#for the record i think their relationship is a bit more complex and they have their own reasons why they treat each other this way

[08theverysmallhuman]

happy nagireo breakup episode

#blue lock #blue lock nagi #blue lock reo #blue lock shipping #nagireo #reonagi #for the record i think their relationship is a bit more complex and they have their own reasons why they treat each other this way #but i do find it very funny to go nooooo girly.... he doesnt deserve you please open your eyes.... #incorrect blue lock

[cryptidghostgirl]

What Can I Do For You? (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Prompt: what if the deal restricting Alastor's powers is with you? haha, unless....

Warnings: THIS IS NOT SMUT. However, there will be some abusive/unhealthy relationship things obvi. One (1) bad word (I think).

Word count: 1,855

Master lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N this is just a reminder that I do accept requests if anyone is interested!

She was waiting there for him when he got back. Of course she was. Sitting in the chair of his recording studio, leaned back and casual. She acted like she owned the place.

It had been a few weeks since she'd sent him to the Hazbin Hotel. Alastor still didn't know the reasons but, him confirming the success of his appointment of the place had been the last time they'd spoken, it had been the last time he had seen her.

Quietly, Alastor pulled himself from the door way, his heart pounding frantically, halfway between anger and something akin to joy. He walked up to her, his hands placidly clasped behind his back. Stopping a few feet away, she turned to face him.

There it was, that sickly smile. Part of what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. There was a reason Alastor had avoided intimacy, love, complex feelings like that for so long and it was because he knew they made him weak. If he cared, he always thought, his enemies could use the object of his care against him. Simple as that.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think that it was the hypothetical person he might care for who would use his affections to their advantage. He had been naïve. He had been a fool.

The red light from the night sky crashed against her face, throwing her features into sharp contrast. She crossed her legs, the length of her skirt revealing her thighs just the slightest bit above her laced combat boots. She tilted her head slightly to the side. She was beautiful, just as beautiful as the day he'd met her.

That had all been part of the act as well, being small and afraid under the grips of that man. Alastor had heard her scream and found them in the ally. He had killed the man, reaching a hand out to the trembling demon. Hesitantly, she had taken it.

"I've been waiting." she hummed, her voice warm and inviting but with a cold sharp under-layer.

It was the voice someone had when they held a knife behind their back, knew they had the trump card, knew they couldn't loose. When he had first met the woman twelve years before, it had pulled him in. There was a curious depth to it he just couldn't help but want to uncover, need to uncover.

"My apologies." he softly replied, "If I had known, I would have come sooner."

Her smile widened, matching his own in its wildness. Sharp teeth, sharp eyes, sharp heart. Every fiber of his being told him to pick an option, fight or flight. He kept it all at bay, there was no other option. Not any more.

"I know." she hummed, taunting him, "You're quiet domesticated now."

There had been a time when her saying something like that might have made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. There had been a time where the word, domesticated, would have meant in love and together, not bound to her side for all eternity.

Now it just made Alastor feel sick to his stomach. Shame rose within him, making his cheeks glow pink. She chuckled at the sight.

"Now that's a sight that never gets old."

"What?"

"The feared Radio Demon, one of the most powerful overlords in all of Hell -- ashamed."

Alastor didn't reply. After a moment, she sighed, pulling herself to her feet. She circled him like a mad dog, like she was stalking prey. He didn't watch her, but his ears twitched, following the sound of her footsteps. She came to a stop behind him.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, clearing his throat.

She reached up, grabbing his shoulders gently in her hands. Even after all this time, all these years, all that had happened, he melted at her touch. That's what five years of building trust, forging love, did. Even if the seven after were hell, even if she had tricked him, betrayed him, time and time again, Alastor couldn't help it. He was weak and pliant beneath her skilled touch.

"What, I can't just check in on my favorite pet?" she asked innocently, rubbing his shoulders gently.

"Y/n..." Alastor sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides, "please, just tell me what you want."

She abruptly stopped in her movements at the sound of her name. It was a rare gift to hear it from someone's lips other than her own. Hell's Hunter Demon didn't share her true name, didn't reveal her face to anyone. It had been part of the trust building, the day she had finally given both to him.

When he had first met her, he had recognized her immediately from the stories. Alastor was on the verge of killing her, adding her voice to the broadcast to prove his power but, seeing the way she shook stopped him. He had smiled to himself, he had thought he had learned a secret about one of the most feared overlords in Hell besides himself. He had thought he had the upper hand.

"Say it again."

"Y/n."

She had been so sweet at first, so docile. He was set on getting her soul, making her subservient. The longer he had lain in wait to enact his little plan, the more he had gotten to know her. Y/n had a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue, she was clever and had a kind side to her that she hid well. It hadn't taken much for him to realize he was falling in love.

That had been terrifying, the first truly scary thing the Radio Demon had encountered since arriving in Hell. It had tortured him for months and he'd consulted every one he knew and trusted on the matter. Finally, Rosie was the one who had convinced him to just tell her, had told him she might feel the same way too. As much as he wanted to blame Rosie for that, Alastor couldn't bring himself to. She hadn't known, they'd both been in the dark, captivated by her sweet austere brilliance.

They had gotten a few happy moments together, a few blissful years. There had been time before she had revealed her true colors and what a lovely time it had been.

A shiver trickled down both their spines in the silence, the sound of his tongue forming the syllables of her name bringing back memories of brighter times. She took her hands from his shoulders, coming to stand before him once again.

Y/n was a book in a language he didn't know, an undeciphered code. Mouth drawn into a thin line, hands daintily placed on her hips, he watched her as she watched him. Unbidden thoughts, unbidden memories, the same ones as always, filtered into his mind. He couldn't help but wonder now, as he had a hundred times before, if it had all truly been a lie. If it had all been some ruse to get what she wanted.

Alastor had to admit, she had gotten him fair and square. Y/n had had him so absolutely wrapped-around-her-pinky-finger in love that she hadn't even been the one to bring up the deal. He had thought he was being sweet, romantic even. It was unfamiliar territory for the man and it had been important. He had fretted over the right way to ask her for weeks.

When he finally had, she was ecstatic at the idea of them joining souls, of giving themselves so fully and completely over to one another. A contract for each of them, an equal exchange.

As a sign of good faith, a mistake he would never be making again, Alastor had offered to go first. When the green smoke had lifted from their clasped hands and he had first caught sight of her face, of her wicked grin, he knew he had fucked up.

Y/n stepped up to him. With a gentle hand, she wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. Alastor hadn't even realized it had been there, so preoccupied with his own pity. He held his smile strong as she examined the little drop of salt water on her finger, smiling ruefully.

"What do I want from you." she mused softly to herself, "Well, I think I already have everything, wouldn't you agree?"

A green chain materialized in her hand as she spoke, the tear hitting it, melding with the metal as it became solid and she grasped it firmly. With a tug, she sent Alastor to the floor. He fell to his knees harshly, the impact reverberating through his bones.

He had loved her once. Now, looking up at her, he loved her still. He was a fool, through and through. Not because of his persisting love but because of his persisting hope, the fact that he had trusted her. The fact that he still trusted her. The fact that after everything, it somehow still made him the slightest bit joyful to see Y/n smiling and know he was the cause.

More than anything, he wanted to ask her if she regretted what had happened, what she had done. Alastor held his tongue. Even if she was, it was too late. There was no point in asking.

"I can't keep doing this." was what he chose to say instead, his voice was barley more than a whisper.

Y/n's smile fell, her eye brows raised as she crouched down in front of him, pulling the chain tight between them. She delicately placed a finger beneath his chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

"It doesn't matter. You will."

He knew she was right. Curse or no curse, he would come when she called.

"What can I do for you?" he asked again, his tone resolute.

"You can burn."

And burn he did.

There was a reason Alastor had avoided intimacy, it was because he had been afraid of it. A secret part of him had always yearned, a secret part that even now still felt fulfilled at her gentle touch. All along, he had been right that love would destroy him. Never in his wildest dreams did he think that it would have happened in this way or, that after everything, he would still care for the woman in question, his captor.

"Ask me again." she commanded.

"What can I do for you?"

He had been naïve, a fool.

"You can rot for all I care. Ask me again."

He was a fool still. A fool in love, a fool destroyed.

"What can I do for you?"

His breaths were labored, his heart open and bloodied. Y/n held it in the palms of her hands, given willingly. She radiated power crouched before him, holding his head close to hers with the chain.

"You can obey. Will you?"

"Yes."

The metal, cold and heavy, tugged against his neck, bruising the bone of his spine.

"For how long?"

"Forever."

There was no hesitation in his voice. A smile split her face in two, wicked and hungry.

"Good."

#x reader fics #fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #radio demon #hazbin hotel spoilers #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hellaverse #x reader #x reader fanfic #dark!fic #dark!reader #x reader oneshot #x reader one shot #one shot #oneshot #one shot author #hazbin hotel oneshots #Alastor one shot #Alastor oneshot

[mostly-mundane-atla]

Things Inupiaq culture doesn't traditionally have:

Kings/royalty (requiring tribute from the people you lead is seen as tyranical and tyrants are killed when possible)

A cash economy (dentallium shells were valued by many other cultures and sometimes were used as money in international trade, but not among fellow Inupiat)

Agriculture (we are traditionally a hunter-gatherer people seasonally following the herds, fish, and ripening greens and berries)

Corporal punishment (you aren't even supposed to yell at people or even scold children)

Slavery (you could argue this one since women were sometimes captured and taken as wives; but this is typically regarded as an ancient and morally questionable practice. The Inupiat didn't believe in owning people or their labor, only at best associating through marriage, blood relation, or wife-exchange)

Primogeniture as a hard-fast rule (Inupiat culture was traditionally patriarchal so a son may inherit his father's status as a family patriarch if he is already a father at this time, but material inheritence was not guaranteed to work that way)

A written language (historians were assigned to memorize records, family trees, and the like)

Human or animal sacrifices (would be considered cruel and wasteful)

Formal vs informal language (socio-economic class is mutable and does not affect language)

Gendered pronouns (our language uses pronouns to indicate tone of a sentence the way many languages use pronunciation, as well as relationship between subject and object in complex sentences and in all cases whether the subject is singular, dual, or plural and if the sentence is in first, second, or third person. An absolute fuckton of pronouns and none of them are gendered)

Raw meat taboo (except in the case of pregnancy; the arctic climate means the weather was not too far off from refrigerator or freezer temperatures, if not colder, and underground storage was often placed around frozen methane deposits known as permafrost)

Dog meat taboo (dogs were helpful as beasts of burden or sometimes hunting companions but when there's a famine you gotta eat what you can)

Many ceremonies taken for granted (for example, if a man and woman mutually agreed they were married, that was the only wedding required. We had big celebrations for survival, and women got incredible face tattoos for coming of age, but many lifestages were celebrated more low-key with little pomp and circumstance)

Shirts (you didn't wear anything underneath your atigi, and if it was too warm for it, you took it off. Yes, even women. Presbyterian missionaries thought we were godless sluts for our tits out ways)

Virginity marriage requirement (it was best if a woman hadn't had sex before but only because we lived in small communities and you have to keep track of bloodlines. Having sex didn't make girls unclean or impure and unwed mothers were taken care of by their families and weren't stigmatized)

Required monogomy (men could have multiple wives and women could have multiple husbands, wife exchange was a means of fostering allegiance, and the main problem with cheating is that it involved lying and prioritizing pleasure over duties like making sure your husband doesn't fall to his death while hunting. In stories about cheating and revenge, the cheater and retaliating jealous partner are both depicted as in the wrong)

There are more, but these i feel provide a pretty good basic idea of the culture. You can use these bits of info as Water Tribe worldbuilding inspo if you want, but i won't pester you into it. I just think my culture is neat and wanted to share ^-^

#eskimo on main #might talk about captured wives one of these days because that concept always facinated me

[northlight14]

While I’m a big fan of the “Von Karma being a piece of shit mentor and father figure to Edgeworth” concept and there is definitely some truth to those statements, I also wanna address the fact that it is canon that Von Karma was a good mentor to Edgeworth and growing up in that household wasn’t as horrific as it may seem at first glance. Frankly if it was, Edgeworth wouldn’t have been manipulated like he was.

Now just taking that into consideration, that makes the moment Edgeworth finds out what actually happened to his dad so much more heartbreaking. When mini Miles lost his dad, that was his world taken from him. He didn’t have any other relatives to go to and no direction in life. Then in steps a man who he knew his father respected to some degree, offering him a home and guidance, teaching mini Miles everything he knows and inspiring him. The ruthless God of prosecutors himself helping Edgeworth build himself up again.

Then he finds out that the one man who stepped in, the one he was willing to follow, was the very same man who caused his suffering in the first place. Not only that, but he’s spent so long following his teachings, that he himself has essentially become just another version of the man who caused his suffering. And to add fuel to the fire, that father figure clearly knew of Edgeworth’s survivors guilt and PTSD and used it against him and went as far as to frame him for murder.

It is honestly a wonder to me how Edgeworth didn’t completely break down right then and there in the courtroom. Von Karmas betrayal of Edgeworth is definitely talked about a lot in the fandom but the added context of what isn’t shown in the game or anime just makes it all the more heartbreaking

Edit: doing an edit on this post cuz I feel like I didn’t communicate what I wanted the best I could. My bad, y’all. This isn’t me saying that there wasn’t abuse at play. There was. Manfred was very obviously emotionally neglectful of Edgeworth and Franziska and instilled a perfectionist complex in both of them. That much is clear by the way Edgeworth speaks with him in a strictly business like manner. But I think it’s important to acknowledge that while Manfred was a shitty father figure, he still showed Edgeworth some form of kindness over the years. (I also believe that it has been confirmed that he was a good mentor to Miles but if I’m wrong about that let me know). We see that in the anime in particular where it’s shown he favoured Miles over Franziska. And also that’s how abuse works. The abuser will show kindness to their victim because otherwise they can’t manipulate the victim as easily. Manfred isn’t a good person but I think it’s important to look at his relationship with Edgeworth with a bit of nuance. Miles knew Manfred wouldn’t show him mercy in the court room because he knows how important his win record is. That doesn’t take away from the fact that he showed Edgeworth some form of kindness over the years. In my opinion, it just makes the whole situation more tragic

#fucking hate von karma for what he did #edgy boy always has and always will deserve better #it’s such a gut punch as well cuz Edgeworth likely would view vk as the only one who was on his side #only for vk to prosecute against him. not only does Edgeworth know how he is in court but that’s also his only safety net gone and instead #turned agaisnt him #that’s why when phoenix Maya and gumshoe step in it has such a profound impact on him #can y’all tell I love Edgeworth and also love this case?😅 #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #manfred von karma #tw abuse

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. ix

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |

chapter summary: “When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.” - Richard Kadrey, Aloha from Hell. But maybe it's about to be. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 5.0k chapter warnings: HEAVY ANGST. Panic attacks. Referenced death of a parent. References to abusive/neglectful parents. Complicated sibling/familial relationships. Alcohol consumption, smoking. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: I know it's annoying, but the thing about me is that I’m never able to write compelling things if I don’t include complex family/sibling relationships. Like I’m so obsessed with putting them in everything, even my stupid little love stories. But it does serve a purpose, I promise. There is an important character in this chapter….just saying.

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

-September 15, 2003-

Joel can sense that something is off with you the minute you get home from work. 

For starters, your voice sounds a bit too syrupy-sweet when you come through your garage door, and chirp out ‘Hey!’ when you spot him sitting on the couch in your front room, your cat curled up on his lap. 

Just ten minutes earlier, he’d let himself in, using the spare key you’d given him and Sarah. Your house felt vacant, dark, and shockingly quiet without you there, and so he’d turned on the lights, put on a record, and washed the plate, two mugs, and a bowl that were sitting in your sink. 

Joel stirs, and Martini immediately jumps off his lap as though he’d personally offended him in some way. “Hey, darlin,” he stands, accepting your affectionate kiss on the cheek. “How was your day?” 

When you pretend you don’t hear him, that’s the second thing that tips him off. You turn to hang your messenger bag over the hook in your front closet. And then you flex your fingers like you’re trying to stretch them out, cracking your knuckles one at a time with your thumbs, and rolling your shoulders back before heading into the kitchen and gesturing for him to follow. 

“Do you…uh….do you want something?” you turn your head slightly, but not enough to meet his eyes. “Let me get you something.”

He follows after you tentatively, remaining silent until he figures out what's going on. Martini, who was walking underfoot, scatters out of the way as your heels click over the tile and retreats to a safe distance alongside Joel, who pauses to lean against the threshold. 

Even despite the clear tension in the room, he can’t help but check you out. Before, Joel wouldn’t say that he necessarily had a type, it still is a little shocking that he ended up with someone like you. 

Before you speak again, you retrieve two lowball glasses out of your cabinet along with a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and pour two drinks, turning to offer him one. He accepts it cautiously, and you nod at him before taking a long pull of your drink. 

“So uh,” you say. “There’s something I kind of need to talk to you about.” 

You take another sip and then unbutton your blazer, shimmying out of it and tossing it over a barstool. Pushing the sleeves of your blouse up to your wrists, you cross your arms and chew on your bottom lip, like you are trying to decide how to break some sort of horrible news to him. Joel prepares for the worst. He racks his brain for anything he could’ve done or said recently that might have upset you, maybe even scared you off. But he’s coming up with nothing. What could he have done? 

At this point, his parents even know about you, even if he hasn’t had the chance to introduce you. His mother tries, in her I’m-not-prying-but-I’m-definitely-prying type of way, to get more information out of him. She asks him questions like ‘Do you think she’s the one?’ and he doesn’t answer directly but it does make him think. He already knows you’re his one. He just wonders if he is yours.

It’s consistently been his fatal flaw. Joel falls hard, even when it’s not right. It’s how he has always been, and that’s how he ended up alone with Sarah in the first place. The very thought of you ending things makes him feel sick. He knows he’s in love with you, that he doesn’t want to look elsewhere. It’s becoming harder and harder to hold back. You’ve filled up all this space in his life that he didn’t even know existed. What is he going to do with it once you leave? 

“What’s going on?” Joel asks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as pinched as his throat feels. 

“I should’ve told you this earlier,” you begin. “But….my dad has been sick the past few months.”

“Oh,” Joel says, but relaxes just a little, which feels a little selfish because it’s still unfortunate news. “I’m sorry to hear that. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine. I’m not really sure. Just…my brother called me today and apparently he’s taken a turn for the worse. The doctors…they think he doesn’t have that much time left. I…I need to go see him, I think. Before…” you don’t finish your sentence, you just shrug and look down. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah no, it’s fine, I’m fine,” you say dismissively. “I actually booked a redeye that leaves tomorrow night. I wanted to make sure I could still take Sarah to the office with me for her career day and everything, so you don’t have to worry about that. So yeah.” 

“Do you need to leave earlier?” He asks. “She can always come to work with me.”

“No, no…” you give a soft smile. “I made a commitment, and….I want her to see how boring my job really is.”

Joel wants to smile back at you, but he doesn’t. Because despite the jokes, when you meet his eyes for a second, they look so dull and desolate it feels like it’d be inappropriate. 

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Joel sets his glass down just as you pick up yours for another hearty gulp before continuing. “I got my company to approve me working remotely for two weeks. I don’t think it will be that long, but…I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Joel reaches out and rests a hand on your own.  “You should go be with your family. Sarah and I will be fine.” 

“I know that. I just…I don’t really want to go,” you say. “But I’ll feel bad for the rest of my life if I don’t…and at the very least, I need to be there for my brother. He’s closer with my dad than I am.” 

Bringing the glass back to your mouth, you take another sip – at this point, the drink is nearly gone. Joel steps behind you, because he can’t really hug you the way you are now, facing forward and bracing yourself on the countertop. “Come ‘ere,” he murmurs softly, pulling you back against his chest. For a second, you tense. It’s like you’re surprised, still, that all he wants to do is be gentle with you. Once you remember, he feels your body relax, and your head falls back to tuck under his chin, one of your hands clutches his arm that wraps across your collarbone. “I wish you could come with me,” you say. 

“Me too,” Joel says against the top of your head. He knows he can’t. Not with Sarah, and not with work being the way it has been. Unfortunately, the excuse probably wouldn’t go over well with the guys there. Not that he cares that much what they think, but he can’t jump ship right now. “But I’d have to find someone to look after Sarah….maybe I could ask my parents.”

“No,” you shake your head.  “No, no. I don’t want to put anyone out.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Everything will be fine.” 

“Well at the very least, do you need me to take you to the airport?”

“You’d endure rush hour traffic for me?” you tilt your head back to look up at him. 

Joel laughs softly, leans down for a kiss. “That and more.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ��: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 17th, 2003-

The room you’re in is dark, but the lack of awareness of your surroundings seems to be the only thing keeping you from suffocating. You’re standing in your childhood bedroom, which doesn’t look much like it used to. It's a guest room now, but it never really felt like yours all the way, did it? You clutch at your stomach – you’ve been nauseous ever since your plane touched down at JFK – and reach towards your old dresser to steady yourself. 

The vanity that had once been scattered with trinkets and trophies and photos of childhood memories was now vacant – pristine and polished. You wondered if the items had been thrown out, or dumped in a box somewhere in your old closet. It almost doesn’t matter – you aren’t interested in digging up any more memories. The feeling of your fathers hand clasped around your own had done enough.

You inhale deeply, bracing yourself against the glass top as you try not to throw up or pass out. For some reason, you had underestimated what you were walking into, and hadn’t expected your body to react so….viscerally.  On the other side of the closed door, you hear your name, muffled from down the hall.

It’s hard to make out who it is, perhaps your stepmother, Meredith, or some other distant relative you hadn’t seen in years who had crawled out of the woodwork and now lingered in the apartment, hoping to get their piece. But you’ve locked yourself away. That’s what you had gotten so good at whilst living here. Hiding. 

Until the door opens, and you squint against the light that floods the room to find the only person who has always known where to find you. Your brother. 

“Hey. Ethan and Elizabeth are on their way up,” he says, then pauses. “Why are you standing in the dark?” 

The lightswitch clicks, and the harsh ceiling lamp illuminates, starting the fan up with it and causing you to shiver. Vincent is frowning, standing halfway into the doorframe, his brows pinched. 

You widen your eyes at him. Come on, don’t give me away yet. “Will you please turn that off?” 

Vincent rolls his eyes, but obeys, switches on your desk lamp instead and closes the door behind him. “Are you okay?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know that you aren’t.

“It was a lot…being in there with him,” you look at the floor. 

“Well, at least you know he still likes you. He’s not going to take you out of the will.”

It feels like a smack across the face, and your jaw drops. How could he be so oblivious to your pain, when he’s the only person in this house, in the world, maybe, who understands exactly how you are feeling right now. “Is that all you think I care about?”

“No, I-”

“I’m here because of you,” you say. “You wanted me here. So I came, and I shouldn’t have.” 

“Oh come on,” he says. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“I wish I wasn’t here,” you continue on, despite his wishes. “I wish I didn’t have to wait my entire life to hear him say those things.”

Vincent’s expression shifts. He had been in the room. He had heard it. Your dad had been so….sweet. Gentle. Whispering praises even though his eyes were closed. You had expected, had wanted cruelty. This was somehow worse. Maybe he had known what you wanted all along, held it over your head, and waited only until the end of his life to give it to you. Even his admission of love was somehow malicious. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop you from regretting everything you’d done to get away from him.

Just outside the door is the flight of stairs that leads to your father’s room. And suddenly you aren’t an adult. You feel as helpless and as scared as you did when you were just a little girl – looking up at him, the view of his figure obscured by your brother’s shoulder. 

“God, it’s so fucked up.” you choke out. 

Vincent steps forward wordlessly, pulls you into a hug, and it’s only after you hear a quiet sob leave him that you let your own tears fall. There’s nothing either of you can say to fix the damage that has been done, so all you can do is cling to each other and cry. 

“I know it’s fucked up,” he says. “I know. Maybe I should’ve….I could’ve done more.” 

You pull back, relieved to see your tears didn’t ruin his cashmere sweater. “What could you have done?” you ask, dejectedly. “We were kids.” 

Vincent doesn’t know how to answer that, but he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and looks at the ground a moment before lifting his head. “We’ve got each other.” 

But that’s hardly true anymore, and he knows it. You’ll always resent each other for different reasons – he had adapted to the circumstances, and you had left them. Neither strategy did anything to fix the damage. 

You’re still weeping, but softer now, face wet with tears that fall everytime you blink. Swiping under your eyes, you sigh and attempt to compose yourself. 

“Come on,” Vincent says. “Say hi to Ethan and Elizabeth. Dad is stable for the time being. We can take a walk or something. Get some fresh air.” 

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll be out in a second. I have to get my shit together.”

After he leaves, you check your makeup in the vanity, wiping away some smudged mascara before following him out. When you enter the front room, still sniffling, you pray that you don’t have a run-in with any other family members. But the only person you see besides Vincent is your sister-in-law coming through the door. 

Elizabeth’s face is pinched in concentration as she tries to wrangle your nephew out of his coat. “What up, champ?” Vincent holds a hand out for a high five, just in time for her to free Ethan’s arms so he can reach towards his father, who stoops to accept his hug. 

“Hi, Daddy.” 

Elizabeth steps back and makes eye contact with you as you approach. In the past, you pitied her for the decision to marry into your family and then go on to have children with your brother. She was a little too good for him. But now, you feel like that was kind of a callous way of looking at things. You wonder if your brother would feel the same way about Joel for getting mixed up with you. Fortunately, Joel is still a well-kept secret. 

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Elizabeth says. “I’m so sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

“It’s alright,” you accept her hug and return her kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you, too.”

She looks down at her son. “Honey, do you remember your aunt?”

“Hey, Ethan,” you crouch alongside your brother, and he nods, but still side-steps closer to his dad and smiles over at you bashfully. “How are you doing?” 

“Good.” 

“Don’t be shy,” Vincent encourages, but your nephew doesn’t seem interested in your attempt at an embrace, so you let them drop by your side. 

“It’s okay,” you stand up, feeling a fresh batch of tears threatening their way to your waterline. Ethan’s treating you like a stranger because you basically are one. 

“You’ve met a lot of new people the last few days, haven't you?” Elizabeth asks, then looks over at you. “He might be a little overwhelmed. He’ll warm up.” 

Vincent stands at the sight of you starting to cry. “I am going to take her to get some air,” your brother puts a hand on your shoulder, speaking about you as if you are not in the room with them. You feel so useless, you might as well not be.

“That sounds good,” Elizabeth says. “We can catch up later. I ought to say hello to Meredith.” 

You both nod, stepping into the hallway. 

The fresh air helps, even if you can’t go far from the apartment. You walk around the block in silence, which gives you a chance to compose yourself. It’s a surprisingly warm day, although it’s much colder in New York than it is in Austin this time of year. In early fall, the leaves have only just begun turning. 

You’re about to turn the corner to the stretch of sidewalk that leads back home, when Vincent plops himself down on a bench without warning. He fishes through the front pocket of his jacket and retrieves a flask. 

“Jesus, Vincent,” you mutter under your breath. “Right now?”

“Uhm, yeah,” he answers. When you scoff, he continues, rolling his eyes. “Oh, get off your high horse. It’s just a little.”

“Aren’t you sad?”

“Of course I’m fucking sad,” he defends. “But I go to therapy now, so….I’m better at processing.”

“Yeah?” you gesture towards the flask. “Is that what this is called?”

“No. But it is the only way I can deal with Meredith.”

“You’re insane,” you say, but can already feel your exasperation fading. In your absence, he’s been dealing with all this alone. “Give me that.” Reaching forward towards the flask, he jerks his hand away just before you make contact. 

“I’m not sharing.”

You pout at him. Come on. He rolls his eyes and passes it over. “Fine.” 

While you take a sip, he produces a pack of cigarettes and plucks one out of the carton. “You don’t smoke these anymore, do you?” 

“Not really. But I still have not managed to kick the weed habit.”

“Well I’m jealous,” he says, lighting it. “Now that Elizabeth and Ethan live with me again, I really have had to get my shit together.”

I’m sure you’ll fuck it up soon enough, you’re primed to say, but even as a joke, you feel like it’s a little too mean. It’s okay to let this be a nice moment. 

“You know, if you wanted,” he says. “You could stay here for a couple months. I can get you set up with a place in the city. It might be good to be home…after…” You do your best to ignore his reference to the inevitable storm that hangs over your heads.

Any other time, and the offer might tempt you. This is your home, always would be, and you will always feel called to it. If you came back, all your family and childhood friends would be here. And without your father, things may be different. But now you have other priorities. “I can’t do that,” you shake your head. 

“Why not?” He asks. You sit down on the bench, swipe the pack of cigarettes from where they sit between you, and take one for yourself. “Didn’t you say you were approved to work remotely?”

“No, it’s not that,” you light the cigarette and take a pull, coughing when you inhale too deeply. It’s not a joint. “I actually….met someone.”

Vincent frowns like he doesn’t believe you. “Really?”

“Yeah….he’s actually my next door neighbor.”

“Oh, you managed to wrangle a fucking cowboy-”

“How many times have I told you? I don’t live on a farm. You know what? Nevermind,” you roll your eyes, shake your head. “Forget I mentioned it..” 

“Relax, I’m joking. Always so emotional-”

“Emotional? Emotional?” you ask. “Remind me which one of us was the one who had to be sent to a-” 

Vincent’s eyes roll back, and his head tilts with them. “Oh, here we go.”

“It’s not a joke to me,” you say, desperate to end the argument, and it actually works. 

“So is this….serious?” 

You shake your head. “I mean, I…I think I’m in love.” It’s not as insane to say out loud as you had expected.

“I didn’t think you cared about that sort of thing.”

“I didn’t either. But…I don’t know. It just sort of happened.” 

“What’s his name?”

“Joel,” you say. “He’s got a daughter, Sarah…she’s sweet. So is he…hardworking, thoughtful, kind….” you trail off, and veer away from becoming too sincere.  “In other words, he’d fucking hate you.” 

“Yeah, you know I repel the honest type.”

“No,” you correct him. “I actually think you’d get along. And you’d like Sarah. She’s funny.”

“I’m sure you’re a great influence on her,” he quips, sarcastically. 

“I’m good with kids. I’ve always been a good aunt to Ethan?” you insist. “....when he knows who I am, at least.”

Vincent chuckles. “He knows who you are, he’s just in a shy phase. That or I’ve already fucked him up.” 

You’ve heard some variation of the same from Joel while talking about Sarah, and it makes you smile, just a little, and wonder how terrifying it must be to have a child of your own. 

“You couldn’t,” you tease. “Elizabeth wouldn’t allow it.”

He nods as if you’ve made a good point. “So that’s it? You’re really never coming home?”

“I mean, never say never,” you say. “At the very least, I should probably visit more often. I could bring them sometime to meet everyone. We could try to be a normal family.” 

He wrinkles his nose. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Only your brother could find a way to make you laugh even under such dire circumstances. For a while, you’re quiet, and then you speak up again. “Being in love….it’s fucking scary.”

“That’s part of it,” he says. You sigh, shake your head, and put out your cigarette. “I’m happy for you,” he says, after a while. 

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m happy for you, too.” 

Despite the fact that your stomach still hurts, you’re sleep deprived from the flight, and your father is standing at death’s door, you are thankful for what feels like a huge step forward. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 19, 2003-

Joel’s hand stretches out to stop whatever thing is ringing in his ear at such an ungodly hour. His phone. He doesn’t even think, just answers it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers it might be important.

“Hello?” he grumbles. 

“Hey,” He can tell instantly that something is wrong. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I didn’t check the time.”

Joel looks at the clock. It’s six in the morning for you, and he’s never known you to be an early riser. He already knows what you’re going to tell him, but he asks anyway. “Yes but it’s alright. Are you okay?” 

“My dad is gone.” 

“Oh, baby,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shockingly stoic. “It will be okay. I just, I wanted you to know I’ll be staying longer than I thought. I’ve got to help my-” you clear your throat. “I’ve got to help Vincent with the arrangements and then my dad wanted his ashes scattered somewhere in Colorado. It’s where he grew up, so I’ll probably go there before I fly back, and-” You keep rambling, and Joel cuts you off. 

“Hey that’s fine, that’s okay. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna miss your birthday,” you say. “I had this whole thing planned where I was gonna take you and Sarah out to dinner, and it was gonna be really nice and-” 

“We can celebrate another time,” Joel insists. “It’s okay. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, so quick it sounds like a reflex. “I knew it was going to happen, so...” 

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t want to push you, but it’s very clear you’re holding something back. 

“Yeah, I…” you trail off. “I don’t know.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away, just gives you a little space to process. The silence is excruciating, and lasts so long that he wonders if you’ve hung up. But eventually, you speak again.

“I don’t….I don’t feel anything,” your voice breaks, all strained and choked and horrible. “I feel like I should.” You’re hundreds of miles away, and Joel has never felt so helpless. “Something….something is really wrong with me. I can’t-” 

“Babygirl,” he hears himself say, doing everything he can to calm you down. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He hears you take in a sharp, staggered inhale on the other line, struggling to catch your breath. “I wish you were here with me.”

Me too, I wish I was too. He wants to say, but all he feels is panic, tight around his throat. He feels like if he can’t get to you, something horrible will happen. What had he been thinking, letting you walk into this alone? Things must have been worse than you had let on. “Maybe I can try to figure something out.”

But almost as quickly as you lose control of yourself, he hears you clear your throat, a hard swallow. “It’s….it’s…it will all be fine. I will be okay, sorry, I just…” Joel can’t tell if you’re answering him, or if you’re talking to yourself. 

Joel knows the routine pretty well at this point, each time you show any sort of vulnerability, you immediately pull back – like there’s some invisible boundary you’ve crossed that snaps you back into place if you test it. He’d be able to actually help you if he was there. In some ways, you being so open with him, but only over the phone….makes sense. It’s just another way to avoid him.  He won’t resent you for it, but it doesn’t make him hurt any less. 

“What can I do?” Joel asks. “I’m worried about you.” 

“I’ll be fine, Joel. I promise,” you sniffle, clearing your throat, pulling yourself together. “I’ll be home soon and everything can just…go back to normal.” 

“Yes, it will,” he says. “You’ll get through this. And you’ll come home to Sarah and I. I’ll have a martini and a back rub waiting for you the second you walk in the door. 

“God,” you say. “You’re so hot.”

Joel chuckles, relieved to hear your smile. 

“You know,” your breathing steadies. “I would like you and Sarah to come out here. Not now. But another time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I was thinking about it. My brother has plenty of room. We could crash here, and you could meet everyone. I mean, Vincent comes across as like….such an fucking asshole, really, truly…but I don’t know. I think ultimately you’ll get along.”

“I’m sure we will,” Joel breathes softly. 

“You just have to promise you won’t leave me if you don’t.”

“That wouldn’t make me leave you.” It’s you I love. He’s not going to tell you that over the phone. So he settles. “You are what I care about.”

“I feel the same,” you say softly. 

You’re silent for a spell. 

“I probably should go and eat something. I’ve felt awful for like three days straight and I finally have an appetite. And there’s really no problem that can’t be solved by a bodega sandwich.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll feel better if you eat something.” 

“I will call you later, okay?” you say. “Thank you, Joel. I miss you, and I’ll see you soon.”

“I miss you too,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you soon.”

See you soon. For the next few days, everytime you call each other, every conversation ends with the same promise. Neither of you are aware it’s one you can’t keep. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 26th, 2003-

Joel sits in the front seat of Tommy’s car, and tries to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. There’s blood spattered on the front of his shirt, blood that didn’t belong to him. He’s done a lot of things to protect Sarah. To protect his family. He’d used that turn of phrase, that he’d kill for them, in passing, but never actually thought he’d have to do it. He did. He did. And he’s suddenly scared of what else he might be capable of. 

He does not want this burden, to be a protector, but he has no choice. It has been his entire life. First an older brother. Then, a father. It’s worth more than his own peace, than his own life. He would sacrifice that every time if it kept his family safe. 

And you, too.

He’s only just now looking down at his phone, trying to block out the noise of the voices on the radio that cut in and out of static. And it’s not because it’s broken. The world he knows is crumbling, he’s freefalling towards the earth, and he’s gotta grab the only things that matter or they will perish upon impact. 

Sarah says your name from behind him. “Do you think she’s okay?” 

It’s the first minute he’s had to think since he arrived at the prison to bail out Tommy. He has several missed calls from you and one voicemail. He doesn’t even think to listen, just immediately tries to call you back. 

“I don’t know, babygirl.” The phone doesn’t even ring. Sarah’s hand falls to his shoulder and he squeezes it tightly, hoping she can’t feel that it’s still trembling. Joel has no cell service, and none of the calls are going through even after trying several times over.

Joel looks down at his watch to see what time it is. It’s working now, thanks to Sarah, who had told him that she’d got it fixed at a place you had recommended before you left. It’s delusional, but he hopes maybe this isn’t happening in Colorado. You’d called him this morning to wish him a happy birthday, things had been fine then. How could it all fall apart so quickly?

He accepts that he can’t reach you, and listens to the voicemail you’ve left.

“Hey Joel, I….something is going on here. I don’t know if it’s happening everywhere. People are sick. It’s….it’s…If I don’t see you again I hope I- I want you to know that I love you. Okay? You and Sarah. Thank you, Joel. Please…please stay safe.”

I love you, too. Why didn’t he just say it when he had the opportunity to? What had he been thinking?

Joel tells himself that this is not the end. Things will settle, even if it takes time, and you will keep yourself safe. You won’t get sick. All the promises you made to each other will be kept. Even as he tells himself this, he knows it’s probably a lie.

Still, he indulges. Things will go back to normal. As long as he keeps himself safe, he’ll find his way back to you again. It’s just a matter of time. 

But his hope for the future, for anything else, dies an hour later.

-

-

-

#i have nothing to say except that i'm sorry :/ #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller series #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us writing #tlou #tlou writing #pedro pascal #troy baker #sarah miller #tommy miller #pre-outbreak! joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #we all knew it was coming okay #i have had this planned from the beginning please TRUST ME

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

hey iit's me again! (can i be your 🌼 anon?)

Thoughts on yan!CEO with caretaker reader who is looking after his sick father (home service i dunno what's it called) and she does some little chores here and there casually. Yan!CEO is so used to seeing her around his mansion that it starts to feel natural along with his father pressuring him to get married because the father thinks he's nearing his end. So when the father really dies tragically (bcoz ✨taruma✨) he only sees reader as his salvation and he convinced that she'd look after him even though she didn't do anything significant with lot of effort.

Yandere! Hospital Chairperson x Caretaker! Reader

OOH MY FIRST ANON! Hi :3

Btw, forgive me, the CEO thing will be changed into something other than, well, CEO. My yandere! CEO is already taken! But, with the help of my friend, we got to a little discussion, and decided on a Hospital Chairperson. Why? You'll see hehe

Yandere! Hospital Chairperson name: Xavier

It's always Xavier.

"Xavier, can you write up the last patient's records?"

"Xavier, please do the time of death."

"Xavier, fetch the files for me please."

It's like he's being worked around like a horse around the hospital.

He has to run up and down the building, right to left on this huge private hospital. Sure, he was a newbie, a fresh graduate from medschool, but did these people had to work him to the bone?

It was almost abusive, the lot of them.

"Father, it's so hard..."

He would usually complain to his father who was the hospital chairperson.

His father laughed lightheartedly before giving a few loving pats on the head. Xavier gripped the handkerchief in his hand.

"it's because they rely on you, Xavier. You're very strong and independent, yet kind and understanding. You are very dependable."

Xavier wanted to protest, that he knew his father was the one to order for him to be ordered around like that, but he pursed his lips.

Xavier Signet. The heir to the hospital conglomerate that is his father. Ever since his mother died, his father did his best to raise him to be a well mannered man despite being absent most of the time due to his job. His father made sure to teach him good manners, to have great academics, and to not be spoiled and always appreciate hard work.

Hard work was something not unfamiliar with the Signets, they were new money after all. From a humble clinic to something as well renowned as the Signet group of Medical Facilities. They were medical practitioners to a tee, and valued other people's lives more than their own.

Xavier gritted his teeth as he held down the fountain of profanities and complaints as his father waved goodbye to him.

Nevermind the handkerchief in his hands, spots of blood in it, a sign on Xavier overworking himself too much.

What his father didn't know is that Xavier is not the angel he thinks he is. His superiority complex that borders on God complex made him boil inside with defiance and insults as he took every single work his higher ups throw at him.

He wanted them dead. So much.

But he can't.

Yet.

Fast forward five years later, and his father lied on the bed, sick and weak.

Xavier bit his tongue while holding his father's cold, wrinkly hand. It was so rough and dry. Obvious from the years of hardwork and patients he had to go through.

"Dad..." Xavier whispered. "You know you can't move already, so please. Let me hire a caretaker for you."

His father coughed, love brimming his eyes for his son.

Xavier matured into a well endowed person. One who was steadfast and an amazing leader, but also a great listener. He's the perfect man for the chairperson seat.

"Alright. You can hire one, son." Ever the fool for his offspring, he nodded.

Xavier hired you, a seemingly gentle and sweet soul, someone who knew how to take care of an elderly.

At first, Xavier was only curt with you. Professional, at most.

He was so busy with his work that most of the time, his relationship with you slips his mind.

It made him open up to you sometimes, while he drank his scotch.

"ah... Those bastards. Really? They want to siphon more money from our patients? Are they out of their mind? Isn't it enough that they stomp on the new residents, but also the patients."

You furrowed your eyebrows, listening to Xavier's whiles.

These were one of the days were you noticed that he drops his nice and angelic facade and into this arrogant, yet empathetic guy.

"Tch. They're not even fucking geniuses. All they do is pocket money, invest, and splurge. They don't give a damn to patients. Like who the fuck do they think they are?!" Xavier rambled more, the scotch making him blurt out his real thoughts onto you.

Sympathetic, you finished folding the clothes of his father and gently walked up to him, and then patted his head with a rub.

Xavier gasped, suddenly feeling that everything was at a standstill, slowly looked up to your peaceful face that was highlighted from the lights of the living room.

Oh god.

"Sir Xavier, those bastards are really something. They're public servants, they should be nice and caring. But all they knew is money." Your sweet voice infiltrated his ears, making his arrogant and superior walls crumble in just a snap.

He was so starved of affection.

Then, your hands caressed his shoulder and rubbed them, making his tense form go away.

Oh god.

And as he grabbed your form and cried into your arms, he knew that things will never be the same.

Xavier rubbed his temples as he listened to the whines of his constituents. Apparently, they wanted to invest in commercial businesses also, but it was a failing start up company with the asking money of 200,000 dollars in exchange of only 10% of the company.

They're seriously fucking him over if they think he'll agree to this obvious scam.

It's been two years since you got in their life.

In his life.

And everyday, he looks forward to coming home into your arms and crashing his low energy body in your embrace.

It was weird, really. At first, he was so stand-offish, but now he was treating you like you were his wife.

That, and also his father continued to pester him to get a wife, since he wanted Xavier to have children before he passes away.

And when he ranted to you about that, you laughed heartily and rubbed his head once more, making him lean into your touch.

"I look like your spouse if you think about it!"

And those words permeated into him, and latched itself into his bones.

Yeah, maybe.

He glared into one of his subordinates and they trembled.

"S-sir, I swear, it's a good investment!" The subordinate said, but their hands are shaking and sweaty.

"No. Get out."

They hastily bowed and ran outside.

Due to your encouragement, he learnt to not hide his true nature and not just grit and bare the shit thrown at him.

"You're the chairperson! And you're just going to let them walk over you?"

You were right. He was at the highest position. So why would he?

So now, he's the one making life a living hell for them. Exacting revenge like a bloodless villain. Even attacking their personal lives.

He worked hard for this position. Too hard. Now it's their time to work hard to maintain theirs.

Then, all of a sudden, his phone rang. He looked at it, and his eyes softened. It was you. With heart emojis in his contacts.

"Hello y/n, how's father?"

But then your panicked voice made him drop everything and drive as fast as possible to your side.

And he saw you crying at the foot of his father's bed, tears streaming down your lovely face as you wept.

His hands trembled.

This time, he's the one to comfort you as he whispered reassuring words.

He looked up at his father's corpse, silently wishing him goodbye as tears also starting to leak from his eyes.

Now he had no one but you.

He held you closer, a numb feeling erupting from his chest as he felt your tears wet his shirt.

Painful sobs of the both of you permeated from this seemingly quiet and cold room, finding one another for comfort from the loss of a dear father figure.

Xavier had to take a break from work.

He felt so numb, leading the wake and the funeral of his father.

As much as he hated him due to his extreme ways of teaching him manners and discipline, he was still his only family left.

His ears rung whenever his father's "friends" sent condolences in a professional, yet fake way.

Time was a concept, and now, he was looking down at his father's grave.

His father didn't want a mosoleum, just a simple grave besides his wife's, Xavier's mother who died in childbirth.

And you were beside him, gripping his hand.

When did the line blur from employer to employee?

Who knows?

But both of you needed each other.

He needed you.

You were the only one left on his side, genuinely.

And he'll be damned to let you go, his only anchor to prevent himself from going apeshit and letting blood spill.

He gulped a cry.

"Y/N, darling, where are you?"

You stilled, hearing his weary voice come from outside of your room. You gripped your clothes and hastily placed all of them in your bag and sliding it under your bed.

"Oh here, Xavier!" Your voice, strained yet giving the outmost genuine tone you could muster. Yet a slight shake can be heard.

"Thank god, I thought you left me. Haha." He opened the door and saw you, sitting on the bed with a wry smile.

He approached you and wrapped his arms around your waist, cuddling close. You bit your cheek.

"Xavier... Um, is it possible for me to go outside to shop?" You asked, rubbing his hair. Wanting a semblance of freedom and a chance to escape.

Xavier's head shot up and he shook his head desperately his grip on you tightening.

"no no no! Silly, definitely not. If you go outside, you'll catch some sickness out there that will probably kill you. And we don't want that, do we? We want you living healthy and long." Xavier desperately reasoned, clinging to you. You bit your lip and nodded slowly.

Ever since his father died seven months ago, he refused to let you go. He was crying, begging for you to stay, for you to take care of him. He even went and upped your salary just for you to stay with him.

But what use is your money if you're essentially locked inside his house?

He refused to let you go at all, scared that you'll get sick and die.

And then he would be truly all alone.

He doesn't want that at all.

He still wants to marry you, to make a family with you. To be with you, his only pillar left.

"I get it, Xavier. I'll stay put." A lump appeared on your throat as you saw his genuine smile of relief.

You were so torn with guilt and desperation for freedom.

You wanted out,

Yet also wanted to stay put and take care of the man.

So, what will you choose?

Spread your wings, while potentially setting off the ticking time bomb that is Xavier, or stay, and accept that being confined in this mansion with no one but Xavier as your only... Friend.

But one thing's for sure.

No matter what you choose,

You'll always end up in his arms.

It's an illusion of choice,

He's always the end game.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

[likeadevils]

Reputation Timeline

This is a very long post that puts all the songs on Reputation in order of Taylor creating them. I’ve also included a few other songs she worked on while writing rep and quotes from Taylor and her collaborators talking about her process.

If you don't want to read all that, check out this playlist of the album in order or this playlist of her entire discography.

I’ve also added this color coded scale of how sure I am of the date: 

Confirmed: There is some type of official source for the date

Inferring: Nobody has officially said “This is when we wrote it,” but all available evidence points to that date

Speculation: This date is based off pure vibes and guesswork and is highly likely to change.

Unknown: All that is known is the year (from the US Copyright Offices

February 13, 2015: Taylor's interview with Vogue is published (likely conducted on January 14/15).

"I don’t worry that I haven’t started the next record yet. I don’t worry that I don’t know what it’s going to be. I’m not worried that I have absolutely no timetable as to when it needs to be done. It could be two years from now; it could be three, it could be four. Or it could be one. You get these bursts of inspiration right at the moment you’re not expecting to. You just have to live your life, and hopefully you’ll take the right risks."

March 2, 2015: Taylor is photographed leaving a studio. (Note: I can not find a place that specifies if this is a recording studio, dance, photography, radio, or television studio).

May 20, 2015: Taylor's interview with Marie Claire is published (likely conducted two months beforehand).

Taylor is not even sure she'll have made another album by the time 2020 rolls around. "I'm not going to put out an album until I've made one that's better than this one and that's going to be really hard," she says. And how might her music evolve if she does find love? "If that does happen, I think I could find complexity in happiness," she says. "I don't think anything's ever simple. Just because you're happy in a relationship doesn't mean there aren't moments of confusion or frustration or loneliness or sadness. Hopefully, if I ever find some sort of meaningful relationship, I'll be able to still find inspiration, just through everyday ups and downs."

October 7, 2015: Taylor is photographed leaving a recording studio in New York.

November 13, 2015: Taylor's interview with Vogue Australia is published (likely conducted two months beforehand).

Every two years since 2006 she has released an album, followed by a tour, then moved onto the next one. But her latest album, 1989, might change plans a bit. “This album has produced more number ones than any album in the past, so we’re just going to go with it,” she says, going on to explain how the usual album cycle could be extended. “Then I’ll feel like I’ll need to give people a breather from me because at a certain point they’re going to get a little sick of hearing about me, so I’ll need to go away for a while then, depending on my gauge on how sick of me they are, I’ll decide when to put out the next album.” [...]  “I’ve been learning every single day what the right amount of sharing [of her personal life] is, and lately it’s been not natural because this album is such a snapshot of my life – it was so vivid, direct and honest.”

April 20, 2016: Taylor interview with Vogue is published (conducted in February).

So what the hell are you going to do with the rest of your life, Taylor Swift? “I have no idea,” she says, with a sigh that’s more blissful than anxious. “This is the first time in ten years that I haven’t known. I just decided that after the past year, with all of the unbelievable things that happened . . . I decided I was going to live my life a little bit without the pressure on myself to create something.” Do not freak: Swift is not abandoning making music. Those who know her know this is chemically impossible. (“Her not being creative is one of the last things I’d ever worry about,” the musician and producer Jack Antonoff tells me later.) “I’m always going to be writing songs,” Swift says. “The thing is, with me, I could very well come up with three things in the next two weeks and then jump back into the studio, and all of a sudden the next record is started. That’s an option, too.” But probably not for the moment.

August 29, 2016: Taylor writes in her diary "This summer is the apocalypse."

Gorgeous: Sep. 1-5, 16, 17, 19 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, Taylor is seen wearing this outfit in her Nashville apartment, which dates the song to September 17. From there, the rest of the dates are just math. 

King of My Heart: Sep. 6, 19, 20, 21 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, Taylor is seen wearing the same outfit in the Gorgeous video and the KOMH video. It's also the same outfit as a video she later posted to The Swift Life (RIP) where she talked about how excited she was to be working after a long break.

September 9, 2016: Gigi Hadid says "You know, [Taylor] is starting to go back to work in the studio again."

I Don't Wanna Live Forever: Early Oct. (Speculation)

In a teaser for the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen in an unfamiliar outfit (black mesh top) with bleached hair and a thin gold choker that she was fond of in October 2016. She is not wearing her silver J pendant, which she got as a 27th birthday present (Dec 13, 2016). IDWLF is the only song with no video footage that was written in 2016. I don't recognize the studio in the clip, but she recorded IDWLF with Jack Antonoff, who is based in New York. Taylor was on the east coast until October 22nd, and was seen in New York between October 11-13.

Delicate: Oct. 24-26 (Speculation)

Taylor is seen wearing the aforementioned thin gold choker,  with her post Sep. 24 haircut (straight across bangs instead of a side part). Since she normally goes into the studio with Max Martin and Shellback with a few ideas, and creates multiple songs during their sessions, I'm inclined to group this song with IDSB and place it in late October.

I Did Something Bad: Oct. 14, 27 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, at 4:18 you can spot a gold temporary tattoo on the inside of her wrist, similar to ones she was wore at Drake’s Birthday Party on October 23. Since she is seen working until sundown (She leaves LA on October 28) and had to be in Nashville 13 days priar (She was seen in New York City until the 13), October 14 and 27th are the only dates that make sense. 

January 3, 2017: Taylor writes in her diary "I get all scared about the future because so much has changed in the last year of my life. I mean this time last year I was living in LA, getting ready for Grammys and now, I’m essentially based in London, hiding out trying to protect us from the nasty world that just wants to ruin things. We have been together and no one has found out for 3 months now. I want it to stay that way because I don’t want anything about this to change or become too complicated or intruded upon. But it’s senseless to worry about someday not being happy when I am happy now. Ok. Breathe."

Don't Blame Me: Jan. 10, 11, 12 (Inferring)

Taylor is seen wearing a similar jacket as she was papped wearing on the 11th in the Making of a Song video. (This is pure speculation on my part, but the mood also seems to be a bit lower than on other days). We know she was in LA around this time “for work.”

Dancing With Our Hands Tied: Jan. 11 (Confirmed)

This post explains the situation pretty well. There are multiple accounts of what seems to be a similar story. January 11th one of two times she is seen leaving the gym after a long paparazzi dry spell, the other being in July. Seeing as the song is produced by Max Martin, who is located in LA, and the July pictures are in New York, I’m inclined to agree with the original source.

Dress: Late January/Early February 2017 (Speculation)

Jack Antonoff: “Dress is my second favorite [from Reputation]. It's the first one we made for it." Taylor was mostly based in London in early 2017, but there’s two times we know she was in the states. The first is in early January, when Taylor was in California working with Max Martin and Shellback. The second time is in late January/early February, when she was in Nashville preparing for Super Saturday Night. My guess is this was written in Late January, mostly because she was on the east coast, but theoretically she could've done it earlier in the month, or even later in the year.

Look What You Made Me Do: Late January/Early February 2017 (Speculation)

In promos for the Making of a Song Video, as well as in Miss Americana, Taylor is seen with straight hair and her J initial necklace (dating the song to post-Dec 13, 2016). Her hairstyle (the deep side part) is very Mid-2016. For most of 2017, she seems to favor the straight across braids with strands on the side. Long story short (ha), the hair makes me what to put this as early in the timeline as possible. We know Taylor was on the east coast (specifically Nashville) in early February, preparing for Super Saturday Night.

New Years Day: 2017 (Unknown)

There isn’t any footage of this, but Jack Antonoff has said that it came together fairly quickly and unexpectedly while they were hanging out at his house. 

...Ready For It?: May 2017 (Speculation)

In promos for the Making of a Song series, as well as Miss Americana, Taylor is seen with curly hair, her J necklace, and not her Sapphire Evil Eye Ring, which starts showing up on June 27th (We don’t know exactly when or why she got the sapphire ring). . Since the song partially focuses on whether or not her lover is ready for the media frenzy that surrounds dating her, I’m inclined to place this song in May, when her and Joe’s relationship leaked to the press. The song was recorded in Sweden, and we can assume she was in Europe between May 15 and June 1, 2017. (That being said, we can assume she is in Europe for most of the first half of 2017). 

Call It What You Want: June 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with straight hair, her J necklace, and not her sapphire evil eye ring. Once again, I am tempted to put this after her relationship leaked to the press, probably in early June (She is in the states on the 1st and 3rd, and probably leaves sometime in mid-June).

End Game: Mid July (Confirmed)

Ed Sheeran has said that the song was written around July 14th, while he was playing in Connecticut and Taylor was in Rhode island. Ed: End Game was written - I was playing Mohegan Sun in Connecticut, and she has a place in Rhode Island, which isn't too far. So she hits me up like, 'I know you're in Connecticut, come around.' I go around, she plays me some of what turned out to be reputation, and plays me this End Game, and I was like 'Man, I really like this. Can I do a verse? Can I do a rap verse?' And she was like, 'Yeah, for sure!' So the next day, I remember, I was in bed, and woke up and got my laptop out, put the song, just looped it, wrote this verse, and I went in with Max Martin, who she did the song with, and recorded it. Then Future did a verse, and then Taylor wrote a verse and we did the video.

Getaway Car: July 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with curly hair, her J necklace, and her sapphire evil eye ring, placing the song sometime shortly before/after June 27th. We know she was in the states for most of July, and in New York City on the 17th and 24th.

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things: July 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with straight hair, her J necklace, and her sapphire evil eye ring. For all the same reasons as Getaway Car, this song was probably recorded in July. The exact order of Getaway Car and TIWWCHNT is probably impossible for anyone not involved in the making of the song to know. I could see arguments for either order, but Taylor has said that reputation is in fairly chronological order, I’m putting it in order of tracklist.

So It Goes: September 2017 (Inferring)

Oscar Görres, a cowritter on the song, said he got a call from Max Martin, Shellback, and Taylor asking to use his track after he’d just had a child. According to social media, he had a daughter in 2015 and a son in September of 2017. The interview is a bit confusing, timeline-wise. On one had, Görres says “I’d just become a father,” but then he implies that Max and Shellback had already completed most of the album. (For context, English isn’t his first language). Personally, I believe the believe the September 2017 date. Multiple sessioners have said Taylor said all songs on the album were about her relationship with Joe, and the tracklists in the reputation magazines are out of order, suggesting a late change. Taylor has has also been known to add a song to the album incredibly last minute— most notably Forever & Always on Fearless, but also with Death By A Thousand Cuts on Lover, which had to have been written post April 20, 2019 (but that's for another album).

And that's all for this timeline! Check out my others:

TIMELINES: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights PLAYLISTS: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights • entire discography GENERAL: tag

#txt* #timeline* #taylor swift #sure let’s do it tonight why not

[moonshynecybin]

context here and here... short fic (~1k words) about reporter au marc, turning over what their sepang could be... unspeakably divorced vibes to this one...

Marc lays the recorder down in front of Valentino. He starts, carefully neutral:

“So. You were a little bit shaky on the braking this weekend, was there any specific reason? It looked like you were having trouble with grip?”

Vale crosses his arms, narrow posture folding.

“Marc.” He counters. Face serious.

Marc ignores him. Ignores the tornado shredding his stomach. He scribbles something in his notebook, mindlessly underlining a question he doesn’t even want to ask. He’s been trying to keep it more professional, after the last few weeks. After—

“Do you need me to repeat the question?” He says.

Vale doesn’t give an inch. “Why did you write that article?”

So he did see it. Marc flicks his eyes up from his notebook, quick. Vale’s eyes bore into him. unerring. Feline.

He shrugs a little. Sucks on his teeth.

“Did you have a problem with it?” He shouldn’t, really. Wouldn’t if it were anyone else. Marc’s just doing his job, he won’t compromise that for anyone. Journalism isn't about making people happy.

“No.” Vale says, and Marc’s asked him enough questions at this point to know what he looks like when he lies.

He fingers the end of Marc’s recorder. Long hands against shitty plastic. He switches it off.

“You didn’t tell me this was going to be off the record.” Marc says mildly, like he’s joking. He doesn’t know what Vale wants from this— apparently not an interview—and judging by the expression dragging at the corners of his face, the chances of Vale indulging the small part of Marc scaffolded on hope are slim. In fact, a picture is starting to form, uneasy and edgy, lighting the barely-dormant spark of hurt in his gut.

He can’t be serious.

Vale laughs, brittle and hard.

“So you don’t regret it?”

He is serious.

Marc puts his pen down as something in him clenches, sick and determined. Vale can’t— he shouldn’t get to do this, after the last few weeks. shouldn’t get to be mad at him for the sort of article that he wouldn’t care about if anyone else had written it. Not after how he's ignored Marc, skipping over him in press scrums. After how he implied Marc was overstepping, too familiar. Not professional. After how Marc— after they—

After.

Marc feels like an idiot. Whatever. His piece is still good, his writing stands on its own. It asks valid questions, makes the correct comparisons, and gives Jorge Lorenzo a few hard-earned compliments. It's an incisive article. Interesting. Impersonal. Entirely professional.

Just like Vale wanted.

“Why would I?”

Vale keeps studying him, and Marc thinks a muscle jumps in his jaw. He meets him head on, intense. That same chemistry that they’ve been building for the last few seasons turned sour now, crackling like a live wire. Vale’s eyes drop to Marc’s mouth, then back to his eyes. His expression sets.

Marc sees him arrive at some sort of conclusion.

It can’t be just about the article— others have said worse, gone farther. Marc was careful to stay in bounds, tame and even normal compared to some of the other journos in the paddock. No remarks about his personality or his age. Just a few observations about how Jorge is steadily gaining in the standings, and how Vale is slowly losing the lead he’s had all season. The facts, as Marc sees them. Objective.

But Marc has also never written anything like that before. Has built a name for himself on complex opinions and strategic analysis. On the experience he has as a former racer, and as someone who was supposed to be on the other side of the recorder— supposed to be answering questions instead of asking them. On interviews strengthened by the easy, genuine relationship he has with Valentino Rossi.

But it’s not like he can exactly rely on that last one anymore.

Vale tilts his head forward, eyebrows up. A wry little expression plays across his face, there for a flash, before he shakes his head and pushes back his chair.

“Eh, I guess you are right.” Vale stands, nods. He leans over the table and waves a hand in the air, face animated. Cheerful, if you don’t know him. Studied nonchalance. “Why would you? It’s your job.”

He says the last bit like it means something, extra emphasis on each syllable.

“It is my job.” Marc agrees.

“Right.” Vale says, after a moment, tension threading through them both, taught as a bow string.

He says it like it’s final. Like it’s the end of something. It's exactly the same tone of voice he used a few weeks ago in Phillip Island, when Marc had stumbled out of the cold bed in his crappy hotel room and saw Vale fully dressed, looking for his wallet. About to leave. His head had whipped up when he saw Marc awake, and the look on his face was crystal clear. Had made Marc abruptly feel like he was about to vomit, cold rising from his toes as Vale started to speak.

Too young. Too close. Too unprofessional.

Right.

“Right.” Vale says again now, confirming whatever he sees in Marc’s face, blue eyes clear and remote. The hinge of his jaw is wound tight, day-old stubble blurring his sideburns.

Marc’s chest throbs.

He doesn’t say anything, lets the silence fill the room until it’s about to burst.

Vale stares at him a minute longer before he turns and leaves, door swinging behind him.

Marc sits there, staring at his notebook for a long time.

He doesn’t end up writing anything.

#its like. marc being hurt and not technicallyyyy doing anything wrong or outside of his job. but still kind of deciding to ruin vale's day #and stick it to his ego about the championship... #motogp #callie speaks #rosquez #my fic #reporter au

[toomuchracket]

lovers' quarrel (ross x girlband gf!reader angst)

day 5 of valentine's week. schedule clashes are getting to you. enjoy <3

you haven't spoken to your boyfriend in a week.

you're sleeping in the same bed as him, yeah, but ross is always asleep when you let yourself into his house at 11pm, body aching after a 12-hour day of dance rehearsals and video shoots and last-minute touch-ups to the instrumentals and harmonies and mixing on your band's new album. and you're always asleep when he leaves at 8am to drive to the studio to finish recording the new 75 LP (scheduled for release a month after yours), a kiss to your sleep-messy hair the only real bit of physical contact he gets to give you.

even your phone calls during studio breaks keep missing each other; you only hear your boyfriend's voice filtered through crackly phone lines, an obvious reminder that you're apart. in fact, the closest you've felt to ross in about eight days is when you use his body wash, in the freezing shower you take to soothe your screaming leg muscles before you get into bed with him.

you hate this. you miss him, so much.

ross misses you, too - he tells you at the end of every voicemail he leaves, paired with a “love you”, in such a defeated tone it brings tears to your eyes. you call him back, leave a similar message of your own, and go back into the rehearsal room and dance your heart out, as if it isn't breaking more with every passing second. 

is this what life is always going to be like for the two of you, a loving relationship reduced to fleeting moments of getting to spend time with each other in between tours and shows and recording sessions and writing and promo? you're not sure how long you could take it, if it is.

but you love ross. so fucking much. surely you can do something to make it better for both of you.

the question is… what?

you're mulling over that on your lunch break, sat alone outside the studio complex with your tofu bowl and lucozade, thinking about how thursdays have always been the worst day of the week (double maths back in the day, and now the final full day of work left before you can actually maybe talk to your man for once), when the answer appears through the summer drizzle. well, actually, it's gabbriette who appears, dashing over to you from her (matty's) car and screeching as the rain hits her hair.

you laugh, standing and letting her barrel into your arms. “hi, wifey.”

“baby girl!” she kisses your nose. “you look gorgeous.”

“gabs, i've been dancing for three hours straight. i look like shit.”

“but hot shit. like, super sexy shit,” she grins. “how's everything going? do i get a sneak peek of the new video?”

you smirk. “depends. did matty send you down here to spy on us?”

gabbriette laughs. “he's too stressed to even think of suggesting anything that smart. no, actually, i'm just here to see how you're doing,” her beautiful face shifts into a more serious expression. “because when i asked your boyfriend how you were, literally thirty minutes ago, he very cryptically said he didn't know.”

“ah.”

“he did then explain that you guys hadn't broken up, but it scared me,” she squeezes your hand. “you okay? like, i know you're both so busy - george is literally pushing the guys to the limit in the studio right now - but…”

you sigh. “yeah, we’re just so busy that we keep missing each other, that's all - i get home when he's sleeping, he leaves before i wake up, and we're never free to call at the same time. like, i didn't even know that thing you just said about george, because we haven't talked for days,” you slide down the wall to sit, and gabbriette follows. you sniffle. “he sleeps right beside me, but i miss him like he's continents away. and i hate it, gabs, i really hate it.”

“oh, baby,” she puts her arm around you and kisses your head. “it'll get better soon, though, won't it? you finish here tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“yeah, but,” you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “then the boys get to this manic stage i'm in now, then i have to do promo, and they have to do promo, and i just don't know when it'll end.”

“i know the feeling,” gabbriette sighs. “it's not easy, us being us, loving the people we do. but that's the way it is, i guess. we just gotta,” she half-heartedly punches the air. “push through it.”

“mmm,” you take a drink of your juice. “what i wouldn't give to just have dinner with him, you know? go somewhere nice for a night, and think about nothing but the two of us.”

your friend turns to face you. “so, why don't you? make a reservation for tomorrow night. surprise him when he gets home. clichè, but,” she winks. “i'm sure ross won't complain about coming home to you all dressed up and gorgeous. i know i wouldn't.”

you burst out laughing. “you're gonna lose your shit when we go inside and you get to see my album cover outfit, babe.”

“oh my god,” she presses her face into your shoulder, then sits up with a smile. “but seriously. i know you're exhausted, and so is he, but plan a date, have fun, make it a regular thing. you guys are perfect together; don’t let that slip away.”

“alright. thank you for the support,” you hug her. “i love you.”

“i love you, angel girl,” gabbriette pulls back and kisses your nose again, before standing and helping you up. “now, i am dying to see what you and the girls have been cooking up. shall we?”

you link your arm through hers. “let's go.”

***

when you hear the key in the lock, you brush down your dress a final time and hurry into the hallway. your heart skips at the sight of ross - clearly exhausted - stepping through the door; you can't keep the smile from your face, and one appears on his after he kicks his shoes off and turns towards you.

he exhales. “god, you're a sight for sore eyes. hi, love,” his arms open, and you run into them and allow yourself to be wrapped up in your boyfriend. “missed you this week.”

“missed you, too,” you nuzzle into his neck. “how are you, darling?”

“perfect, now that i've got you in my arms,” his smile is audible. “not letting you out of them for a second, by the way. need to catch up on holding my girl.”

you giggle. “what about dinner?”

“i can eat pizza with you on my lap on the sofa, can't i?”

oh. your heart feels slightly heavier than it did a second ago. “that's… what you want to do for dinner?”

you do your best to keep your voice light, but ross doesn't miss a trick. he pulls back, frowning slightly. “yeah. something calm, after us both being so busy this week,” he seems to notice your dress for the first time, brow furrowing even further when he takes in your polished appearance. “but that's not what you want, is it?”

“well, baby,” you let go of him, wringing your hands nervously. “i’ve, um, made a reservation at that place you like down the street. for tonight.”

ross pinches the bridge of his nose. “why would you do that, sweetheart?”

your jaw falls open. what? “oh, i just thought it might be nice to go out. save us doing the washing up,” the joke falls flat, but you clear your throat and continue. “and, you know, i’m home now, not coming in exhausted at midnight or whatever, for once, and i-”

“oh, okay,” ross laughs mirthlessly, and your blood runs cold. “just because you're not tired, i should forget my own tiredness and force myself to go out for an overpriced meal i don't even want to eat right now? just because?”

you don't think you've ever felt smaller in your life, and your voice shows it. “no, i just thought-”

“exactly. you just thought, about yourself, not me,” ross hangs up his jacket, shaking his head. “i mean, really, love? you of all people know what it's like, burning yourself out in the studio every day. is it really so surprising that i wanted to come home, to my own house, and just spend the night there?”

something inside you just snaps, and your next words shoot from your lips like bullets. “no, i fucking know the feeling, ross,” you glare at him when he turns to look at you, slight shock on his face at your sudden aggression. “66 hours i've worked, this week, across five days, and at the end of every single one of them i've wanted nothing more than to go straight home to my flat and collapse onto my bed. but d'you know what i've done instead?” you laugh, manic. “i've driven here and stayed with you, because i thought that even if we couldn't spend time together properly, at least we were with each other in some way. and you can't even be nice about the fact i wanted to do something special for us tonight. because, yeah, i was thinking about us when i did it.”

ross looks at you for a second, then shrugs. “well, i didn't ask you to do any of it.”

you nod, biting your trembling lip. “right,” you squeeze past him, picking up your handbag from the console table. tears prick at your eyes as you open the front door. “enjoy your fucking pizza, then.”

a sob escapes your lips as the door slams behind you, tears hitting off the steps as you hurry down them towards your car. with shaking hands, you rifle through your bag to find your keys, unlocking the door and climbing inside so you can cry in peace and figure out where to go. you half-expect ross to follow you, knock on the window, apologise… but nothing. the front door stays closed. even the blinds in the front room don’t move.

you're tempted to wait to see how long it would take him to come after you. but it's not a great look for you to be sitting outside his house in tears, and - to be honest - you don't really want to see him right now, anyway. you need to go somewhere. not your flat, because that's the first place he'd look for you - if he even decides to bother, that is. no. you need to go somewhere else, be with other people, people who love you. but not your bandmates, because that would be ross's next point of call.

and then, it hits you - gabbriette. you scroll through your contacts until you find her number, and hit call; what you don't expect, however, is for her boyfriend to answer. “hi, darling!”

“oh, hi, matty,” you sniffle. “did i dial you? i thought i'd called gabs.”

“no, you did, she just got me to answer because she’s making dinner,” he replies, his girlfriend audibly yelling in greeting in the background. “speaking of dinner… i thought you and ross were meant to be out right now? everything alright?”

you don't say anything in response, just burst into tears down the phone. matty sighs. “oh, fuck. come over, darling. i'll open the wine now.”

“thank you,” you say between sobs. “i'll see you in a bit.”

when you get to his house twenty minutes later, you reckon the two of them must have been standing at the door waiting for you; as soon as you ring the bell, it opens, and you're enveloped into a group hug so tight you can't tell who's who.

matty kisses your head when the hug ends. “just wanna say,” he begins, passing you a ridiculously large glass of red wine. “that while ross is my best friend, he will hear nothing of what's about to be said tonight. so… yeah. rip him to shreds.”

“oh, i intend to,” gabbriette squeezes your hand. “he came home to you looking like that and he didn't wanna go out with you? stupid boy.”

you wince. “gabs…”

“sorry, sorry. but i'm right,” she turns to matty. “don’t you think, baby?”

he nods. “he's an idiot,” something beeps in the kitchen, and gabbriette squeaks and runs towards it. matty puts an arm around you. “come on. we'll have a seat, and you can tell us everything.”

“okay.”

and you do just that, settled next to matty on the kitchen counter so gabs can hear and react while she cooks; you aren't quite sure you'd be able to make it through reliving the argument without the plates of focaccia she keeps laying on your lap, to be honest. anyway - both of them react quite accordingly to your story, dropped jaws and wide eyes and utterances of “he said that?” punctuating your words.

matty shakes his head when you finish talking, putting a hand on top of yours in a brotherly way. “i'm sorry, darling. he can be a moody bastard at times, i know, but that's… that's awful.”

“i get that he's tired and he didn't want to go out,” you sigh, taking a drink of your wine. “but he didn't need to make me feel like a stupid bitch for suggesting it,” you well up again. “and now i don't know where i am with him.”

“oh, baby,” gabbriette runs over to kiss your hair and hug you. “listen, you'll stay here tonight - we'll have a good time, talk shit, have some wine, and then we can figure your love life out tomorrow. cool?”

you look between the two of them, nervous. “i don't want to intrude…”

“oi, none of that,” matty squeezes your hand. “what kind of brother would i be if i didn't take of my little sister?”

“love you, mate,” you hug him, then turn to gabs. “both of you.”

“and we love you,” she kisses your cheek. “me more than him. seriously, i love you so much.”

matty laughs. “she’s right, actually,” he says to you. “came home raving about the sneak peek of the album she got yesterday,” he looks at you pointedly.

you roll your eyes. “fine, i'll tell you about it.”

“fuck yeah!”

you're still telling them all about the album and its processes when ross makes contact, almost two hours after you left his house. matty's phone rings, the contact photo (an old selfie of the two boys) visible to all three of you; the atmosphere changes from buzzy to sombre when you see it.

matty looks at you. “i don't have to answer it if you don't want me to.”

you look at the buzzing phone, the picture of your boyfriend on the screen filling you with a weird mix of emotion. “no, it's ok.”

“you sure?”

you nod. “if he asks where i am, you can tell him,” you murmur, looking at the floor. “i don't want him to worry.”

“right, darling,” matty takes your hand, and picks up his phone with the other. “alright, mate?”

gabbriette hugs you as ross speaks, inaudible to you; you're thankful for her support, because your stomach's in knots waiting for matty to reply. his eyes flick to yours, nervous. “yeah, she’s here,” he says, squeezing your hand. “she’s alright now, but… she really wasn't when she first arrived. surprised she managed to drive here, to be honest - that's how upset she was.”

you chew your bottom lip as ross says something else. matty quirks his eyebrows. “depends if your girlfriend wants to see you or not, mate.”

gabbriette squeezes you tighter. you shrug, and mouth “need to get it over with anyway”; matty grimaces, and relays the message to your boyfriend. “she's not opposed. but,” he shifts in his seat. “don't expect a warm welcome. that includes from me, too - it's none of my business, and i love you, but seeing my friend cry like that was fucking heartbreaking. i can't believe you could be so cruel.”

god, you love your friends.

you smile as matty wraps up the call. “yeah, i can imagine you feel awful about it; i'd be worried if you weren't. and yeah, i'll tell her, alright?” he gives you a thumbs up. “see you soon.”

“he's on his way?” you ask once the call ends.

“he went to yours. freaked out when you weren't there. so, he'll be here in five,” matty looks at you tentatively. “and i've to tell you he's extremely sorry and also that he loves you more than anything and finally that he’s a cunt for what he said.”

“i coulda fuckin told you that last bit,” gabbriette mutters. she smiles at you, though. “but the other bits are, you know, promising.”

“yeah,” you murmur. “shall we go and wait for him, then?”

she kisses your cheek. “if that's what you want, sure.”

true to his word, ross knocks the door five minutes later; you sit on the stairs in the hallway, gabs in front of you protectively (at her insistence), while matty answers. “hi.”

“alright?” ross's face isn’t properly visible from the angle you're at, but you can hear from the scratchiness of his voice that he's been crying. it hurts you to think about that. “can i come in?”

matty nods, stepping back to let him in. ross follows, an awkward dance, and immediately sees you. his face crumples. “hi, love.”

you wave. you're not sure if you can speak.

ross looks at gabs. “can i, um, talk to my girlfriend alone for a second?”

she turns to you. “you cool with that?”

you nod. she kisses your cheek and stands, staring ross down as she walks over to matty and they leave the room. once they've gone, ross flinches. “has she always been so scary?”

“you would be exactly the same way if she hurt matty,” your voice is hoarse, your crying just as obvious as your boyfriend's.

“yeah, s'pose,” ross takes a tentative few steps towards you, gesturing towards the stairs. “can i sit?”

“mhmm.”

“thanks,” he takes a seat on a step a few down from you, turning so he can talk to you properly. “i'm sorry, love, i really am. and i don't really have an excuse for being such a dickhead, other than tiredness, which isn't even an excuse because you've been more exhausted than i am and you still made the effort to do something nice for both of us,” he takes a shaky breath. “you look beautiful, by the way, even now; slightly off-topic, i know, but i just had to say it.”

“thanks,” you say quietly, picking at your cuticles. “thought you'd like this dress.”

“i love it,” ross smiles sadly. “i love you. and the fact that i hurt you… i feel fucking terrible about it,” his lip trembles. “i love you more than anything, or anyone, and i don't want to lose you. the thought of it fucking terrifies me, and,” he begins to cry, and your heart aches. “i worry that i'm not enough for you. i worry that i don't do enough for you, take you out enough. i worry that you'll get bored of me, bored of making all the effort, bored of sitting at home watching football or films, and one day you'll just leave me.”

what?

“oh, ross,” your heart shatters, and you scooch down to sit next to him and hug him.

“m'sorry, i know i'm the one in the wrong, but i have to be honest,” he cries into you. “when you said you wanted to go out instead of stay in, i freaked that i was boring you. and then when you brought up staying at mine instead of yours…”

“you thought it was me saying i was fed up.”

“yeah.”

“oh, baby,” you start to cry, too. “no. it was me just being pissed about you trying to say i didn't know the feeling of wanting to go home when you're tired. i didn't mean it in any other way, honest.”

“no, i know, my love. i was just scared.”

“why, though?” you look him in the eye. “you're the love of my life, ross. you're more than enough for me - everything i need, and more.”

he sniffles. “did you mean to quote beyoncé there, or…?”

“well, no, but it was apt,” you giggle, stroking his dimples when he smiles. “look, i was hurt by the way you reacted to me - an ‘oh, that's nice, love, but could we go out tomorrow night instead?’ wouldn't have gone amiss. but,” you kiss his nose. “i accept your apology, and i love you and our relationship very much, just as they are. just don't ever fucking treat me like that again, alright?”

“i promise you i won't, love,” ross kisses your nose in return. “i love you. and i'm sorry i was a grumpy shit about dinner, because i'm fucking starving now.”

you laugh, kissing his neck. “i reckon gabs has got us covered there. but if not,” you grin. “we can always get a pizza.”

“you're never letting me live that one down, are you?”

“not a fucking chance.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #valentine75 #girlband gf #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald fic #ross macdonald angst #ross macdonald x reader #ross x reader

[arielstruggles]

Confrontations and All

The Dawn of Regret ch.3

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a bad incident leads something good. You finally decided to confront with Joel and set the record straight.

W.C: 4.1k

Warnings: Smut (mdni), oral (giving and receiving), mentions of death, mentions of traumatic events, slight angst, big fat age gap as usual, praise kink, fluff, cum eating (?) that's it i guess.

A/N: I don't want to rush anything so i understand if you find it a bit boring sorry:( I have a final for this in my mind and if i don't change it, it will be heartbreaking. Like really. But in order to do that i have to deepen the story. I am not sure if will use that ending though. Anyway, if you read this ilysm, enjoy!

you can read chapter 1 and 2 in here.

Normally, you'd feel happy. He was sleeping in your arms, there was not even inches between your bodies. It’s like a fever dream. But considering your unresolved issues, you don’t feel happy at all. Quite the opposite, you feel uneasy. You don’t even know what you are supposed to do now. You had a crush on him, you fucked then you had hell of an argument, you acted like nothing happened even though it broke your heart into million pieces. Because he didn’t even care, or at least you thought so. But he saved you, so maybe he… you don’t know. When he sleeps and you wrap your arms on his torso from behind, when you can smell him… It is impossible to think straight. It should not be this complicated right? If he wants you then he wants you if he doesn’t then he doesn’t. But it is not that simple. Not with Joel Miller. He has so many different layers, whenever you think you reached him there is another layer. His moral codes and traumas cause him to thicken his shell brick by brick. So, it is not that easy for you to reach him. Even now, you can’t guarantee that he’ll be an easy person. You have experienced something deep, it definitely changed the direction of your relationship, or at least you hope so, but even then, it won’t be easy to get along with Joel. Not that he is a bad person, no. but because he is a complex man with hell of a past. Maybe he does not want to deal with someone like you or maybe he does not find you attractive enough you don’t know. Your eyes dart into his relaxed features. His brows are not furrowed, he does not look at you like you are garbage. He does not seem mean or scary. He seems like an angel. The greys in his hair are more visible than ever since you are able study him carefully. His lips are slightly parted. His chest raises with each breath he takes in. You want embrace him tightly, you want to say him that everything is gonna be okay but you don’t even know if it will ever be. He looks so handsome, oh he is really handsome. Your body feels with desire. You imagine yourself on your knees before him, wrapping your lips around his thick cock; veins pulsing inside of your mouth, cuming inside your mouth while he strokes your hair. You lick your lips thirstily. The images in your mind are so clear that you can feel the salty cum inside your mouth. You want him to take care of you, you want him to protect you. After all those lonely years, you crave affection. You know he’d do that perfectly. But you are not sure if he is willing to do that.

You hear him humming so you put your head back into pillow immediately afraid of getting caught. “I know you are not sleeping.” A blush blooms in your cheeks in return he chuckles. As if your body gets the signal you feel relaxed instantly you didn’t even know you were holding your breath. He laughs which means it is not gonna be a bad conversation. “I guess I was not sneaky enough.” “nah, I’m just at alert. I felt when your hands got off of me.” silence lingers around the room while you both lay in bed. Ten minutes ago, you were imagining blowing him but now you want to cuddle and get cozy. But you can’t help the uneasiness grows inside your chest. You are dying to ask him about your “future”. You are not sure the response he’ll give you so you can’t convince yourself to ask but not knowing is the worst. A sigh leaves your lips and Joel’s eyes focus on you. You stare into each other’s eyes. His warm chocolatey eyes are like heaven’s gate in the middle of an apocalypse. You want to erase the stupid smile forming on your lips but you can’t. For a brief moment you forget that you basically mean nothing to him. “You must be starvin’ gonna getcha something to eat.” He says and moves but you grab his wrist tightly “don’t go.” You are needy in a degree that is embarrassing. “’kay” he says and stays in bed with you. When he pulls you on his chest, it surprises you. You are not used to this. “Joel?” he does not say anything but hums to encourage you to talk. “Don’t think I’m putting pressure on you or anything but what’s gonna happen now?” he sighs in return. “Dunno sweetheart.” “Look, I understand if you don’t like me or anything like that but you’re giving mixed signals.” “I am trying to push you away but your stubborn ass finds her way around me.” you want to refuse but it is sort of true. “I am in no position to decide for you but whatever you’re feeling right now, whether it’s shallow or deep don’t get too attached to me. My days are numbered. Even if everything works out, I am thirty years short of life compared to you.” “Ah, Joel! Stop with that bullshit please. Stop using that as an excuse.” For the first time you have known Joel you are able to confront him properly. “that ain’t an excuse that’s the damn truth.” “what’s your real concern? You scared of people judging you because you fuck someone whose half your age? Are you scared Joel? Are you a coward? I don’t expect anything from you if that’s your concern. Just let me love you.” as a response he kisses you passionately. “Know your place missy, I ain’t a coward. I’m just trying to protect you.” you kiss him back and climb on his lap, his large hands grab you by the waist; thumbs drawing circles on your shirt but you can feel his touch in your bones. Your kiss deepens with each passing second, you bite his lower lip. With the moan falling from his lips, you grin. Your tongues dance with each other harmoniously. You press yourself down on his cock. Heat spreads inside your core. “Joel, I need you.” “tsk tsk tsk I don’t think you deserve to get what you need right now.” He says huskily. “What do you mean?” “I’m still mad at you for leaving your goddamn house all by yourself. You were a bad bad girl, got this old man all worried.” You whine in return. “Joel, that’s not fair.” He holds you tightly and picks you up to living room and leaves you on his couch. “Now be a good girl and you may get your reward at the end of the day. Imma get you something to eat.” He leaves living room and heads to kitchen leaving you alone.

Different thoughts race in your head. You are not in a relationship and he made it clear that he is not exactly happy about this whole age gap thing, but he is not reluctant to fuck you either. Maybe he just sees this as just a physical thing. Well, at any rate you are willing to be with him. Even if the feeling is not mutual, he is trying to take care of you. That’s more than enough. Your body overflows with excitement. He is preparing you something to eat, he said at the end of the night he may fuck you. Your one time sex was good but unexpected and resulted with failure. This time he also seems like he wants it. He acts so confusing you think, but at least he wants me.

While joel prepares something to eat he fights with his demons at the same time. Even though, he is willing to give it a shot, the guilt is nestled on his chest does not give him a break. If you were not in a vulnerable position, if you were not in the hands of some sick men earlier he would already send you back to your home. But right now, he can’t. He does not want you to be alone. He is scared. What am I doing? I’m an old bastard whose good days are over, am I taking advantage of her? he thinks. But right now, he can’t. The best he could do was finding a lame ass excuse to not to fuck you right there in the bedroom, he was not aware that it unlocked different emotions in your body. The moment he realized you liked it he decided to try. For your sake or maybe his. He is not in love with you, he is not even sure he feels something romantic towards you. But he wants to protect you. He does not know, every time he does something for you; your feelings get deeper and deeper. He does not know it is not just a physical attraction you feel or it is not appealing to be with him because he is a forbidden fruit. You are amidst of a sea of emotions which is about to swallow you whole, he is on the shore. You both don’t know if he will join you or leave you there to drown. Joel Miller does not deserve to be loved and cared for in his own eyes, that’s why he can’t wrap his head around the fact that someone cares for him without having an expectation.

When he comes back with two plates in his hand and sits right beside you, you feel like an actual couple. The one that two people shares everything from kisses to their foods, you let your delusions fool you. You pat the spot right next to you and he obliges. He hands you your plate “It’s the best I could do.” He smiles apologetically. But in your eyes, this is better than any high-quality restaurant meal. It shows he cares for you. Although you want to tell him that you can’t be sure if it’d cause an awkward silence or not so you decide to unease the mood. “I can tell you’re not a five star cook.” Your tone makes it clear that you are not serious. “Don’t expect too much from an old man.” He chuckles, his dimple deepens. You let your intrusive thoughts win and dip your index finger in his dimple. “What the hell!” he exclaims. “sorry.” You grin widely, he chuckles. “not in my 56 years of life time someone fingered my dimple.” You laugh at his words. “well, every day above the ground we experience something new, am I right?” he nods, a ghost of a smile shadows his lips. The moment feels so domestic. You stole a couple of glances to study his face. You want to stroke his hair, caress his cheeks. A part of you is able to see the man behind the façade for a split second. A man, who needs affection as much as you do. He is not a bad man, you are sure of it. He does what he does because of the pain that hardens his heart. Losing someone is not an easy thing that you can get over so easily.

The watch on his wrist always got your attention, you wondered why he never takes it off. It does not work it is obvious. The glass of it is broken. “Why you always wear that watch?” you ask between your bites but you instantly regret it when you realize the sadness that creeps up on his face. You want to assure him, you want to say sorry I think I have crossed a line you don’t have to answer but you don’t do any of it. You probably messed up, your already weird relationship will go weirder. You feel so small, you want to blend in with the couch that you sit. “It reminds me of my daughter.” You can’t say anything back. You thought he would brush it aside but he answered. “the bullet that crack the watch also took her from me. I could not save her. I never wanted to live in a world that she wasn’t in it. I was a bad dad and I am ashamed of it, I could not save my baby girl. It took less then ten minutes for her to die. I watched it every second of it. I don’t deserve to live peacefully after leaving her to death. The watch makes sure that I remember every second. Time stopped when I lost her, no need to use a watch that works because I’m still in that moment, never moved on.” His honest explanation hurts you more than you could ever imagine. You feel disgusting for trying to hurt him with bring her daughter into your stupid fight weeks ago. You want to apologize; you want to hug him and tell him that everything is gonna be alright but you know that’s some bullshit. Your gaze intertwines and he catches the apology in your eyes. “You don’t have to say anything, silence is the best answer sometimes. Also, I hate hearing she would want you to be happy bullshit.” You nod in return because honestly even if he expected you to say something, you could not. You both finish the rest of your plates in silence. He grabs your plates and takes them to the sink in the kitchen you can hear the water running. You sneak out to kitchen and wrap your arms around him behind, pressing your face to his back. “Am I being a good girl?” you mutter. A smile forms on his lips “It’s early to decide.” Your body moves with him when he washes the plates and dries them since you hold him tightly. You can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy, it’s almost intoxicating. The way your bodies pressed into each other, your arms around him… “you are a one needy thing.” He mutters. You don’t fight back. You walk back to the couch and sit down again. “Joel?” “hm?” “do you have any books?” “I got a couple of but you would not be interested.” “you don’t know about that.” he sends you an amused look and walks towards his room then returns with two books in his hands. They are about construction, so yeah you would not be interested but still you don’t want to admit it. “Oh, I love construction!!!” You cheer with a fake enthusiasm which sounds faker than you expect. “Really now?” he raises his brows and sits right next to you. “Of course!” you try to stop yourself from laughing but when he laughs you fail to do so. You grab the book from his hands and start reading out loud. “You know, it is pretty interesting.” “Stop with the bullshit.” He chuckles. You continue reading and he listens every word intently as if you are revealing the secret of immortality.

The book is pretty boring to say the least, it does not interest you at all. When he lays his head on your lap though, your words choke on your throat and it feels worth every sentence you have read. Different emotions flood through your body. You can hear your heart beats in your chest. You quickly get yourself together and continue reading and he listens, swallows every word pouring from your lips. After gathering your courage one of your hands find her way in his hair, stroking softly. For a moment, you both let yourselves to forget the talk you eventually have to do. You didn’t resolve anything. You didn’t apologize or come to terms with your actions. You simply ignored everything because of your hostage situation. You feel his soft, greying hair; he feels your fingers rubbing his head. Your voice feels velvety to him. He wants to resist. This feels like a violation of a territory that should be handled carefully. But he feels so peaceful that he does not care. You put the book aside and watch his face. You gather all your courage and clear throat before talking. “You broke my heart Joel and I know I also crossed a line. But your words were harsher than mine. Yet I can’t stop from feeling something towards you. All it takes for a smile to grace my lips is just a couple of nice words from you. Your presence alone is enough to make me want to keep going. I don’t expect you to love me, but don’t push me away. Please.” He is baffled by your words. He wants to say no, he wants to say you’re young and he is an old rascal but he can’t because your words stroke his ego. He simply nods. Silence fills the room one more time before he decides to speak. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’m in no position to decide for you. You are free to do whatever you like. But I can’t love you. Don’t expect some emotional response from me.” though his words shatter your heart at least he lets you in, this is an invitation that you can’t decline. “I won’t.” your hand makes its way to his face and caress his cheeks. In your eyes, he is just a broken man who deserves to be loved beneath his grumpy surface.

After reading almost an hour you get bored. “Am I being a good girl?” you ask again, your body wants him. You want him. he then sits up and faces you instead of laying on your lap. “What do you think?” “I think I was being a good girl.” “hmm?” he looks at you, his eyes twinkle with amusement. You know he desires you as much as you do, on a physical level at least. Your hands slide on his crouch, slowly stroking him through his jeans. You burrow your face on his neck. “Joel, let me take care of you.” you whisper. You lick his neck softly while your fingers continue stroking him. With a sudden motion he pulls you on his lap and kisses you deeply. You suck his tongue and he responds you with a low whimper. You are throbbing on his lap wetness spreading on your underwear. When he bites your lower lip you giggle. He wraps his arms around you and picks you up to his bed. You sit at the edge of the bed on your knees and he stands before you. Even if he does not say anything out loud you know what he wants, to be fair you are dying to give him a head. Not without teasing him though. You nuzzle against his hard cock through his jeans, move your face up and down, he growls grabbing your hair from the back of your head and presses you more. This time he is at your mercy. You unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans but don’t touch his underwear. Thin material allows you to realize that he is as excited as you if not more. When you kiss the tip of his cock he gasps. Though you want to swallow him whole seeing him whimpering and whining is much more enjoyable. When you finally pull down his underwear his thick cock waters your mouth. It’s all ready and sensitive waiting for you to take care of. You take the tip in your mouth while tilting your head up to see Joel’s features. He bites her lips, eyes glistening with expectation. Your deliberately slow movements drive him crazy. The tip in your mouth, you just watch him. Eyes shut tightly, brows furrowed, biting his lips. When he moves your head with his hand you slightly bite his tip. Unexpected pain mixed with pleasure leads him to moan loudly. It feels like the greatest song ever created. Once you take if off of your mouth he whines. You spit on your palm. One of your hands moves up and down on his length while you leave sloppy kisses on the tip. He can barely stand up, he feels weak on the knees. When you finally take half of his cock in your mouth your hot breath overwhelms him. Your lips wrap his cock, you can feel him pulsing inside your mouth, just like you imagined. He guides your head up and down. When you take it all your eyes tear up you can feel it at the back of your throat. It’s too much, you want to gag but then you get use to the feeling. “Such a pretty girl, taking me with her mouth so well.” He coos. You make a muffled noise as a response to his praise. While he guides you through his cock, your hand grabs his balls. You squeeze slightly. You feel his hips stutter. When he fills your mouth with his salty cum you swallow it whole. He watches you in awe. His thumb wipes out your chin with his thumb and he pushes his thumb inside your mouth you suck his thumb. Though he feels slightly embarrassed for coming so easily he feels so satisfied.

You throw yourself to bed on your back, panting. He climbs on top of you. He realizes your questioning gaze “It’s my turn to take care of you.” “you’ve been such a good girl, took me so well sweetheart.” He strokes your cheek. He presses his knee to your clit, the fraction of clothes sends shivers on your back. You nod eagerly while dripping on your underwear. He moves his knee up and down while watching your every movement like you did to him earlier. He leans on you and kisses your neck sloppily. While rubbing his knee on your cunt. He takes off your shirt and bra, exposes your hardened nipples. Leaning on your breasts he burrows his face between them. His breath tickles you. The moment he licks a stripe on your tit you whimper. “needy.” He chuckles. You are not sure but you feel like his voice gets huskier when he fucks. He peppers your whole torso with kisses and makes his way down to your pussy. He kisses you through your jeans like you did to him while his knee still pressed to your clit. Then he takes of your jeans and panties. When his knee loses the contact with your pussy you whine but the moment you are fully naked, he presses his knee back again. Now you can feel his jeans fully. He leans on to kiss you while grabbing your tit and toying with it softly with his thumb and index finger. You can feel him everywhere. You moan into his mouth. His hands roam around your body, touches everywhere while his lips on yours. You break the kiss “Joel… please.” He chuckles. You can see his hardening cock. He continues moving his knee up and down on your pussy pressing is ever so slightly. You feel you’re close and he didn’t even finger you. “Joel, I’m close.” With your warning he stops moving his knee. You whine in return but when you feel his mouth sucking your clit you don’t even care. He warm mouth is all over your cunt. He pushes his tongue inside you and plays with your clit. When you come inside his mouth, he also swallows you whole. After you finished, he lays right next to you and takes you in his arms resting your head on his chest. You both pant heavily. “we’re not done yet.” he kisses your forehead you both chuckle.

 “We gotta clean up.” “I thought we were not done yet.” “I’m an old man give me a break.” You both laugh. He rolls up from the bed and goes to bathroom, preparing the bathtub for both of you, making sure the water is not too hot or too cold. Then he picks you up and carries you to the bathtub. He gets in the tub and pulls you in his lap. You press your back on his chest, feeling his chest heaves with each breath. He takes the shampoo from the side and washes your hair. His touch is so soft compared to ten minutes ago. His fingers moving on your scalp so tenderly. It is ridiculous. For a man who claims there is nothing emotional on his side his actions are so affectionate. He may not be loving you, but you can live with this. Feeling his warmth right next to you is enough. For now. “Joel?” “hm?” “what are we now?” “I was wondering when you will ask this. I don’t know sweetheart. And as I said earlier, I can’t promise you anything.” “I’ll make you fall for me.” “will ya now?” he chuckles. “yes.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.” You are certain though. He is going to fall for you. Maybe not now but eventually. He knows it too.

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

tags: @eliza-8 @orcasoul @joeldjarin

#joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #tlou hbo #joel miller hbo #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #smut

[edens-pen]

"i'm not feeling human, i think he's a good guy"

summary | "i cry in his bathroom, he turns off the big light. i'm being the cool girl, i'm keeping it so tight."

pairing | eddie munson x fem!reader (no description)

wc | 1,303

warnings | angst, hurt no comfort, reader has a savior complex, eddie munson isn't a good boyfriend, one-sided relationship, but they are dating.

a/n | i needed to write this extremely badly. the way i needed to get this fucking fic off my chest. i also made a playlist of songs i listened to while i wrote/edited this. you can find it here, if you're ever not feeling human.

--

you shrug off the heavy lump that is your boyfriend on to your shared bed.

"i got him," you smile at steve, who lingers in the doorway.

a quizzical eyebrow raises in response. "you sure?"

"hardest part is only getting him up the stairs," you assure him, waving him off. "c'mon, let me walk you out."

steve nods, allowing you to walk him to the door. "he gonna be okay?"

"he'll be fine, just needs to sleep it off," you promise, patting steve's back.

he turns to face you, eyes staring at you intently. "are you going to be okay?"

it's not the question that stops your heart, it's the sincerity in his eyes. the way he's looking at you, the way he's searching for something.

"i'm great, just a bit sleepy."

it's a lie. he knows it and you know it.

he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and his lips linger for just a second too long. you don't pull away until he does.

"goodnight," he whispers.

you don't trust your voice to say it back.

when the door is tightly locked behind him, you make your way back to eddie.

you peel off his sneakers as he mutters to you, mostly incoherent until he gathers his slurred thoughts into sentences.

"had so much fun tonight."

tonight consisted of eddie getting crossfaded, celebrating his success with his bandmates, and then the entire bar. tonight consisted of soda and conversation with steve as you watched eddie laugh with women across the bar.

a little bit of light fun, but at least he comes home with you.

"'m glad, baby," you grimace.

tonight happened every other week for the last 8 months.

you lugging a drunk or faded eddie home after he made an achievement.

as corroded coffin got more attention, there was more to celebrate. the bar they played at was getting crowded, their first song played on the radio, them getting picked by a manager and most recently, playing at larger and larger venues.

it wouldn't be long until they had a record deal with international tours.

it's selfish but you wish you knew where all this left you.

once you've shimmied him out of his pants, he falls asleep soundly.

exhaustion wears on your bones as you move into the bathroom. it's been a long fucking day. eddie quit his job as the band starting taking off, leaving you as the only one working to pay the bills, to keep the lights on, to pay for the gas in the van that eddie drives to venues.

he promised it would all be worth it once they made it big.

you have to believe him.

in the shower, while eddie snores in bed, you let the water run over your face as you try to contain the shattering feeling inside you.

even as you dry off, you stay in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat as you break into pieces.

you're usually so much better than this, you haven't cried in months, but sometimes it'll claw it's way to the surface. remnants of the girl eddie fell in love with. the one who cares too much and feels everything. the one who cried the time her boyfriend forgot her birthday.

but you're not that girl anymore. those things don't hurt now.

even so, you sniffle quietly in the bathroom and you jump when the door opens and a bleary eddie shuffles in, muttering something about needing to piss. moving to the wall, you watch as he uses the bathroom, washes his hands, and mindlessly flicks the light off.

you call out his name, but he grumbles something that's not an apology. he doesn't come back to turn the light on.

this is the cycle. wash, rinse, and repeat.

but you don't remember when your relationship became this.

it was so hard to explain because eddie wasn't a terrible person. not cruel or hateful. he just didn't consider you.

not when he made plans to play at venues far from home. not when he got drunk and needed to be picked up late at night. not when women slipped their numbers into his pocket. even if they were never used, still folded in his pocket when you washed his jeans.

he didn't consider you.

not as his girlfriend.

not as a human.

even when you slinked around in his t-shirts, trying to cling to him while he pried himself off.

he was everything to you. and you still didn't know what you were to him.

what you do know is you love him. you love eddie enough that it doesn't matter if he loves you back right now.

maybe he could do it later.

if he has time.

and as it would turn out he didn't.

he came home, bouncing off the walls about how inevitable happened.

there was a record label in los angeles that heard of a growing metal band from the midwest. they wanted to fly them out and before you knew it eddie was pecking your lips as you dropped him off at the airport.

you watched jeff's girlfriend go with them, tucked under her boyfriend's arm.

eddie insisted you stay home, swore he would be home to celebrate his accomplishment in a couple of days,

in a couple of weeks,

in a month or so.

"i don't think, uh, i'm--"

"you're not coming home," you finish, saying the words yourself. because even in the difficult moments, you're still saving eddie, still doing the hard things. still carrying him.

you're still cracking yourself open and giving him something he doesn't deserve from you.

still filling in his blanks.

"yeah, things are big for us now! i mean, we're signing deals and we'll be recording singles and i just can't come home right now. but don't worry about my stuff, i'll just buy some things while i'm out here," he promises. "and dustin and mike are taking good care of DND, so that's all good."

he doesn't apologize. nor does he ask if you're okay.

he just doesn't consider you.

he doesn't consider you when the local paper prints a picture of him and supermodel, hands interlocked on rodeo drive.

you shrug when people ask you about it. still protecting eddie, promising that the breakup was amiable, and you're still good friends.

because eddie is still a good guy. he calls dustin and mike every month, sometimes more. sends money home to wayne, who doesn't want to move out of hawkins, even buys him a house eventually.

he's the guy who stays to take pictures with fans outside of his hotel. the one who signs autographs until his hand cramps. the guy who gives away his guitar picks after shows. the one who shows up for everyone all the time.

he's still the guy who hasn't called since the last time you talked. the guy who hasn't written you a letter or even left a message with dustin for you. the guy who didn't even ask how you're doing.

the guy who's never asked. he's never needed to.

you've always been okay.

eddie made his home inside you and he never cleaned up. not even while he lived there. he made a mess, left his clothes on the bed, and let the dishes pile up in the sink and then he left the front door open.

he didn't bother to say goodbye.

not in this life, but perhaps the next.

--

years later, after he starts seeing a therapist, eddie writes a letter to you.

a detailed apology, an acknowledgment of everything he did and should have done better, a request for a second chance, a plea to let him love you right.

a week later he gets mail.

his letter, unopened,

[return to sender.]

#eddie munson angst #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eden writes eddie #eden writes angst #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #this was entirely self indulgent #i need to see a therapist #stranger things

[thewayuarent]

Perfect victim Sand

(Except he’s not)

Sand is a quite interesting case to study. There are a lot of things to love about him and trust me I do. But. He is the closest thing we have in this show to the perfect victim idea. I mean, even Force jokes about it (god I love this man).

The thing is, I have a strong feeling that huge part of the fandom literally adopted him. Like you know, compensating him absent mommy and daddy. His mother is great woman, she’s loving and caring, but she is far from an actual parental figure - @emotionallychargedtowel made a great analysis on that topic and how it clearly influenced Sand.

Maybe that’s something about Sand being genuinely loving and caring character himself. Maybe it’s because we spend 5 episodes with him being absolutely adequate and not minding others business and by the moment of episode 6 the idea of Sand was already formed. Maybe it’s about Ray pulling Sand through a lot of shit. Maybe it’s something about First’s babygirl vibes, amazing microexpressions and his big boba eyes that easily penetrates the soul. Maybe it’s all the above and more.

But Sand gets the most I’ll protect him by all cost vibes (I get it, I want to protect him too, he’s my sad stupid baby, how can I not). And while it’s understandable to some degree, it doesn’t mean Sand is a victim in every situation he himself, series or fandom try to apply on him.

And yes, it’s specifically about Sand and Top beef. While we don’t know the full story yet, we know the basis: Sand had a lover, this lover cheated on him with Top. Right? Except that in Sand’s mind this story looks a bit different.

Not once, but twice Sand claims that Top “stole his lover”. And I’m sorry to bring it to you, my precious sad baby with big beautiful eyes, but your lover is a human being. They’re not a car, or watch, or a cow. They are a person. And as a person they make decisions.

Unless we’ll find out that Top literally put a bag on their head and dragged them away into his basement, Top didn’t stole anyone. This person cheated on you. It sucks, I get it (Mew probably gets it even better than me). It hurts a lot. It’s absolutely not Sand’s fault. But it’s not Top’s fault either.

Yes, hitting on someone’s lover is a douche move (if Top knew about Sand and didn’t care and I wouldn’t surprised but we don’t know for sure). Yes, Top is an arrogant jerk who behaves like a toxic bitch with anyone except for Mew. Yes, in that hospital scene I kind of wanted to punch him in his hot smug face.

But Sand’s lover cheating is not his responsibility.

And Sand’s choice of actions is stealing and spreading fucking revenge porn. Where is not only Top he hates so much but also Boston who did to Sand what? Made an ugly scene on his birthday and ruined his whatever it was with Ray? Bitchy behavior 100%, but not on, you know, illegally recorded sex tape level.

He regrets it later, but two people he apologized to - rightfully so - are Ray and Nick. Not, you know, Boston for example.

I mean, how the thing Sand did with Top is different from the thing Mew did with Boston? In details - yes. In motivation and general action - the same shit.

And I know that the majority of saving Sand agenda is directed towards his relationship with Ray. I get it. I feel it (I have a very complicated mix of very complex feelings about that one but I digress). But I do feel that Sand isn’t criticized enough for his actions towards Top (and Boston).

Compare it with the amount of criticism towards:

1. Nick recording and using TopBoston footage;

2. Boston recording and using RayMew footage;

3. Mew stealing and using Boston footage;

The only person I doubt here to criticize hard is Ray cause while he got and resend this fucking sex tape and I do think it was wrong I kind of understand his situation. I mean he did receive it passively not actively and I doubt Mew believed him without proof. It still sucks from his side to use it and I don’t forgetting him but he was kind of a tool not a participant so yeah.

All of them are clearly wrong and deserve discussion about their behavior and all the critique they get. But so as Sand. The thing is, Sand is not a victim of Top.

Top is a victim of Sand.

And it’s absolutely not about Top being good or bad or Sand being good or bad it’s really about humans being complex and depending on that specific situation. It’s always about complexity and context.

Sand is, if generalizing, a good person. But he also selfish by some degree and categorical and has some deep trauma over his ex lover. And he does fucked up stuff.

That’s why I found Sand’s attitude towards Mew especially interesting. With MewTop situation he probably didn’t really care but at some level had a sense of justice. In his eyes, Mew is as victim of Top as he was. So Mew deserves to know the truth.

But with MewRay? And that’s where the fun (and also clear speculations) begins. Sand doesn’t have a beef towards Mew about Ray loving him and prioritizing him over Sand, at least for now. Maybe because he learned something through his last relationship, but with his behavior towards Top I doubt it. It’s probably partially because Ray is technically not his lover or boyfriend or monogamous partner - he doesn’t owe Sand anything and while he’s angry and sad he understands that.

But it may also be about the Mew technically being there first. You know, how Sand was with his lover until Top appeared. Ray loved Mew way before he even knew Sand exists. It’s actually Sand in this analogy who takes Ray away from Mew (not that he knew about it or Mew cared but you get my point). So Sand doesn’t blame Mew for being with Ray. He probably - understandably so - blames Ray for playing with his feelings and also blames himself for falling into it.

And now here is a part when I just speculate about cool plot line we’d probably never get so feel free to stop reading now. Like for real. So Sand is fine with Mew and, honestly, good for him. My question is: if Sand will buy this RayMew relationship thing. And then Ray gets back to him. Will he resist temptation?

We have a small chance that Sand will get some self respect and won’t take Ray back immediately, of course. But in a case of Mew. If Sand is stupid enough to believe there is something happening between Ray and Mew from Mew’s side, will he stay away cause of respect towards Mew and their relationship? Or will he “play Top card” and - how was it? - steal Ray to himself?

Cause oh my lord he wants Ray for himself. He can agree with Nick and his “I don’t want be his first and only it’s enough to be with him” as much as he wants but we all know that even Nick doesn’t really think so. Sand probably also doesn’t want to deal with Ray at all by that point but totally opposite desires can coexist.

It would be really interesting to watch his internal conflict about being better person but still losing to his desire plays out but I really doubt Mew and Ray will last long enough to us see it.

#ofts #only friends the series #only friends #only friends meta #only friends sand #I swear I see someone saying Sand didn’t do anything wrong ONE MORE TIME #I will explode #maybe I should stop using dead bird app and that’s all #but for real #please we all understand that I’m talking here about one specific topic and he is way more complex than just that right?

[kinokoshoujoart]

scribbled down a relationship chart for the forgotten valley bros to collect my thoughts after snooping into their dialogue files, because i’m crazy over the barebones scraps of tiny interactions between them that we are given they’re a neat group of lads and i want to see them in lots of wacky situations together

rambling explanation and screenshots under the cut. spoilers for dialogue

gordy and gustafa are bffs and i love them!!!!!

they have mutual respect for each other… gustafa clearly admires and understands gordy’s art, and gordy seems to view gustafa as his closest confidant, he even gets you and Gustafa the new kitchen if you enter chapter 2 without being able to “afford” it yourself

they only really mention each other and don’t have anything to say about the other two boys

no one has anything bad to say about gustafa, which is exactly how it should be. blessed bard. it’s extra sweet to me that he’s the most well-liked bachelor both in and out of the game given one of the npc gossip lines your son can tell you— he grew up without many friends (in the original game the secret was that he was bullied). he deserves all the happiness in the world

matt opinions

matt shares his Opinions (slander) on gordy and rock specifically if you show him your kid with them, but has no slander for gustafa… his line for gustafa is instead just copied from what he says about the bachelorettes’ kids. so i count that as a gustafa win

i had to stretch to find any mention of gustafa by matt, the closest thing is that he comments that he doesn’t usually go to the starlight concert

i want gustafa and matt to interact!!! i want gustafa to give matt a tomato when he’s being gruff like he did with nami (matt: “th-thank you…..*blush* i already have ten billion of these”) matt also has lines about farm work being easier when you’ve got music accompanying you if you show him a record so i’ll count that as a very flimsy positive connection (matt IS friendly with gavin, due to frequenting the bluebird café, but is a bit reticent to make friends on his own)

rock opinions and social diseases

rock is extremely excited about hearing gustafa play music and calls him a wizard at the guitar and says he never gets tired of hearing him play. he also likes wandering over to gustafa’s yurt and listening to his music along with tei on market days (his most normal bachelor to bachelor interaction)

the only guy who gets no positive comment from rock is matt, instead rock goes to town roasting him in his fourth heart event out of envy for a completely imaginary situation and argues that he’s worth a hundred matthew’s (source?). he also likes to go into the already crowded farmhouse at night on market days and make it even more cramped, but he usually leaves right before matt gets home

finally rock has what i can only describe as a really odd one-sided crush on gordy!! he meanders into gordy’s trailer at 12:45 AM (AM) every market day and loudly, obliviously asks why there’s so much “trash” everywhere (you’re the trash, rock!!!!!!). thankfully rock is quite literally beneath gordy’s notice, however this seems to make rock sad and he tries to come up with wacky stunts to get gordy’s attention like drawing on gordy’s face and… holding his breath? (maybe, i dunno WHERE that dialogue triggers). he has a line celebrating gordy finally noticing him, i’m not sure what causes it though (for his part, gordy has no lines referencing rock)

finally, if you show rock your kid he will tease them by bragging that he was waaaay cuter at their age… but ONLY if it’s a bachelor’s child. rock your complex is so obvious that it’s more of a simple

in summary,

rock seems to think highly of each of the guys (except matt), unfortunately this manifests in him making really odd attempts to barge into their houses at strange hours and by trying to assert dominance in annoying ways. thankfully no one really notices anything he does (except matt)

matt doesn’t generally say nice things about anyone except cecilia (which makes the nice things he says, like about nina, more meaningful…) so unsurprisingly he has nothing nice to say about any of the guys, but he doesn’t have anything negative to say about gustafa. however he seems to want friends to do stuff with (he complains about how no one in the valley wants to go swimming…..hhhgg i am desperate to force rock and matt to spend time together. a friendship where you can’t stand each other but you’re the only two people who enjoy doing the same hobby so you put your differences aside and splash around in the water) like with rock no one really seems aware of matt’s existence except rock who is Extrwmely Aware to the point of knowing about matt’s crush on ceci, but unlike rock matt is not exactly jumping at the chance to go socialize with others

gustafa and gordy are friends with each other (and also both are friends with nami) and they support each others ambitions. i have no source but i’m confident that when gustafa visits gordy he’s also bringing him water and soup (he also visits daryl so i think it’s cool and fun if gustafa drops in on the local lost-in-thought creative hermits with hydration reminders and care packages)

#i really love all 4 of these boys i. i clearly have a babygirl but i am not immune to any of them #and each guy is not just standing out from the other 3 but also wildly different from all other bkmn men #the magic ingredient called ‘not designed to be a marriage candidate’ is the secret spice that makes me want to marry bkmn men #also this is why my husband needs to be set loose. please go outside and cause havoc honey you haven’t stepped off the farm since we wed #sos awl #bokumono #will probably make doodles based on some of the dialogue lines #gustafa (awl) #story of seasons #harvest moon a wonderful life #rock (awl) #story of seasons a wonderful life #gordy (awl) #matthew (awl) #sos awl spoilers #sos: awl #extremely sane posting hours #rock tumbling (sos)

[lurkingshan]

I've been following your discussions on ephemerality vs permanence, control & voyeurism, and on that theme I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on Boston having that video of Mew and Ray. It seems odd that he'd hold on to it for two years, without their knowledge, only to use it in a power play that isn't even fully about Mew. What do you think is happening there? I feel like it has to play into the power dynamics in his relationship with Mew, the way they hold each other in apparent contempt but stick together, as well as Boston's voyeurism and how he'd delight in holding some sort of compromising secret against Mew without his knowledge, but I haven't got any fully realised thoughts about it yet, so I'd love to hear your perspective.

Hi anon, thank you for asking! I have mentioned before that it feels like we're still missing a lot of information about this friend group and their history together, so there may be some information coming to give context to this particular incident and why Boston felt the need to record it. But my current suspicion is that his decision to record and keep this was not initially that deep or sinister.

Boston is a photographer; his instinct is to document what he sees. In the very first episode, he was walking around with a camera taking pictures of the surroundings. In the second episode, after he asked Nick to pose for some photographs, we saw how serious he is about this when it was revealed that he has his own private dark room. Most student photographers would use a dark room at school (think Ink in Bad Buddy), but Boston has built his residence around his photography, indicating this is much more than a casual hobby for him. He tells Nick that he likes to have mementos of certain people and moments in his life, and he hangs on to the photo strip from his first hookup with Top (I don't think it's a coincidence that his first time with Top has a connection to his love for photography; that's a signal that this was meaningful to him).

In accordance with this interest of his, Boston is a natural voyeur and keen observer of other people. He notices everything that is happening with his friends, and he is always documenting it, even if just in his own mind. He knows about Ray's feelings for Mew; he also knows Mew does not feel the same. He knows Mew has a chip on his shoulder about his virginity. He knows Top needs to feel like an alpha. He knows Nick can be appeased with some vague weasel words and a small bit of affection. And he uses all of this information to his advantage when the need and opportunity presents itself. He seems to have little to no qualms about doing so; Boston ruthlessly pursues what he wants and he doesn't really have any sense of loyalty.

On top of that, I tend to agree with you that Boston has some kind of longstanding issue with Mew. The way he digs at Mew about his virginity is hard to miss. It might just be that Mew's self-righteousness about sex grates on him on principle, and he wants to knock him down a peg. Or it could go deeper. I have been reading it as something of an inferiority complex, given that we know Mew is also a top student. Perhaps sex is the only arena in which Boston feels superior to Mew, and so he wants him on his playing field so that he can beat him at something. When he first hooked Mew up with Top, he clearly expected Top to sleep with him once and then move on, like he did with Boston; the fact that Mew actually got Top to pursue him seriously threw Boston off and pushed him into a bit of an obsessive spiral over Top.

So, back to your question: why did he record Ray and Mew doing whatever it is they did a couple years ago? At that time, it was probably simply because he saw it, and his instinct is always to observe and document. Boston is someone who likes knowing things and keeping a record, and he always has a camera ready. I'm not sure there needs to be any deeper reason than that. I doubt he recorded it with the conscious thought that one day he would use it to humiliate or expose them, though depending on how early this issue with him and Mew and sex popped up, he may already have been thinking that Mew is a hypocrite and here was his proof. But even if that wasn't the case then, when he saw an opportunity to use Ray's feelings for Mew to his advantage in his play for Top, he pulled this up from the archives and recognized it was the perfect ammunition. And as I mentioned above, he has no qualms about using it to his advantage.

Tagging in @chickenstrangers who I know also had a lot of thoughts about Boston's photography, and @ranchthoughts @waitmyturtles in case you have anything to add on the voyeurism thread.

#only friends the series #only friends #ofts #thai bl #shan answers

[tio-trile]

Hi, I read your answer to that ask, describing what happened in season 2. Know that I completely respect that you don't like it (I loved it). But you have a few things wrong or don't know about them (maybe?).

So, Aziraphale is a landlord but he really doesn't care. He forgives Maggie 8 months of rent for a few records that are worth like 20 pounds. He's chill.

(Yeah Crowley throwing the books was a bit ooc but it was also hilarious, i laugh so hard when he did it a second time.)

I kind of agree with you on the Gabriel x Beelzebub, they were a bit cringe and quite sudden (I ship them in fanfic but they are meh in cannon). I thing their relationship was more about getting rid of Gabriel for plot reasons. So Aziraphale can be involved with the Second Coming.

As for the last 15 minutes of ep6. There is a LOT of things, of subtext and miscommunication and physical expressions and whatnot, between Aziraphale and Crowley as well as for the kiss. There were different things they were both thinking the other said and meant. I'm not good at analyzing shit, but if you scroll down the good omens tagg (if you wanna) there are amazing posts doing just that.

As for why this season feels different, and that they are "retconning" Aziraphales progres from the book and season 1, they aren't, really.

Season 2 is just a bridge between seasons 1 and 3. So don't worry, we will be probably getting the South Downs Cottage.

And Aziraphale did realise that Heaven the system is wrong. But he still has that idea ingrained in his mind that Heaven is good, God is good. That it could be good again, only if someone could change it from within. He was definitely manipulated by Metatron. He basically got pulled back into a toxic/abusive relationship by being given everything he though he wanted. It's complex and it's deep, and again, I'm not the best person to describe it (there are many great posts). I think it's similar to Zuko’s arc from ATLA season 3 and 4. Aziraphale has to see from within the toxicity and wrongness of Heaven. (at least this is kind of my theory, sorry for rambling)

Again, I completely understand and respect your dislike of the season. Different people like different things. I just don't want you to write the show off too hastily. I really hope I didn't came on too strong and rude (if I did, know it wasn't my intention, sorry).

Okay, bye.

Thank you for being so polite and objective about it! Again, publishing some views from the other side. The landlord thing I was honestly half-joking too -- it's just fun to make fun of landlords (they're David Tennant's archnemesis, amiright /j), and honestly I can maybe see Aziraphale being enough of a bastard to do that 😂

I don't agree that "season 2 is just a bridge" because what happened this season didn't make them have no progression or stayed in the place at the end of season 1/the book -- it actively changed a lot of things. Like I said, a big one for me is Aziraphale and Crowley knowing each other as angels. That changed the beginning of the book and S1 and nothing they can do in season 3 is going to backtrack that. Getting the South Downs Cottage isn't really my ultimate goal -- I want the story, themes and vibe to feel really Good Omens, and this season just isn't doing it for me. Of course we may have different understandings of Good Omens, and I also respect that other people can have their own opinions. Thank you for understanding and respecting my dislike, you didn't come off as rude, but I'm just completely checked out now.

#ask #good omens critical #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #I did see your other ask as well...getting to that one later #long post

[short-and-ugly]

Hey yuor the Skoodge guy!

Two questions:

1. What does Zim see in him?

2. What does he see in Skoodge?

Wait isn't this the same question phrased in two different ways

im gonna assume its "Zim see in him" and "He sees in Zim" for this!!!! ... im the skoodge guy.... you flatter me. far too much. eradicated.

and endeared.

i Want to answer this as unbiased as possible....... so im going to do so under the assumption that we are talking about Canon.

Zim... doesn't see a whole lot in Skoodge, I don't think. Maybe a pawn, maybe a loyal follower which he 'rightfully' deserves. But then again, Zim has been given the opportunity to have followers before, and he's never really... taken advantage of them. Mostly, Zim seems to want nothing to do with people worshiping and idolizing him! Gets all... jittery and weird. Space morons episode I think. Whichever one was the one where the alien cultists/conventionists found him.

So then if Zim doesn't see Skoodge as a follower, and pawn is still up in the air... does he see him as. A nuisance? Probably. But Zim ALSO has a tendency to regard Gir as a nuisance, despite the facts pointing towards him enjoying the robot's company/general existence.

There's not too much canon Zim-Skoodge interaction dialogue, but Hobo-13 establishes a strange dynamic of Zim bossing Skoodge around and Skoodge blindly accepting it. I don't know if that's because of the situation (Zim being the leader there) or if that's just their whole Thing, but I'm leaning towards the latter, because in Day of Da Spookies (script) their relationship remains pretty much the exact same. The only thing that changes is Zim is a lot more hostile? To Skoodge, for conquering his planet first (obviously jealous/upset that Skoodge has managed to beat his in record time, whereas Zim hasn't made much, if any progress, on Earth).

And with the Trial, too, it's clear that this is how the two have interacted with each other for a long while. I just. Have no idea why.

Skoodge just. Seems to blindly follow Zim, regarding him in just about the same light as a typical irken would the Tallest.

Taking his command with much less hesitation, too. He looks at the Tallest before going into the cannon, but whenever Zim has a plan, he takes it in stride. Even though he MUST be aware of the usually explode-y consequences that Zim's plans tend to generate. No irken wouldn't know. Is he just ignorant? I really doubt it. He's been there since the beginning. He was definitely there to see the second power outage on Irk, and the mayhem of OID1. He's just... that thoroughly blinded by his whatever that he has towards Zim.

And I really really want to call it a crush, but this is canon I'm talking about! Love doesn't exist in this show, yadda yadda, whatever! Who cares! If it isn't a crush, it's definitely the closest irken equivalent to it! Maybe Zim looks like a giant donut to Skoodge! Who knows. He's deranged. Just about as insane as Zim is. Thankfully, all his energy is directed towards surviving whatever Zim or the universe throws at him, instead of anything else. That might end up resulting in a bunch of casualties.

So. The questions. They remain!

What does Zim see in Skoodge?

I think he sees a tool. Something to be used at his disposal. Easily and readily accessible, because that's what Skoodge has molded himself to be.

And maybe, underneath that. Just the TEENSIEST tiniest bit. Zim sees an ally. (Or a friend.)

What does Skoodge see in Zim?

Everything.

Or at least way more than he should.

Or maybe he just sees someone interesting. A short irken with the complex of a taller one. Strong and commandeering despite his height. And he admires that.

thanks for letting me be insane about them. i love you dearly.

somehow this still ended up being about my specific interpretations of them. theres just so little in canon....... and i dont wanna just end it at ''zim hates skoodge and skoodge is okay with that'' because the tallest hate skoodge! and skoodge is okay with it! expects it! and the way skoodge reacts to the tallest and zim are different i think! he speaks out to purple! and obeys zim without question!

and zim....... is fine with him following him around. for the most part. he at least never kicks him out of the base. and that has to mean something

skoodge runs away a lot from things........ but he always comes back to zim

#zasr #yeah its going in there #even though that isnt the focus #actually it would be more of #if anything #zasf #but...... i have sick twisted priorities. #gerrnswers #iz analysis #i think #flop #punchbuggy #skoodge rant