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nevadancitizen · 3 months

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-> HURTING, LONGING, LOVING – DANCING TO DISCO MUSIC

synopsis: you wake up and have no memory of simon. you can only hope to find him among your fractured memories and the scattered lights of a disco ball.

word count: 2.3k

characters: simon "ghost" riley, amnesiac! gn! reader

trigger warnings: transient global (aka temporary) amnesia, mentions of canon-typical violence/interrogation

notes: heavily inspired by disco elysium and part one of @roosterr 's amnesia series. go give it a read if you haven't already (＊๑˘◡˘)

Nothing surrounds you. Only warm, primordial blackness – the pond you learn about in Biology 101, the one where everything and everyone comes from. You don’t know this, of course, because you’re curled up in it, your mind fermenting in it. You’re no larger than a grain of yeast. You don’t have to do anything anymore. Ever. Never, ever.

But you’re growing. Gram upon gram of yeast, slowly morphing into meat. Muscles and bones and organs and a beating pig heart, decaying as soon as they grow. Soon you’ll need to do things. There’s a faint tickle of an idea. Soldiers. Battlefields. IEDs and tanks. You don’t know what to do with this information.

Somewhere within the idea – a sensation! Pain. Arcing, shooting pain, lightning through every new nerve in your new body. The limbed and headed machine of pain and barely-dignified suffering is firing up again. It wants to walk the streets of Manchester. Hurting. Longing. Loving. Dancing to disco music.

It wants someone. You want someone. A blurred-out face, someone you’re kneeling at the feet at. A ghost of a man. So lost he doesn’t even know what his face looks like.

“I swore I wouldn’t let you go,” your barely-formed mouth mumbles. Your teeth are hot, melted-together plastic and your tongue is jet-fuel-fired rebar.

Look up. No. You were just talking to yourself. That’s all you ever do. Even in this primordial pool. And the act is wearing thin, the spots of the disco ball fade around you…

The warm blackness is instantly replaced with a cold, artificial light. You bring your hand up to block it – since when have you had these? Gangly things with a red wire further down in… your elbow. That’s not a wire – that’s a tube. Of blood? Your blood. You have blood.

You remember now. You were born with hands and elbows, knees, feet, organs and fat and a copious amount of blood. A collarbone you’ve broken more than once. A body that was molded in the crucible of battle.

And holy shit does that body hurt. That hindbrain wasn’t exaggerating when it said that you are a being of suffering.

A dull throbbing is behind your eyes as they rove around the room. They land on a button neatly labeled Call Nurse. You press it and wait.

Everything after that is a blur. Nurses, doctors, “Follow my finger with your eyes, but don’t move your head,” poking and prodding with various instruments, “Tilt your head back so I can feel your neck,” blue latex gloves, “How much do you remember?”, bright lights in your eyes.

One nurse checks the dressings on your forehead. It’s just above your temple. His hands are rubbery and unfeeling as he re-dresses it. A trickle of cold liquid dribbling down from an alcohol swab. Bandages press against your skin. “What’s your name and date of birth?”, “Can you name the members of the task force you’re a part of?”

A man cuts through the blur as he comes thundering through the door. A balaclava with a skull pattern. Three men are behind him, hanging in the doorframe, out of the way. But the man moves quickly towards you, standing on the edge of the crowd of medical professionals, pacing back and forth, eyes on you, like how a sheepdog circles its sheep. Longing, waiting. Held back by an invisible leash of respect.

After a while, most of the personnel disperse, leaving you with a transient global amnesia diagnosis, a nurse, and the men. But even then, they leave after casting a glance at the sheepdog.

He moves closer, then stares at you for a while. He’s expecting something. His brown eyes are like sodium lights. A small trickle of streets and the sky. In your mind, you know he’s the place to be. You’re still alive while he’s around.

Yeah. He’s groovy. You want to disco with him. He is disco. But somewhere, a deep unaccessed area of your mind is saying, “You don’t want to disco like this. Not really. Not in the deepest part of your soul, where blond eyelashes only make you sad.”

Wait – come on, what are you talking about? Sad blond eyelashes? Blond eyelashes are fun!

“Why do I hurt all of a sudden?”

“Hey, it’s alright, darl.” He kneels by your bed and takes your hand in both of his. They’re warm, rough, calloused in places you thought couldn’t be calloused. “It’s me, it’s Simon.”

“What?” You pull your hand away from his. “I don’t know a Simon.”

Simon scoffs, but it’s more of an exhale of disbelief. “Don’t you remember me?”

“No.” You narrow your eyes. “Should I?”

Simon crumbles before you. His sodium streetlight eyes go out with an explosion of guilt – the bulbs pop with a fizzy sound. He looks like he should be groveling at the feet of a feudal lord, providing excessive evidence of his crimes, or throwing a cat-of-nine-tails over his shoulder and ripping the flesh from his own back. Whatever made him this way – you can be damn sure it was your fault. Those three simple words, instead of “I love you,” are “No. Should I?”

“It’s me.” Simon’s voice cracks as he speaks. Tears flood his waterline. He takes off his mask, revealing his pale face and dyed-blond hair. “It’s your Simon.”

“Simon,” you say softly. You look at him and hurt. A hole in your still-beating pig heart. Blood spills out from where the bullet went in.

“No. Nothing.” You look down at his hand. It’s palm-up, splayed out where you let go of it. It curls up into a fist, then Simon pulls it into his lap.

He says nothing. Just stares at you like you’re familiar yet somehow unknown.

You don’t know what to say. You just can’t conjure up any thoughts as you stare back. The morphine can’t be the cause of your dumbness. And it certainly isn’t the new modafinil that was just introduced to your system.

You search his eyes and feel, above all things, lost. Lonely in a hospital full of people.

Simon pulls away. His breathing is heavy and labored. A single tear slips down his scarred cheek. He doesn’t look like he’s one to cry. The tear leaves a trail of wet that looks like a new scar.

He tugs his balaclava back on and shuffles out, casting one last longing glance over his shoulder before closing the door behind him with a soft click.

That’s where it is. He is disco. He’s stumbling through the streets of Manchester. Hurting. Longing. Loving. Dancing to disco music.

You’re stuck in the hospital for a week for physical therapy and observation. Simon visits intermittently. He brings things to jog your memory – men that are part of Task Force 141, small snow globes from where you and he have apparently been deployed. Some of them work. But none of them bring back any memory of your apparent relationship with Simon – your boyfriend.

Today he comes in with a small device. It’s not a phone, but resembles it. A small wire comes from the amp and ends in a small circle of plastic.

You point at it. “What’s that?”

“It’s a contact microphone.” Simon settles in the chair that’s set up by your bed. He points at the blocky part of it. “This part holds the recording. You can play it back if needed.”

“Are you going to play it back?” You ask.

“No,” Simon says. “This one is blank.”

You take it from Simon’s hand and turn it over, looking at it. Examining. “Then why are you showing me this?”

“You are…” Simon sighs, trying to find the words. “You were a profoundly talented interrogator. You used contact microphones to record the interrogation, the confessions, the works. There’s a specified interrogation chamber underground. Contact microphones pick up the noise better down there.”

You continue looking it over. Fiddling with the wire. Running your thumb over the mesh of the microphone.

“Anything?” Simon says.

You close your eyes and think. Contact microphone… violence, blood. There’s a welding torch in there somewhere. The smell of bubbling flesh and burning hair. Cauterization without anesthesia. It was that way on purpose.

You open your eyes and look at Simon. “Interrogation.”

“Obviously.” Simon huffs out a laugh. It sounds forced. “I told you that.”

“Yes.” You sigh, looking down at the contact microphone. You try to think more. Contact… physical contact. Your fist making contact. Something hard. Solid bone breaking under your hands.

But also… something soft. Something that smells good. Smells homey. A black hoodie with some cheesy skull pattern on it. Actually, a closet full of black and grey clothes. A monotone voice to match a monotone closet.

The clothes smell faintly of cigarettes. A carton that’s mostly empty. They taste better than regular cigarettes – they’re some European brand.

“Do…” You look up at Simon. “Do you smoke?”

“Why?” Simon asks. “Do I smell like cigs?”

“No. Just…”

You close your eyes and try to remember more. The carton is a brown-orange color. The back is plastered with warnings about nicotine being an addictive chemical. No filters. A smooth, walnut-esque finish.

“Revaality,” you finally say and look up at Simon.

“Yes! Yes.” Simon takes your hand instinctively, excitedly. He smiles. Like crying, it doesn’t really fit him, but you’re glad he’s smiling anyway. “That’s the brand I smoke. I smoke Revaality.”

He takes your face in his hand and guides you to look at him. His sodium light eyes are bright once again. “Anything else? Lovie, please…”

You cringe away from his touch. Again, Simon is punched in the fucking face when he remembers that you don’t know him. Not like that.

Simon pulls his hands away. “Shit. I…”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “I know.”

I know you know a different version of me. The thought lingers, loud and unsaid. Simon, you’re a man with a lot of past, but little present, and almost no future. I’m sorry we only live in your memories, because I don’t even have those.

“I’m trying.” You look down at the contact microphone. “Believe me, I’m trying.”

“I believe you,” Simon says. “It’s just… it’s hard.”

Silence for a while. The artificial lights above you buzz and cast harsh shadows on Simon’s face. He looks… tired.

“I still love you,” he says quietly. Almost a whisper. “I… you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

He rests a hand on the railing of your hospital bed. “I’m not the best. I drink. I smoke. I have a laundry list of mental issues and types of trauma. So much it’s not even funny.”

“But you…” he sighs. “You fell in love with me anyway.”

You look up at him. He’s crying again. A pang of empathy in your heart. You don’t know why, but you don’t want to see him cry. The tears that cut through the dirt on his face are unbefitting.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is a mirror of Simon’s. Soft and wavering. “I want to remember. I don’t even know what happened to me. The doctors always dance around it when I ask.”

Simon bunches the end of his sleeve up in his hand and wipes away his tears. “You were a fucking idiot. That’s what happened.”

You scoff. “Excuse me?”

“Not in a bad way.” Simon lets go of his sleeve and rests his hand on the railing of your bed again. “You love too much and too hard. You saved me.”

“It… the building…” He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his waterline to clear of tears. “The building was coming down. We thought we were out of danger close. But there was a piece of rebar that…”

Simon looks down at his lap. He’s ashamed. “It was supposed to hit me. I was supposed to die. I’m used to it. I’m used to close calls and blood transfusions.”

“But I’m not used to…” He glances up at you through his eyelashes. His long, blond eyelashes. “People I care about being hurt. Or people caring about me in general.”

“Simon.” You reach out and lay your hand over his where it rests on the railing. He holds his breath like he’s afraid.

A pause. You want to be sure of your words before you speak.

“I’m going to try my damndest to remember,” you say. “Even if I don’t remember everything, I – I want to try to learn to care about you again. Because, based on our limited interactions, I know you’re a good man. Even if you drink and even if you smoke and even if you have a laundry list of mental issues and an assortment of trauma.”

Simon slowly brings his other hand and rests it on top of yours. His callouses brush against your knuckles. Abrasive yet comforting in a way you barely remember.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Really, truly. Thank you.”

And, in this moment, Simon finally has some sense of control in an ever-turbulent world. The world that tried to take his one and only love. The world that has taken his one and only love and is only now feeding him droplets of what he knows – what he once knew. He must exercise this control carefully, lest he lose you again.

In the sky, there are no dogfights and no silverplate bombers. Only stars and the rabbit curled up on the moon and a singular winking comet. God is in Heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

Somewhere, the spots from a disco ball freckle the dance floor once again.

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

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𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 4.8k

chapter summary: Your brother comes for a visit and of course, he wants to meet the Millers. Things with Joel come to a boiling point, threatening to pour over.

warnings: joel dissociating, family dynamics, criticizing of war, some angst, arguing, hints of grief, brief mention of parents being emotionally distant, explicit make out scene at the end

a/n: August is the reader's stepbrother, reader still has no physical descriptions. His face claim ended up being Oscar Isaac, ofc you don't have to imagine him that way, but I just wanted to let y'all know lmaodbf I was trying to think of what he should look like and it kinda happened

Chapter Seven || Chapter Nine

Your brother is already sitting on the kitchen stool when you walk in with silent, socked feet. He hears you though. Always does. Perking up, he turns with a smile. Your heart jumps as you notice a magazine in his hand, but realizing it can’t be the one with Joel’s picture in it, you relax, making a beeline to the coffee machine.

“You still like your coffee black?”

“Yup. Just like my wretched soul.”

You shake your head. Smiling, you grind the coffee beans, the sound breaking the peaceful silence of the morning. When you’re done, you turn to him and pour the coffee into the portafilter. You tamp it down.

“Your soul isn’t black.”

“Hmm?” He rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped up on the kitchen counter. A soft smile tugs at his lips, always amused by your rantings. “And what color is my soul?”

“Golden. Sparkly, shiny.”

“You’re just saying that because of my name.”

“Why would Auggie remind me of gold?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Idiot.” he grins. He leans over and squeezes your cheeks with one hand, hallowing them out. You let out a whine. “Come on now. Say it. Say my actual name and not the one you would call your sheepdog.”

You push out your bottom lip, pouting, you glare at him. He laughs.

“I’m not letting go until you say it.”

“Fine,” you snap, your voice muffled. “August. There, happy? Now let me go, you menace.”

“See, was that so hard?” he lets go and you stumble back. His strength always coming a bit of a shock. You draw your brows together, rubbing your chin. August rolls his eyes. “Why can’t you be normal and just call me Gus if you’re going to be lazy about it.”

“Because it sounds like goose and I don’t like geese. And Auggie sounds cute,” you answer. The hiss of the coffee maker fills the kitchen and you take two mugs from the cabinet. “How’s mom and dad by the way?”

“Not thrilled that you’re here on your own. Living with ghosts.”

Shaking your head, you place a red colored mug in front of him. Your parents had a habit of think you were drowning in melancholy. Which…was true, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be on your own. You’re about to say just that, looking at him but the thin gold chain on his neck reflects the soft morning hue and catches your gaze. Briefly, you stare at it, blinking.

“You’re wearing it again?”

August raises a sole brow, confused, that is until he looks down and realizes what you meant. He licks his lips and smooths his palms over the marble counter.

“Well…no point in being mad at him anymore is there? The old man’s gone.”

“He’d be happy knowing you still care.”

“I always cared,” he snaps with a hint of annoyance. “Need I remind you that pops was the one mad at me. Not the other way around.”

“He was mad because you were throwing your life away,” you level him a serious look and add. “You still are.”

“I don’t want to do this first thing in the morning,” he groans. “You’re just saying that because you don’t like the idea of your big brother with a gun.”

You fill his mug with piping hot coffee. Steam curls into the air. You start warming up milk for yourself, your back turned to him.

“I don’t like the idea of my big brother being shipped off to war on a whim. It’s not a hunting trip. Don’t act like it’s not a big deal.”

“It isn’t.”

“You’ll die.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You hadn’t meant to say it like that. He’s already aware that he can die. You close your eyes and keep them like that. The sounds of the kitchen fade into the background. The sound of a clock echoes in your mind. You remember the last time August was here, in this house. Your grandfather was alive then. The house was full of his voice and scent. Unlike your parents, who were somewhat distant, your grandpa hated the thought of August wasting his potential. Meanwhile, August was trying hard to prove that he didn’t have any potential to waste. You’re not even sure what your big brother does anymore. You stopped asking the day you and him buried your grandpa.

It’s been the two of you for the longest time. Your mother remarried when you were four, August was six. Not having many friends, you were quick to leach on to him, and he seemed happy by that. He was your family, and you were his. Blood didn’t matter. And your grandfather, and grandmother, agreed with the sentiment, never separating the two of you.

You remember when you were still in university, August didn’t tell you he was in the city. And one late night he was on your doorstep. Rain soaked through his shirt and his hair curled at the ends. Your heart breaks when you remember those times. He refused to tell you what happened that night. Later on, you learned he came to meet his mom. The exchange hadn’t gone well.

You jump when you feel a set of hands on your shoulders. The sound of your name follows soon after, it sounds rushed like it had been repeated a couple of times before you heard it.

Everything comes flooding back. The coffee. The milk. Your brother standing behind you.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Christ. Where’s your head at?”

“Shit—” you hiss, seeing that the milk had overflowed. You quickly turn off the stove. “Sorry, sorry. Must’ve zoned out.”

“This is why I said I didn’t want to have this conversation first thing in the morning,” he grumbles, picking up a handful of napkins. “You need to stop worrying about me okay? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t want to constantly fight about this. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, okay.”

You realize your answer is less than ideal but it is what it is. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, fine. You’ll at least make him highly aware of how you feel about it.

After cleaning the stove and finally making yourself a decent cup of coffee, you sigh into the mug. “So what do you want to do during your visit? Sightseeing?”

He chuckles, “Why are you acting like this is my first time here?”

“I don’t know. I feel awkward now. I probably need breakfast.”

“You’re fine,” he answers, booping your nose. Your wrinkle your nose, a soft smile blossoming on your lips. “I’ve seen your paintings, they look good.”

You nod, silently sipping your coffee.

“Any plans on showing them off, or whatever it is that artists do—put them in a museum?”

“Gallery.” you correct him. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not so fun is it? Being questioned?” when you fix him a glare, he grins. “Anyway…I love what you’ve done with the room. About time something changed here.”

You finally crack a proper smile and he quickly follows up with more series of thoughts. With a soft giggle parting your lips, you shake your head.

“Which one was it that helped you?” he asks. “The brothers?”

“Both helped. But the credit has to go to Tommy, he’s the one who came up with the idea.”

“Wise man,” he hums, tongue moving over his teeth thoughtfully. “Was he the one in Desert Storm?”

“Yup,” you answer unenthusiastically, popping your lips at the p.

“When am I going to meet the famous Millers? I want to thank them for helping out my baby sister.”

“Tonight. They’re coming over for dinner.”

Another unenthusiastic response. It’s been almost a week since your date with Tommy, and since you’ve moved out from Joel’s and back into your own. You’ve seen Tommy a bunch after that, but the older Miller not so much. Guilt burrows in your heart. You might’ve been a bit too short with Joel, now that you think about it. His intentions obviously weren’t bad. But that didn’t really matter to you, did it? Your heart skips a beat every time you think of him. And you stared at his picture nearly every night since you returned.

Meanwhile, despite seeing him almost every day whenever he came over to fix up the room, your friendship with Tommy felt…off. Some part of you thinks he knows about your feelings, and Joel’s. He never said anything about it. He hadn’t even mentioned the date, it was like business as usual.

It was just a crush then. It has to be. You and Tommy were close, he was lonely, figured he’d ask you out. Nothing serious. You preferred to think about it that way.

“What are we having?” your brother asks, drawing you away from your, not so fun, thoughts.

“I was thinking chicken.”

Joel holds a bottle of wine in hand and Sarah is holding a tupperware full of homemade brownies. Upon getting the invite, Sarah had been adamant about perfecting her recipe to bring over. Joel was not allowed in the kitchen. Deeming to be a jinx whenever Sarah tried to cook. He had no objections to that. He was more than happy to listen to his daughter hum in the kitchen as he watched TV in the living room.

They walk toward your place with her arm crossed over his. Tommy is getting out of the truck just as they reach the porch. His younger brother meets Joel’s gaze briefly before turning his head, walking up to them. He ruffles Sarah’s hair, greeting them both with a small nod of his head.

“Better get this over then,” Tommy mutters, reaching from between the father and daughter duo to knock on the door.

But before he can, Sarah smacks his hand away. The gesture earns her a solid fix of Tommy’s glare. Joel’s shoulders raise, his eyes nervously flitting between Sarah and Tommy. He’d kept Sarah out of the loop. It felt like the right thing to do. Your dating life should be no concern to her. And as far as Joel was concerned, Sarah wasn’t ready to hear about his love life with another woman.

“Sarah.” Tommy warns, the last syllable of her name bouncing off his grit teeth. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

“You two have been so weird all week,” she chides, the crease between her brows similar to her father’s. “If you’re not going to be nice, you should leave.”

“Dammit Sarah, I—” he lets out a stuttering breath. “Fine. Just knock on the goddamn door.”

It’s instinct. Sarah knocks on the door and at the same time Joel brings a hand down to Tommy’s shoulder. Hard. The younger Miller’s entire body tilts to the side and Joel squeezes, making sure that his fingers make dents into Tommy’s skin. Tommy tenses under Joel’s hold but doesn’t move, he doesn’t even look back at him. He just patiently waits until the door opens, warm, soft light pouring through the door.

Sarah takes the first step, hugging you and handing you the Tupperware. You’re wearing a green dress that hugs your figure perfectly, his mouth floods with saliva. Joel already feels his cock twitching uncontrollably under his jeans. The way you smile is always so bright.

But first things first.

“Don’t you ever snap at my daughter like that again. You hear me, Tommy.” he says in a hushed tone, leaning into Tommy’s ear. Sarah already disappeared inside, and you’re patiently holding the door open for them.

“Your daughter?” he grimaces, taking a step back so the two of them are out of earshot. “You mean my niece? I didn’t do anythin’ Joel. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Tommy takes the lead. He kisses your cheek and mutters pleasantries. Without waiting for Joel, Tommy takes his shoes off, heads to the kitchen. Joel huffs, glaring at his brother’s back.

“Is something wrong?”

Your voice peels him away from his anger, his hands suddenly feel foreign to him. He robotically hands you the wine.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Just brothers being brothers.”

“O…kay then. Well in any case, welcome. Thanks for the wine.”

If Tommy being mad at him isn’t enough, it looks like you’re still frustrated with him as well. You don’t look at him. And the smile you have on is nothing other than polite. It’s a small little curve. The type you would give to a stranger walking past you in the street. He hates it.

Thank god for Sarah. At least she’s not mad at him.

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters, purposefully brushing his arm against yours while passing you by. He hears you letting out a soft sigh. The hairs on his arms stand with delight at the sound.

He enters the kitchen where the dining table is at. Tommy’s already chatting up your brother, and Sarah is dragging her fingers through one of your dried oil paintings. She likes the texture of it, he told him once. The brother’s eyes meet Joel’s and he already feels his muscles growing taut. Tommy follows the brother’s gaze and nods.

Joel nearly jumps when your hand comes around his shoulder. The brother narrows his eyes.

“This is Joel,” you say, giving him a gentle shove. “And you already met Tommy. Joel, this is August. My brother.”

Joel takes in the brother’s appearance. He has sharp, angular cheekbones that give his face a chiseled look, and his intense gaze is accentuated by thick, dark eyebrows. His wavy, dark hair falls messily over his forehead. He has broad shoulders and a defined jawline. He exudes a quiet confidence that draws Joel's attention.

Swallowing multiple times, Joel quickly extends a hand. A weird sense of relief washes over him when August takes it, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, sitting back down. “I heard so much about you.”

“Good things I hope,” Joel grins sheepishly. A blush crawls up from his neck to his cheeks when the other winks. Joel’s gut is telling him that August already knows what’s going on in his head and it’s unnerving.

“They’re all good, don’t worry.” he smiles and pulls out a chair for Joel. “She tells me you two helped her with the room. Well, you have my thanks. I was a bit worried about her moving in here after…” he clears his throat. “I’m sure you know.”

August utters the last sentence with his eyes fixed on Joel. He shudders.

“Auggie, stop making me seem like I’m a damsel in distress. I’m not a child that needs to be taken care of.”

“That you’re not,” August answers. “But everyone needs help sometimes.”

You frown, “Says the man who never accepts it.”

The rest of the evening passes by with soft jazz music in the background and all of them setting the table together, which isn’t a five-man job, but they do it anyway. Sarah is rather bubbly, talking about school and a boy she doesn’t seem to like. He takes a mental note to ask about that later. You listen with interest, checking the rice and mixing the salad. Tommy and August hit it off instantly. Which isn’t at all a shock to him. August laughs at something Tommy says while placing a plate. Joel looks around, his pleading eyes landing on Sarah and you in the kitchen.

Neither of them notices him. He’s left standing awkwardly between kitchen and dining room. He rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans, gaze dropping to his socked feet.

He doesn’t want to bother anyone, so he slips away to the hall.

Maybe he should’ve asked you first, before going exploring. But he can’t really help it. Joel finds himself in the renovated room. It’s basically done, the room fully painted and bookshelves back in place. You even have a couple of easels holding your latest artwork. He stumbles inside, the conversations fading into the background.

It’s hard not to feel upset. He isn’t sure what he’s doing wrong. At the time, not allowing you to say what you had swirling in your mind felt like the right thing to do. Joel doesn’t know if he could’ve held back if you confessed. Even though he was rather close to confessing himself, that was before Tommy took initiative.

He observes the first painting. His initial thought is that it looks nice. There are a lot of colors in geometric shapes. He sees a lot of red and pink. Some blue. Some white. His eyes move up and down, and as it does, he slowly begins to realize the smaller shapes form a bigger one. It’s human. A naked one. He follows the vee of the adonis belt, the softened stomach. Suddenly it’s very clear to him that this is a man. Joel takes a step back. The face hasn’t been painted yet. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. A somber smile touches his lips. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t have any of those. Maybe he won’t fuck up so badly if he doesn’t.

Joel’s about to leave when he sees it. The smallest stain on the front of the silhouette’s hip. Tilting his head, he steps closer. His skin tight over his muscles, his breath hitches.

It’s a bullseye. The tiniest, you blink you miss it, bullseye.

He leans closer, it’s definitely a bullseye. Smaller than his tattoo, but it’s the same shape, in the same spot.

What the fuck?

He lifts his gaze, eyes flitting across the round shape that’s meant to be a face—his face. Is this…supposed to be him?

Shitshitshitshit

Joel jolts out of the room and stumbles into the small bathroom that’s on the first floor. He turns the faucet so hard that his fingers ache but he doesn’t care. He splashes cool water over his face until his breathing calms down. Then he flushes the toilet for some noise.

When he opens the door, his head is spinning. The walls wiggle and dance, the hardwood floor underneath his feet slips. Joel can barely stand. His fingers itch to have something pressed against them, something that can pull him out of the fog of his mind.

He doesn’t look inside and silently closes the door, his eyes glazed over. He makes his way down the hall. His heart is beating too fast. He can barely breathe. Some part of him believes he’s making it up. That the tattoo wasn’t there, that it was just smudged paint. He’s not an artist. It wouldn’t be hard for his brain to make something up. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The voices grow closer. He closes his eyes, lashes touching with his cheeks. He should’ve let you talk that day. At least then everything would be crystal clear. He hates not truly knowing. The heave of his chest forces him to open his eyes.

Everyone is already at the table. You’re serving the food, putting a chicken leg on your brother’s empty plate. His space is reserved next to Sarah, right across from Tommy and you, August is at the head of the table. Only Sarah notices him. She looks up, brows pinched together as she mouths: are you okay dad?

Joel nods and takes his seat. His vision finally clears. The scent of chicken and roasted vegetables wafts through the air, grounding him to the present. He feels the brush of Sarah’s fingers on his forearm, she still looks worried.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, reaching for the salad. With his tongue between his lips, his gaze follows your movements as you divide the chicken. “Everything looks amazing, tea. Thank you for having us.”

“Yeah,” Sarah chimes in. “It looks great. I didn’t know you could cook.”

You let out a snort and shake your head. “Why does everyone in this house think I can’t look after myself? What kind of image am I giving you guys?”

Laughter follows, Tommy, says something but Joel doesn’t catch it. His mind still in the room with the painting. He eats silently. Biting into his fork and savoring the taste of white meat. He watches Sarah neatly wrapping the base of the chicken leg with a napkin before she starts eating, he rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.

No one really discerns his silence. Which he concludes to be a good thing. The food is good and helps him settle down. His eyes flit between you and Tommy, a pleasant conversation taking place between the two people closest to him.

Suddenly he sees Tommy in a tux, you in a white dress. The sun is bright and Sarah is the flower girl. He’s standing next to his baby brother, waiting to hand the ring to Tommy as soon as the priest finishes his speech. He stares at you from above Tommy’s shoulder. Your smile is wide.

You meet his gaze and Joel fights the urge to jerk away. Your smile broadens into a grin, you wink at him.

You look back to Tommy. His heart sinks into his stomach.

If that ever happens, at least you'll still be close. Joel will forever have your eyes. He’ll get to stare at them as often as he wants to. Tommy doesn’t have to know. But that doesn't change the fact that Joel will still be lost, he'll still be lonely after Sarah leaves to live her own life.

He would always be searching for something more, something that he couldn't quite name or articulate. That yearning would remain, like an ache that refused to subside. He would try to fill that void with other things, other people, but it would never be enough. He would always come back to that sense of restlessness, that nagging feeling that there was something missing.

He’ll never be satisfied.

Joel hands you a wet plate and you smile, patting off the access water, you place it on the dishrack. Soft steps come from upstairs. A door closes, and the sound of the shower softly adds to the ambiance of domestic bliss.

Joel hands you another plate.

It’s been a while since dinner came to an end. Much to your delight, it turned out to be a pleasant evening. August and Tommy got along swimmingly, which came as no surprise to anyone. With her stomach full and warm, Sarah was practically sleeping on the couch. Joel had to nudge her awake, and you offered to show him the spare room, but he shook his head and woke her up. Sarah was briefly confused, but she managed to make her way back with Joel. Tommy left a bit later, thanking you and squeezing your hand as he left. You were quite surprised when Joel returned ten minutes later, offering to help with the dishes. August had already gone upstairs to take a shower.

You hate doing the dishes so you had no objections to that.

“I really should buy a dishwasher,” you say, breaking the silence. “Thanks again. You really didn’t have to.”

His lips part with a low chuckle, his gaze fixed on the sponge that suds up the plate. “I’ve heard you complain more than I can count, sweet tea. There was no way I was going to leave you with this monstrous pile.”

“My hero.”

A comfortable silence stretches between the two of you, though you're not sure how that's possible. He's been avoiding you for a week and has been silent all afternoon. You're not even sure he talked to Auggie much, except for introducing himself.

Some part of you doesn't want the stacks of porcelain to end. You internally curse at yourself for washing the pots and pans before dinner. This time, you take a bowl from him. It's slippery, and you nearly drop it, but his fingers curl around yours, tightening your grip before it can shatter against the floor.

Your breath catches in your throat. Joel's fingers remain on your hand, and a soft caress follows. Goosebumps rise over your body; it's so sudden that it tingles, a slight pain etching over your skin. Slowly lifting your eyes, you see that he's already staring at you. Joel holds your gaze, his eyes warm and inviting. A blissful sigh raises in your throat, threatening to spill, but you press your lips together.

Joel inhales, and on the exhale he asks, “Your date with Tommy must’ve been a good one, I reckon. You guys came back late.”

Blood rushes to your ears. You pull your hand back, like you’ve been burned with boiling water, soap bubbles fly into the air. The bowl slips back into the sink and you hear it crack but refuse to look down. Your heart is beating too fast, too hard—shit. Why is he saying this out of the blue? Rage pounds underneath your fingernails. You’re not sure why you’re so mad. And you’re not surprised Tommy didn’t tell him anything. Those two are constipated when it comes to talking.

Your glare and his soft gaze clashes, lighting crackling in the still air.

“Why are you suddenly mentioning Tommy?” you hiss out. Tears sting your eyes. “And it’s none of your business. If you want to know you should ask hi—”

“I saw your little art project.”

Your mouth dries up, the rage replaced by a childlike terror. You pull your hand close to your chest. Breathing heavily.

“What?”

Joel takes a step forward, leaning into you and crowding your personal bubble. You’re glued to the floor. The blood rush loud in your ears. You feel so vulnerable that it hurts, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“It was…me, wasn’t it?” he shakes his head. “What if Tommy saw? You can’t do shit like that when you’re datin’ him. You can’t just paint another man.”

His voice is both hushed and forceful. You’ shake your head, attempting to blink away the tears. All the emotions you feel like a balloon in your chest waiting to explode. Your head drops. You stare at his chest. It’s moving with every rapid breath.

“Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?” Joel sounds flabbergasted. He takes a step back and stares at you—really stares at you with narrowed eyes, as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

“I said,” you bite out through clenched teeth. You step forward and shove him in the chest, it does little to move him and his fingers wrap tightly around your wrists. You refuse to look at him. “Fuck. You. You don’t get to shame me in the ways I heal. The art I create. You’re the one who has a girlfriend. You’re the one that allowed me to get as close as I did, saying cryptic shit knowing that I had a crush on you! So yeah—” your eyes snap up, looking him dead in the eye. His mouth hangs open, shock etched between his brows. “Fuck you, Joel Miller.”

His grip tightens, it’s rough and it stings. A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m not dating your brother.” you say with a sense of finality.

“I didn’t know you had a crush on me.” Joel’s thumb moves down your wrist. His hardened gaze softens, the smallest of gasps escaping from between lips. “Asha and I broke up.”

“You did?”

Your world starts spinning, your stomach flips in your stomach. He nods.

“The day you came to the garden. Before your date with Tommy. I broke it off.”

“Why?” you ask, holding your breath.

“Because I had someone else on my mind.”

He’s fully stroking your arm now, the roughness of his hold gone. Textured fingertips move up and down your skin, sending shudder after shudder up your very being. Heat gathers between your legs, and you feel a dampness that makes you ache. Joel leans closer and you feel his hot breath fanning your cheeks, mixed with the lingering scent of beer. You hold your breath. The kitchen doesn’t seem to stop spinning.

Without another word Joel tugs you flush against him, his firm chest pressing up yours, a tingle starting from your pebbled nipples and buzzing throughout your body. He sucks the air from your lungs. He groans into your mouth. You feel his hands skimming the frame of your body, dipping into every curve. Joel pulls and tugs at the fabric of your dress. You hear a small rip. You don’t care about it in the slightest. But he must’ve heard it too because a soft growl emanates from his chest. He tugs at the fabric again, the following noise louder. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, pulling it along with him as he parts. You let out a debauched whine and you swear he grins, the cocky bastard.

His hands cup your ass, kneading it tenderly. You sigh into his mouth, your hands feeling numb and weak from where they rest above his chest. He lets go of your bottom lip, pressing his mouth into the swollen flesh before moving away.

You gasp and let out a shaky bubble of laughter. “If this ‘someone else’ you speak of isn’t me this is about to get really awkward really fast.”

“Don’t worry that pretty lil’ head of yours darlin’,” his forehead touches yours, the skin damp. He breathes heavily, the tone of his voice oddly serious and deep. “It’s you.”

a/n: THEY KISSED! FINALLY. I think this is the longest thing I've ever written without the characters getting at it immediately, it's been a fun ride lmaodfbfd

Normally, this chapter was supposed to have smut as well. But I loved the ending "it's you" so much that I decided it was a good way to end the chapter. But believe me, the next chapter is going to get as filthy as it gets. I already have it outlined. (feel free to hop into my askbox to tell me what filthy things you want to see them get to 🤭)

Thank you to everyone who is still with me on this little journey that started out with a mere thought after seeing a bts Instagram story, I never thought so many people would be eager to read such a thing and all of you have my appreciation. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, in all honestly I'm nervous as hell posting it. Hopefully I hit all the right parts.

Sending all of you many hugs and kisses 🧡

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe · 3 months

Text

Chapter 5 [IKYLHT]

~2.4k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter

“Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark…”

“-I still don’t think that was the best they could’ve come up with.”

“Shh, Johnny, I’m trying to hear them.” You mumble with a light slap to the man’s thigh, nodding over to Price and Laswell as they clink glasses.

Simon chuckles from the other side of you as you peer around Soap’s form in an attempt to convince Gaz to relay the conversation word for word. He doesn’t, and part of you regrets not swapping seats with the man beforehand.

Not that you would’ve been able to, what with Simon and Johnny essentially herding you into the bar stool between them.

Sheepdogs, I swear.

“Y’know, I think you owe me, Bun.”

Johnny’s voice has a playful edge to it, something you so desperately need after the torture endured in that building.

Bloody hands trying to find grip on the cables- anything that’d soften your fall down the elevator shaft and allow you to follow him into that half constructed floor full of soldiers and Hassan.

Bloody hands that found themselves back on their original place, wrapping gauze around Price’s shoulder and pestering Gaz for updates every other minute.

He didn’t have any. You’d opted to try yourself.

“Soap, please.”

You can’t help the desperation in your tone.

He hasn’t answered comms in four minutes.

Something is wrong.

“What is your status? Click the transmitter. Something. Anything. Please, Johnny.”

You hear nothing but the soft Chicago wind in return, shaking hand reaching for comms once more.

“Ghost, do you have a visual?”

It takes him a moment to answer, and you can just barely hear his boots ascending the stairwell in steps of two.

“Negative. Adjusting position now.”

You hate it.

Hate that your view of Ghost is completely blocked from this floor, hate that Johnny isn’t responding to comms, hate that he’s in there alone.

Had this scene not already played out? Had Johnny not already been forced to fend for himself with shivs and rat traps in the streets of Las Almas?

Why couldn’t they get someone in there with him? Where are the Marines? Where is Gaz? Where is Johnny?

I should’ve been there.

I was there. It still didn’t matter.

I still couldn’t save him.

“Fuck this.” You mumble, shuffling back onto your feet, eyes already scanning for the emergency staircase.

I’ll scale the building myself.

Your gun is gone, lost somewhere to the explosion and subsequent shootout. You slide your hand over a spare knife resting on your hip. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.

“Price, I’m movi-”

“Ghost…” Soap’s voice carries through your earpiece and renders your legs damn near immovable.

You don’t notice the way your knife slices open the top layer of skin on your palm, instinctually bolting up and towards the stairs as you hear Ghost reply.

Going down two, three, four at a time- shoulder slamming into the wall as you turn each corner and stumble down the staircase- you’re still unable to see any of what’s happening- eyes unblinking and ears straining to hear Johnny’s next words.

“Watch the window-“

“-Bun, c’mon. I remember hearin’ you make a bet with Simon.”

Blinking, you find yourself back in the bar.

Right. That’s right. It’s over.

It’s all over.

Nodding, more to yourself than to him, you scan the bar and blink the image of it back into the front of your brain.

You don’t miss the way Simon watches the entire thing.

You let a semi-genuine smile grace your lips and nudge him back.

“Which you were not a part of, Sargeant. Direct orders from the captain, in case you forgot. Plus, Si didn’t even agree to put any money on it. No point in betting if there isn’t a cash incentive.”

Glancing around him again, you’re just able to meet Gaz’s eyes as he finally divulges you by mouthing a single word before he’s turning back to Price.

Russians.

“I just think-”

“-Johnny.”

Your tone is what gets him to look up, to pop the bubble he’d created just for you, Simon, and himself. To raise his guard and compartmentalize like he always does.

You can’t blame the man for wanting normalcy for just a little longer. The chance to sit in a dimly lit pub with his partners, nursing a drink and laughing at how awful the men across the bar are at playing pool.

He doesn’t want another assignment. Not now. Not after all they’d been through. He needed a break, desperately, and he needed to get his mind off of work before it consumed him completely.

But you can’t. You just can’t slip into that headspace right now. You can’t let your guard down.

Maybe it was the mission, maybe it was the close-calls, but this inability to just think straight is one you’d only experienced once before.

You can’t remember when they start- the flashbacks, the shifting from present reality to memory. You only remember the looks of your comrades as they steer you back to the current moment.

Price’s voice cuts into the space, deep and low.

“He’s not new.”

He slides the picture over to Gaz, Soap bracing a hand over your leg as it bounces repeatedly.

You’re nervous.

You can’t tell why.

You force yourself to stop, to allow Gaz to study the photo without interruption. You hear him shift, pass the photo over to Soap who holds it up for the two of you.

He nods once, reaching past you to hand it to Ghost.

Shaking your head, you whisper to both men beside you.

“I don’t recognize him.”

Their eyes meet past your shoulder, an unspoken conversation.

“Guys?” You whisper again, eyes darting between the pair.

Still no answer, you look between Price and Kate, the latter looking just as confused as you did.

“Who is he?”

You feel Johnny’s grip on your thigh tighten, hear Simon’s deep inhale as Price turns to answer Kate.

“Makarov.”

“Well, this is me. You can just… knock, I guess. If you need anything, I mean.”

The door clicks behind Simon as you shift to stand awkwardly in the corner of your small accommodation.

His eyes shift over your room, the tiny storage shelf topped with boxes and folders of paperwork you’d need to drop off before the night’s end.

It’s hardly decorated past the beige curtains and yellow lighting that adorned each private room in the barracks.

You distantly wonder if Simon’s room is any nicer. Probably not, since it’s just a temporary until the flight home.

Better than a motel.

He nods once, lets out a little hum of acknowledgment before locking eyes with yours.

“You okay, Tapeti?”

“Me? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just need a nap, I think. Maybe some real sleep once the paperwork is done.”

He hums again.

“Okay. Not what I meant though, love.”

You give a sheepish semi-shrug, a half answer he lets slide with a small sigh.

“Alright then. Gonna go check on Johnny. You comin’?”

You want to, to go and kick your feet up on Johnny’s lap while he doom-scrolls through social media, but your eyes fall back on the box of papers.

“Oh, uh. No, that’s alright. I’ll swing by later. Really gotta desk-jockey it tonight. Text me if he needs anything?”

“Of course, darling.” He says softly, kissing the top of your head through the mask before sparing you one last glance and slipping out the door.

You sigh out, shuffling over to the storage shelf and grabbing the box before plopping onto the chair with a huff.

Casualty Report

Contact Report

Frequency Interference Report

Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Report

Report

Digging your palms into your eyes, you groan out.

It's been hours, according to both the clock and the ache in your lower back.

“They offered me retirement, why the hell didn’t I take retirement?” Exhaling a deep breath, you whisper to yourself as you neatly pile the paperwork. “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."

Sliding it off the desk and into the crook of your arm, you make your way through the foreign base, dropping off the paperwork to some higher-up's secretary with a content smile.

Not my problem anymore.

A little more pep in your step, you start making your way back to the barracks, giving Johnny’s door a light knock.

There’s no answer.

You knock again.

Still no answer.

With a small roll of the eyes, you dig for the spare key he slipped into your pocket with a wink, unlocking the door.

You crack it open, knock again and whisper as it quietly creaks.

“I swear Johnny, you’re such a liar- ‘oh I never fall asleep first’. I could practically hear you snoring through the- oh.”

His silhouette is dim but unmistakable. His snores are soft, as they usually are.

So are Simon’s.

You turn your head, scan the empty hall once more before really taking in the sight before you.

They’re cute. Snuggled up, cozy under the blanket Johnny will soon kick off, Simon’s head resting over his heart.

It’d be a lot sweeter of a moment if, well… if there was any space for you.

They really are cute together and you know it shouldn’t bother you, but, that was your spot.

It’d always been that way.

Johnny on his back, you on his left side.

Closing the door with a soft click, you lock the deadbolt as quiet as you can before making the trek back to your room.

It’s dark, curtains blocking any pale moonlight and the room is still just as fucking beige as before only now it’s a problem.

The bed is too cold. Too big, too empty, too overwhelming without his body splayed over half of it.

You don’t bother changing into anything comfier, kicking your boots towards the door and burrowing under the covers.

You look to the pillow on your right.

You shut your eyes.

It’ll be better in the morning.

Your descent down the stairwell is rushed, boots clipping the safety grips multiple times and hands flailing to grab the railing beside you.

You find a rifle on the way down, still slightly sticky with the blood of the masked soldier it belonged to.

You could never be too sure.

It clatters against your tac vest uncomfortably, hitting the back of your legs and threatening to launch you down the stairs completely.

You don’t bare it much mind though, hopping off the last few steps and throwing yourself against the heavy metal door with a grunt.

Side stepping and nearly knocking over the surrounding Chicago police, you weave your way through EMT’s and rescued hostages before your path is abruptly cut short by a dark mass with outstretched arms.

“Slow down, Tapeti, he’s making his way out.”

You allow yourself to remain in the man’s arms but don’t halt your hurried steps.

“Then we can meet him in the stairwell, Simon.” You huff out, only partially regretting the way your words tinge with aggression.

He unhooks the back of the strap, grabbing the rifle with one hand and letting it clatter against the sidewalk, not once breaking stride or faltering in pace.

You get one hand on the doorknob of the side entrance, readying yourself to slam bone against metal once more.

You don’t get the chance to though, head on a swivel when you hear a nearby glass door shatter in on itself.

And finally, you see Johnny, tired face holding back a pained smile as he holds the door handle in midair.

“Rabbit-“

“-Johnny.”

You waste no time rushing to him, the impact of your body colliding with his almost knocking you both to the ground.

You feel his shadow guarding the pair of you from onlookers, offering about ten seconds of privacy before Simon is damn near scruffing the back of your neck as he pulls the pair of you into his chest.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny. Don’t ever do that again.” You mumble into Simon’s shirt, pawing at Johnny’s tac vest and trying to find a patch of skin that isn’t covered by work.

It’s a difficult task, what with Ghost barely allowing you ample space to expand your ribs as you breathe, but you manage to slip off a glove and warm Johnny’s hands yourself.

You feel him shift to lay his head on Simon’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist as he speaks quietly.

“You okay, Bun?”

“Are you okay, Johnny? We couldn’t get ahold of you, not a single thing through comms, not even static.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Johnny?”

You move to pat his hand but it isn’t there.

“John?”

You look up but he’s gone entirely.

You spin around, cover your arms over your thin shirt no longer protected by two sets of arms.

“Ghost?”

You spin again but you’re entirely alone on the street.

The cops’ red and blue lights still flash, doors wide open.

The back ambulance doors reveal the inside, the space that held the empty gurney that now sits mere feet away from you.

“Simon?”

The wind howls but doesn’t shake the trees.

“Gaz?”

Your ears ring above the silence.

“Price?”

You feel the hairs on your arms stand.

“Santiago?”

You hear a knock.

“Bunny? You in there, hen?”

Shifting your arms, you feel the stickiness of the sheets beneath you.

He knocks again.

Scrambling out of bed, you kick your shoes out of the way of the door and open it hastily.

“Good mornin’, sunshine. We were knockin’ quite a while. Must’ve been pretty knocked out.”

Your shoulders loosen seeing his smile, no longer feeling the urge to curl in on yourself.

“Oh, uh, yeah I guess so. Had kind of a weird dream.”

You feel Simon’s eyes on you, send him a smile as Johnny brushes past you and into the room.

“Anything in particular?”

You turn back to Simon, motion for him to make his way out of the doorway and into the room as you answer his question.

“Not really, mostly just replaying yesterday. Just cataloging, you know the drill.”

Well, except for the part where everyone vanished and left me stranded in the middle of Chicago searching for Santiago.

Guess I was calling out for two ghosts.

“Eh, as long as it wasn’t the weird armadillo one again. God knows what that one’s about. Anyways, you showering before brek, Bun? You stink.” Johnny smooths the duvet over the damp sheets, laying down with a groan and stretching his side.

“Yeah, I’ll make it a quick one. You waiting here?”

You don’t miss the way it comes out, the tinge of vulnerability towards the end of your words.

Neither does Simon.

Johnny lets out a hum, arms above his head and moving to stretch out his other side.

Simon steps forward, untucks the string of your hoodie.

“Shower, Tapeti.”

He sits on the edge of the bed.

“We’ll be here.”

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light-glue-blazed-terracotta · 4 months

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what cub in demise has taught me is that cub NEEDS to be in the life series. keeping him confined to hermitcraft is depriving him of vitamins. he needs to be given free reign to kill and maim and explode and trap and eviscerate and poison and murder and slice and dice and betray and lie and spleef and sneak and utterly destroy other players. its very important enrichment for him and keeping him in a mostly peaceful server is like keeping a sheepdog in a 1bed city apartment. let him sicc wardens on people with no repercussions.

#cubfan135 #also like. imagine a convex life series team. btw.

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jamiesfootball · 1 year

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On the one hand Roy breaking up with Keeley was deeply rooted in his own insecurities and it’s heartbreaking because they both clearly still love each other.

On the other hand, while it’s easy lambast him for being stupid about it and not staying together to work it out, he may have accidentally done a very good thing for himself.

We saw in season two how Roy tends to get a bit clingy in a relationship. Some of that is probably just who he is - a guy who feels things very very very strongly and wants all the quality time with people he loves - but I suspect that some of it is also an outlet for the fact that Roy doesn’t easily make strong, honest emotional connections.

He gives people PARTS of himself. He gives the yoga ladies a bit of his silliness, but not the passionate core of himself that loves football more than anything. He gives the coaching team… more than he used to, but he holds back from being a Diamond Dog. He clearly loves the lads on his team, but they’re not allowed to comfort him about his break up. That’s a step too far.

Outside of his family, Keeley really was like the only person he let inside. And it’s easy to point at Roy’s sense of self worth as the reason for the break up, but on a deeper level I think part of him also felt devastated by the possibility that maybe Keeley didn’t feel as strongly. She didn’t need him the way he needed her, didn’t want to be attached to him the same way. She was fine on her own. Preferred it sometimes.

She loved him. He knows that. But Roy is a man in progress, and god only knows how low his reservoir of being loved was before the series. In some ways, Roy was a starving man when it came to Keeley, and honestly good on him if he realized that wasn’t the healthiest thing to bring into a relationship.

While he might have gone about it in a messy way, in a way that didn’t use enough words because he didn’t know how to make the words mean exactly, I think Roy asked for what he needed. (And Keeley might’ve hit the nail on the head when she called it a ‘break’ instead of a ‘break up’, but Roy is not a man of half measures. If they’re not together then it’s a break up. He’s stringing no one on here.)

Roy is emotionally a fucking mess post break up, but we do see signs now that this is a Roy Kent who is becoming comfortable with his life. He’s warmer with the boys, he’s joking with the coaches, he’s having a great old time during practice and personal training. He’s even made Jamie Tartt into a friend- dare I say, a close friend.

These are the support structures he needed in season two but wouldn’t let himself have. Now that he’s forcefully put himself out to pasture, he’s in a position where he has to let them in or it’s going to get very cold out there. Of course like a sheepdog he has found himself surrounded in cozy things.

This is a Roy who’s gonna be more secure in a relationship. Boy really just needed some time to work on himself. Its the good idea hiding behind the facade of a bad one. He’s gonna be just fine.

#roy kent #ted lasso spoilers #sort of

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damagedintellect · 1 month

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Skk Brainrot for Chuuya’s BDay

💌 When I said chibi was my dog this is not what I meant : Chapter 1 💌

Summary: The minute he stepped into Mori's office Chuuya was already annoyed. While the Mafia dealt with foreign imports of all kinds, being told to investigate the strange influx of Stray Dogs across Yokohama wasn’t his ideal use of his skill set. Chuuya has always liked animals, animal's also liked Chuuya and he's always wanted a dog. He never expected to become a dog. The irony of Dazai calling him a dog all these years makes him want to scream. His ex partner has always been vocal about his disdain for two things. Now Chuuya is somehow both, and Dazai is the only one who can change him back.

Notes: Happy Birthday Chuuya~ I wanted to post something for Chuuya's birthday & this has been sitting in my drafts. Eventually this will have more than one chapter because I see the vision I just haven't had the time to write for it. Gonna base all the dogs on WAN.

💌 Word count: 3,754 💌 You Are Here | Next Chapter coming soon

The port mafia was practically "in charge" of every illegal trade in Yokohama so the sudden influx of stray dogs, breeds that were not known for being popular in Japan, tipped Mori off. He couldn't help but sigh rolling his eyes because he probably should have someone look into it. As silly as the situation may have seemed the Port Mafia has a reputation to uphold. Although the juxtaposition of sending an executive to investigate was also incredibly ridiculous but Mori has seen animals gravitate to the young man and knowing that a certain partner used to claim all the time that Chuuya was his dog, brought back a level of nostalgia that plastered a smile on his face. Chuuya on the other hand was less than pleased with this position. The mafia’s greatest combatant being used as a sheepdog to herd in a bunch of no names to the slaughter was a waste of time in his personal opinion. Don't get him wrong, he'll do it because Mori's command is law but he's still going to complain about it.

The investigation didn't actually take him that long to trace it back to a series of missing people reports. One person went missing and suddenly there was a new dog on the streets. Although it seemed pretty cut and dry it was still concerning that the authorities haven't done anything about the disappearances. Most of the cases occurred near the edge of town where plenty of abandoned facilities were located. It was possible whoever was behind this was hiding there. Chuuya had only assumed what was happening, he had a hunch that it wasn't even animal's being imported. The power of science was a bizarre field to him, after all, he contained a power equal to that of a God.

What he didn’t expect was for it to actually be someone's ability. Why let the dogs out on the street if it was someone’s ability? He only had more questions but Chuuya didn't care one way or the other because what difference would it make to him. He was given the order to take them out regardless. Mori wanted the facility intact for further investigation after the group was swiftly dealt with but it was more of an afterthought. Chuuya didn't even bother taking reinforcements; he simply walked through the front door and watched as they realized nothing could touch him. He cleared out floors left and right until the only way down to the lower levels was an elevator. His ability should have been able to handle whatever trap had been set but then the room filled with gas, one of the very few things his ability had no effect on. Chuuya could only hold his breath for so long and despite manipulating the drop from the elevator to compensate for the impact of fall damage, he was already dizzy. By the time he forced the doors open, with a few steps out of the elevator he found himself collapsing to the floor.

His head had a dull ache that spread to the rest of his body. They didn’t kill or physically harm him yet which could only mean they want information but they must be more stupid than they look to not even bother trying to restrain him. All they did was put a cloth over him. His joints were sore as he tried to clutch his head. When he shifted the cloth fell off revealing not a hand but a paw. He wiggled out of what used to be his clothes to get a better look at himself. Observing the new changes to his body, he was a dog. A fluffy chihuahua if he had to guess by his reflection in the glass across from him. They seemed to have put him in some examination room. He turned around and shook his tail. The feeling of an extra limb was more apparent and weird but he didn't have time to dwell on it for too long. Someone was going to pay.

The familiar red glow covered his form as he continued what he came here to do. Being a dog wouldn’t matter in the end. He'd just change back after he killed the ability user, but even after clearing the building he didn’t. He ran up and down the empty halls struggling with the new sensation of walking. The panic was starting to set in. He still hadn't changed back and there was not a soul left in sight at the entire facility. That means they got away before Chuuya woke up. He grit his teeth. He didn't know how long he was out for and tracking them down would be a pain in the ass in the state he was in. The only thing that gave him some relief was that he came alone and that none of his comrades were in this predicament. He could only imagine the chaos an entire division of dogs would do.

Trying to sift through files with paws was a nightmare. It took all of his self control to not destroy everything in this godforsaken lab. Chuuya just hoped this weird organization didn't send back up his way otherwise he was screwed. He couldn't find anything important and his patience was running extremely low with how long it was taking to even grab a file from the desk. If he was human it would take him two minutes to settle this whole endeavor. Chuuya stopped dropping the papers from his mouth.

If he was human.

A wave of dread washed over him as he realized there was one person who could fix this.

Dazai.

He really didn't want to see the mackerel especially not like this but what else could he do. He couldn’t go back to headquarters like this. He couldn’t even phone for someone to help him, he tried. Even if someone picked up he could only bark and hoped they understood. All Dazai would need to do was touch him but there was one glaring problem with that. Dazai hates dogs. He wouldn't voluntarily approach them let alone pet one out in the wild. If Chuuya tackled him to the ground he would be forced to at least touch him right? He took off in the direction of the ADA without a second thought. Completely forgetting about his hat, his phone and the rest of his belongings. He sure had a lot of faith in Dazai’s ability.

Chuuya was exhausted halfway there. Walking on all fours was miserable considering the distance he had to cover and he was even using his ability to help travel which probably only made him more tired. Luckily it was so late in the night there weren't a lot of people or cars around. By the time he made it to the agency building he was ready to collapse. He sat by the door as the sun was already starting to rise. It would be hours before Dazai would show up. He let himself sleep in the meantime he was too tired to try and fight it.

“What’s going on here?”

A voice stirred Chuuya awake from his sleep but he didn’t want to wake up yet not after the night he’s had. He could sleep in a little more right? He didn't have to make his report immediately. He contemplated just how long he would sleep in before another voice joined the conversation.

“Hey Mr. Kunikida.”

Chuuya swears he’s heard the name before but it doesn’t fully click why. He was about to get up when he felt a hand smoothing out his hair. A warm feeling washed over him preventing him from wanting to move. He let the voices talk while he leaned into the unknown touch still keeping his eyes closed.

“A lost dog, did you really think things through before bringing it here? Listen, it's a lot of responsibility taking care of a living creature.”

Lost dog

That broke Chuuya out of his pleasant stupor. He opened his eyes and got up abruptly. He was sitting in the white haired kids lap while a bunch of agency members were surrounding him. None of them were the one he needed to see.

“Dazai!” he tried shouting as he scrambled out of the kid’s grasp to find the waste of bandages. He briskly dodged the many hands that tried to grab for him. Finally being small came in handy for once. He cringed that he admitted that to himself. Chuuya sniffed the air and sure enough he could tell exactly where the brunette was sitting at his desk. As he bolted around the corner he jumped into Dazai’s lap almost knocking him out of his chair. He was pawing at Dazai’s chest trying to explain what happened to him but it only came out as incoherent barking.

Dazai frowned. All of his coworkers were fawning over an ugly mutt while he was making it a point to actually do some work. It was just a dog and a lost one no less. It already had an owner. What was so special about it? He had made his distaste for the animal apparent when Atsushi brought him up the stairs. Hadn’t he ever heard the phrase “let sleeping dogs lie” before? A single bark rang out from the conference corner causing him to turn his head before everyone’s panicked cries could be heard. It must have woken up and the amount of people surrounding the dog scared it away. Dazai should be fine at his desk or so he thought. The small runt tackled him almost making him lose his balance yapping up a storm. He frowned, glaring at the dog but that only made it continue barking and pawing at him.

“Okay that’s enough.” Dazai snapped, holding the dog up with both hands. It was weird the dog stopped his infernal yelping, its eyes seemingly growing wide as both its tail and ears slumped downwards. Did the dog understand that it was being scolded?

Atsushi stood in front of Dazai making sure the dog was okay “I thought you didn’t like dogs?”

“I don’t. Here, you take him.”

The statement was dismissive as he tried to hand Chuuya off to Atsushi but before he could get a proper hold on him Chuuya jumped on to Dazai’s desk and started growling at the tiger boy. Dazai perked up again at the sudden change in the dog’s mood.

“Maybe he can tell you’re a tiger.” he stated playfully.

“Or maybe he likes you, Dazai.”

Chuuya started barking again, taking an aggressive stance towards Dazai’s protege. Dazai stifled a laugh looking over the dog. It was a red long haired Chihuahua. The fur almost seemed unnaturally orange for a dog and paired with the black collar around its neck it almost reminded him of a certain slug. Maybe this dog was a Chuu-huahua with how little it’s temper was.

"We should call him Chibi because he's so small." Dazai wanted to take a picture, draw Chuuya’s tacky hat on the dog and then send the picture to him. Of course he wasn’t going to because that was effort he didn't want to waste on the small creature but he still had the thought cross his mind.

Before Chuuya could bark in protest the president stepped into the room to address the obscure racket. They filled him in on the situation as Dazai resumed working, nudging Chuuya to get off the paper he was writing on and then completely ignored the dog. Naturally Chuuya stepped aside at a loss of what to do. The president was pretty okay with the agency taking care of the runaway for now until they found his owner but they would never find his owner since Chuuya wasn’t actually a dog. He hadn’t even noticed he was still wearing his choker which is probably why they thought he was lost. It fit loosely around his neck but since his coat of fur was so fluffy it wasn’t that obvious it didn’t fit him properly.

Chuuya was gutted that he didn’t turn back immediately but if he could just get Dazai’s attention the brunette would put it together. They could communicate nonverbally in the past with just a look. All Chuuya had to do was to make the stupid mackerel realize it’s him. He put his paw on one of the books discarded to the side. If he could make it float then his ex partner was sure to put it together right, but nothing happened. There was no red glow in fact Chuuya couldn’t even feel Arahabaki anymore not since the president said they would take him in. Was it possible that being a dog got rid of his ability? That can’t be right since he used it a few hours ago. He was more confused than worried. Dazai wasn't touching him; he should be able to use it. Chuuya grit his teeth but tried to appear calm. Chuuya glanced towards the president, was it possible it was his doing? He didn't actually know if the president had a special ability but it's also not like he doesn’t remember N explaining that animals are not capable of manifesting special abilities. It's just peculiar that he was able to use it when he first turned. Maybe it took him a while to fully transition to being a dog?

He didn’t have much time to think about it as Kunikida tried to pick him up off the desk. He kicked his hand away and growled again. He refused to let anyone come near him. Chuuya might be a dog but he didn’t want to be touched again. Knowing how good it feels to be pet and pampered he’s afraid he’ll lose himself in the warmth, plus he needs to focus. His train of thought crashed when Dazai patted his head calmly saying “No one’s going to hurt you here. You can stop your growling. It’s annoying.”

He didn’t miss the glint of daggers in the other’s eyes, it was oddly comforting. If it was anyone else he would have bit them but right now Dazai was the only one he trusted. Chuuya nodded at Dazai causing him to pause. Chuuya would smirk if he could because he understood what that look meant. It was a subtle gesture but since he’s known Dazai for years and in that split second he could tell the other was caught off guard.

Dazai blinked, did the dog just nod at him? It was getting increasingly difficult to dislike this dog when it kept peaking his interest. Most animals have always hated him but cats usually were the only exception. They say that animals can judge a person’s character and it seems like every small creature in Yokohama, including a certain slug, got the memo but this is twice now that this dog seemed to understand his words. Not even the cats that approached him displayed such obvious strange behavior. He could also be reading too much into this situation because he simply didn’t want to be working right now but that was more to spite everyone over the dumb dog.

Before anyone else could touch Chuuya, he jumped down and scampered underneath Dazai’s desk sitting by his feet. He had a lot to think about and he was still tired. He thought about going back to the facility to try again but it was too far for his small stature to traverse back and forth constantly and now he'd have to shake off these schmucks to do it. Honestly he could try dragging one of these losers with him, they are detectives after all. One of them could put it together but he doubts any of them would follow a dog around town for that long without thinking they’ve gone batshit crazy. The biggest problem is he didn’t know who the ability user was and there was no way for him to communicate effectively right now especially since his ability disappeared. Or was there? He’d have to think of something.

Atsushi and Kunikida watch in awe as the dog practically follows Dazai’s command. They both peer under the desk to see him curled up by Dazai’s feet. Atsushi raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not the only one who thought that was weird right?" Laughing awkwardly as he looked around when everyone circled the desk.

Kunikida pushed up his glasses "I guess he's a lot smarter than he looks." Chuuya peeked out to bark again before glaring at the blonde. He could see this startled Kunikida slightly.

Dazai sighed "I think you guys should leave Chibi alone for a bit. Let him get used to his surroundings."

"I'm impressed. Dazai, I didn't realize you were so good with animals."

His frown deepened "I'm not, I'm just saying that he's only gravitating towards me because I'm the only one who's left him alone."

Dazai shifted to see the dog still at his feet lazily pawing at his shoe laces. He rolls his eyes. This dog was more of a cat than a dog but he supposed that with its small frame it wasn’t completely uncommon for a chihuahua to be fast and nimble but that does take the proper training to accomplish. Just whose dog was this, unless, was it possible this is Chuuya’s dog? Dazai remembered the hat rack always mentioning that he wanted a dog but for some reason he never got one. He smirked to himself. If that was the case Dazai would keep him for a while. Maybe he could train him to mess with his owner a little bit but first he had to find out if this was, in fact, Chuuya’s dog. Unfortunately finding that out would be too much effort even if it was to annoy Chuuya. He dropped the idea entirely. At the end of the day it was just a dog.

Everyone went back to their daily tasks giving Chuuya a much needed break from being the center of attention. He lazily played with the laces of Dazai’s shoes. He really had nothing else better to do. He heard the shuffling of paper and the scribbling of pens filling the room. Chuuya only assumed Dazai’s partner was furiously trying to blitz through paperwork. Glasses guy seemed like the workaholic type. Although that gave him an idea. If Chuuya could get his paws on a writing implement he could try spelling it out for Dazai. He slowly got up and walked around the corner to Kunikida’s desk. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the dog except for the blonde. Gracefully he jumped up and knocked a pen and small notepad off of the desk.

“Hey, what are you-” Kunikida stopped when he saw the dog try to take the cap off the pen. Dazai raised an eyebrow but knelt down to take the cap off for him.

Chuuya tried his best to write “help me” but when he looked down it was intangible scribbling. Next he tried to draw a fish which he was much prouder of when he really shouldn't be. Dazai tilted his head as everyone crowded around to see what the dog was doing. When there was still no reaction Chuuya rolled his eyes and drew a hat. Well he tried to draw a hat. Putting the pen down it looked more like a food bowl but come to think of it he hadn’t eaten anything and it was nearing lunchtime already. Chuuya placed the pen down sitting upright, puffing out his chest. Surely this was enough for Dazai to understand what was going on.

There was a moment of silence from everyone before Kenji clapped his hands together "Oh I get it! He's hungry."

Chuuya deflated, nosing the paper of the notepad to start over as the ADA were trying to figure out the food situation. Chuuya took his time with the next drawing. He needed to get it right this time but holding the pen in his mouth wasn't the easiest thing in the world when he had to pick it up from the floor. Luckily this time it was a recognizable fish. When he was done he pushed it towards Dazai stamping his paw trying to mentally communicate.

Dazai tilted his head to the side "A fish?" Chuuya barked trying to correct it to "mackerel" but it was no use.

Kenji crouched next to Dazai on the floor. "Could it be, he likes fish!"

The brunette raised an eyebrow before trifling through his pockets to pull out a can of crab. "Maybe he could smell this on me? That would explain why he tackled me earlier." He flatly added opening the can without a second thought. Seriously, what was he doing? He should let the others handle the pest.

Chuuya stared at the open can silently laughing to himself. Some things never change, huh? Back when they were partners Dazai always carried around the same disgusting cans of crab with him. He contemplated pushing it away but at this point it was better than being relegated to eating dog food. Taking a hesitant bite it wasn’t as bad as he remembered it being. He lapped up the crab ignoring the rest of the office marveling his odd taste in sustenance.

"A dog who likes crab and Dazai? Atsushi, where did you even find such a creature?." Kunikida put his pen down for the moment. This situation was weird even for what they normally deal with. "Well he was just sleeping outside the entrance. I thought he was another stray until I saw the collar." Atsushi scratched the back of his neck. He didn't really think anything of picking up the dog since Kyouka had brought a cat to the office not too long ago. Kunikida pushed up his glasses “I guess Dazai should be the one to take care of it then.” Everyone in the

office nodded in agreement leaving Dazai in distress.

He scoffed “Why me? Might I remind everyone that I detest dogs!”

As Chuuya finished eating he casually walked back over to where Dazai was sitting and made himself comfortable in the brunette's lap. Kunikida laughed going back to his work. “Could have fooled me.”

Dazai grumbled, staring at the small creature. It wasn’t everyday that anyone trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. This dog really was like Chuuya. The thought only made him roll his eyes. “Yeah, as if.”

#bsd fanfic #skk #happy birthday chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #skk fanfic #soukoku

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nz-mascots · 7 months

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Created by Murray Ball for his comic strip series, ‘Footrot Flats,’ the sheepdog simply known as Dog was born on October 13th 1978 in a dirty clothes box at Aunt Dolly’s holiday home for cats in Tauranga.

Dog now spends his days on the farm and can be found with his best friend, Wallace (Wal’) Footrot, and a cast of friends and foes, in over 1000 strips, a stage play adaptation, an animated feature, and a life sized statue.

All rights to Dog is reserved by Manatu Taonga, the Ministry for Culture and Heritage.

#Footrot Flats #Mascots #NZ #Aotearoa

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dtlfacts · 3 months

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Throughout the Drawn to Life Series, many enemies only appear in one level. All of these enemies appear in the picture above, made by "guythatexists" on Discord. In order, these enemies are:

Drawn to Life:

Yeti - Snow Caves

Snowget (Big and Mini) - Banya Fields

Star Baki - Moon Grove

Anemone - Angle Isle

Bucket Jelly - Conch Ruins

Shadow Golem - Rapocity

Shadow Bird - Windy Hills

Drawn to Life: The Next Chapter (Wii):

Red Fish - Tundara

Snow Bird - Tundara

Drawn to Life: The Next Chapter:

Pilot Bird - Faraway Beach

Sheepdog - Jivin' Rooftops

Baki Sub - Crescendo Cove

Baki Space Bus - Treetop Turrets

Sad Storm Cloud - Drip Drop Docks

Angry Sun - Sun Burn Bay

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maniculum · 5 months

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Bestiaryposting -- Almlaeni

As a reminder, all previous entries in this series can be found at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting .

[Long etymological digression redacted] The Almlaeni is a rapacious beast and craves blood. Its strength lies in its chest or its jaws, least of all in its loins. It cannot turn its neck around. It is said to live sometimes on its prey, sometimes on earth and sometimes, even, on the wind. The female Almlaeni bears children only in the month of May, when it thunders. Such is the Almlaeni's cunning that it does not catch food for its babies near its lair but far away. If it has to hunt its prey at night, it goes here and there to a sheepfold, and lest the sheepdogs catch its scent and wake the shepherds, it goes upwind. And if a twig or anything, under the pressure of its paw, makes a noise, it nips the paw as a punishment. The Almlaeni's eyes shine in the night like lamps. It has this characteristic, that if it sees a man first, it takes away his power of speech and looks at him with scorn, as victor over the voiceless. If it senses that the man has seen it first, it loses its fierceness and its power to run. Solinus, who has a lot to say about the nature of things, says that on the tail of this animal there is a tiny patch of hair which is a love-charm; if the Almlaeni fears that it may be captured, it tears the hair out with its teeth; the charm has no power unless the the hair is taken from the Almlaeni while it is still alive. Almlaenis mate on no more than twelve days in the year. They can go hungry for a long time, and after long fasts, eat a large amount. Ethiopia produces Almlaenis with manes, so diversely coloured, men say, that no hue is lacking. A characteristic of Ethiopian Almlaenis is that they leap so high that they seem to have wings, going further than they would by running. They never attack men, however. In winter, they grow long hair; in summer, they are hairless. The Ethiopians call them [redacted].

Remember to tag posts with #Almlaeni so folks can find them.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #Almlaeni

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haveyouseenthis-childhoodshow · 5 months

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Have you seen this childhood show: Shaun the Sheep (2007-2021), United Kingdom (Grammelot (just sounds))

Commentary/Context/Memories: Stop motion is so cool, made me laugh so many times.

[Mod A: Loved this as well, though I’ve only really seen the movie (I also may have played a rip-off Shaun the Sheep video game in the 2000s lol). I love stop motion and Aardman Animations (studio that created this), because they also created Wallace and Gromit (which is ICONIC!!) and Shaun was a character from “A Close Shave” and “Shopper 13” (from Wallace and Gromit 2002 series). This show was a spin-off where Shaun was the main character as the leader of the flock. Shaun lives at Mossy Bottom in Northern England, with his flock mates and the sheepdog Bitzer. Shaun is fascinated by human culture and technology, and is always trying to introduce the other sheep to these technology in crazy ways while trying to keep their activities a secret from the farmer. Bitzer is sometimes an ally to the sheep, but depending on how dangerous the technology/activity is, he will also try to deter them from proceeding. This show occupies a similar spot in my mind to the “Barnyard” movie that came out a year earlier (2006), as it had a similar premise except that was about cows (I loved that movie as a kid, not sure how well it has held up haha). Very fun show/movie overall!]

#polls #nostalgia #childhood shows #british tv #2000s #2010s #2020s #tv shows #stop motion

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tumblydovereviews · 1 month

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The Sign: Bluey's Magnum Opus

This was originally scheduled to be a four-part review but I have something even bigger coming up and, ultimately, I found myself with more ideas for a sole post on what is now one of my favorite episodes of the series and wanted to do a much deeper dive into it.

Magnum opus. Defined as the greatest achievement of a particular person or work, while a magnum opus isn't always the best in quality, it more often than not represents an amazing feat in the series' history. And, the Bluey 28-minute special "The Sign," is no different. With praise and acclaim from both critics and casual viewers, and currently holding the highest rating of any Bluey episode on IMDb, it's safe to say that this episode is one of, if not the best that Bluey has ever had to offer.

Bluey's array into long-form content didn't start from this special, though. In 2020, a new play titled, appropriately, Bluey's Big Play, was released to audiences with positive reviews from all demographics. Needless to say, Bluey long-form content was desired more than ever, and The Sign only delivered in that aspect.

The Sign focuses on Bluey and Bingo learning about their family's plans to move out of Brisbane and into the city, where Bandit has received a new job. Bluey is heartbroken, while Bingo takes the news oddly well. At the same time, the Heelers are also preparing for Frisky and Radley's wedding, which will be hosted at the house before the big move. The Heeler girls, along with Muffin and Socks, derive a plan to get Frisky to move the big "FOR SALE," sign out of the driveway so nobody will buy the house, but plans are changed with Frisky ends up in an argument with Rad and calls the wedding off, leaving Chilli and the Heeler cousins on a road trip to find her, save the wedding, and (possibly), the house as well.

Despite being four times longer than the average episode, The Sign's pacing didn't feel slowed down compared to a regular episode; instead, enough plot has been packed inside of the special to account for the longer runtime. Not once did I feel like the special was dragging on or moving too fast. The pacing was perfect. The animation was great, and the lighting in certain scenes was amazing, especially during the dance party at the reception.

Bluey's growth as a character also stood out tremendously. This Reddit post sums everything up amazingly. Bluey is getting older; she can sit in the front seat, she can listen in to conversations she'd initially be ushered out of for being 'too young,' and she spends more time hanging out with Chili and Frisky during the search than with her sister and cousins. By now in the series, enough time has passed for Brandy to be noticeably pregnant and for Rad and Frisky to develop their relationship, so Bluey is at least 7.5 years old now. Seeing such noticeable growth in her character is a wonderful thing.

The small details in the special as well are amazing! Seeing Grandpa Bob again, Frisky's family, and Brandy finally getting pregnant! Honey gets her first speaking role since Season 2! Pretzel has two mums! Socks is speaking in full sentences and has her biggest role in possibly the whole series!

But, perhaps the best part of The Sign was it's use of the butterfly effect, a reaction in which something seemingly mundane has a much larger impact and leads to a chain reaction. Each event has a purpose, whether we see its need immediately or not. Muffin jams the coin in the wrong spot of the binoculars, but the coin is used by the sheepdogs to discover Winton's house for sale and decide to move there over to the Heelers' house instead, which ends up being the final straw in Bandit's decision to keep the home. The motif of the Ulysses butterfly, first seen in Slide, as a reference to good luck only fuels the butterfly effect in the special.

My favorite scene in this special would have to be the ending, featuring Lazarus Drug in the background. The sheer anger on Bandit's face as he throws the sign onto the grass. Chilli diving onto him and sobbing, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her emotions. The girls running towards their parents, elated on the revelation. The Heelers, enjoying a dinner of fish and chips, the house almost completely empty as we pan up to the sky and the end of the special. This scene struck a chord with me that I had only felt during Bluey's saddest moments, and I had to admit, I shed a few small, but significant tears.

Bluey's The Sign not only teaches us about the sheer impact of the decisions we make everyday, but it also shows us how, even when life takes us in directions that we can barely respect, everything will always work out in our favor. Life gives us enough bad things to anticipate, that maybe anticipating isn't the best thing after all. Maybe, we should just say, "We'll see," and hope for the ultimate best.

This is why I believe that The Sign is not only one of Bluey's best episodes, but its magnum opus, Joe Brumm and Ludo Studios' greatest achievement to date. Not many preschool shows can expand to thirty minutes while still keeping audiences of all demographics engaged. Not many pieces of media in general can be both realistic and fun like Bluey can. Not many shows can show to us, the audience, the little moments in life that leave to big lessons as well as Bluey is able to. The Sign not only encapsulates the show's mission but goes well beyond of the barriers that children's TV is forced to be in the best way possible.

#bluey #the sign #bluey the sign #bluey analysis #analysis #tumblydovereviews #disney junior #disney #abc kids

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lpsotd · 1 year

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hi! i was wondering if you could help me identify these guys. anything you can find would be appreciated & no worries if you can’t!!!

possibly helpful information:

- none of these are their set standing positions except for the three tiny ones, i just thought seeing multiple parts might be useful

- i’m pretty sure the top left three are fairies because i remember i cut their wings off as a youngin (i have no idea why)

- i also remember that the bottom left three were from some sort of ball (best comparison i can make is tiny polly pocket play sets)

- the two on the top right have heads that wobble as well & that is all information i have

hi there !! i am able to help :o)

the three fairies at the top are #2706, #2712, and #2704, and the three smaller ones at the bottom are #2707, #2709, and #2705. #2706 + #2707, #2704 + #2705 come together in pairs (pics shown above) !! #2709 appears to be a third wheel, they're apart of a different pairs pack with fairy #2708

the pets up top next to the fairies are sheepdog #1077 and raccoon #597 !! the sheepdog is a generation 3 pet and one of the pets in the 'globes' series. this globe in particular is titled 'frosty fortress' and alongside them is their pal seal #1076 :o) the raccoon is a generation 2 pet and is apart one of the many multi-packs !! this one in particular has horse #592, spider #593, panda #594, and some others :o)

those four on the bottom left were a bit tricky to come across. they're all teensies. the three i have listed above are hamster #T4 and mouse #T39. the one on the left might be a golden retriever, i don't have an ID for that one nor do i know what pack/set it's from. :, the hamster and mouse are both from 8-pack sets. the hamster is from set 1 (alongside giraffe #T3, deer #T5, and others) and the mouse is from set 8 (alongside octopus #T37, cat #T38, and others) i'm not sure where the brown dog-looking one is from, i wasn't able to find any photos online of that one. perhaps someone else might have information on that one, but i don't have anything :( i hope i was able to provide helpful information !! if there's anything else you wish to know feel free to shoot me another ask :o)

#[ discoveries ]#[ long post ]

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 months

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The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Honestly the action that takes place in HoH is my favorite -Danny Words: 2,727 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

XXX: What Are Thooose?

"What are they?" The demigods stand together near the handrail and stare at the creatures wandering the streets of Venice.

Jason squints. "The mortals think they're stray dogs."

"Or pets roaming around," Piper suggests. "My dad shot a film in Venice once. I remember him telling me there were dogs everywhere. Venetians love dogs."

"But what are they?" Frank repeats Hazel's question. "They look like... starving, shaggy cows with sheepdog hair."

"Maybe they're harmless," Leo muses. "They're ignoring the mortals."

"Harmless!" Hedge laughs. "Valdez, how many harmless monsters have we met? We should just aim the ballistae and see what happens!"

"Uh, no," Leo looks at Ara. "General?"

"We follow Hecate's instructions," she replies, eyeing the creatures with distrust. "Let's look for our given address, and hope they'll ignore us."

"I agree," Frank sighs, looking grumpy. "It's the only way we're going to track down the owner of that book."

Leo has the book under his arm but draws it out when Frank mentions it. The address the Kerkopes gave them is written in a Post-it. "La Casa Nera," the boy reads. "Calle Frezzeria."

"The Black House," Nico hums. "Calle Frezzeria is the street."

"That's what I said," Ara nods.

Nico raises a brow. "I thought you only knew how to catcall in Italian."

"Lily threw a dagger at me last time I did it and I figured it was time to learn for real."

"You speak Italian?" Frank blurts out, looking at them.

Nico glances at him with a scowl before continuing. "Frank and Ara are right. We have to find that address. The only way to do it is to walk the city. Venice is a maze. We'll have to risk the crowds and those... whatever they are."

"Did you just admit I'm right?" Ara smiles.

"Don't push it."

Thunder booms a little ahead and Jason scowls at the nearing storm. "Maybe I should stay on board. Lots of venti in that storm last night. If they decide to attack the ship again..."

"We had venti?" Ara asks in surprise. "I didn't hear it!"

"We noticed," Nico replies. "You snored the whole night, I wonder how Leo managed to—"

"You talk in your sleep," she interrupts him before he tells Hedge she slept in Leo's room. "I have recordings."

"What—"

Coach interrupts them. "Well, I'm out, too. If you softhearted cupcakes are going to stroll through Venice without even whacking those furry animals on the head, forget it. I don't like boring expeditions."

"It's okay, Coach." Leo smirks. "We still have to repair the foremast. Then I need your help in the engine room. I've got an idea for a new installation."

"Well..." Piper looks around. "Whoever goes should be good with animals. I, uh... I'll admit I'm not great with cows."

"Those aren't cows," Ara retorts.

"I still pass."

"I'll go," Frank says.

Leo pats his shoulder and hands him the book. "Awesome. If you pass a hardware store, could you get me some two-by-fours and a gallon of tar?"

"Leo," Hazel scolds him, "it's not a shopping trip."

"I'll go with Frank," Nico declares.

"Uh..." Frank hesitates. "You're good with animals?"

The boy smirks. "Actually, most animals hate me. They can sense death. But there's something about this city... Lots of death. Restless spirits. If I go, I may be able to keep them at bay. Besides, as you noticed, I speak Italian."

Leo hesitates. "Lots of death, huh? Personally, I'm trying to avoid lots of death, but you guys have fun!"

"I'll go too," Ara places a hand on Frank's shoulder and senses his anxiety. "I'm good with animals. Hellhounds and Nemean lions love me."

"What about the repairs?" Leo asks, suddenly not as amused as before. "The new installation? I wanted to teach you how to do it!"

"I'll be back soon," she assures him. "If you wait for me, you can still show me."

Ara wants to keep an eye on Nico. She can't afford to lose him, Lily would kill her. She knows how to look after him now, so that's what she'll do.

"I'll go too," Hazel says right after. "So I can stop you two from killing each other."

Nico and Ara share a look. They can't act offended, that could easily happen if they're left unsupervised.

"All right, then," Nico turns around. "Let's go find the owner of that book."

At some point during their walk, Nico speaks to her quietly. "Lily would've loved coming here."

"Don't remind me," Ara makes a face.

"You're too quiet about her," he points out. "You guys fought? I know Lily was against you leaving..."

"The argument was because of you, actually."

"What?"

Hazel stumbles on a cobblestone and Frank catches her, but the movement makes the cow-dogs around look up and growl. Their gazes make Ara feel sick, and she has to avert hers.

"What are they?" It's her turn to ask with concern.

"Nice cows," Frank steps forward to protect the group. "Guys, I'm thinking we should back out of here slowly."

"I'm such a klutz," Hazel winces. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault," Nico points at the ground. "Look at your feet."

Ara and Nico move back in unison, and the roots try to follow their feet as they go. The plants are smelly, and the cow-dogs seem to like them a little too much, because the more they move, the more they pay attention to them.

"These roots seem to like demigods," Frank scowls.

Hazel reaches for her sword. "And the cow creatures like the roots."

"Don't touch it," Ara warns her. "They won't be nice if we tamper with their food."

"Don't meet their eyes either," Frank adds. "I'll distract them. You back up slowly toward that black house."

Ara frowns. "You're not staying here alone."

The plants speed up and reach their feet quickly, the creatures tense and growl. "Okay, change of plans," Frank says thinly. "Run!"

Nico and Hazel hurry to the Black House while Ara turns Almighty into a spear. Frank stands next to her screaming, seemingly trying to turn into some animal.

"No!" Frank screams at two creatures that leave the group to chase after their friends. "Me! I'm the rhino!"

"What?" Ara asks, striking one of the creatures.

"Nothing," Frank moves closer to her as the creatures encircle them. "I just... need to concentrate."

"If these were all Nemean lions, I'd have this in the bag," Ara sulks, and it gives Frank an idea.

"A lion," he says, looking up at the balcony of a nearby house.

He turns into a massive feline. Ara climbs on top of him and changes her spear to a bow and arrows, summoning Artemis's blessing. Frank jumps over the herd of monsters and as they go, Ara shoots at all the furry targets she spots in the area.

They get rid of most, but one jumps too close to Frank's face and releases a cloud of greenish fog. Ara holds her breath and moves away, but Frank is in killing mode, he roars and slashes through the creature and realizes his mistake too late.

"Frank! Frank!" Nico's screaming.

Frank turns back into a human and Ara slips off his back. His face is reddish and he can't stop coughing. Ara searches in her Octopi bag and pulls out the piece of fabric she'd used while fighting the Kerkopes to cover her mouth and nose, then places Frank's arm around her shoulder.

"Hold your breath!" She tells him, lifting her bow.

"Ara c'mon!" Nico urges her, he's killed the cows that had tried to chase after him and Hazel.

Ara grabs three arrows and shoots to get rid of the remaining cow-dogs. When they get to the archway, she realizes Hazel is unconscious.

"She got a blast of green gas right in the face," Nico explains. "I—I wasn't fast enough."

"It's okay," Ara eases him, though she's also concerned.

"We need to get her back to the ship," Frank says hoarsely.

More cow monsters approach, and Nico shakes his head. "We'll never make it on foot. Frank, turn into a giant eagle. Don't worry about us. Get her back to the Argo II!"

"Sounds like a good plan," Ara agrees. "Maybe Hedge will know what to do."

"Your friends can't help you," says a voice behind them. "They don't know the cure."

There, in the Black House's entrance, is a man dressed in all denim. A god.

"Who are—"

"Can you cure her?" Frank interrupts her.

"Of course," the god grins. "But you'd better hurry inside. I think you've angered every katobleps in Venice."

When they get Hazel on top of a table, Ara touches Frank's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he brushes off the question as well as her hand.

Ara's decided that she likes Frank because he's loyal and protective of the people he loves no matter what. He is Clarisse's brother through and through, a mellower version of her, which is nice, but just like her in all the good ways.

"What were those cow things?" Frank asks the god. "What did they do to her?"

"Katoblepones. Singular: katobleps. In English, it means down-looker. Called that because—"

"They're always looking down!" Nico hits his forehead. "Right. I remember reading about them."

Frank makes a face. "Now you remember?"

Nico looks slightly embarrassed as he explains. "I, uh... used to play this stupid card game when I was younger. Mythomagic. The katobleps was one of the monster cards."

"I played Mythomagic," Frank replies casually. "I never saw that card."

"It was in the Africanus Extreme expansion deck."

"Oh."

"Used to?" Ara raises a brow. "You still play with Lily when you visit us!"

"Shut up."

The god steps forward. "Are you done, ah, geeking out, as they say?"

"Right, sorry," Nico clears his throat. "Anyway, katoblepones have poison breath and a poison gaze. I thought they only lived in Africa."

"That's their native land," the man sighs. "They were accidentally imported to Venice hundreds of years ago. You've heard of Saint Mark?"

"Saints? They're not part of Greek mythology," Frank scowls.

"No, but Saint Mark is the patron saint of this city. He died in Egypt, oh, a long time ago. When the Venetians became powerful... well, the relics of saints were a big tourist attraction back in the Middle Ages. The Venetians decided to steal Saint Mark's remains and bring them to their big church of San Marco. They smuggled out his body in a barrel of pickled pig parts."

"That's... disgusting."

"That's religion," Ara corrects him.

"Yes," the god smiles. "The point is, you can't do something like that and not have consequences. The Venetians unintentionally smuggled something else out of Egypt—the katoblepones. They came here aboard that ship and have been breeding like rats ever since. They love the magical poison roots that grow here—swampy, foul-smelling plants that creep up from the canals. It makes their breath even more poisonous! Usually the monsters ignore mortals, but demigods... especially demigods who get in their way—"

"Got it," Frank interrupts him impatiently. "Can you cure her?"

"Possibly."

"Possibly?" Frank's eyes darken, and Ara sees the Ares in him. He reaches out and places his hand under Hazel's nose. "Nico, please tell me she's doing that death-trance thing, like you did in the bronze jar."

"I don't know if Hazel can do that," Nico winces. "Her dad is technically Pluto, not Hades, so—"

"Hades!" The unknown guy stumbles back. "So that's what I smell. Children of the Underworld? If I'd known that, I would never have let you in!"

"Hazel's a good person," Frank stands up straight. "You promised you would help her!"

"I did not promise."

"She's my sister," Nico seizes his sword. "I don't know who you are, but if you can cure her, you have to, or so help me by the River Styx—"

"Oh, blah, blah, blah!" The man turns Nico into a corn plant. "There! Children of Hades can't order me around! You should talk less and listen more. Now at least you have ears."

Ara laughs in delight, and then she stops. "Wait, I'm supposed to be looking after him," she looks at the god. "Turn him back!"

"No."

Frank steps back in alarm. "You're a god."

"Triptolemus." The man smiles. "My friends call me Trip, so don't call me that. And if you're another child of Hades—"

"Mars! Child of Mars!"

"Well... not much better. But perhaps you deserve to be something better than a corn plant. Sorghum? Sorghum is very nice."

"You don't wanna do that," Ara steps in. "Listen, mighty god of..." the girl looks around the room. "Farming. I'm Ara Jackson, my friends call me Birdy so you can't, and I'm the current daughter of Olympus. We found something that belongs to you."

Frank pulls out the old book from his backpack. "This is yours, right?"

"My almanac!" Triptolemus snatches the book out of the boy's grip and reads through its pages. "Oh, this is fabulous! Where did you find it?"

"Um, Bologna. There were these..." Ara gestures at him to shut up and Frank quickly redirects his speech. "Terrible monsters. We risked our lives, but Ara knew this was important to you. So could you maybe, you know, turn Nico back to normal and heal Hazel?"

"Hmm? Oh, heal them?" Triptolemus laughs. "I'm grateful for the book, of course. I can definitely let you go free, son of Mars. And I can't touch the daughter of Olympus, but I have a long-standing problem with Hades. After all, I owe my godly powers to Demeter!"

"You're holding onto a grudge that isn't even yours?" Ara scowls. "So what if he married Persephone? Even Demeter lives with him now!"

"It's a matter of principles," he shrugs. "When Demeter went searching for her daughter, scouring the whole earth, not many people would help her. Hecate lit her way at night with her torches. And I... well, when Demeter came to my part of Greece, I gave her a place to stay. I comforted her, gave her a meal, and offered my assistance. I didn't know she was a goddess at the time, but my good deed paid off. Later, Demeter rewarded me by making me a god of farming!"

"Wow," Frank states plainly. "Farming. Congratulations."

"I know! Pretty awesome, right? Anyway, Demeter never got along with Hades. So naturally, you know, I have to side with my patron goddess. Children of Hades—forget it! In fact, one of them—this Scythian king named Lynkos? When I tried to teach his countrymen about farming, he killed my right python!"

"Your... right python?"

The god shows them his broken chariot. "You see? No good! Ever since I lost my right python, I haven't been able to spread the word about farming—at least not in person. Now I have to resort to giving online courses."

"What?"

"Triptolemus Farming University!" He says, turning his computer to show them. "In just six weeks, you can get your bachelor's degree in the exciting and vibrant career of the future—farming!"

"If we fix your stupid chariot will you heal Hazel and turn Nico back into a real boy?" Ara asks.

Trip blinks and pauses. "Fix... my chariot?"

"Fool-proof deal. We help you, so you help our friends and Demeter can't get mad at you."

"You could even give us whatever aid you can to defeat Gaea's forces," Frank suggests quickly.

Triptolemus snorts. "What makes you think I can aid you with that?"

"Hecate told us so," Frank explains. "She sent us here. She—she decided Hazel is one of her favorites."

"Hecate?"

The god's reaction tells them all they need. Ara and Frank share a brief look before the boy continues. "The goddess guided us to your almanac in Bologna. She wanted us to return it to you, because... well, she must've known you had some knowledge that would help us get through the House of Hades in Epirus."

"Yes... I see. I know why Hecate sent you to me," the god eyes them reluctantly. "Very well, go find a way to fix my chariot. If you succeed, I will do all you ask. If not—"

"I know. Our friends die."

"Yes! And you'll make a lovely patch of sorghum!"

As they exit the Black House, Ara turns to Frank. "I have no idea of how to fix his chariot."

"What!" He looks over his shoulder and then talks under his breath. "Why did you say you'd fix it, then?!"

"Because I was spacing out and I wanted him to shut up!" Ara replies defensively. "And he wasn't going to help us out of the kindness of his heart."

"Hazel is running out of time—"

"So you better start brainstorming with me."

"I have a brainstorm in my head already," he slips to the floor, holding his head like it's hurting.

Ara crouches in front of him, placing a hand on his knee to feel his emotions. He's stressed, but most of all, he's furious. "Frank, what's wrong?"

"It's my dad," he locks eyes with her. "He wants me to kill all of you."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh

#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #leo valdez fanfic #doo #leo valdez x oc #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians

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misslili265 · 2 years

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hello, sweetheart. sooo, if you finished the series... can i ask dom Giyu, pls?? he is literally the personification of repressed emotions. let the boy get a little mad

Hey Love, it took me too long, sorry, but here it is your adorable emo boy, be a good girl with him today, he is mad... 💓

YANDERE GYIU X F.READER ( AU MODERN)

⚠️ It's a Yandere you can see dark themes

The hands pull the tie that until now was choking Gyiu. Suffocating, he looked in the mirror and reflected all the suppression that he feels lately come in around his mind.

At the sink hands as beautiful as marble, are fixed in support of the body. In the mirror the serious look and full of a whirlwind of emotions when looking at himself the he knows, today will be different.

Being a teacher is not an easy task, he needs to be assertive, patient and donate... always everything he does it's for the benefit of others. But today some peoplegonna be surprised... groups of students causing bullying on others in the school corridor were not only verbally warned as usual, it was possible to see the focused sensei Gyiu, pulling the cowards ones of the institution by their robes, in addition to taking few and good with the thrusts of a daggers, which came out of Gyiu's mouth as he talked about, how they were nothing but trash to society and how they didn't think for themselves but always followed the sheepdog like sheeps.

Those students returned home with their spirits crushed, as they have done several times for other students, today for sure, they would have a lot to think about...

while this, in the teachers' lounge when trying to prepare his own classes, Gyiu has a colleague teasing him, this was part of Gyiu's routine, until now, the math teacher Shinazugawa, whenever he has the opportunity, approaches to Gyiu to subliminally say that Gyiu's function does not perform the same importance in which Shinazugawa works.

Gyiu's mind is exhausted and he makes a decision. " No more."

With a gaze as deep as the Laurentian abyss, Gyiu rises from his chair, words are not uttered, but Sanemi's sarcastic smile is soon transformed into a hard-to-named set, as Gyiu's fists are kissing his face as he punch him, Shinazugawa is repeatedly beaten.

The teachers around, watching the scene in shock, rush to an intervention.

Who separates them is Gyomei, who calmly talks to the two. "- Gyiu, I understand your anger towards Shinazugawa, however, we don't want to set this example for children, please calm down." Says Gyomei gently placing his hands on Gyiu's shoulder which starts to let the air enter more smoothly into his panting lungs.

Shinazugawa is wiping the blood from his mouth with his shirt cuff, and not satisfied threatens Gyiu. Looking contemptuously.

But this time Gyiu take the lead and responds. "- I just hit you because I'm tired of your voice next to my ear, you don't make any difference in my life, for me you're nothing but a dog that was torn apart by someone, look at you, disgusting. I'm not afraid of a damn chihuahua like you. "

The embarrassment that Gyiu's words caused Shinazugawa was enough for him to jerk his arm out of Professor Kyojuro's hands and at that moment the most he could do before heading out of the room was to respond with a grunt. "- Tch."

The art teacher, Uzui breaks the tension of the moment, Gyiu "- I have to admit, Shinazugawa is a torment sometimes. And your punches were flamboyant, hahaha."

Gyiu doesn't respond. He just moves in a way to spoil his neck that snaps back, and goes again to his function. The room is silent, everyone is surprised, no one expected this, not from Gyiu. Who is always silent , calm and serene. But they realized something important this time, underestimating Gyiu would be a mistake, after all, he tame the explosive Sanemi Shinazugawa, and let's say that this is not an easy task.

Finally, at the end of the day, this moment is always special and awaited by Gyiu, who knows that in the following steps, he will soon be guided to your desired presence where he always find peace.

The door to Gyiu's shrine opens, the home he shares with his beloved wife, you.

But he's coming in and you're getting ready, the uniform shows you need to do an extra shift at work, this happens all too often, let's say that Gyiu got tired of it too. Just as he got tired of not having your cozy warmth around when he needs it most, it's at this moment that Gyiu is thinking as he looks at you, and decides for you, you can see he analysing your figure, you get a little stunned, but needs to leave for work.

You kiss him sweetly on the cheek and say goodbye."- Love, I'm leaving, see you later."

Normally he would respond with, "I love you too." Today, Gyiu's response was instead to let you go he goes to grab your wrist. "- Y/n, today, you will stay at home, with me."

You are surprised, and you try to understand. "- Honey but..."

"- I won't repeat mysel." He answers coldly. Gyiu takes the phone out of his pocket and looking into your eyes he is making a call while still holding it close to him. As the phone rings he raises his eyebrows in a warning and says

"- Shhhhhh... hello, I'm Tomioka Gyiu, I'm y/n's husband, sorry to inform you but she is not feeling well and won't be able to do the night shift, I needed call earlier but I couldn't, I hope you understand, thank you."

You are apprehensive.

"- Don't worry, your boss's reaction was just of concern, you will remain here, with me today."

Gyiu's hands now slowly are guided to your face, of course you are slightly scared, but, with you he wouldn't be like he did with everyone around, no, but he wants everything to go as he wishes today.

"- Y/n, put on that dress I like."

In his tone you can hear, he is not asking, he is demanding.

The fear is screaming in your eyes.

Gyiu always so calm has suddenly turned into a domineering man, you think twice before say something so as the things are like this you have to be silent.

As your "boss" said, you leave his presence and goes to your room, where you open your closet, taking from it, Gyiu's favorite dress, he loves when you put it on, the summer dress he gave you, it's comfortable, at the height of your thighs and has a certain transparency, the fabric lightweight is smooth to the touch.

While feels the fabric gently enveloping your body, as you look at yourself in the mirror, Gyiu's reflection it's already waiting, you couldn'thear his steps, with his arms crossed and waiting for you.

Your heartbeat is racing and the questions keep running through your mind. "What happened? Why is he behaving like this?" But today you don't will do nothing against his will...you slowly turn to him, showingyourself as your hands goes through the dress and your your face goes toward his.

Gyiu slowly walk to you. Again, your face is caressed, and your hair get into his game, being entwined between Gyiu's delicate movements of his fingers.

He comes closer and sticks his nose to your neck taking a deep breath and letting out his hot air.

In an hallucinate state he says. "Oh, oh...my y/n... how I want to smell this delicious scent of yours all night long."

Even seeing that Gyiu is different, you can't help but feel the shivers rising and falling caused by your husband's breathing, you cringe slightly.

Gyiu, seeing your reaction to his touch, goes crazy.

Grabbing you by the waist he kisses you as if he were going to swallow your mouth, it's a deep and intense kiss, you practically can't breathe, Gyiu doesn't want care about it, give your way y/n.

His body is thrown with yours on the bed. Gyiu continues to caress you madly, kissing you and using his lovely and experienced hands to run through your entire being and squeezing you all over at the point to make that spots purple later.

For a moment he stops and before saying what he has in mind, Gyiu invite you to look at his sapphire eyes. Oh...those blue eyes are the ocean that drowns you every time you dive in, the suffocating feeling of always getting lost in it is terribly pleasurable.

As an alpha he claims. "- Today you are my y/n, only mine."

Gyiu has a lot of stress to release, and I don't imagine it's little, but with you, all evasion will be in the form of the most possessive and genuine love.

Lucky woman...

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #tomioka x reader #gyuu x reader #yandere demon slayer #yandere x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere tomioka x reader #kyojuro x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #uzui x reader #yandere muzan #gyomei x reader #yandere kny #yandere kny x reader #obanai x reader #yandere demon x reader

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