whoever did this cut it so it would hurt, so he would suffer tremendously. 

You can’t help but gasp, covering your mouth with your right hand. You begin to shake, confusion churning in your stomach as bile coats your tongue. He’s dead. Just like Ian. 

When Maria’s eyes find your own, she narrows her gaze, a small warning for you to keep it together. You can’t though. How could you? Tucker was alive and kicking a couple of days ago, just being his annoying self around Jackson. 

“Calm down,” you hear Joel mutter into your ear. You shiver at the brush of his lips. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” 

Safe. You want to laugh. You don’t even know what that word means anymore. 

Joel’s mouth moves over the shell of your ear, “He was a nuisance. Don’t feel bad now that he’s dead.” 

“I didn’t want him to die,” you hiss back. “And knowing there’s a serial killer out there doesn’t exactly make me feel safe.” 

Despite your half-angry tone, you find yourself leaning into Joel’s presence. Your shoulder presses into his broad chest, and without missing a beat he wraps his arms around your shaking frame. Relief comes in the form of warmth spreading along your chest, tingles forming at the tips of your fingers and toes. The voices of the crowd gradually come back but you only hear one of the many questions.

“What do you think the message means?” 

Confusion crosses your face, brows furrowing as you try to make sense of it. Joel makes a choked-out sound that could’ve easily been taken as an amused chuckle. 

Then your eyes drop to Tucker’s outstretched hand and his dying message written in blood. 

O W L 

A week had passed since Tucker’s death. 

You've been thinking about both murders relentlessly, trying to piece together everything that you know so far. During this time, you're grateful for Poppy, who comes by almost every night to help you try to solve the case. That's been your sole focus for the past few weeks; you haven't been scavenging since you spooked yourself so badly that you returned early, only to find Tucker dead.

Some part of you thinks that the eeriness you felt that day was a sign of what was about to happen. It's also an odd coincidence that he ended up dead the same night he harassed you in the morning. However, there are no forensic investigators in Jackson, so it’s almost impossible to determine the exact time of death. That fact alone makes you anxious. It only means that whoever is killing everyone has nothing to worry about because even if they leave traces, who’s going to know?

In order to keep your nerves in check you end up writing a lot. You haven’t shown any of it to Poppy yet but you’re excited. You never thought writing a thriller would be the perfect way to escape the horrors of your actual life. At least in your stories, you have control. 

You also visit Joel and vice versa. 

Something had shifted the day he held you as you both gazed upon Tucker’s lifeless body. Maybe it was just you who felt bolder since death was once again right around the corner — or maybe Joel just felt more protective now, wanting to check on you as much as he could.

“You’re really writin’ a whole ass novel?” he asks, pouring you a glass of scotch. You still can’t get over the fact that it nearly tasted identical to the actual stuff. Jackson is truly a miracle; at least when bodies aren’t dropping left and write. 

Ellie’s at a sleepover, which means you and Joel have the whole house to yourselves. With everything going on you’d expect your libido to diminish a bit but it’s as strong as ever, ready to go. 

You smile as he places the glass in front of you, “Yeah,” you say, picking up the glass and heading toward the living room. “I couldn’t find Poppy anything to read and it helps me relax.” 

“Relax, how?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. The couch dips with his weight, and heat crawls up from your chest to your neck when his knee brushes against yours. 

“Well, it’s a horror thing. Horror slash mystery? I don’t know—whatever it is, it’s nice to have an outlet to escape what’s been happening lately.” 

“So to escape brutal murders you write more brutal murders?” 

You chuckle at the way his eyebrows raise, eyes going wide, “I don’t really focus that much on the gore. It’s more psychological, my sweet brute. Things don’t need to have blood to be scary.” 

His grin is wide and instant, dark eyes lighting up with amusement, “What did you just call me?” 

“I. . .” Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, suddenly realizing what you’d said. 

“What cat got your tongue?” he teases. Joel leans closer, fingers dancing along the curve of your shoulder. You can feel the gravel in his voice. “You just called me yours, sweetheart. Does that jog your memory?” 

“I also called you brute,” you quip back immediately, cheeks aflame. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Don’t it?” his palm now presses fully into your shoulder, keeping you in place in case you might run. Joel tilts his head slightly, the plush of his lips only an inch away. “I like you callin’ me that,” the pink of his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Say it again.”  

“S-Say what?” 

A small chuckle parts his lips, oddly enough it almost feels like his patience is wearing thin. He comes closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “That I’m yours,” he clarifies. “Been waitin’ to hear those words come from your mouth since I met you.” 

“You’re mine,” you whisper against his lips, eyelids fluttering but not quite closing. With the confession, you feel the brush of Joel’s lips on yours. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth. You part for him with a moan, and taking the opportunity, he slides inside, tasting every inch of you. 

His lips taste and feel like the forests you wander off to; it soothes you, calms your nerves, and has the taste of home. They’re chapped from the sun, yet soft. You can’t have enough of him, if he’d offered, you’d gladly kiss him forever. 

Joel parts with a shaky breath, his chest heaving, “And you’re mine,” he groans, his eyes dark with arousal. It’s an involuntary action but your eyes drop to the front of his pants where you see the thick outline of his cock. 

Your mouth goes dry, yet you manage to speak anyway, “Are words all you’ve been waiting for?” It’s bold, you’re highly aware, but you can’t help it when he’s this close. His scent suffocating, pulling you to him like a moth to a flame. 

He stares at you silently. His thumb touches your bottom lip, slightly tugging it down. He’s not smiling anymore, only observing. 

“No,” Joel answers slowly. He leans towards your ears, the thick hairs above his lips tickling your skin. “I’ve also been waitin’ to feel that velvet tongue on my cock, honey. And to feel how tight your throat gets when you take every inch of me.” 

Joel blows a puff of air, it caresses your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brings your hand to the front of his pants, dragging your palm up and down his length. You shudder. The heat of it seeps into your palm despite the thick fabric of his jeans, you lick your lips absentmindedly. “This is all for you sweetheart.” 

“Fuck, Joel. . .” your eyes roll back when he kisses your neck, open-mouthed kisses laid upon your skin like a gift. Your nipples tighten and if you look down right now, you know you’ll see them peeking through your shirt. 

He reads your thoughts, eyes moving down before meeting your gaze again. “Didn’t know you walked around without a bra, sunshine.” 

“I only go braless when I’m comfortable,” you answer. Joel cups your breasts roughly, kneading the flesh, he simultaneously sucks on your neck, teeth nipping the sensitive skin. “Oh god,” the fabric of your panties grows damp and you clench your thighs together. 

“Not god,” he says sharply, sinking his teeth into you. “Joel.” 

“Joel,” you moan and arch your back, filling more of yourself into his palm. You squeeze his cock, relishing in the way he makes a strangled sound. “I want to suck you off, Joel.” 

“Be my guest.” 

You push him until he’s lying on the couch. You’re about to unbutton his jeans but he stops you. 

“Turn around,” he says. 

“What?” 

His wide grin nearly stops your heart, “Want to taste that sweet pussy, sunshine. Strip down and take a seat.” 

“On—On your face?” 

“Where else?” 

You’re too embarrassed to speak, tongue suddenly too big in your mouth. Quickly, and a bit clumsily, you strip down and turn before straddling his chest. You don’t need to touch yourself to know that you’re soaked. 

You swallow, “I’ve never done this before.” 

His hands come up to cradle your hips, urging you to move back towards his face. You feel the blunt sting of his nails. 

“That’s alright,” he mutters. “I won’t let you fall if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“I’m more worried about how I’m gonna move, or accidentally suffocating you.” 

“What a noble way it would be to go.” 

“Joel!” you laugh, playfully smacking his thigh. He answers by giving your hips another squeeze, you surrender and move back until you’re hovering over his face. Your hand planted firmly over his hip bones, you lower yourself. You shudder as his tongue licks a stripe between your folds. He moans into your cunt, pulling you flush against his face. 

Meanwhile, you finally unzip his pants and pull his cock out, the heft of it bumping against your nose and lips. You drip at the smell of him and swear he smiles as he sucks on your aching clit, short-circuiting your brain with arousal. His cock throbs in your palm, a drop of precome glistening at the tip. Your mouth watering, you lean forward and clean him off. Another groan echoes within his chest and he thrusts forward, the tip of his cock kissing your lips. 

Eyes fluttering closed, you suck on the bulbous head and force yourself to go down until he hits the back of your throat. You wrap a hand around the base, stroking where you can’t fit, and hallow your cheeks. 

“Come on, sunshine. You can take me,” he rasps. “You’re mine, aren’t you? That mouth is meant to take me.” 

Without waiting for an answer, Joel pushes his tongue inside, your walls clenching around the wet muscle—you let out a loud gasp and grind down, then you feel the sting of his palm against your ass, pain blossoming from where he smacked. 

Your throat rattles with a moan and Joel takes the opportunity to drive forward, your eyes go wide as you feel the length of him sliding down your throat, cutting the air from your lungs. 

“Oh, fuck—” he moans unabashedly, the sounds sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine despite the strain on your throat. “That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Fuck, fuck—” 

Your throat tightens around him, your lungs starting to burn. His hand caresses both sides of your ass, the abrupt pain of the smack from before subduing, “Relax,” he says, swirling his tongue around your clit. “Breathe through your nose. Just a bit more. . .” 

Your nails bite into his thighs as you attempt to follow instructions. You relax your throat and slowly begin to breathe from your nose. It’s still difficult, but your lungs rejoice in the minimal amount of air that comes through. You make a mess of him. Saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth and down his length. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmurs. “Gonna fuck that pretty throat now and make this pussy come, understood?” 

Eyes tearing up, you nod. From the way your stomach convulses, you know that you’re close, your skin tight over your trembling muscles. The nod is all that Joel needs from you. Holding you in place, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself completely down your throat while flicking his tongue against your clit. You scream around him, eyes rolling back as he continues to devour you and take you apart at the same time. He licks you with fat strokes of his tongue, a hint of teeth scraping your folds here and there as he fucks your throat with shallow thrusts. 

You’re limp against his broad body, allowing him to use you as he pleases while all you can do is hang on for the ride. Pleasure licks the base of your spine, a searing heat caressing your skin while Joel continues to build you up only for you to fall spectacularly. Your lips start to ache, your throat squeezing around him whenever he snaps his hips forward— 

And all hell finally breaks loose. 

You come undone with a devastating cry only for it to be muffled by his cock going down your throat. You gush around his tongue, soaking his facial hair and mouth, Joel is underrated, licking and sucking until you’re shaking above him, every bit of tension draining from your body. 

Joel comes shortly after, his hand slides from your waist and he manages to reach out in order to hold your head down. You don’t have a choice but to swallow as he spills down your throat, thick spurts of come going down while he shudders and pushes even deeper. 

There’s so much of it, cock twitching and throbbing in your mouth until your mouth sucks him dry. You’re lightheaded from the lack of air; you find that it adds to the pleasure that’s buzzing in your veins, your cunt still pulsing with the heft of him still buried in your lips. 

He pulls out with a satisfied groan and you manage to scoot down so you’re straddling his chest instead of head. Joel caresses your back, the gentle repeated motion sending tingles down your spine. 

“That’s was fuckin’ amazin’,” he says, voice hoarse. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you answer sounding meek. “I think I need some water though.” 

You get off, legs still shaking, but he grabs your hand, halting your movement. “Let me get it for you,” he says, sitting up. 

“I’m already up,” you smile as his brows furrow with worry, the expression warming your heart. You quickly bend down to kiss him and he’s quick to lick himself into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. “I’ll be right back.” 

You have no idea how you’re standing while feeling like jello but you manage to get yourself all the way to the fridge. You smile at the coolness touching your warmed skin when you open the door. Scanning the interior, you thoughtlessly rub at your throat in an attempt to soothe the ache a little. You grab the pitcher of cold water and notice a bit of apple pie left over. 

“Hey, Joel?” you call out. He hums in acknowledgment. “Can I have a slice of pie?” 

His humored chuckle follows through, “You can eat the whole damn thing after what you’ve done,” you smile and take the desert out. “Can you bring me a slice too?” he adds. 

You smile and place the pie on the counter. The leftover is already two slices give or take so you decide to just take two forks with you instead of dirting a plate. Looking through the drawers, you try to remember which one is the cutlery drawer. 

On your second try you find something else. 

Something that makes your eyes go wide and heart throb painfully. 

Your hands shaking, you pick up the owl mask from the drawer. The surface is smooth, and the color of it a light shade of brown just like a tawny owl. All the pleasant tingles fade away, the buzz of pleasure in your veins replaced by fear and adrenaline. 

Heading back to the living room, you show the mask to Joel. 

“What’s this?” you ask, your voice betraying your sudden outburst of fear. 

Joel looks up, eyes flitting between you and the owl mask. He raises a brow, his confusion evident across his face. “It’s a mask, sweetheart.” 

“No no, I know it’s a mask,” you answer, breathless. “But why do you have it?” 

“It’s Ellie’s,” he stands up, his pants still unbuttoned but pulled up. You fight the urge to step away, fight the urge to flinch when he touches your cheek. “They were makin’ Halloween masks last year in school. I didn’t even realize we still had it.” 

“Really?” you ask and he nods. 

“Really,” Joel claims your lips in a chaste kiss, thumb stroking lines up and down your cheek. His hand slithers down your arm to your wrist and when he squeezes, you drop the mask. “Why?” he breathes into you. “Is this about the damn thing Tucker wrote down?” 

You remain silent and he pulls away, dark eyes boring into yours. 

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Why don’t you just allow yourself to enjoy this? You deserve to be happy.” 

Your eyes widen with surprise, his words crashing into you, “I. . . Do I do that? Really?” 

“It’s normal, darlin’,” he answers. “I’m pretty sure we all have survivor’s guilt.” 

You let out a shaky exhale. He’s right. You were just feeling guilty of being alive when so many had died. Joel smiles back and traces the curve of yours with his fingers. “There’s that smile that I adore,” he guides you towards the kitchen. “Now let’s go eat some pie.” 

No matter what though, you can’t help but turn back to look at the owl mask one last time as it lays lifelessly on the floor. 

“So, tell me about this book you’re writin’?” 

You let out a low laugh, “I already told you about it. What more do you wanna know?” 

You stare at Joel’s back as he takes the lead, he’d decided to join you in your explorations ever since you told him how nervous you had gotten the last time. You had appreciated the gesture but still felt a tad anxious around him ever since you found that damn owl mask— 

A branch snaps into two under your steps and he turns, extending his hand to you. With a smile you allow him to lace his fingers within yours, your stomach jumping a little as he tugs you close so the two of you are walking side by side instead. 

“If memory serves me right we got distracted when you told me about it,” he says with that southern drawl of his. “So tell me again what it’s about.” 

“Okay okay,” you smile, squeezing his hand twice. “It’s all a big mess now but the premise is that there’s this guy obsessed with this woman and he stalks her and no matter what she does, she always feels like there’s someone watching.” 

Joel looks ahead, “Sounds familiar. Isn’t that how you felt last time you were out here?” 

“Yeah, and it’s when I started writing it.” 

“So do these two people know each other?” his tone drops, his fingers suddenly feeling like barbed wire within your hand. You swallow. “I mean in their regular lives, does the woman know that he’s the one stalkin’ her?” 

You roll your shoulders, a weak attempt to shrug off the eeriness that you feel. 

“Exactly. I think that just makes the whole thing creepier. He��s just a normal guy, even a friend, but he’s also the one among the shadows.” 

“Interestin’,” he murmurs. “You think that’s happenin’ to you?” 

“I don’t think there’s someone stalking me, if that’s what you’re asking,” you utter every word hastily, your pulse quickening under your skin. 

His lips curl in a half smile, “That’s good,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be laying awake thinking about what might lingerin’ on the other side of the window.” 

“I think I’m more likely to stay awake thinking about infected,” you say with a soft laugh. “But yeah, it’s all fiction. That day I probably just got scared because of what Poppy said about Ian.” 

“Probably,” Joel trails off, his steps slowing. “How do you think it’s gonna end?” 

“W-What?” 

He stops and so does your heart. At least you think it does. 

Joel faces you fully, his presence towering, he grips your shoulders and pushes you back until the air is knocked from your lungs by a tree right behind you. Your eyes go wide. He leans in, breath tickling your lips. 

“How do you think your book is gonna end, sweetheart?” he asks again, eyes gleaming with something dark. “Is the guy gonna get the girl?” 

“I—I don’t know.” 

All you can think about is the owl mask and how it would perfectly fit his face. He cocks his head and taking a step closer, he slips a leg between your thighs. Slick gathers at your underwear—he feels the fabric dampening on his leg and grins. 

“Fear turns you on doesn’t it?” he purrs. “Wicked thing.” 

Relief drowns your senses. So that’s why he got all weird suddenly, he’s just teasing you. With a laugh, your head falls back against the tree trunk, “Jesus Joel, you scared the shit out of me.” 

“It ain’t my fault,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re easy to scare.” 

“Well, two brutal unsolvable murders will do that to a girl.” 

Joel lets go and pulls away, smiling as he shakes his head, “What’s it gonna take for you to believe I had nothin’ to do with those? Even in death, Tucker causes nothin’ but fuckin’ trouble for me.” 

“You don’t need to do anything, I’m sorry,” you pull him back, relishing in the way his strong arms wrap around your frame. “I’ll stop being such a chicken, promise. I’m still a bit jittery that’s all.” 

“I forgive you,” he says against your lips, kissing you quickly before pulling you away from the thick trunk of the tree. “Now let’s find a place to settle down for the night.” 

When you two return to Jackson three days later, the first thing you notice is the crowd. Your stomach drops at the familiar sight and instinctively you reach out to Joel, lacing your fingers together. He squeezes your hand two times. 

The last thing you should be feeling is relief that now it’s not possible for Joel to be the one killing all those people but alas, that’s all you feel. Relief and love. 

The trade fair sprawls before you. Stalls with makeshift awnings, tattered banners, and worn tarps create a patchwork quilt of colors, beneath which a diverse array of goods is proudly displayed. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the tang of cured leather, and the earthy aroma of herbs. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional clinking of metal form a lively symphony, a chorus of life that drowns out the ever-present background hum of death and infection.

You’ve always enjoyed the time of the trade fair. People move like busy ants, weaving between the stalls. Children, their cheeks dusted with earth, dart through the crowd, their carefree laughter that should be comforting doing the opposite. Since Tina’s death— she was one of the council members— you had been sleeping at Joel’s. Neither he nor Ellie seemed to mind you staying there. 

The purpose of the fair is to exchange goods – to exchange, to connect, to share stories of survival.

Your eyes scan the crowd for Joel's familiar silhouette. He and Ellie had headed out before you since you wanted a change of clothes. Just as your gaze begins to falter, a voice reaches your ears. "Hey!" It's Poppy, she waves you over.

You navigate your way through the bustling stalls until you stand before Poppy. She's leaning against a rough-hewn post, a glint of excitement in her eyes. 

“Hey, Poppy,” you greet her with a smile. “I’m looking for Joel, or Ellie, have you seen either of them?”

“Well, Ellie is with Dina, hanging out,” She points to the forest that skirts the settlement. "I saw him heading that way not too long ago."

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you later then,” Waving her off, you head after Joel. 

The trees are a bit more scarce here, there’s more room between them. The forest opens up, revealing a sprawling expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. It's a stark contrast to the dense woods you often travel to, where the trees stand like guardians, their branches interlocking in a tapestry of shadow and light. Here, the gaps between the trees create pockets of sunlight that dapple the forest floor. 

However, the expanses between trees can be deceiving, and without the markers and familiarity of the well-trodden paths closer to home, it's easy to lose your way. 

For some reason instead of calling out for Joel, you decide to wander aimlessly. You’re not sure why. You don’t come to this side of Jackson often enough to feel comfortable with your surroundings and shouting his name would definitely be easier than walking without aim. 

Soon enough you hear faint murmuring beckoning you deeper into the forest. 

Survival instincts kicking in, you slow down your steps, making sure to step onto clear dirt instead of gravel or fallen branches. Hiding behind a rather large tree trunk, you stare ahead. In the distance, you see two men: one with his back against the tree, while the other holds him by the neck, the sharp blade of his knife catching the sunlight and reflecting it directly into your eyes.

You hold your breath and your eyes go wide. You hear the thrum of your heart. It’s the killer. It has to be. 

You can’t quite hear them but you can decipher the tone of begging for one's life. The man holding the knife tilts his head slightly, your mouth waters at the prospect of finally seeing the murderer's face—

It’s the mask. 

The same mask you found in Joel’s home in the shape of an owl. Your stomach churns violently, bile raising to your throat as you watch on. You rub at your eyes, take deep breaths—anything you can think of that would erase the image before you. 

Goosebumps raising across your skin, you shake your head. It can’t be Joel. He was with you the day Tina died and no matter how competent he was not even he could be at two places at once. 

A muffled scream echoes within the forest and your eyes snap to the two men, the owl had driven his knife into the flesh and bone. He pulls it out, and the body falls. You recognize who it is; Jacob. You heard his name a couple of days ago from Ellie, he was bothering both her and Dina because they were hanging out. 

He’s still alive when the killer stomps his head in, blood splattering across the leys. 

You’re frozen in place. Your throat dry and tongue motionless. The killer kicks Jacob one last time for good measure and finally stops. You observe the way his shoulders drop as if a great weight had been lifted off of them, then he looks up into the sky, the golden sun highlighting his mask. 

Very slowly, he lifts his hand and takes it off. 

Every feeling comes rushing back, too fast and too soon. Your tongue is alive again and so is your body, the world is suddenly vibrant with life and horror. The sun continues to caress the countenance of the unmasked killer’s face, his sunkissed skin the perfect canvas to soak up the light. 

Joel. 

You take a step back, every thought of precaution dropping from your mind. The forest starts to spin. It spins and spins and spins until the ground slips from beneath your feet. You catch yourself at the very last second. 

When you look up you see his gaze staring directly into yours. 

“Fuck,” you hiss out, quickly staggering up. The last thing you see before you start running is his extended hand as he tries to reach out for you. 

“Wait!” 

You don’t. You do the exact opposite of that. You run. You run for your life and those in Jackson at the fair. 

You run with memories loud in your mind. How Joel had listened to you, comforted you, fucked you—

Tears sting your eyes. Every part of this feels like a nightmare that you hope to wake up from anytime soon. But as the wind hits your skin, you know that every part of this is very much real. Your chest burns from how fast you’re going, your legs starting to falter underneath you. 

Before you can react, an unexpected force slams into you. The impact sends shockwaves through your body as you collide with something—or is it someone?—their presence as jarring as the jolt itself. Your momentum falters, and for a fleeting moment, time seems to slow as you stumble, desperately trying to regain your balance.

Two arms grab at you and without even seeing who it is, you start to push the person away, fighting against it like a wild animal. 

“Let go of me! Let go of me!” 

“Hey hey hey,” you hear a familiar voice repeat. “It’s me, you’re okay,” you’re shaking all around, only when you feel his hands cradle your cheeks do you open your eyes. He smiles when he sees your eyes flicker in recognition. 

“Tommy?” you whisper. He nods and without a thought you jump him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. His arms coil around you in response, promising to not let go. “Oh, thank fuck it’s you.” 

“What happened? Are you alright?” 

“I—I am okay but—Joel—It’s Joel, Tommy he’s been the one behind all those murders. We need to warn everyone, we need to tell Maria!” 

You grab his arm and tug him along toward what you assume is the right way out of the forest. He remains still. Turning around, you shoot him a confused glance. 'Tommy, we need to tell people.'

“Can’t let you do that sugar, sorry.” 

“Why. . . Why not?” you let go and slowly step back, heart pounding. “Is it because he’s your brother?” 

You wish that was his excuse. Some moral obligation towards Joel because he’s his brother, that you can relate to. Your heart still pounds for Joel and in your brain, you’re still desperately seeking an explanation. 

But Tommy allows the silence to linger, your fear and worry quickly turning into anger. 

“Fine, I’ll tell them. It’s wrong.” 

It only takes a blink of an eye; you feel Tommy’s iron grip around your wrist, yanking you back into his chest. He holds you. Oddly tender for someone who had made your arm nearly fall out of its socket. You thrash within his arms, pulling and hitting his chest. 

“We’re doing good,” he grunts. “You gotta see that.” 

You refuse to listen, your ear narrowing on the sound of your own blood rush instead of his words. By some miracle, you manage to slip your arm out and punch him square in the chin. It was a weak punch but strong enough to startle Tommy. 

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, calm the fuck down—” he tucks your arm back against your body and turns you around so your back is flush against his chest. You’re breathing raggedly, chest rising with every deep gulp of air. His lips touch your ear, his tone menacing, “I really wish you would’ve not done that.” 

“Why?” you gasp. “You’re gonna kill me too?” 

Silence follows, and with every passing moment sweat beads on your forehead, “It was you wasn’t it?” you continue. “You killed Tina. Joel only came along with me to calm my suspicions.” 

Before Tommy can confirm your suspicions, you notice movement within the forest and your eyes are immediately drawn to the shadow coming forth.  

“Smart girl,” Joel remarks with a half smile as he emerges from between the trees. There’s a splatter of red over his shirt but the knife seems to be tucked away. For now. “But you’re only half right, darlin’. I came along because I like spendin’ time with you.” 

“Is that supposed to make me ignore the fact that Jacob’s body isn’t even cold yet?” 

Joel curls two fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze while Tommy continues to hold you back. You shudder against him, a soft sound parts the younger Miller’s lips. 

“He was a piece of shit,” Joel grunts. “He was botherin’ Ellie, callin’ her names, he deserved what he was gettin’.” 

“So what, you guys are just playing hero? Killing everyone who’s causing trouble in town? There’s a system for that.” 

“Honey,” he tuts, an involuntary warmth spreading within your abdomen. “The system didn’t work before the outbreak, it ain’t gonna work now either.” 

“We protect our own,” Tommy says from behind you, breath fanning your neck. “We take care of it before it escalates. You have to understand that.” 

“And why the hell would I understand?” you hiss, looking directly into Joel’s eyes while addressing Tommy. 

Joel smiles, his lips curling slowly, “Because you’re one of us. And you like it when we protect.” 

Your lips part with an exhale. He’s right, not that you still agree with them killing people, but you had enjoyed that primal protection coming from the Millers. It made you feel powerful, loved, cared for. All the things you craved deeply. 

You ignore Joel and his words entirely, averting your eyes with embarrassment and shame. 

“I just don’t understand why you did it, Tommy” you murmur. Tommy tenses behind you, his arms tightening around your frame, drawing the remaining oxygen from your lungs. “I understand the other’s to an extent but Tina didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Joel looks towards Tommy, it was his kill after all and the older Miller had nothing to say about it. 

“She was wrecking what Maria is tryin’ so hard to build,” he answers. “She’s pregnant, stress ain’t good for her or the baby.” 

“Does. . . Does Maria—” 

Tommy cuts you off, “No.” 

Joel leans closer, mouth an inch away from yours as he parts his lips. “I killed for you,” You hate the way your body reacts to him, wanting to close the distance between you two despite how unsettled you feel. “Ian was a piece of shit, so was Tucker and Jacob. They don’t deserve your empathy, honey. And you can’t deny that you’re glad they’re gone.” 

His hair is a delightful mess. Soft locks going in every direction. All you want to do is thread your fingers within and forget about all of this. Joel’s gaze is observant, dark eyes darting all over your face. You don’t know what he sees but whatever it is, he nods to Tommy for him to let you go and he does. Legs lifeless and shaking, he catches you, his warmth welcoming. He’s still tender with you. Hands delicate as they move over your arms, shifting you so you'll be facing Tommy.

Joel’s hand curls around your neck and holds your chin so you can’t look away. You can’t read Tommy’s expression. You’re not sure what he’s feeling. However, you think he looks almost relieved that you’re not fighting anymore. 

You shudder as Joel drags his lips down your neck, taking deep breaths of your fear-induced scent. His hands slip under your shirt and cup both breaths, making you squeal. Your objection is short-lived when he brushes his thumbs over both nipples, awakening them with slow strokes. 

Tommy’s gaze drops to your chest. 

“He’s been watching you, you know,” Joel says. “When I had things to settle in town it was him who looked after you,” his voice drops, eyes observing his brother. “I think he deserves a bit of a show, don’t you think?” 

The whimper you let out is enough for Tommy to meet your gaze curiously. Joel smiles into your skin and your eyes widen as he pulls out a knife—a different one from the one he used on Jacob, you realize with relief. 

Your breath hitches as he slides the knife under your shirt and cuts your shirt clean from the middle, exposing you completely to his younger brother’s eyes. Sudden arousal pools between your legs and you clamp them together suddenly, the movement not unnoticed by either of them. 

“You like it when my brother watches?” he asks loud enough for Tommy to hear. “You got a little crush on him too, sweetheart, hmm? Don’t worry, he’s always goin’ to be lookin’ out for you. That’s what family does after all.” 

Your neck strains as Joel tilts your head suddenly, claiming your lips in a violent kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to part your lips for him and pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking the surprised sounds of pleasure right from your mouth. Your heart skips a beat. He presses the flat side of the knife against your warmed skin, the chill of metal settling in your bones. 

When he parts away, a string of saliva connects you still. “You’re mine aren’t you?” Joel groans, lips moving over yours. 

You nod in a daze and he smiles, “And I’m yours too,” he says. 

Your eyes meet Tommy momentarily, the younger Miller’s lips twitch in a half smile. He doesn’t say a word as he closes the distance. 

Tommy cradles your face tenderly,  urging you to come close as he envelopes your lips with his own, taking you by surprise. 

The kiss lacks the intensity compared to Joel’s. Tommy caresses your cheeks with both thumbs. You don’t even feel his tongue, it’s just a gradual movement of lips, a type of affirmation and comfort. 

“You’re one of us now,” he says pressing his forehead against yours. You don’t know how to react or what to say and you end up just nodding, your hands fisting his shirt. Him, parting away from you almost feels painful but you’re not sure why. Tommy gives you a smile and Joel a nod before he leaves. 

You and Joel stand like that for a while, in complete silence, bodies flushed together, knife still resting over your stomach. 

“I only did what was right,” he breaks the silence. His tone isn’t one of asking for forgiveness or understanding. His arms tighten around you. “Are you afraid of me?” he whispers into your ear, the thick hairs above his lips tickling the shell of your ear. 

You don’t answer him. 

“You don’t need to be,” he continues. He allows you to move within his arms, you want to see his face, you need to see him to not fear for your life. You ignore the knife grazing your skin as you turn around, your bare front snug against his chest. “I’ll never hurt you. And you’re the only person in this whole damn town that can say that. You and Ellie.” 

“What about Tommy?” 

“Tommy’s priorities lay elsewhere.” 

He doesn’t allow you to inquire further about what he means by that. All you can detect is a hint of anger that quickly dissipates when he claims your lips once more. 

You’re lost in him. His tongue captures you in a way that makes you forget the blood on his clothes—on his hands. His tongue slides against your own, pressing until you’re moaning into his mouth, your knees faltering at the knife smoothing down your skin. 

Before pushing you down to the ground, he takes off the shirt he cut in half completely off of you, your bra following the pile on the grass. Your breath hitches as he takes his place between your legs, his mouth devouring your neck, “Joel. . .” you moan, fisting his shirt and grinding up to feel at least a bit of friction. 

A silent laugh seeps into your skin, his breath sending shivers up your spine, “Do you still feel bad for them?” he teases, laying a wet kiss between your breasts. 

You don’t think much as you answer, “No.” 

And as a reward, Joel closes his lips over a nipple, sucking hard until your breathing goes ragged. 

“That’s my girl,” he groans, moving towards the other pebbled flesh. “You’re too good, too kind, but they don’t deserve that sweetheart.” 

He hooks his fingers into your belt loops and tugs down your jeans, laving you with soft, ticklish kisses as he moves lower and lower. When you’re completely bare to him, you have the urge to cover yourself, the grass tickles your back and the wind feels colder now. Joel smiles and pulls your arms away. He lays the knife right above your stomach and your breath hitches. 

“I want to taste you,” Joel says. “But not in the way you think, darlin’,” he kisses the sensitive skin right adobe your belly button, and brings the sharp edge of the knife to your skin. “I want to taste the life that pumps through your veins.” 

Your eyes widen as he nicks you. It’s a small cut and blood beads at the wound instantly. He doesn’t allow it to gather enough so that’ll trickle down, he quickly presses his lips against it, your essence coating his tongue as he gives it a tender suck. You can the blood leaving your veins, a pleasant tingle echoing from the wound and spreading throughout your body. Your eyes flutter, a moan escaping your lips as he flattens his tongue against the cut and licks with board strokes. 

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he rasps, pushing two fingers into you with ease. You gasp at the sudden stretch, your back arching into his touch. “So darn wet—All this for me, sunshine?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, grinding down. “Joel, please—” 

You hear the sound of his belt buckle coming undone, his breath heavy in your ear, “Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart, I’m obliged.” 

You feel the head of his cock brush against your entrance, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your eyes close in anticipation and you whimper as he slowly slides inside you inch by inch. You can feel it, that intense fullness that can only come from him, taking his time to make sure it feels good. His size is intimidating but you feel yourself melting around him, eager and willing. 

“That’s it. . . you’re takin’ me so well, such a tight little hole for me. Fuckin’ amazin’.” 

He presses his forehead against yours, nipping at your bottom lip before thrusting, sending a wave of pleasure that makes your toes curl. You cling onto him for support as he pumps deeper and faster, hitting all the right spots. It takes neither of you long to climb the edge, ready to fall. You can feel the warmth of his breath, and his grip tightens on your hips. His pace quickens as the intensity builds, and you clench around him as he groans your name. 

“Gonna come inside,” he slurs his words. “Gonna fill you up—shit—” 

You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, his hard length contracting. As he pushes deeper into you, your insides flutter, squeezing around him. Your orgasm is ripped from you, shattering and mind-numbing. Your head spins and you cling to him, afraid that the world underneath you might slip entirely. His hot come warms you from the inside out, spilling from where his cock stretches you. 

Joel remains inside until he starts to soften. He pulls out of you, leaving you feeling a longing ache deep within your core. You shudder as his come trickles down your thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing. 

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, entranced, as he gathers himself over his fingers and pushes it back inside you. “Try to keep as much as you can inside.” To emphasize his want for it, he slides your underwear up your legs. 

You’re tied to him now. And even though you shouldn’t, you enjoy being the one near the beast. Joel helps you dress, at least helps you with what remains, and gives you his leather jacket to wear since your shirt is in ruins. Neither of you says a word as you walk back to where Jacob’s body rests. You help him bury the body, not feeling a single thing; no grief, no remorse, no sadness. 

You always did have a complicated relationship with death after all. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #hauntedhoedown

[oweninadaydream]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

“I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar. 

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)" 

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead. 

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept. 

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her. 

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However,  nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body. 

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature. 

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience. 

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day. 

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured : 

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

#oweninadaydream #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #female reader #fem!reader #the hunger games imagine

[hidden-snow]

This was an old request I'd gotten on my old account. I don't remember the requester, though.

ꨄ︎ Love's A Disease ꨄ︎

Warnings // Angst, reader almost dies, reader just has a simple case of Hanahaki Disease

Word count // 1,926

Dictionary: Hufwe / air instrument

"You made flowers grow in my lungs and, although they are beautiful, I cannot breathe." ~ Author Unknown

He’d always been the center of your attention, the reflection in your mirror, the reason to keep going. Your crush was major, filling your heart and soul with life every time you looked at him. And yet, it’d always been rejected, unreciprocated, unappreciated.

As a child, you’d grown up fascinated in the world of the sky people, following the scientists around all day before returning home to your family and people. Seeing your curiosity of the world they knew, Norm had taken it upon himself to teach you to read. And you took off, learning to read at a fast pace.

One particular subject had caught your eye, though. Something that described what was happening between you and Neteyam. The Hanahaki disease, caused by one-sided love, where the poor, lovesick victim begins to cough up flower petals from their lungs until they die. The only way they survived was either if their love was returned or the flowers were removed from their lungs. And if that happened, the love for that person would be removed permanently as well.

Even as your obsession over this subject grew, Norm and Max often told you that this disease was fictional, something that many people had been obsessed with when it came to writing. It was purely used to twist the reader’s emotions like a knife to the chest, a subject that would never come true.

Sometimes, you could swear you felt the flowers growing in your lungs, clogging up the space meant for oxygen. Hidden in the privacy of your home, you’d find yourself hunched over, coughing as small bioluminescent petals fluttered into your cupped palms, tainted with traces of scarlet red liquid.

It was hard to believe this disease was fictional when you stared down at these petals that had emerged from your throat in your attempts to clear it. When your parents or friends questioned you, you’d hide the petals, claiming to have just found them while walking through the forest and that you thought they were pretty.

When Jake first caught you coughing up these pretty petals, he’d immediately raised an eyebrow at your nervous excuses, unconvinced by the pretty little lies that tumbled from your lips, upturned in a sweet, innocent smile.

He watched you closely when you were around him, as if he were some kind of detective on a mission to find out where the petals truly came from. Little did he know that his eldest son was the cause of the petals randomly appearing in your hands, overfilling your cupped blue fingers until they fluttered to the ground around your feet.

As time went on, your condition only worsened, yet you were unable to find a way to solve this problem yourself. You wanted the growing flowers in your lungs to be removed, but not in a way that would cause you to lose the reason for your whole existence; your love for Neteyam.

In the mornings and evenings, you’d find yourself choking on whole flowers, watching as the bright blue rose-shaped blossoms tumbled from your mouth to your hands. If they weren’t plastered with your blood, they’d almost be pretty in a way, glowing blue that faded into a purple at the base of the petals, bright white dots speckling each petal.

Beautiful and deadly. That was the perfect description of the Hanahaki disease and your case was no different.

You didn’t understand why he treated you the way he did. You were loved by his family, his people, even his friends. With your spunky, sweet personality, mixed in with a surprisingly twist of stubbornness, you were a perfect match for him. Your mother often commented about how good of a couple you’d both be.

Not that she needed to point that out to you. You already knew it yourself.

And yet, anytime you’d ask him to hang out or spend time with you, he’d pass, using the excuse of training with his father to inherit the title of olo’eyktan one day. Then he’d stroll away, as if he already led the entire clan, head high and back straight. He’d never look back, even when you were coughing up the flowers, choking on your own love for him.

You didn’t know what you did wrong to make him dislike you so much.

Why did he avoid you as if you had some catchable disease.

You often thought he was stupid if he thought that he was keeping himself safe if he kept his distance. Hanahaki wasn’t infectious, after all.

Still you tried to catch his attention in anything you did, hoping for a glance your way, maybe even a smile or nod of approval at whatever it was you were doing.

Many nights, during clan meals, you’d volunteer to dance for the clan, something you’d mastered as a child, and your eyes were always on him. Yet, as you moved graceful to the beating of the drums and the occasional whistling of the hufwe, his gaze was pointed to someone else, anyone else, but you.

You were nonexistent to him and it was killing you.

Literally.

“Come on, Neteyam! Just one second of your time!”

You were getting pretty fed up with the way he seemed to be avoiding you when all you wanted to do was spend time with him like you’d done when you were both children.

Neteyam turned slowly, ears pinned in frustration, and he moved back towards you in that eye-catching swaying stride that only belonged to him. You couldn’t help but back away, practically feeling the waves of anger radiating from his body. He followed after you and you found yourself backed into a corner, your spine brushing against the rough bark of a tree behind you.

His hands slammed down on either side of your head as he leaned in, his golden amber gaze meeting your own, a trace of annoyance and disgust lacing those gold orbs.

“Why can’t you ever get a hint, Y/n? I know you’re just trying to pull some stupid prank on me. You and Lo’ak always think it’s so funny to play around with people’s feelings. I don’t want to be involved in it. So find someone else to follow around like a lovesick nantang pup!”

He straightened his back, giving you one last look over, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest softening of his gaze before it was returned to a strict, cold expression.

“Eywa, women are so fickle. It’s as if you’ve never known how to get a clue,” he sniffed over his shoulder before continuing on his way through the clan common ground towards his family.

You watch him leave, hot tears spilling over your pale cheeks, following the creases of your lips to drip off your chin. And with the tears came the pestering petals that always seemed to show up after he blew you off.

You could tell your little disease was getting worse, blowing up to a proportion so big that you didn’t know how to solve it. Neteyam wanted nothing to do with you. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t want you.

So why did he come rushing to your sickbed when he heard of your diagnosis?

Laying on a mat, too weak to move, you choked on the flower petals that clogged your throat, bloody little flowers flowing past your lips. Norm sat beside you, helping to clear them out as quickly as he could, apologies falling from his mouth as he desperately tried to figure out why this was happening. He knew what it was. So did Max. And Jake…

You couldn’t meet his worried, disappointed gaze. If only you’d found help sooner.

It was obvious that he knew. He understood exactly what your condition was when Norm murmured that dreadful name.

“What is it? What is wrong with her?”

Neteyam was pushing forward, shoving past the gathered people to sit by your side, witnessing with horror as you are struck with another coughing fit. The flowers were starting to get bigger and you were terrified. Terrified that, with each coughing fit, it’d be your last breath.

Your last chance to tell Neteyam just how you felt about him.

His hand slipped into your own, his palm warm and calloused, polar opposite from your soft, yet cold hand. He was on his knees, clutching your hand to his chest as if this was the last time he’d ever see you again.

As if he truly cared about you and your health.

“Hanahaki Disease,” Jake breathed out, moving to sit behind and slightly to the side of his eldest son.

“What is that? Is there a cure?”

The man you’d always seen as a father figure seemed to hesitate then, uncertainty overshadowing his golden gaze.

“It’s… kind of like a love sickness. We always thought it was fake, though. After all, the only cases ever known were always in fictional books.”

Neteyam scoffed, turning to look at his father, mouth open to try and dispute how ridiculous his father sounded. You were dying from a made up disease? How stupid did he think his son was?

But as he stared into his father’s eyes, words withered away like a dying plant, cut off by the despair that sat in those tired eyes.

“Dad, is there a cure?”

“It’s caused by one-sided love, Neteyam. The one who loves is the one affected. There is only one option. It’s too late for surgery. The one she loves needs to have feelings for her too.”

Neteyam turned back to you, clutching your hand tightly in between his.

“I need you to be honest, Y/n. Who is it? We need to know. Or you could die.”

You don’t know whether to laugh in his face or not. The irony of his words stung in your brain like thorns on a vine, not noticeable until it’s rubbed the wrong way.

Instead, you squeeze his hand back.

“You, skxawng. I love you.”

He’s taken aback by your words, doing a quick little double take. It’s as if he had never expected himself to become the target of your affection.

“Come again?”

His non-existent eyebrows are raised high on his forehead, mouth parted a couple inches as he watched you tug his hands towards your face. You brush your lips lightly over the calloused knuckles, trying to tell him that you weren’t joking or lying.

You loved him. So much so that you’d caught a disease for him. So much that you refused to have the flowers removed. You didn’t want to lose that love for him. You couldn’t do that to him.

“You love… me?”

His words are soft, hesitant, and you nod, which is more or less a flop of your head. You squeeze his hands lightly, staring up into his gaze.

“I can’t… I never thought you’d love me. I thought… I just thought you were playing with me. I…”

He looked away, as if just seeing you in this state hurt him. When he looked back, he was crying, tears following the crease of his cheeks to drip off his chin.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

What?

You couldn’t help but take a double take. All this time, you’d thought he’d despised you. That you’d been some kind of throw away person that he couldn’t care anything about.

“Say it again. Please? Say it again for me.”

He moved around a bit closer, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“I love you, Y/n. To the stars and back, I love you.”

#avatar fandom #atwow #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar fics #avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam angst #neteyam avatar #neteyam atwow #hanahaki disease

[gh-0-stcup]

So I've got a tinhat headcanon for Chuck, based on just what I've heard about the last couple seasons.

Chuck's depiction in S11 was legit and truer to the sort of God he was for most of time. He was genuinely on the Winchester's side, despite needing to be distant.

S15 is the boys facing God's wrath. Chuck was fucking with the guys because he got tired of their bullshit. The "I've been controlling every single thing about your life from day 1" and "it's all just literally a show for my personal entertainment" was a lie constructed to really hurt them.

The last time Chuck came down and got involved, he explained very clearly exactly why he pulled away from the world. He wanted a world that could function independently. He wanted his creations to evolve and flourish. In his eyes, trying to fix everything for everyone was preventing this from happening. You can't learn from your mistakes without experiencing consequences.

From this and his conversation with Metatron about why humanity is so wonderful, we can gather Chuck's ultimate goal/desire was growth. The world is not perfect because it was designed to be perfected.

Even though Chuck has grown a bit jaded, he's sentimental towards the Winchester brothers. They fuck up a whole lot, but they always try their hardest to fix it and often succeed. Even their mistakes are generally made out of love or a desire to do good. They remain loyal and devoted to their family and overcome familial drama that even Chuck has failed to sort out.

Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And well...isn't that kinda the whole point?

Chuck was pleased with the boys at the end of this, despite it going against the "planned ending". Castiel, for his part in defying """God's plan""", was ressurected personally by Chuck (apparently more times than he can count).

Chuck gives more support to the boys than any other piece of his creation. He has faith in them, even when they don't have faith in themselves. He makes paths for their survival, stacks the cards in their favour, and directly saves their lives twice.

He does what he can so that they have the tools necessary to continue growing and saving his creation. He's the cosmic cheerleader in the background of their lives.

Another important thing to note about his conversation with Metatron - Chuck likes being Chuck. Prefers it, even. He enjoys being a mediocre writer and dating and having a blog. He wants to enjoy his work. He wants to be a part of his creation, not just its overlord in the clouds.

In S11, Chuck makes the effort to personally explain some of this to Dean. In particular, Chuck's policy on not interfering with problems his creations have the capacity to solve - even if that means people die or get hurt or the world ends.

With Amara we get a little peek into why the world isn't a paradise - the imperfections are part of what makes it beautiful. You can't have freedom without things getting a bit fucked up.

But after his feud with Amara is concluded, are the boys satisfied? Of course not! Any conversation about why Chuck can't be more involved is tossed out the window. And there's zero gratitude for anything Chuck has done for them ever, despite him giving them more than he's given anyone in millenia. Chuck nearly sacrificed his own life for the world, for the boys. He allowed their mother to be ressurected as a reward for their good work.

And what does Chuck get? Dean accusing him of actively causing every bad thing that's ever happened to them, despite most of it being the result of their own choices, and demanding Chuck ressurect everybody.

Now it's completely understandable and valid for Dean to feel this way and his prayer is fucking heartbreaking. But just imagine being Chuck. How irritating would that be?

So, Chuck shows the brothers what the God they imagine him to be would look like. A world centered around them with a sadistic overlord who uses them for entertainment. He takes away the meaning of their choices, their skills, and their victories. He pokes and prods and psychologically tortures them until he's finally (finally) overthrown.

The result is the boys get what they want. A God they chose and raised up themselves. A God who immediately comes to the exact same conclusion Chuck had - it's bad for God to interfere with people's lives. But by this point, it's seen as a good thing.

Their lives continue as normal. They still hunt, they still have to mourn the loss of their loved ones. The only thing that really changes from how things were under Chuck? Dean dies. The ending is bleak and pretty fucking depressing for the boys, considering the magnitude of their final victory.

And what is Chuck's ending? He has to actually be Chuck. A part of his creation, rather than above it. No longer will he hear the pleas and cries and condemnations of his creations. No longer will he be blamed for their bad choices. No longer will he be asked for help with things they could (and should) do on their own. He'll live out his days a mediocre writer who blogs about cats and then he'll die.

Chuck just happens to get exactly what he wanted in S11 and the boys learned the lesson he tried to impart back then in the process.

#my chaotic neutral remix of the chuck won theory #he gets what he's been trying to do for the last couple thousand years - peaceful retirement #yes i will jump through whatever hoops i need to in order to salvage my blorbo #in which chuck and gabe have more in common than you'd think #idk what to call this #also the son of chuck's favourite child is the one who inherits the kingdom which is fun #spn #i'm only on the second episode of s13 so idk how this theory will hold up #lbr if i see contradictions i'll just adapt - you can pry good!chuck from my cold dead hands!!! #chuck shurley

[maltinonka]

I don't know you yet - Eddie Munson x Reader

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female Harrington Reader

Word count: 996

Warinings: mentions of dying, mentions of blood, not the best writing, Eddie should really sort out his priorities

Summary: short fic created from the inspiration of @loveronlineee 10k Celebration. Check out her blog, the fanfics there are out of this world! 💜 This is the shortest fic I have written so far but I hope you enjoy it! And congratulations Willow for the 10k! Totally deserved it! 💜💜

Song prompt: IDK you yet by Alexander23

How can you miss someone you've never met? Cause I need you now but I don't know you yet...

The van's wheel bumped into the hole on the road and Steve heard a whine coming from the back. He cursed under his breath and stepped harder on the gas pedal.

"Watch out there Steve!" Dustin shouted, his hands squeezing some bedsheets he found in Eddie's bedroom to the wounds on both side's of Eddie's stomach. "How much longer does it gonna take for you to get us there!?" his face was all wet from crying.

"I going as fast as I can Henderson! You better make sure he doesn't die again before we get there!" their plan was the most stupid one they have come up with yet, but they had no other choice if they wanted Eddie to survive. Steve finally saw the hospital building and some people already waiting outside for them. "Finally! Get him ready Henderson!" the car braked sharply and he jumped out.

"Steve! Where is he!?" you ran to the boy, the medical team right behind you.

"He is in the back, Y/N" Dustin opened the side door and helped them put Eddie on the bed. "He is bleeding pretty badly, we tried to stop it and his heart was not beating for like three minutes, maybe four." Steve was rambling, trying to give you the most informations he could. You had to squeeze his shoulders to calm him down.

"It's okay Stevie, let us take him from here. You two can wait by the front desk, I will get to you." you helped push Eddie's bed." We need a surgery room ASAP!" That's all they heard before the door shut behind you.

Steve hugged crying Dustin.

"Everything will be okay man. He is in best hands I know." they slowly moved inside. 

***** 

Eddie felt like he was drifting, both light and heavy. He weighed nothing but at the same time was so heavy that he couldn’t even open his eyelids. If anyone would ever ask him, that’s how he imagined zero gravity in space to be. Floating around, not a single sound or light, his body was cold but didn’t shiver – just this weird state of no control. Am I dead? – was his first thought. He tried to open his mouth but just like his whole body it was too heavy to even open. 

But can you find me soon because I’m in my head? 

A weak sound broke the overwhelming silence. For a minute he thought, he had made it up but then it repeated slightly louder. It was a voice – he couldn’t understand the words, however he was sure it was calling him.  

“...breathe, c’mon, breathe...!” he suddenly realised he was holding his breath all this time, his lungs started to ache and squeeze, desperate for air. He tried his best and was able to breath in, the sensation of air coming through his nose and down his throat was burning, like that one time he stole uncle Wayne’s whiskey and drank half of the bottle when he was 12.  

The voice was getting louder and louder, being the only thing he could hear, then it all hit him at once – the gravity pulling him down on, he assumed, some kind of bed, the sounds of machine’s beeping and people shouting, the sudden brightness behind his eyes. He opened them, only to be blinded by the lights. 

“That’s it kid, keep those heartbeat for me!” he turned his head to the person that dragged him back. Eddie never even in his weirdest dreams could imagine someone so beautiful as the creature in front of him. She saw his face and smiled the brightest smile imaginable. “There you are. Don’t scare me like that, okay?” he was struggling to keep his eyes open, the sudden weakness overwhelming him. He only managed to slightly nod before drifting off. 

Yeah, I need you now, but I dont know you yet.

***** 

Next time Eddie opened his eyes he was able to define his surroundings. He was laying in hospital bed, connected to some machines next to him. His whole torso hurt like shit. He moved his head to the side and saw the person from earlier. 

You were scribbling something down from his monitors. When you raised your head and saw him staring at you, you smiled that bright smile. 

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Eddie slightly blushed at the nickname. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m... good.” his voice was hoarse like he ate sand. 

“Gave us a huge scare, you know? Your heart stopped beating for 5 minutes.” you raised his bedsheet and started checking his bandages. He blinked, surprised trying to process what you just said. I was really dead?

He winced in pain when you touched his stomach.

“Oh, sorry. I will call a nurse to give you something for pain, okay pretty boy?” he turned red, still not exactly wrapping his mind around everything that was happening. You tucked him back and moved towards the door. 

“W-wait...” he tried to get up, but whined and fell back on the pillow. “Where I... Who are you?” you turned to him and his big doe eyes melted you on the spot. 

“I’m doctor Y/N Harrington. You are in Community Hospital in Anderson.” you smiled at him. 

“Harrington...? Like Steve Harrington?” his voice was finally returning back to normal. Why is Harrington always surrounded with pretty ladies? 

“He is my baby cousin. He was the one that drove you here, with a little boy.” Eddie wanted to ask more questions but you raised your hand. “No more talking for you mister. I have work and you need to rest. I will call Steve that you are awake and come check on you later. See you soon pretty boy.” you smiled at him and left his room. Eddie closed his eyes, a smile creeping on his face. She called me pretty. 

#eddie munson #Willow'sWonderful10kCelebration #stranger things #st s4 #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie lives #steve harrington #dustin henderson #st s4 vol 2 #st s4 v2 #stranger things season four #eddie the freak munson #stranger things angst #angst with a happy ending

[daidonzo]

Chapter 23 - I don't want this moment to ever end [Chishiya x Reader]

You were on the tenth round.

Or was it the eleventh?

You couldn't even remember. You were so tired. Chishiya usually woke up early, and you with him. But while he was perfectly content with about seven hours of sleep, you needed ten at the very least.

You placed your elbows on a table, and were holding your head between both hands, drifting off. Your eyes would close and you had to force them to open. You felt sluggish, and would have given one of your little fingers for a warm bed and a nice nap. Maybe even both. What did you use them for, either way? You had read something about how people in the future wouldn't have them any longer. Or were those the pinky toes?

People kept dying.

That was nothing new, people had died in almost all of the games you had been to. In this one, though, it was particularly barbaric, because their deaths were being caused by the lies of other players and not just by the circumstances of the game itself.

Poor Ippei couldn't bear it any longer.

"Why are they lying to each other? This is so cruel I… I can't." His rambling speech went on, and on, and on, while he moved from one side of the room to the other. Your eyes focused on him. God, you were tired. But you still wanted to help. "I thought people were better than this."

"That's the whole point of the game." You sighed. You had said the same thing every round since the seventh. At first, kindly. Now, you were trying hard to keep irritation away from the tone of your voice. "They don't want to die. The only thing we can do is tell each other what our suit is, is the only way we will survive. Sometimes… Fear can turns us into monsters."

He observed you. You could tell he wanted to trust you, so much. But it was not that easy.

"I'm hungry I… I'll get something to eat."

You nodded, and went back to the not-yet-asleep-but-also-not-awake state you had been in for the last hour more or less.

Chishiya sat next to you and you smiled, groggily, in his direction.

"Hi."

"Are you okay?"

"Just tired. Adrenaline left my body at some point during the last three rounds or so."

He looked around. There was nobody around you. So he lifted his hand and placed it on your cheek, stroking it carefully. You moved your face to kiss the palm of his hand, wanting nothing more than to cuddle with him.

But you couldn't. Because he was still going on about how he didn't want anybody to use you against him in the game. Or so you thought. Maybe he didn't care anymore, because he surrounded your body with both arms, placing a kiss on the top of your head, which was now laying on his shoulder.

"You are adorable." You heard him say. You frowned, weirded out by his choice of words.

"I have never heard you say "adorable" before."

"I had yet to see something that would fit its definition so well."

"Do you know the exact definition of all the words in the dictionary?"

"No." He smiled while you accommodated your body on top of the bench the two of you were sitting in, almost melting into him.

You sighed, eyes closed, trying to enjoy his presence, his smell, his touch. You hadn't been this close in eleven hours. More if you counted the waiting time before the game started.

However, you still had an explosive collar around your neck, that seemed to scream "Hi! I'm here! Don't you forget about me!" every single time you got a little bit too comfortable.

"When do you think this will be over?"

"Soon, I think. There is only seven of us left."

"Is that why you are getting all mushy-mushy with me?"

You felt his body softly shake with laughter, but he didn't make a sound.

"Is it that hard to believe I might have missed you just as much as you have?"

"How did you know I missed you?" You opened one eye only, and stick your tongue out, which you did when you were joking, just in case he wouldn't catch that you were lying through your teeth. You had missed him to death. "Do you think it's really pointless for me to try to save Ippei?" You asked, wanting to know his opinion on the matter now that you could talk freely.

Both your eyes were opened now, and you had turned around so that your back was against his chest. Your face rested next to his.

"I only think it's pointless because he's not the sort of person to survive here. He has you, now. He won't have you in the next game."

"I'm not the kind of person to survive this, either."

He looked at you from the corner of his eye. "I disagree. But even if you weren't, you have me. Now and always."

How was it you could still feel sparks between you when he said those things? Wasn't the honeymoon phase supposed to be just that, a phase?

"In the beginning the game was really hard on me. I started to think maybe you were the Jack and you had been planning this ever since we met."

"While I'm honored you think that, because it means you think very highly of my stratagems, no. I try not to plan anything when it comes to you anymore."

"So you just go with the flow then?" You knew that sentence would horrify him, and it did, because you felt his body tense up and you could almost picture his eyebrows furrowing. "We should get matching tattoos. I'm thinking maybe a little alien with a cap on a skateboard. And then "go with the flow" really big, but like in comic sans."

"You can get that. Think I will pass."

You were giggling, and turned your head slightly to give him a kiss on the cheek. You loved him. You were not going to tell him again, but you did.

"If I had to get a tattoo for you it would be a cat."

"I thought you were the cat." There was a hidden question in the way he pronounced those words. He wanted you to explain your reasoning.

So you did. "You're like a street cat, mischievous, cunning, always used to getting what you want by whatever means necessary. You may look menacing at the beginning, but you end up purring and asking for scratches between the ears if given enough time. And lots, lots of treats."

His lips curved upwards. "What treats have you given me to have me like this?"

"I'm the treat."

This time he laughed, and made noise. But he suffocated it, burying his face on your hair. He left a kiss on the side of your jaw before he went back to his original position.

You stayed there a bit more, embracing. Until the ridiculous robotic voice told you it was almost time to guess your suit. You had almost forgotten.

"Yours is a heart." Chishiya said, checking what was in the back of your collar before standing up, and you nodded. Ippei had told you before and you remembered.

"And you have…" You moved his blonde locks so that you could see. "A heart, as well."

He also had yours.

You walked towards the jail cells, side by side.

#chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya x reader #chishiya fanfic #chishiya angst #chishiya #aib chishiya #chishiya aib #shuntaro chishiya #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x you #chishiya x y/n #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya fic #chishiya fluff #Spotify #as much as you want

[cebwrites]

Hi Cev! I'd like to put in a request if that's okay with you. Hear me out? What if some of our fav dilfs (Mihawk, Croco & Smoker) actually had a daughter? And what if one day they got into disagreement with their daughter that escalates, their daughter screams "I hate you," and storms away.

hiii anon~ i left smomo out because i couldn’t really think of anything for him ;w; frankly i don’t see him or crocodile as a father figure either despite their dilf status, smoker in my mind is an uncle at best but i did think of an exception for for you in regards to croco-boy ^^

mihawk is 100% a dad though, perona and zoro were dropped at his doorstep and he was the dad that stepped UP 💕

reacting to their kid saying “I hate you”

gen, familial word count: 0.8k

Crocodile

Like I said, I don't see Crocodile as a particularly parental kind of person - having the capacity to care, however briefly, for another being? Sure, we saw that in the cover story with the sweet lil pug. Children are a different thing entirely, though, so I'd probably wager that they're off the table, as he is now

There was also one where he let baby birds use him as a sand bath, so considering that and his use of bananawani and F-wani, it feels safe to say that Crocodile prefers the company of animals far more than people in general

(He's not the 'big family' type like Doffy appears to be, and considering how warped things on the inside with the Donquixote pirates are, Crocodile finds this idea of a quaint little 'family' dynamic even less appealing even though I am a sucker for Baroque found family shenanigans)

That said, I can imagine something along those lines happening with Marianne, ie Miss Goldenweek; it's possibly something she mutters under her breath over the phone before she hangs up, something frustrates her and it just slips out - less "I hate you," and more "I hate it here,"

It's an action that should warrant discipline, a show of disobedience, or really something Mr. 0 should be above entirely because it's the huff and puff of a child who he has no personal attachment to and doesn't even know his face

Yet it nags at him, to a startling degree once he sits back for a minute to gather himself - why the hell is this brat's emotional state any cause for his concern?

There's something to be said about how this is a kid wrapped up in a scheme far bigger than she is, trying to eek out a little bit of security in this world, and how Marianne's experiences may or may not mirror a younger reptile having his hopes dashed against the rocks and needing to adapt to survive, no matter what the cost

But Crocodile isn't saying those things, he's not paying them any mind and locking them away in a cell in the dark recesses of his mind where any other flickers of vulnerability go to die the moment it even comes into consideration

Still, he grants Miss Goldenweek a little more lenience for a while

While Mr. 3 toils away at whatever given task, she's been ordered for a strict vacation leave, no if-and-or-buts about it

Marianne isn't quite receptive to the idea at first, angry at their boss viewing her as weak and needing to be coddled, but with a little reassurance from Zala that this is the closest thing Mr. Zero will show to actual care for his agents, she eventually warms up to the notion

Mihawk

Hawkeye is a much more cut and dry situation because parenting isn't out of the realm of possibility with him - whether it's poor protection in his youth or something he willingly takes up with a partner now, he isn't as adverse to kids as ol' Croco-boy up there

Mihawk is calm and collected throughout the entire exchange, if not a bit unenthusiastic, even as the light of his life, his little sunshine, the child he raised from birth turns beet red from anger and frustration

He’s taken aback by such a statement enough to lower his newspaper, but by the time Mihawk looks up they’re already gone

Perona floats disapprovingly over head, not saying a world but not looking at him - he’s faced away from the conversation as well, but Hawkeye can feel Zoro keeping his thoughts to himself a little aways in the foyer, too

Mihawk may be the most emotionally intelligent in comparison to his peers by a longshot, but it is also in comparison; he does still have his own gaps in judgement like every other parent out there

He’d come to their room later on after they’ve had some time to cool down with a plate of fruit or perhaps their favorite snack (home made, of course), coming in to kneel by their bedsit or leaving the plate by their door if they still yelled at him to get lost

At whatever point, he’d sit them down and have a mature conversation with them, no matter their age and apologize for his dismissive attitude earlier, for not hearing them out properly

Mihawk doesn’t believe in going to bed angry with his loved ones - as in, of course everyone’s allowed to be a little sour or irate, especially if feelings have been hurt, but he does make it a point to let them know that he still cares about them no matter what, and that he’ll try better in the future to curb old habits

Ideally he’d talk it out with them over the course of the evening and come to a solid decision or compromise, but if it’s a case where they’re still upset even after that, he allows them their space; at the same time letting them know that he loves them and if they never needed help, all they’d have to do is call and papa would be right there

#cebwrites #one piece #one piece imagine #mihawk headcanons #dracule mihawk #mihawk #op mihawk #mihawk one piece #one piece mihawk #sir crocodile #crocodile #op crocodile #one piece crocodile #crocodile one piece #sir crocodile headcanons #crocodile headcannons #dadcanons

[diangelofan]

Prompt: Is There Something in the Movies by Samia

TW: death by suicide & suicidal thoughts implied

Harry Potter is dead.

Oh, darling. You didn’t deserve this, but everyone who knew you knows it was always coming. I mean, what can be expected of someone who has lived their whole life in a tin box, with only a toothpick as means to poke the air. How can they be expected to survive long enough to live? When somebody is continuously given a knife for his birthday, how can the rest of us be surprised when he finally uses it? Some may called me callous for my words, but I have long ago made my peace with his death. I saw it all coming since a long time ago and even if I think I know who gave him the knife, that’s not my affair. Why, you may ask? Because it was never one knife. As it never was just one birthday.

Harry Potter was someone who died of attention and lived an extraordinary life. Well, to be more precise, the boy who lived was suffocated by the attention his unsolicited extraordinary life gave him.

Oh, Harry, you taught me so many things. My desire to keep fighting for what I believe is right, I got it from you. So did I my resilience and will to survive, ironically enough. But, at these times, none of them matter more than my love. I gave it to you, completely unaware, on the day that we met, ‘cause already I trusted you best, even if I didn’t know it at the time.

Everyone dies but they shouldn't die young. Anyway, now that you are dead, I invite you to finally step aside, my love, while everyone continues to idolatrize you for something you never asked for. Wizards have become so crazy that they are even making movies about your horrible life, as if it was everything one could ever dream for. As if that would make you happy, now that you watch us from above.

I know I need not to ask as the answer I already know. But is there something in the movies that's better than my love?

I won’t send this to the Daily Prophet, no matter how much they have been begging for my thought on your death. I left you in life cause you don't need my pen to embellish your noteworthy parts. The people who had the pleasure to truly see you know who you really are. There is no need for me to repeat what is already living on their minds.

And I only write about things that I'm scared of; your death will forever haunt me at night. So here, now you're deathless in my art. Art which, I believe, if I dare, is as realistic as any art depicting you, Harry, will ever be.

You've got this and the movies and also my love.

You can have it all baby I'm giving it up.

You already took my heart so many years ago.

Now with your death you’ve taken my soul.

- Word count: 500, @drarrymicrofic

#love this piece of work! #harry potter #drarry #hp microfic #microfic #microfiction #harry x draco #draco x harry #drarry microfic #sad #sad fanfiction #tw: death #tw: suicide #dead harry potter

[jeweled-blue-eyes]

Any unpopular opinions on Death is the only ending for the Villainess?

overrated. It's full of abuse apologism, dare I say pro imperialism, pro slavery, all women in this manhwa only exist to torment the mc and get their punishment while the men (only if handsome!) are forgiven

the characters are flat. We don't know anything about their likes and hobbies. Iklies at least has the excuse that as a slave he has no time or money to pursue an interest but the other male leads are nobility. They should have a life that doesn't revolve around Penelope.

Iklies being a yandere doesn’t mean his character has to be two dimensional. Yanderes are capable of following their own agenda aside from their obsession with their s/o. Let him have that.

Iklies deserved better

the Eckarts deserved to die or put in prison

why is Derrick a love interest when he lusted after a 12 year old as an adult?  Why is no one talking about that?

Callisto should be executed for the genocide in Delman. If he was old enough to participate in a war, he would have been old enough to be judged for his crimes according to the law of his time. But I think even if we applied the modern law he could be tried for everything he did from age 18-23. And if someone tries to apply the insanity defense here then by that same logic he shouldn't be allowed to rule a country but send to therapy.

villains who are only complicit or have an understandable motive get harshly punished, meanwhile the main perpetrator or the one who indirectly caused this goes free (the cook loses her job, Emily, a child abuser, stays, the imperialist and enslaver gets his happy ending, the slave loses the girl he loves and is villainized for rebelling and wanting his abusers to die)

the fandom has a problem with abuse apologism. I saw someone once calling Penelope paranoid and partly guilty for the abuse against her.

Penelope has plot armor

I’d be more interesting if she had lives left she can use up (maybe 5 for each love interest?). Adds more suspense as we’d know she’ll die but wouldn’t know when or how she would die.

Callisto/Penelope scenes seem forced. When he held his sword against her neck and called her a rat and she said she loved him I cringed so hard. Was that supposed to be romantic? Her family back in Korea used to call her a rat. So far iklies and Vinter are the only LI’s who haven’t degraded her. But Vinter is a plot device and Iklies a villain.

this has to do with personal taste: I hate the fan service (men showing their abs) and the manhwa could do better without them. This is a death/survival game. How the narrative tries to insert Callisto scenes and attempts to make them seem romantic breaks me out of the flow. It just feels misplaced.

the behaviour of some characters is inconsistent (i.e. Penelope decided to keep the abusive maid around with the excuse that no one can gurantee her if her replacement won’t be worse, but then after establishing her place in the Eckart household she decides to leave for the palace where Mr grimreaper crown prince lives, the people that ordered the assassination and hundreds of servants that no one can gurantee aren’t dangerous because they could be working for the queen. Also why did she even expect the Eckarts to help her after everything they’ve done to her. That was foolish.)

making the og! heroine the villain, making the og villainess secretly a saint/mage is cheap. Been there. Done before. The manhwa had such a unique premise but then it fell into the usual cliches I thought it would avoid.

Penelope should have attempted to run away when she had nothing to lose anymore. I wonder why she never tried to go the independent route because if I remember correctly some Otome games do provide routes where you don’t necessarily need a man. (Arcana Famiglia I believe where Felicia can become a mafia boss without marrying anyone). The fastest way to end the game in Code Realize is not choosing a man and travelling the world alone. (It counts as a bad end but still). What I’m saying is it’s strange Penelope never tested out other options.

the abuse against Penelope should have had an effect on her health. Doesn’t vitamin defiancy lead to poor eyesight? Things like that.

I find it hard to believe Ivonne was such a nice person when she was raised by classist and racist people. The Eckarts probably idealized her in their memories.

Cha Siyeon pursuing a degree in archeology..you won’t get a lot money and it is a scientific and academic discipline which doesn’t have a lot of practical application, I heard you have to suck up to rich people and fight a lot with rich people (who are for example annoyed to stop construction work on their factory because they could damage an important artefact or historical burial site). So if she did it to escape her rich family she’d just be at square one. I’ve heard her family has already sabotaged her life in hopes she’ll return to them (the shitty appartment for example), so choosing a field to major in that isn’t very lucrative is well maybe not a good idea. I get it she did it because it’s a subject she’s passionate about but as someone rational as her I’m not sure if it was a good decision or even in character. (debateable) If you want independence, money comes first. I’ve read yelansdicecharm‘s concept of Siyeon being a computer major and that by hacking the game to achieve a happy ending she caused the error which sucked her into the game world. I think that concept is very cool.

#notanon #answered asks #this is basically just a summary of what I have said before #anti callisto regulus #anti eckarts #vadd critical

[mari-lair]

Hi!

I really like your blog and I wanted to ask you, between all humans characters (Aoi, Akane, Kou, Teru and Nene) who do you think is most likely to die at the end of this arc?

Sorry for my english and thank you

I am not a very good theorist, and this arc just started, but I think Nene. Maybe Akane.

For as many death flags as Kou waves around, he still has a lot of character struggles and untied ends to explore that would be wasted if he died. Plus, Kou constantly can't do what he set out to do. He promised he would take care of hanako and make sure he didn't hurt any students but all the yorishiro Hanako destroyed is what started the severance and Aoi's 'death'. Mitsuba keeps slipping out of his graps. His attempt to help kid Tsukasa backfired horribly. He had to be saved by teru when he felt weakest. Even his victory against number 6 was just used by the broadcasting crew. So i doubt his newest goal (to be a supernatural) will come true. I also don't believe Kou will die for any of his loved ones, cause aidairo loves bullying him too much for that.

If Teru had died I feel like they would have already said it... (cause ngl I would be pissed if he is currently dead and this is how his death was treated) So if he won't die here, after he got a direct hit by the 'reaper of death' in a situation where he was too desperate to keep Kou out of danger to even have a chance to defend himself, then when will he? I think you can’t die in a boundary either anyways, so he'll probably just take a back seat in this arc, cause for as much as I love him, and I really want him to have a talk with Kou I feel like there is a lot happening already in this arc. This one ain't about Teru, is about the broadcast club.

Aoi is also unlikely to die cause the broadcasting club doesn't want a severance, and Aoi's death would start a severance. Unless she gets a nice surprise character arc here (maybe tied to Sumire?? idk) I can't imagine her being part of this disaster either, she is basically an outsider to this supernatural world.

I said there is a chance for Akane because while I can see many reasons he would be able to survive, I also know he has a shit ton of dead flags: He was able to see the Clock Keepers to make the contract in the first place, despite coming from a seemingly normal home. He doesn't have any major character arc to finish (getting with aoi, if that counts, is an Aoi arc, she is the one that needs to work through her internal conflict, Akane has no problem with his feelings, and aidairo didn't give me any hints he plans on making an arc dealing with his obsession) . And while it would be easy to make Akane take a backseat here, the way the broadcast club wants the clock keeper yoshihiro makes me doubt he won't make any appearances. (Also, on a narrative level: Aoi only being able to say she loves him out loud when it's too late and he is already dead sounds like the kind of angst Aidairo would do too.)

Nene is my main pick because of how high the stakes around her are. If she lives, if Hanako does make that wish, Sakura said the world would descend into chaos, no life, no death, no borders, and that's... not good. She also expressed some sort of... acceptance of her death, she's clearly not okay with dying, but I think she has accepted the idea enough for me to believe she could sacrifice herself for a selfless reason in the future. Plus if Nene dies, it would tie-up with the idea that Tsuchigomori books don't lie. The only time a book changed was with Hanako, and he had A LOT of future interference (Kou talk with Tsukasa in the red house. Young Amane using the 5 wish slips in the festival to see Nene again, the mermaid scales tied with a girl from the future, so on) but Nene doesn't have any future interference (...that we are aware of at least) so I can't see anything that would mark her as different from all other people in Tsuchigomori library. Plus the way people had mentioned "we might need the three clock keepers powers" so much makes me believe even if her future change, it will be for the worst, and Kako will go back in time so that the world isn't in chaos and her death still happen.

And this is just wishful thinking but maybe her death will make aidairo go more in depth about the mermaids? We didn't explore their lives or what they do much.

#toilet bound hanako kun #i made no research for this #so take it as a ramble not an analysis #or a proper theory #and don't worry about your grammar anon #your english is great #yashiro nene #kou minamoto #akane aoi

[abri-chan]

What makes you think Worick as toxic and what are his red flags? Other than the hero complex you talked about.

So most everyone carries at least one red flag in gangsta, as most everyone kills people. So even characters like Delico or Yang, who are some of the least "problematic" characters in the series, are red flags in that they're Mafia. So we'll put the murdering as part of a gang or Mafia aside as a red flag we won't count specifically for Worick, bc that's the kind of world Gangsta is--you gotta do what you can to survive.

Other red flags:

- yandere alert: he kills Miles; in other words, he will kill those he loves in the name of the greater good (and that's scary bc how do you even define what greater good is). Now I personally suspect Miles asked Worick to kill him, or it was at least a mutual decision, say Miles asked Worick what the counter-attack plan should be, and Worick saying Miles has to die for that, and so on. But I wouldn't put it past Worick to also just kill Miles if Miles wouldn't suggest first that he was okay with dying. After all, we see him being okay with sacrificing Nic, or the whole city. (being okay doesn't mean he has no remorse; imo Worick has made up his mind he will die by the end of this story, so he's a captain dying with the ship he caused to sink).

- scum manifesto feminist, or the closest we see to a male mysandrist (now this can be a green flag to some). I know some fans have pointed out he hates women, bc of how rude he was in his head to some of the clients ("nic is not a gigolo, you dumb woman"), but to me that's just Worick's reaction to abuse coming up on the surface: these women that buy his services are buying paid rape in a way--he needs to eat so he cannot consent, plus they definitely treat him like an object and someone that needs to perform in front of them or otherwise he won't get paid or won't be booked another time. Sex work is harsh; clients, even those that aren't physically violent, are emotionally abusive, so that outburst (in his head) is Worick retaliating for the way his clients use him. More so, we see him hate men specifically, and see women as damsels to be saved: men are trash and women can do no wrong, but this way he is also being sexist to both men and women in some way. The fact that he humiliated Striker not bc Striker had stabbed Worick and dropped him from the second floor, but rather bc of Striker killing Connie. Godlike status for women isn't good either, but Worick, possibly bc of mommy issues, and being a specifically straight sex worker, has created some fucked up wiring between intimacy and his ideals of what the world should be like: these women have co-opted him and he has co-opted his own views in return to cope with his sex worker job.

(A while back I said I had a suspicion that Worick's words implied the prostitute he threatened over Nic a while back was a transwoman, so idk what that makes of how Worick sees transwomen--like I said, it's a very biologically driven take on male and female with no nuances in his take. Perhaps he will have some pity for pretty boys like Delico who edge on the side of what Worick considers feminine. And we're not even going to talk about how abusive he was to little Nic, but that could be forgiven with Worick being a shit kid and mellowing out over the years. It does however betray some hate towards what he doesn't understand: twilights, violent men (possibly bc his father used to beat him up); and feeling closer to women bc of not having met his mother--hence she can't be concrete enough for Worick to hate, and bc of his job as a gigolo and having to see things from a woman's POV, either to be popular, or bc these clients probably did complain about their lives to him.)

- I don't want to say being a sex worker is a red flag, bc I blame the people that buy him, and Worick himself did nothing wrong. (in fact, sex workers in general are abused by clients, and judged by everyone else, and arrested, and discriminated and so on). But I do think that kind of work had fucked up his intimacy in how close he can get to people. Similar to Beretta, I think Worick only knows to give sex as a way to show love for someone, and possibly cannot be emotionally intimate outside of physically, and that would cause trouble if he ever ended up in a relationship with someone. It will be hard for him to de-objectify himself, and be miserable and confused when his one and only "love language" aka sex doesn't work. This is something a lot of porn stars and sex workers talk about: how everything they are viewed for and the only way they are viewed becomes sexual--they are conceptualized to be this sexual creature 24/7 and thus open to encounters and objectification and thriving on it (the stories of people thinking they're chum bc they saw them at the strip pole or online and feeling like this woman at the supermarket is there not living a normal life but ready to be sexualized). It's very dehumanizing, and people cannot separate that stripping or sex is just a job, and not their whole character or life, and people cannot seem to understand that these are people just like you and me. Male sex workers may have this to a lesser extent, but it does open the door for abuse on the side of Worick's partner bc people don't see sex workers as human. And in the best scenario, Worick has set himself up to a life of not being able to be emotionally and intimately close with someone bc he'd rather make it sexual and scare them away before things get too deep. (I had an old post on this specifically->

.)

- lastly bc Worick's a person good at keeping it in, i.e. has worked in customer service for the past 20+ years, there is a lot of pent up anger about to boil over once he's free of inhibitions. And being fine with dying really removes the largest inhibition there is, so it should be interesting to see Worick in the coming chapters.

#anime manga rambles #gangsta #gangsta.

[misscammiedawn]

What is your favorite angry song? Gets your heart pumping angry, dancing around angry and maybe screaming angry.

Thank you for asking, Linny. To my Tumblr audience, I have been quiet about it on this side but I am healing from major surgery and am bed-ridden for the next 3-5 weeks. Linny is sending me a number of asks to help me pass the time.

This question deserves a full answer:

When I was a teenager I used to be big into Papa Roach and Linkin Park. My Rush obsession existed, of course, that is a constant with me... but Rush don't do angry songs. Given I was Going Through Some Shit back then, listening to Hybrid Theory a lot was good for my deeply angry part. The dominant portion of my soul back then that needed to survive being kicked out (twice) and navigate having to work 12+ hour shifts at my temp job to keep myself from sinking further into the rocks of rock bottom.

There was always something so soothing about just getting that catharsis of screaming out via miming along as my disc span inside the work computer. 12 pound disc, 6 pound headphones. A worthy purchase at a time when shutting off my brain and just doing my job was needed.

I think Papa Roach's Infest album got the most play and Broken Home was my favorite at that rage fueled part of my life.

I mellowed out a lot in the past 20 years and these days most of my "angry" music is just BPD music so when I am hurting and upset I tend towards Left At London. Nat's music is trans-BPD sicko mode music and her anthem is Pills & Good Advice, a song about being discharged from a mental facility and the odyssey of trying to get by, being understood and the vague acceptance that none of this is going to go away and no one can save you from it from the outside.

Kudzu is also one I like to project on. The song is more from the perspective of addiction with the kudzu/addictive substance "taking over your garden" but every time I listen and hear "can I stay one more night until I go home" I think literal terms and remember the multiple people who have hosted me in the past and how I used their charity until it all went away. How many people had I selfishly used up all I could use from them until they ran out of love and patience for me?

I listen to that song and get angry at me.

Which isn't what I typically want.

With Pills & Good Advice it is more cathartic. Particularly the climax of the song:

Start to climb, and then I get a little higher (Higher)

I'm a coward, it don't matter what I do (Higher)

From "I can't do it anymore" to "I can't do it, I can't do it"

Told myself I wanna die

So how am I supposed to prove it now?

Spend too many of my minutes getting higher (Higher)

I've attempted way too much to even count (Higher)

I've been committed, but committed to the people that I love

And if I try to love myself, I guess that I could live forever crying

Also the Blacknwhite single is really good for conveying what Splitting feels like within BPD.

(I can find another)

But I'll never find another you again

I've been splitting 'cause it's better than admitting

That it's something that I can't control

I was livid, what you did was nothing easily forgiven

Yet I couldn't let go

And I bet all your friends say, "I'm glad that she's gone"

Then you have Screen Violence by CHVRCHES which is an album that just resonates with me and how I felt between 2019 and 2021 when I burned my life to the ground a 3rd time. I am not proud of my actions... but god it feels good when you can listen to a song and feel like you may not have done the "right" things, but you did something that someone, somewhere can understand well enough to put in to poetry.

Anger being my core emotion is not something I am proud of either. But it's better spent on music than on people.

#camden asks #recovery asks #linny bee good

[hamartia-grander]

A, E, F, H, K, R, S, T, X, Z! Go wild <3

Mar I love you to death thank you <333

A - Ships that you currently like a lot: I'm currently obsessed with simarkus, reed900, and Hank and Connor's father-son familial relationship in DBH; also Ethan Winters' polycule (Heisenberg, Chris, and Mia) in Resident Evil.

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what?: I don't think so? I mean I wrote a semi crack fic for DBH on tumblr a few months ago but idk if that counts cause it was technically only one paragraph of crack. Behind the scenes, however, I'm writing scripts for a crack Resident Evil short film and a crack Detroit: Become Human Brooklyn 99-esque show. Those won't greet the public for a long time though, if at all.

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom?: Technically star wars has been a constant fandom since I was 6 thanks to my f*ther, but it's such a big franchise with so many different parts it's kinda like having fandoms within fandoms. I.e, I have my clone wars phases, my sequel trilogy phases, my mandalorian phases, rebels, the games, the books, that kinda thing. The Mandalorian and the Sequels were the longest though, lasting several months. Same with DBH, I've been in that fandom since last November which is crazy for me. (same length of time as my dincobb era,,,)

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., TV shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.)?: It used to be books, and I do still love reading books, but I think shows and games are my #1 favourites now. With my declining attention span those are about the only things I can latch onto easily.

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?: AGENT KALLUS FROM STAR WARS REBELS. I lived his development arc, the metaphor being that my parents are the empire and the ISB is conditioned homophobia, the Rebels being the Gays, etc etc. For that reason it was so incredible and refreshing to get to see a character go from having a conditioned and ignorant perspective to breaking free of that because of one catalyst who made him question everything he thought he knew. And then, not only does he break free of it, he actively fights back against it, risking his life so many times to gather intel for the Rebels and keep them safe. And then when he finally gets to join them he is just the most dedicated, intelligent, strong willed fighter and he listens to others. He doesn't wallow in self pity over being a former imperial; he works to undo the harm he caused, he moves forward, he asks forgiveness but doesn't need it to change, and he forms strong friendships (and in one case a relationship) with the people he used to fight. It's beautiful and I love him so much.

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?: I love Hank and Connor's father-son relationship with my whole heart. Found family is my shit. Same with the Jericrew, and Kara Alice and Luther. DBH has some excellent found family content. I also love fics/headcanons where Gavin and Connor are Best Bros. And speaking of Rebels, that is a show full to the brim of found family. I feel like Dave Filoni also has some familial trauma or something bc all of his shows have intense found family themes (clone wars, rebels, bad batch, the mandalorian) which like good for him

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon: In Resident Evil I headcanon that [SPOILERS] Ethan survives obviously and that he is in love with Mia, Chris, and Heisenberg bc I love them all and he deserves all the love. Also yk most of what I like about Gavin Reed are either things Neil Newbon (his VA) has said about him or my own headcanons.

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?: Connor from DBH is asexual and aromantic and I will die on this hill. Also Ethan Winters from RE is bi polyamorous. Also also Chris Redfield is a Gay Man but that's kinda technically canon too. Poe and Finn Dameron are married. Gavin Reed is gay and a dog person (Neil confirmed ;). Hank and Connor are father and son but that is canon, I just unfortunately have to defend it from fans who are gross. Also so many characters are trans: Gavin Reed, Ethan and Mia Winters, Leon Kennedy, Heisenberg, Lady Dimitrescu, Chloe North Josh and Rupert from DBH, Han Solo, I could go on.

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom: I'm an absolute slut for fake dating/relationship to lovers. I'm sure a therapist could explain why but I sure can't. Idk why it has such a hold on me but I promise if a fic's got a fake relationship trope I'm gonna love it. Just the mutual pining and complete dumbassery, the tension, the yearning, the denial, it's like actually addicting for me. There's not enough of it.

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go!: It's crazy the amount of entitled fans there are, especially on this site. And I mean, anywhere from fans who invade the privacy of the actors/creators they're fans of, to fans who shit on the things other people love or actively go out of their way to be rude to other fans who are just enjoying something. When I dislike things in fandoms, I block the tags and I do not interact. I don't want to see it so I don't go looking for it. But there are fans that think they have the right to go into other people's safe spaces and attack them for any opinion that are different from theirs. Chill tf out y'all. You're not entitled to other people's privacy, to their opinions, to their content, etc. You are entitled to stfu and leave. So do that.

On a lighter note, I've made such wonderful friends through fandoms who have made all the shitty people absolutely worth it. I love y'all💜💕

#Asks #Fandom asks #Ask meme #dbh #detroit become human #the mandalorian #resident evil #star wars rebels #dave filoni #Rebels #agent kallus #kalluzeb #Dincobb #Simarkus #Reed900 #Dad Hank #dbh connor #Dbh Hank #Dbh Gavin #Gavin Reed #Gavin Reed is gay #Chris Redfield #Ethan Winters #Mia Winters #karl hesienberg #lord heisenberg #Wintersberg #Wintersfield #Winterfield #Star wars

[sunsrefuge]

It might be too much BUT if you feel like it, all the playlist asks for Phoenix? :>

That's not too much at all, it's honestly what I was hoping for!! ^^ These are likely going to include me picking out lyrics as well so this may get long! <3 It got very long, oh gosh, don't worry about reading all of it if it's too much kajshdaus

I had a lot of fun with this though!! thanks so much for the ask!! <3

Backstory: Just Breathe by The Unlikely Candidates

I have no memories, just feelings lingering.

She's amnesiac, so her starting point definitely feels senseless in a way! This song is very calm and mellow imo, and the lines "Just close your eyes, / And have some fun" remind me of her pull to make everything fun so it feels bearable. ^^ Also, near the end of the song;

Can I learn to live again? (I'm staring into the abyss, I can't take my eyes off it.) Still one unanswered question, (I'm staring into the abyss, I can't take my eyes off it.) And I will fall onto the street, Against a wall, the bridge I keep. Just breathe.

It does really well at making just breathe into a mantra to keep yourself calm, and keep yourself going! Also, the abyss mention... stares at the end of EoD

Personality: Hard Times by Paramore (Minor flashing lights warning for the video! Mainly affective in the second half.)

(Hard times,) Gonna make you wonder why you even try. (Hard times,) Gonna take you down and laugh when you cry. (These lives,) And I still don't know how I even survive. (Hard times, hard times,) And I gotta get to rock bottom!

Fun bonus information; Hayley Williams is also Phoenix's voice claim! ^^ But when it comes to her work as the Commander, she's definitely prone to working herself to the bone to make sure everything's done right and to perfection. It also has more of her 'free fall' themes lol

Tell my friends, I'm coming down, We'll kick it, when I hit the ground.

She's gotta have everything under control, and even if things going wrong makes her spiral a bit, she maintains her upbeat persona no matter what! I can't wait to watch it break asdkjSHJ

Angst: Every Second by The Vocal Few

Okay, this is like, the harbinger of her playlist! It's been the first or second song since I started her playlist about four and a half years ago!! <3 It's very integral to her vibe as a Commannder!

I never dreamed this life for me, But I am not afraid. At 35,000 feet, I make my peace with fate. If my work here’s complete, Before we hit the ground; May we sing the truth that sets us free, 'Cause every second counts!

This makes me think heavily about the entrance to Dragonfall! I really like dramatic flight scenes, (thanks Avatar & HTTYD! ^^) so I do like to think that her and Aurene had some flight trouble when coming back out of the Mists with all those falling pieces around them! This is another song that constantly puts AMVs in my head - just a cut from her playing around with her Griffon in the Highlands during the chorus, to free falling out of the Mists and over the ocean in Dragonfall during the bridge that follows... It's so so good I really should learn how to animate aksjdhau

There are just SO many themes in this song that hit so well for her!! There's also a part about a flight attendant;

Oh flight attendant, could you tell me the story of how You gave up trying to control your fate and rescue yourself? So calm and patient, you greet death every day with a smile. If today he takes you, would you say that your life was worthwhile? And just smile?

It's just... the vibes are fuckin' immaculate <3 I feel like it really highlights how she's seen so many people die around her, that she's both accepted that death is her eventual fate, but she also has this complex of continuing to fight against it because the Commander never fails.

Comfort: If I Ever Leave This World Alive by Flogging Molly

I think it's ironic that it's a little morbid, but stuff like this is what would actually comfort Phoenix in her Commander AU's!

If I ever leave this world alive, I'll take on all the sadness that I left behind. If I ever leave this world alive, The madness that you feel will soon subside. So in a word, don't shed a tear, I'll be here when it all gets weird, If I ever leave this world alive.

It's primarily the comfort that she'll still be able to do something when she's gone, if she ever is. The idea of being helpless in death really scares her, to the point that I'm sure even if she does die... she'll be back somehow lmao. -- Also! fun fact that part of why this is on here is because she's got a slight Irish accent! :D Her accent is far more prominent in AU's where she gets to grow up with her family though <3

Love Life: Walking The Wire by Imagine Dragons

I'm so excited about this one!! Okay, so, in my personal AU Phoenix has yet to find love, but!! I asked my bestie if I could mention one of our joint AU's and they said yes!! :D So this is about her and Lochlan (who belongs to @mavelleofdawn) !! <3

Do you feel the same when I'm away from you? Do you know the line that I'd walk for you?

Important context for this; by the time they meet, it's Icebrood Saga! So Phoenix is already a Sylvari, and Lochlan is a Duke of the Court! So 'do you know the line that I'd walk for you?' is very prominent on both sides!! ^^ Also, kinda funny because he lowkey shows up because it'd be such an achievement to turn the Sylvari Champion / Commander from a Dreamer to the Nightmare... he's gonna find out that that won't work though, since she's technically not even connected to the Dream akjshduskjs

Oh, I'll take your hand when thunder roars. And I'll hold you close, I'll stay the course. I promise you from up above, That we'll take what comes, take what comes... Love.

also the bridge of this song is just, so so soft it drives me insane. I just think that they're really fun and really cute and these two fill me with so much joy aksjdhaubkdjs

Fight Scene: All Eyes On You by Smash Into Pieces

Now the whole world's watching every move, Take your shot, don't act a fool. All you've got and all you'll ever need... Is one bullet in the chamber. Breathe easy, take your aim, boy. Ain't nobody gonna save you, So what you gonna do? (All eyes on you.)

This song is on her playlist for the sole reason of fight scenes!! ^^ It got added to her playlist during Icebrood Saga, where I had a stint of canonly swapping her to Deadeye, but it's definitely sticking around because I think I'm just gonna have her multiclass after her (second) experience with death! This song has a lot of urgency, and feels a little chaotic at points, and by god I've imagined so so many AMVs of her to this song... <3 Also. I think that Revenants deserve a gun.

Thirst Trap Fancam?

Okay, I am doing this one more as a joke rather than seriously, but for Phoenix... Probably Die For You by The Weeknd! It's got a good beat and lyrics and there's something about this part that vibes:

I would die for you, I would lie for you, Keep it real with you, I would kill for you, my baby.

Does it vibe mainly because her partner is a Duke of the Nightmare Court?? discuss! /hj

#turns out. I wasnt kidding when i say Essays kasjdhausd #thank you for much for the ask!! <3 #my fav gorl <3<3<3 #i used to do song dissections for fun like. Constantly. #so i could answer these All Day akjsdhsu #c:Phoenix Rosemary #song stuff

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 38

Born Under a Bad Sign/Rise of the Cybermen

"Born Under a Bad Sign"

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: Someone died (maybe), but it was before the first five minutes, so...I guess I'm okay

So, Sam killed or majorly injured SOMEONE, but that's the mystery of this episode.

This guy extorting Dean for info about what happened wit Sam is kinda...I kinda love it.

God, watching Sam watch himself kill someone just breaks my heart. Look...I fully believe a demon hijacked Sam (especially given the recap), but omg Sam's insistence that he's terrible and a danger to all around him is...I wanna hug him. or punch him in the face, knock some sense into him. i'm not sure which

"Love" how he keeps insisting it WAS him just because it was is body being used to kill...like they've never seen anyone be possessed. And he doesn't remember anything that happened...SAMMY. You're literally just getting random flashes of memories.

Uuuuggggghhhh, Dean saying he'd rather die than have to kill Sam...um...what the fuck just happened. I'm still goin with demon possession, but didn't expect Sam to clock Dean in the face with the butt of the gun...

I don't like this...I know this isn't really Sam but it's still hard to watch. Might be what makes it extra hard to watch. Sam's gonna hate himself even more after finding out what "he" did and tried to do to Jo.

At least Jo knows it's not really him, but...it's not gonna make him hate himself any less.

Ah, Dean just had to get him in the splash zone with some holy water.

WHY IS JO ASKING IF SAM WAS POSSESSED?? LIKE, OBVIOUSLY HE'S POSSESSED. (guess it could have been a shapeshifter)

Oh...oh Bobby...Bobby's so fuckin smart

"You know when people want to describe the worst possible thing they say it's like Hell? Well, there's a reason for that. Hell is like, um, well it's like Hell" is an actual line from this episode. What was the writers room doing this ep???

And yet, just a few minutes later they come up with "If it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna save you," causing endless tears

"Been On My Mind...": Not gonna count the demon possessing Sam assaulting Jo.

"Rise of the Cybermen"

I'm never excited about the first part of two parters, but...maybe the promise of the cybermen will be enough

I know it's mostly because it's a British show that most of the Earth stuff takes place there, but I do think it's funny how many times they have to fend off alien invasion. Like, whatcha scared of?

"The TARDIS is dead" "You can fix it..." girl, no. I mean, yes, because we're in season 2 of 15 (so far), but like...the TARDIS isn't a phone battery

Oh, Rose, the Doctor might be right but I couldn't blame you one bit for wanting to go see your alternate universe dad.

You can really tell this was from a bygone era by the fact that the guy filming wasn't just holding his phone, but oh was that a terrible scene to have to watch

Omg look at his smiiiile. Sorry he’s just precious

I'm sorry, Mickey, WHAT? Doing some fuckshit in an alternate universe is one thing when there's a time limit. Getting STUCK in an alternate universe is one thing. CHOOSING to stay and do whatever you want in an alternate universe because your on and off girlfriend has a new man is quite another...

The Cyrus Industries people are CARTOONISHLY evil but not in a fun way...

The cybermen are truly terrifying though...

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023