#that’s the fucking sad reality of this world and i hate it

[barnbridges]

i grew up reading the romanian fantastic and the thing that makes interview with the vampire FUN to read in spite of anne being racist and xenophobic is the mythology and the way it suspends belief enough to where the books can be cohesively be seen as fantastical and narrative, as opposed to commentary on the real world. which is also why rolin jones should literally NOT tackle random shit he knows nothing about.

#i picked up miss cristina from a friend and like... #i bet you don't know but miss cristina is a short story about this sort of thing and it really made me think of #the straight magic #of a fictional vampire #like louis de pointe du lac isn't a fucking commentary on slavery on the south or on fucking romanian people #he's just a sad vampire man #sTOP GIVING SOCIAL COMMENTARY IN MY VAMPIRE GOTHIC NOVEL ROLIN #I DONT CARE #like i don't hate jacob anderson as an actor - i think he tries #but the whole idea of... the vampire chronicles giving social commentary #is so ironic to me #LIKE THE BOOKS ARE SO REMOVED FROM REALITY THERE'S LIKE TWO AND A HALF WOMEN IN THEM #the world in the vampire chronicles is one inaccessible to us and independent of like. concepts similar to ours. #it's like if succession tried to give racial commentary. #tHE CHARACTERS ARENT LIKE THAT OR MEANT TO DO THAT

[sammygender]

some of my most random fucking original characters from half-baked story ideas i have yet to fully develop are the most tragic ones to ever exist. like yeah the people from my current work are pretty fucked up but they don’t inspire as much pain in me as when i think about citydale characters. min truly and genuinely makes me want to cry

#it’s just. auuugh when you’re a writer and you’re sooo lonely and you’re this like 15 year old trans kid and your sisters dead and your mom #hates you and all you can do is live in your own delusion and form parasocial relationships with strangers in your class or on your tiktok #but for some reason god picks you why does god pick you is it even god??? and you create ur own little fucking self contained world through #your writing and as you write your characters based off these real life parasocial relationships you suck these real people into this fake #world and you rewrite their lives and everything about them and make them more relatable and more you and control their fates the way you #can’t control your own. and suddenly ur 16 and ur a miniature god and everyone you were obsessed with hates you so so much but you never #meant to do anything bad. and there’s one kid who gives you a chance and he’s just like you but yeah of course he is that’s because you MADE #him just like you you wouldn’t give him a happy ending or a happy life and he hates you too he has to! #and then you’re road tripping with this kid through a town that’s not real and a world that’s not your own even though you made it #and ur meeting god and ur meeting angels but who fucking knows you might just be hallucinating everything’s so murky and you don’t know when #you got blessed/cursed with these powers and you don’t know if the boy next to you is real #and you’ve spent ur life scared of god and now you become him but he can’t be bothered with you and you’re not even the only one you’re not #even special #and all this time ur sisters dead and ur parents suck and you try to rewrite both those things but it hasn’t quite worked. and ur really sad #and fundamentally you’re still 15 and stuck in ur room creating a false reality #*will toledo voice*: heyyy space cadet it’s alright to want to dream it doesn’t mean reality is mean- #Jesus fucking christ ahyway. one of these days i will sit down and i will write citydale #oc posting… #citydale #oliver talks

[sheerioswifties]

.

#so today i broke down and fully cried over realizing the reality that i probably won't be able to go see Taylor on this tour #and i felt so stupid for it like crying over not getting to see a concert seems so trivial and i mean so many reasons but like #and like i don't cry much anymore like I've been through and am in so much pain and horrible stuff constantly and so much stress and trauma #but I've built up strength to not cry over those things like if i did I'd just be crying nonstop so i channel my emotions into trying to #solve the problems and like still I'm so unbelievably stressed but like also as an empath i feel everything really deeply but usually lately #the things that make me cry are more like sweet animal rescue videos acts of kindness touching stories or really deeply inspirational or #relatable things in books etc but so like I'm like mad at myself for crying over this but #i checked the stubhub like prices for what tix are going for and it's fucking over 500 a pop for nosebleeds i just #it's infuriating the scalping and how many hard core fans are unable to go bc of that but rich ppl who aren't really fans i just. 1000 bucks #for 300 level is just no I'm sorry that's not ever gonna happen and i just #i really thought I'd just find tickets over time closer to the event like that's how I've done several concerts but then i looked and saw #that and I'm like oh my god and that's before fees and then there's the gas to get there the repairs that need to be done to the car to get #there all the other fees involved and in realizing oh my god like I've been overconfident and now i don't see a way and I'm so sad and i #just broke down its i know iy seems stupid but first this feels like something that might not happen again anytime soon if ever the way the #world is going out could be last chance and rep tour was the first time I'd been able to see Taylor to begin with and the experience was SO #amazing it's like the one thing i looked forward to this year that lifted me up in really dark times and again i feel shitty when there's so #many fans who never get to see her international too i just. I'm sorry I'm just like this breaks my heart on levels and like #i hate how money dictates everything i hate that i went to eds last tour tickets in the same venue were 30 DOLLARS and even the Taylor ones #i think were like 75 and now it's so high bc only scalping it's so fucked up and like I'm already in a really bad hole money wise bc of #an emergency issue that happened and I've got some scary medical things going on waiting on tests and having trouble with rent and food and #gas so like i can't even try to be like. you know? like justify trying to save up that much even when i got all this #i just.

[othercrossee]

I feel like I've been using twitter lil too much cuz why do I know what edtwt is now

#z rambles #its. bad #okay um anywy i hope u all kys 🦧 #im not gonna be fucking nice about it helppp im not gonna say hppe they get better. actually i do wish that but also? #with all the shit ive seen them post im inclined to believe that wont happen anytime soon and the hate they spread is rather..... #its so sad too? cuz ive seen from their bio these are YOUNG girls. like YOUNG and theyre shaming like #everyone they deem not skinny enough. on one hand im mad but all the kys shit aside im sad as hell #like wow what the fuck kind of world do u live in for this to now be your reality #that all u do in your life is mot enjoy it to the fullest and hate on others like this. thats crazh okay um #but at the end of the day i have zero pity for people like that cuz ur still a horrible fucking person 🦧☺ #i thought it was about like recovering tgt. not body checking and body shsming literally everyone #and spreasing harmful propaganda. okayyy okay #rant #if u disagree with me on this do see yourself out cuz🧍‍��️girl.....

[generalllimaginesss]

author’s note: I blacked out while writing this, so it will be as much of a surprise to me when I wake up and reread it as it will to you when you read it for the first time. It wasn’t requested, just something that my brain came up with and wouldn’t let me sleep until I finished it. It’s loosely based off of Olivia Rodrigo’s The Grudge and the movie Sweet Home Alabama (my favorite movie). Also, this is completely made up in my head and in no way reflects something that Luke Hughes has done, or will do. It’s also 2:06 AM and I can’t promise that it’s proofread very well because I can barely keep my eyes open (I worked a double today).

Warnings: cursing, ANGST, cheating, kinda sad but has a good ending. Slow beginning, but I promise it gets better!

Without further ado….

The Grudge

“Hello?”

The single word that was the catapult for the demise of your relationship. The single word that changed the course of what you pictured your future as.

Luke’s side of the call was silent, the only noise able to be heard was his breathing, heavy as if the weight of the world was crushing his lungs, deflating him of life.

He wasn’t supposed to be calling. He had told you he was having a guys week, a time for him to regroup with his brothers and friends at the lake house. It was his own little sanctuary away from the life that he had worked so hard for. A quiet place. He had asked for that time, to which you agreed, he needed a break.

“Luke? Everything ok?”

He wanted nothing more than to hang up the phone in that instance. The reality that he was about to destroy the last bit of trust that you held for him constricting him as he fought with his vocal cords, trying like hell to form some form of vocalization.

“I need to tell you something,” He managed to squeeze the words out, every bit of courage mustered into it. The feeling of facing the mistake that he had made seemed impossible compared to simply just refusing to acknowledge it. He could ignore it all, ghost you, and pretend like he had never ruined everything. He had ruined your relationship, your love. You. He had ruined you, including everything that came from the relationship the two of you developed a couple of summers before he had left to play for Michigan.

Ironic that it would begin and end during the summer.

“Ok. Are you-”

“Are you alone?”

His brothers will kill him when they find out, but your family? The thought of them being there to wipe your tears and listen to your rants that have to do with him break his heart. He had developed a special relationship with your dad, your mom always put a stocking out for him during the holiday season, your brother? He had taught your little brother how to skate, how to play hockey. Even though he couldn’t coach your little brother’s team, he had supported him since the beginning. He had bought him his first jersey. 43.

“Yeah, Luke. You’re scaring me.”

“God, I fucking hate myself. I’m so sorry,” Sobbing, the sound of his arm wiping his nose could be heard. He knew he shouldn’t cry. He chose this.

He knew he didn’t always treat you like you should have, no deserved, to be treated. He didn’t spend time with you like he should have, he didn’t tell you he loved you enough. When you yelled at him about things, he would scream back. He would never hit you, but his words cut through your core, sometimes feeling worse than what you imagined the sting of one of his slaps might feel like.

The anxiety that stemmed from Luke’s call gripped your lungs, confusion coursing through your body outweighing the blood that sucked at carrying the oxygen at the moment. There was nothing random about your relationship, he didn’t surprise you with anything, much less a phone call.

Something is wrong.

The silence was deafening, overwhelmingly so.

“I tried to tell myself that you would never find this out, but there was somebody taking pictures and I need you to hear it from me first, ok?” He closed his eyes forcing himself to find some shred of courage left inside of him.

“Ok,” The word was breathy as it left your lips, a courtesy to encourage him to continue.

“I cheated,” It flowed out of his mouth in such a casual way that it felt like somebody had stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife and watching as you writhed in pain. The taste of iron flooded your senses as you bit your cheek to hold yourself together.

“We went to one of the local bars. She was the bartender, she knew us. Trevor invited her to the house after her shift and me and her ended up alone together while the others were out back and one thing led to another…one of the guys took a picture and posted it on their story. They forgot about you.” He tried to explain it in a way that redeemed himself. He was only 20 years old…this bartender could’ve taken advantage of him, but you knew him.

He didn’t get close to just anybody, he was the gate to his space. Nobody would get through the gate if he didn’t want them to, including this girl. Which made the bile that was building in your throat much more bitter. The fact that he not only cheated, but is trying to play victim makes you bubble with rage. Luke Hughes was very good at many things, but the one thing he had never quite mastered the role of was “victim.”

The shock coursed through your body like metal to a magnet, searching endlessly for something to smash into and deciding your heart was the place to do that. It felt like you forgot to breathe, your lungs aching for a breath.

“Y/N?” He willed you to talk, silence causing more anxiety than your anger ever would have.

“I never would have done this to you,” Your whisper spoke more volumes than a scream would have, cutting through the phone and going straight through Luke’s body. He wished you would scream at him, tell him he fucked up, but the way you said those words made him feel like this was it. He couldn’t come back from this one.

“I’m sorry,” His words were meaningless, but he spoke them nonetheless.

Those two words sent you into a silent rage, one that wrecked the inside of your mind but couldn’t be seen by anyone else. You hung up the phone, throwing it across your room and immediately packing everything that had to do with Luke into a box that you found.

Packing 4 years worth of things that you acquired from him was emotionally draining, each article triggering memories through the years.

His first Michigan Hockey sweatshirt that he had bought himself packed into the bottom of the box reminded you of the date he had planned. He had snuck the two of you into the arena when no one was there and taught you to skate, skills that still stick with you to this day. His first hoodie became yours that night, the smell of his cologne long gone from the comfort it brought you many nights when you felt lonely.

A Devils snow globe and jersey that was decorated with the number 43, his number, packed next. He had bought it for you the day he was drafted, convinced that it would be worth something one day. And it was. Just not to you anymore. The snow globe was attached to a memory that was better left forgotten. It was for your birthday, which happened to be the day after his. When you had gone all out for his 20th birthday, buying him a new custom suit and designer shoes that required months of savings, he gave you a snow globe that “you could add to your collection.” You had said some backhanded things to him, a huge fight came from that. A fight on your birthday, something else that you would’ve never done to him.

The last items consisted of hoodies, a few pairs of sweatpants and boxers, and a couple of jackets. The last thing, however, was something that you didn’t know if you could part with.

It was a letter that Luke had wrote you for Valentine’s Day the second year of your relationship, a sweet surprise that you weren’t expecting with your usual bouquet of daisies and roses, your two favorite flowers.

When you doubted your relationship with Luke in the past, when arguments and fights felt like it was all it consisted of, you always found your way back to his letter. He had told you that you were his end game, that there would never be somebody else that was better suited for him. He poured his heart out in that letter, telling you that he was going to marry you one day. One day when he had made it to the NHL and could roll in money, he was going to buy a rock for your finger and a huge house for all of the babies that you talked about.

Rereading the letter normally made you remember the good times, when things were good, but under the circumstances now it made you want to burn it, to watch his words turn to ash, just like the promises he had made to you.

Meaningless. His words were meaningless now.

It wasn’t always his fault, no. There were instances where you said things that you knew hurt him, things that echoed in the back of his head every now and then. Something along the lines of him never being as good as his brothers, that he would always be in their shadow. That Luke Hughes would be known as “just another Hughes brother.”

Some days he felt like that statement couldn’t be more true, that he would never live up to the records that Quinn and Jack seemed to break every time they stepped on the ice. Some days he just couldn’t see it coming together for him.

But other days he knew he was determined to make a name for himself, for Luke. The Hughes name was a force to be reckoned with. Luke wanted to be even better than his last name. Whatever it took, sometimes at the expense of those around him.

You snatched the letter that was stuck in the corner of the mirror that perched on top of your dresser, the sound of the paper crisp beneath your fingertips. As much as you wanted to destroy the letter, you figured it would be better to send it back to Luke. He needed to see all of the promises he broke and hurt he’s caused.

The paper was the last thing in the box, folded neatly on top of everything else.

Closing the box, you carried it to your car, placing it in the backseat behind the driver’s side. If there’s one thing that could be payback to Luke, it was telling his parents. He thrived on his parent’s approval, likely a symptom of being the youngest brother of an extremely successful family.

Ellen and Jim’s faces burned the back of your mind, so many memories that consisted of the two of them. Countless games at Michigan were spent with the two of them, as well as a couple of trips to New Jersey. You had helped Ellen cook supper many times, and watched as Jim coached his sons. Ellen’s pep talks were rarely intended for you, but you always felt like something could be learned from her wisdom.

The drive was silent, muscle memory the only way you could manage to get there in the state you were in. You didn’t know if the lights were green or if you used your blinker, all you could think about was Luke admitting to cheating. All of the shit you had been through with each other, all of the petty fights, had finally come to a head. You may have gone low, below the belt at some point in time, but this? You never could have ruined him like this, no matter how bad you wanted to.

As hurt as you were, you were numb. Tears wouldn’t fall, your body still in shock over the news.

As you drove up the paved driveway to the house that had become your second home, the emotions hit you when you saw Ellen in the flower beds, digging up weeds and planting new flowers.

She had heard a car approaching, causing her to look up and recognize you. Although she loved for you to visit, you normally didn’t come over unless Luke was with you, especially now that him and Jack owned the lake house.

She wiped at the sweat that was beading her forehead, dirt from her work gloves sticking in some of her blonde locks that were glued to her face. She smiled at you, before confusion flashed and she saw that you were carrying a box.

“Hi, Doll! Luke’s not here, but I’m glad you stopped by!” Her warm tone and kind smile didn’t fade, even if she did notice something off about your demeanor.

Her voice broke you. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring her and Jim into this. Maybe you should have just threw everything that connected you to Luke in a garbage can and called it a day.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She walked towards you with her arms open, noticing your quivering lips and teary eyes.

She was drenched in sweat from the summer sun, but you didn’t mind it. Dropping the box on the driveway, you allowed her to wrap her arms around you tightly. Her embrace gave you comfort as sobs racked through your body. How could such a loving mom and dad create such a jack ass? They had done perfect with 2/3 of their sons…what happened with Luke?

“Do you want to go inside? Jim’s working on a sink faucet, but he won’t mind,” She ushered you inside, her hand gently pushing your back.

Nodding, you wiped your nose on your sleeve and allowed her to walk you inside. She quickly washed her hands at the sink Jim was working at, earning a few objections from him, but she hushed him and motioned to you.

His face filled with concern as he noticed something wrong with you. He could fix a lot of things, but girls was something he would leave to his wife.

The leather of the couch soothed the heat that the summer sun had left on your skin. Ellen joined, sitting next to you as she rubbed your back, calming you. She truly was like a second mom.

“Is everything ok?” She held onto your arm, the pressure from her fingers sending tingles to your brain.

“No,” You croaked, the single word rattling your throat as it struggled to exit.

“What happened?” Her voice had dropped below her regular volume, but above a whisper. She cut her eyes at Jim who was attempting to listen from the kitchen.

“He cheated…”

The shock hit his parents as hard as it did you. Quinn would never cheat, Jack? It was questionable sometimes. But they’re baby? The one that had endured the lectures from his parents the longest, the one that had seen his brother’s mistakes and learned from them, the one that seemed so in love with you that nothing could ever separate you both? It seemed nearly impossible. Surely it was a mistake.

“How do you know? The press always lies…” She trailed off, your eyes connecting to hers.

“He told me,” The strength you tried to regain from your prior meltdown was useless as your voice trembled, “…said that he wanted to tell me before somebody else did.”

“Oh, Honey. I’m so sorry,” She pulled you into her arms, watching as Jim rounded the corner to join. You were like the daughter the two of them had always wanted, so seeing you hurt killed them in return. And at the hands of their son? They were immensely disappointed. They didn’t raise him like this.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, and I probably should have left you both out of it,” Your attempts at stopping the free-flowing tears were useless, so you embraced each one as it fell, “…um, I brought his stuff back. I know he’s at the lake house, but I don’t think I can see him right now. I really wish we could have worked. You two will never know how much you and your boys mean to me.”

“Likewise, sweet girl. I wish I could make this all better. You may not feel like it right now, but our family will always hold a spot for you,” Ellen reassured, a hum of agreement resonating within Jim.

“Anytime you want, and I’m serious, our door will always be open for you. No matter the time or circumstance, do you understand?” Jim waited for you to respond, a nod of your head, before embracing you again.

Their words meant so much, but the hurt still ached, seemingly never ending.

You said your goodbyes, taking in the house that you would probably never see again. The walls holding memories that only those in the house would ever understand or appreciate.

Closing the front door felt like closing a chapter on your life. A chapter that felt like it was ending in the middle with no resolve, but it closed.

It needed to.

———

As the New Year approached, your parents reminded you of the plans they had that would draw them away from home. They claimed that they celebrated Christmas with you, but the New Year meant that you were alone in a house that felt big and lonely while they celebrated with their fellow group of middle aged parents.

The months had passed, agonizingly, since Luke’s cheating admittance. The summer turned to fall and fall into winter, getting colder like you were allowing your heart to do.

A few dates here and there did nothing but remind you that the guy wasn’t Luke. They should’ve been better than Luke since they actually treated you with respect and checked every box that a girl had.

But the lack of teasing, of being the biggest pain in your ass and best friend, made the hole in your life bigger. You were sure nothing would help, not even the texts from Ellen and Jim, periodically, made it better.

They all consisted of the same topic: “How are you doing?”

It was the same old same old, until it wasn’t. Until Ellen texted you after Christmas asking you about your plans for New Year’s Eve. The Hughes had always thrown a party for the New Year, packed to the brim with people.

When Ellen asked if you had plans, you had every intention on lying and saying yes. Saying that you had a date and that he was taking you to see the countdown and fireworks that followed, but something told you to tell the truth. So you did.

After you had admitted to her that you, in fact, would be all alone, she reached out and invitation to join them.

The invitation had toggled in your mind for a few days now. On one hand, you wanted to go see how everybody was, talk to his brothers, catch up with his friends. On the other, you wanted to stay home in your pajamas and watch Andy Cohen get shitfaced with Anderson Cooper while wondering if Luke would kiss somebody for the occasion.

The saying “curiosity killed the cat” proved to be true as you had finally decided to go, a sparkly gold dress accentuated your curves, hugging you in all of the right places, the places that Luke had once yearned for. You don’t know how, but your makeup was flawless, your eyeshadow bringing out your eyes in a way that you had never seen, but you loved it. Maybe this was revenge?

Even though you hadn’t made the drive in over 6 months, you still knew it like the back of your hand. Your nerves were working overtime, anxiety squeezing your thoughts the closer you got to the Hughes’ residence.

What if Luke had a new girlfriend? What if his parents were the only ones that wanted you there? Was this actually a good idea?

Too late now.

There was probably 25 or more cars that littered the driveway, most carrying a minimum of 2 people. It was a relief, maybe you could just blend in with the rest of them. A chameleon in the house of your ex lover.

Music blared, drifting from the backyard into the front, making the walk to the door less daunting of a task. There was no use in knocking, the sound of talking and music would most likely just drown it out, so you took a breath as you pushed the door open. It appeared to be the spot for the more mature crowd, Jim spotting you as soon as you walked in.

He was confused as to who you were at first, but as soon as you gave him a shy smile his face lit up with excitement. He had missed you more than he realized.

“Y/N! What a nice surprise! Come in, make yourself at home,” He squeezed you in a tight hug before relinquishing you.

“Y/N! Oh my, I wasn’t expecting you to come, but I’m so glad you did!” Ellen squealed, the clinking of her heels against the hardwood floors becoming faster as she did her best to jog to you, embracing you like her life depended on it. It lasted a few seconds before she held you out at arms length, examining you.

“Gosh, you look absolutely stunning! That dress was made for you!” She gushed.

“Thank you! I just decided to throw something together last minute. I should have let you know I was coming, but I honestly didn’t decide until right before I got dressed,” you chuckled, explaining the lack of communication on your part.

“Honey, you do not have to explain a single thing to me! I’m just so happy you’re here!” She hugged you again, rocking you side to side.

“The kids, sorry, young adults are out back. I do have to warn you…Luke did bring a date,” As she explained the dilemma, you expected yourself to break down. When it didn’t, relief washed over you. It had been almost 7 months, why wouldn’t Luke have moved on? You couldn’t be mad at him for that part, but you still held a grudge against him for allowing you to love him as much as you did and shattering your heart in the end.

There was never another conversation between the two of you. His parents never brought him up, he had never attempted to contact you, so the resolve was the fact that you returned everything. He had nothing left connecting him to you. That was how it was supposed to be, so there was no need to communicate with you. He had gotten the message loud and clear when he had returned home to a box of his things in his old bedroom and an ass-chewing from his parents and brothers. One that he would never wish on his worst enemy.

He learned from his mistake, but felt like the very toxic situation between the two of you was better left where it was: untouched.

He had been trying to move on ever since, sleeping with any girl that reminded him of you, sneaking them out before Jack had noticed, or simply just embracing the newness of being alone. It sucked at first, but he got used to it.

Ellen’s face flushed with concern at the momentary silence that followed her statement, scared that she would scare you off with the news of her son, your ex, having a date that wasn’t you.

“Ellen, it’s ok! I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” Making light of the situation was easier to fake on the outside, but trying to convince yourself was a bit harder.

You talked to Ellen and Jim for a few more minutes, catching them up on the latest details of your life, and then grabbed a Michelob to give you some liquid courage as you walked to the backyard.

There was people dancing, circles of people talking, various games being played, the scene never-ending as your eyes scanned over them. A few people locked eyes with you, recognizing you as the ex, but most everybody just continued to do whatever it was that they were doing. It wasn’t until Quinn’s eyes softened from his party vibes to concerned big brother that you felt nerves wrack your body. He immediately excused himself from the group he was talking to, making his way through the small sea of people to get to you.

For a split second you wanted to run away, but the rational side of you talked you down. It was just Quinn. Quinn had done nothing to you except loved you as if you were his own sister, so why would you run?

“Y/N! I wasn’t expecting you…how are you?” You immediately threw your arms around his torso, him returning the gesture, his hug similar to the way Ellen had hugged you.

“I’m good! I had no other plans and Ellen seemed like she really wanted me here…”

“Yeah, she hasn’t shut up about you,” He laughed, recalling how his mom mentions you anytime a girl was over, even one that Luke brought, and always comparing them to you when they left.

You were the standard that she held possible daughter-in-laws to, but they never lived up to you, she would admit.

“Gotta love her,” You chuckled, a slight awkward tension fell between you, a foreign, icky, awkwardness.

“That you do,” Quinn tried to repair the conversation, but some friends began to pull him away. He had mentioned to not leave before telling him bye, and then left with the group.

“Didn’t think you’d show up here,” The voice turned your blood to ice, freezing up what the beer had tried to let loose prior. No matter how many ways you envisioned this interaction to go down, nothing could have prepared you for hearing his voice after so long. It wasn’t like “nails on a chalkboard” irritating, but more along the lines when you pick a scab and it starts bleeding again.

That’s quite literally what it was. He was an old wound in your life that was becoming irritated because it was being messed with. No matter how much time had passed, it was still sensitive.

“Well, didn’t think I would be here either. It’s just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” You turned around, met with the beautiful, curly-haired boy that was once your everything and a petit blonde that was his temporary. She was gorgeous, you’d give her that. But it wasn’t real beauty. It was bought. There’s nothing wrong with that, but her bleach blonde hair, fake tan, and push-up bra was irritating like nails on a chalkboard.

“Do you mind going to get us something to drink?” He turned to his date, giving him the empty bottle that his hand wrapped around.

“Is that a Michelob Ultra?” You almost snorted, her question a breath of fresh air in this unfortunate meeting.

“Not her and I, you and I,” Luke quickly cleared up.

She left with a smirk playing at her lips, kissing his cheek and heading inside.

“God, please let’s go somewhere else,” He grabbed your arm, tugging you to a secluded, area beside the shed out back. Your brain told you to rip your arm from his grip and scold him for thinking it was okay to ever touch you again, but your deemed in control and allow his touch to erupt butterflies in your tummy.

“I don’t know what I was thinking bringing her here,” he groaned, realizing he was still holding onto you, quickly letting go.

“She seems more Jack’s type, if you ask me,” You suggested, Luke squinting his eyes at your words.

“Good thing I didn’t ask…” He may have been the reason the relationship ended, but he wasn’t going to put up with any slander that you had for his current life. The life that didn’t include you.

“Whatever, why did you bring me here?” You looked around at the spot. It had definitely been a spot where the two of you had snuck off to make out several times, escaping the teasing of his older brothers.

“To talk…” He shift his weight to his heels, his hands finding warmth in the pockets on his pants.

“Oh! To talk about you being a complete dipshit and cheating on me this past summer? Yes, let’s talk about that!” Sarcasm dripped from your voice like venom from a snake, targeting the next victim: Luke.

“I’m sorry…” Again, the empty apologies were beginning to grind at you now. You didn’t want the apologies or the excuses. You wanted him to shut up for once, hear you out, and then come up with a genuine apology. He had said his piece, now it was time for you to say yours.

“No, Luke. You’re not sorry for cheating, you’re sorry you got caught. Save the apologies for when you actually mean them,” You started, him immediately shutting up and listening.

“We were so fucking toxic. You know it, I know it. The whole world probably knows it by now. But, God, I loved you so much. I would have spent my whole life trying to fight for that stupid relationship and you turned around and threw it all away. And for what? Some temporary pleasure? You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to get back to me?” Your words shot through him, like bullets hitting glass, shattering the surrounding areas. He couldn’t argue because everything that you were saying was true, but he’d be damned if he let you find satisfaction in being right.

“You said it yourself, it was toxic! You probably would’ve found a problem with me being there without you, anyway!” He tried to defend himself, but he was fanning a flame that he shouldn’t be messing with right now.

“Don’t you dare try to manipulate me into thinking your cheating was justified! Luke Hughes, I’ve said some fucked up shit throughout the years, but I never have, and never will ruin your trust. That’s the type of shit that lasts a lifetime. I can’t date anybody else because there’s always that ‘what if’ of them cheating!” Tears brimmed your eyes, softening the wall that surrounded Luke’s heart. He was a tough guy, but the sight of you hurting was a soft spot for him, an Achilles heel.

“You promised me a future, and then turned around and burned it to the ground without a second thought once you got a taste of fame,” Your finger poked at his chest hard enough for him to wince, expecting to see bruises the next morning.

“You’re a liar! A fucking liar and cheater!” Your voice broke as the words left your mouth, but Luke took the verbal beating that he deserved.

“Do you think I want to be labeled as a cheater, Y/N?! I’ve prayed for months that I’d just wake up and it not be real, that we’d still be together!”

“Awe, so sad, Luke. Truly heart wrenching!” You grabbed at your heart, feigning compassion as he began to clench his jaw, the muscle flexing as his annoyance rose. It was hot, but not hot enough for you to do anything about it.

“Stop being such a bitch, it may suit you, but it doesn’t mean you have to wear it.” His eyes grew dark, almost challenging you to see who would win in a game of insults.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was supposed to act however you deemed fit. Even if you’re a cheater…”

“I cheated, I’m not a cheater,” he tried to correct, a viscous chuckle tumbling from your mouth in response.

“I’m not! That’s the one and only time that it will ever happen, I can promise you that!” His voice rose in volume as he continued to defend himself.

“Oh, one and done Luke! How nice! My trust is fixed, so there’s nothing left to worry about!” The sound of people counting down in the background didn’t distract you.

10…9….8…

“If I’ve had anything in the past months it’s peace in knowing I don’t have to put up with your fucking nagging anymore!”

7…6…5…

“Yeah, and I don’t have to worry about you fucking some rando anymore!”

4…3…2…

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

1…

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The voices erupted behind the shed, but the whirlwind of a kiss muffled it all.

Luke eagerly pulled your face toward him, his lips colliding as intensely as a train hitting a car on the tracks. An accident waiting to happen, but there nothing that could be done about it.

It took a second or two, but you kissed back with the same passion as him, him pushing you backwards until your back hit the wall of the shed.

His lips were like home, sweet and comforting. The remnants of his vodka redbull tempting your taste buds to plunge deeper, but you didn’t, you let him set the pace.

One of his hands tilted your chin up, steadying it as the other pulled you closer from the small of your back. Every sense inside of you erupted in fireworks as his tongue tried to gain entrance into your mouth, but you stood your ground, or tried to at least.

The hand that steadied your chin found itself wrapped around your neck, the shock causing you to gasp as he gained entrance.

“Luke! I finally found something to drink, but we missed our-” The voice immediately tore the two of you apart, the fireworks over the lake and store bought pretty interrupting the fireworks that were going off inside of you. Your breathing was a little shallow as you tried to control it again.

“-kiss. What the hell.” She glanced between the two of you before storming off, her stiletto sinking into the grass as she desperately tried to remove it from her foot.

Luke groaned, but the chirping had just begun for you, “One and done, huh?”

“Me and her aren’t even dating!” He squealed.

“We’re talking about this tomorrow, Y/N. Do you understand me?” He pointed at you as he began to smooth over yet another failed attempt at dating, but he wasn’t going to reconcile that one.

“Aye aye, Captain,” You gave him a silly salute, earning an eye roll from him, but as soon as he turned away from you the smile wouldn’t disappear.

Call you crazy, but you hadn’t felt butterflies for a long time, probably since his note to you. What you felt tonight was an army of butterflies being obliterated by fireworks. The feeling of his fingers around your neck, his jaw muscle contracting, everything about him had turned you on.

Did you really fold that easily?

Oh well. The thought of the next day, the possibility of getting him back, along with his family far outweighed your pride.

He could be your Luke once more.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #jack hughes imagines #nico hischier #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x y/n #my brain is fried from writing this #but I couldn’t stop writing

[katiexpunk]

The Art of Noticing | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary:  In the hushed corners of this desolate world, where whispers of yesteryears linger among crumbling ruins, you find a peculiar kind of peace; just like you did when you fell asleep in the darkroom for the first time. Still armed with your camera, even in this new world, you try to keep your heart attuned to the silent narratives of a forsaken universe. You used to think this was your strong suit; to be able to immortalize the unnoticed, to preserve the beauty around you, even in a world of darkness. That was until it almost got you killed. And Joel Miller hates you for it.  Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.1K Warnings: This one is full on corn with plot; plus lots of emotions. No specific age gap mentioned. References to loss, grief, death and sadness. Reader almost gets her throat slit, until Joel saves the day. I mean, canon-typical violence. Joel is an asshole in the beginning. Angst. Enemies to lovers. Lots of hatred towards a bird lol. Lots of film/photography references. Ellie is a gem, as per usual. Size kink. Reference to a gun/knife. Alcohol. Use of pet names (darlin', baby, good girl, sweetheart, etc.). Unprotected P in V. Oral (M and F receiving). There's a titty fuck. Grinding/dry humping. Fingering. Nipple play. There are no physical descriptions of the reader except that she has hair long enough to whip over her shoulder. Please let me know if I missed anything. A/N: This one has been in my WIPs for months. It started off as an entirely different story, but after going through and re-reading what I originally wrote, I hated it. I have all the feels about this one. Special thank you to @sydneyinacoma for being my emotional sexy support blanket and holding my balls on this one, as per usual. And to @papipascalispunk for originally editing the first version of this story, although it looks totally different now. Iris, you're a gem. Thanks for believing in me even before I did. I hope I make you proud with this one. Masterlist | Read on AO3

Tumbling at the edge Of disaster,  This is how I lived. Oh see how the chrysanthemums  Are dry now, Yet still beautiful.  ~ Noelle Kocot

In the hushed corners of this desolate world, where whispers of yesteryears linger among crumbling ruins, you find a peculiar kind of peace; just like you did when you fell asleep in the darkroom for the first time. Your mother had always told you there was beauty in capturing the poetry in the often-ignored details, and she made sure you were given the tools you needed to do so. She was kind like that. Sometimes it's as if her presence still lingers vividly in your viewfinder, her radiant smile eternally illuminating your memories.

Your film helps you to hold on to the details that no one else is around to remember anymore, details you might one day forget; details like the color of your best friend's eyes, the warm hue of orange of your grandfather’s favorite recliner, and even the nearly lime green color of the fresh green tomatoes from your garden.

In a place where the larger story has faded, you still revel in the tiny tales—the vines reclaiming forgotten streets, sunlight gently embracing relics of the past, and the murmurs of tales etched into the decay. You think about the scratches carved into the dining room table of your childhood home and often wish you could once again find your seat around it. 

But that reality is gone. 

No longer is the girl who liked to swim or play with dolls. No longer is the girl who fought with her sister for stealing clothes from her closet, or her brother for hitting too hard. 

Like many others, she’s gone. They’re gone. 

She was whisked away to make room for the woman you are today; the person you’ve had to become to survive. 

Still armed with your camera, even in this new world, you try to keep your heart attuned to the silent narratives of a forsaken universe. You used to think this was your strong suit; to be able to immortalize the unnoticed, to preserve the beauty around you, even in a world of darkness. 

That was until it almost got you killed. 

And Joel Miller hates you for it. 

++++

Months after your patrol that went wrong, you bump into Joel outside the Tipsy Bison, giving him a cursory glance before turning around. 

The idea of saying sorry crosses your mind, but for whatever reason, you don't. Your kindness, once a vibrant tapestry, is now a threadbare token. Besides, it’s his fault. He shouldn’t have been standing so close to the doorway. If anything, he should be apologizing to you.

You’re in a rather grumpy mood this evening, having wasted the last of your film only to overexpose the prints earlier in the day. Every single one – ruined. Sure, before the outbreak, this might not have bothered you as much, but now, finding film is like striking gold, and your stash is dwindling at an alarming rate. The frustration hangs over your head like a cloudy day. All you want to do is go home and sulk – forget about the mistake – at least if you were at home crying over your photographs, you wouldn’t be subject to prying eyes. 

“Watch it,” Joel says, voice low and even, a sharp hint of annoyance behind his tone. 

You stop in your tracks. You know you should walk away from this. But your temper is already on edge, sensitivity on hyperdrive, and something about the sneer of Joel’s voice gets under your skin. You spin around in a huff and toss your hair with annoyance. “Maybe next time don’t block the door,” you bark.

Joel retorts, red-hot at your audacity. “‘Scuse me? Wanna run that by me again, sweetheart?

The pet name is patronizing; you’re a real stick in his craw. 

"You heard me," you snap back, punctuating your annoyance by crossing your arms over one another across your chest.

Joel turns around and takes a large stride toward you, closing the gap between your bodies so he’s nearly chest-to-chest with yours, his imposing figure towering over you, and his eyes narrow. “What’s got your panties in a twist tonight, hmm?” Joel asks, voice dripping with sarcasm and void of any genuine concern. 

“You” you say, “you’re always so fucki–” before you can continue your sentence, Joel stops you by placing his large index finger onto your lips to hush you. "You've got one helluva smart mouth, darlin’," he says, voice low, almost menacing. 

You freeze, looking up at him unsure of what to say as he brings his face inches from yours, the scent of whiskey heavy on his breath. The flecks of amber that dance around the edges of his irises catch your attention. As you swallow, your eyes momentarily flicker down to the thin line of his lips. Abruptly, he withdraws his hand, leaving an echo of intensity lingering in the suspended moment.

He isn’t particularly nice, but you have to admit, he is fucking hot. Since his arrival in town, he's been a magnetic force, his somber aura unmistakable to even the most casual of onlookers. A silhouette of brooding intensity, with shoulders that carve the space around him and biceps that speak of strength. His voice, a rasp in the wind, adds another layer to his already large presence. 

“I’ve been told,” you pause. “Just – just get out of my way,” you say firmly, walking away as your shoulders brush against him. 

"What's got your panties in a twist?" you scoff in your best imitation of his voice. You exhale sharply, fully aware of the true reason behind the agitation. You haven’t been fucked in years, and the heat that Joel stirs low in your belly is an incredibly frustrating feeling, knowing you’ll never get to do anything about it. 

God damn infuriating man. 

++++

As you lay in bed that night, you can't help but replay your encounters with Joel, the scenes repeat like an annoying commercial that won't leave your mind. Memories of your patrol with him keep playing on a loop, embedding themselves in your thoughts, refusing to fade away in the darkness of the night. "You could’a been killed," Joel's words still ring in your ears, the weight of his tone and the intensity in his eyes seared into your memory. You remember the sounds  – the bone-crushing crunch and the grim, wet thud as Joel swiftly dealt with the raider who tried to slit your throat for your backpack, all while you were innocently looking through the lens of your camera, attempting to take a picture of a bird on a tree branch. 

“I told you to follow my instructions, to listen, and you almost got killed on my watch – f’what? A picture of a fucking bird?” he said, trying to get you to see his point of view. Of course, you’ve apologized. Profusely, even, but it falls on deaf ears. 

Ever since that moment, Joel hasn’t looked at you the same. You're certain all he sees is a stupid little girl, unable to protect herself. Nothing but a burden. Dead weight on his already sore shoulders. 

Just go to sleep and forget about it, forget about him, you think to yourself, stirring in the scratchy fabric of your sheets. 

As you drift off, you wonder what the bird saw that day. 

++++

With a grunt, Joel manages to kick off his boots in the entryway, and they land with a loud thud against the floor. The worn wooden stairs creak beneath his weight as he ascends the steps, the dim hallway leading to Ellie's room. Pushing the door ajar, he finds her peacefully asleep. A small smile tugs at his lips, grateful to see her warm and safe. 

Retreating to his room, Joel sheds the remnants of the day – his jacket, the weight of exhaustion, and the lingering sensation of your soft lips under his finger. As he settles into bed, the worn mattress groaning beneath him, he remembers the sound of your sweet voice; your puffy, teary eyes looking up at him as you apologized; and the sticky feeling of the blood on his hands from the man who tried to hurt you. 

He wishes he would have pulled you close; and held you in the safe embrace of his arms. 

He’ll never admit it, but he forgave you almost immediately, and it terrifies him more than anything in this new world ever could.

He’s already lost so much, and he’s not sure how much more he can take. 

Surely it’s easier to hate you, rather than admit the truth, rather than lose you. 

“Fuckin’ bird,” he mumbles before drifting off to sleep. 

++++

"Come on, you've gotta be there! It's gonna be a total snooze without you," Ellie pleads, practically begging you to join her at the annual community holiday gathering.

Whereas Joel mostly acts like a grade-A jerk, Ellie is like a breath of fresh air. From the moment you met her, you’ve had a connection  – you taught her the ropes of film exposure, and she's good company in a world where friends are a rare commodity. Despite your initial reluctance, you eventually cave. It’s not really your thing, but it’s a taste of normalcy, or what passes for it in this broken world, that you crave; plus, you convince yourself that you might even get a few good photos out of it. 

Standing alone at the bar, you try to relax. You fiddle with the strap of your camera that rests on the bartop as you reminisce about how before the world turned to shit, you would have been quick to capitalize on an opportunity like this – to meet a nice guy, maybe have a drink or two and then end the night between the sheets. 

You close your eyes and try to recall the last time you were touched, but it’s fruitless. It’s been so long since you’ve felt the gentle caress of a man or anyone for that matter.

You huff your residual irritation at the thought as you notice Joel talking with Tess in the distance. Tess. She’s rather new to town. You’ve only spoken once or twice, but you’ve gathered that she is a formidable woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, but still somehow kind. 

Plus she can hunt, a welcome skill around here. As she converses with Joel, you take the time to drink in the details about her that you hadn’t noticed before. You guess she’s in her mid-40s, her hair is a mousey shade of brown with small shiny threads of gray in the mix, but she wears it well. Her complexion is soft, and her smile is nice. She’s pretty. You try not to color yourself too hard in the various shades of green as you wonder if Joel thinks the same.

“Another,” you signal to the bartender, and he fills your glass with amber liquid. 

Maybe it’s the booze or the thick air from the crowded room causing your brain to go fuzzy, but you find yourself lost living out an alternate reality in your mind – one where Joel doesn’t hate you. One where he calls you a good girl, voice thick like honey, as he fucks you within an inch of your life. 

Ellie’s voice calls you back to reality as she yells your name, signaling you to join her at the other end of the room. Downing the last of your drink, appreciating the subtle warmth it brings to your insides, you carefully place the glass on the bartop, shooting a subtle nod of appreciation to the bartender as you do; you grab your camera and place the strap around your neck. As you navigate the space toward Ellie, your keen awareness catches Joel breaking from his conversation with Tess, his gaze searing into you as you walk past both of them. His face is unreadable, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from quickening under his attention. 

++++

After hours of socializing, all you crave is the comfort of your bed. Exhausted, you stumble out of the building, your balance betraying you on the gravel beneath your feet. Shit. You stand up, brushing off the lingering dirt from your knees, inadvertently smearing a small fleck of blood into your skin in the process. Of course, the one night you decide to wear a dress, the only one you own, you would end up injured. 

“Really don’t have much spatial awareness, do ya, Darlin’?” Joel says, appearing out of the darkness, his dark and husky voice rings in your ears. It comes out a little harsher than he intended. 

You shoot him a glare, half-hoping your eyes could actually launch daggers and finish him off right then and there. "Why do you always have to be such an asshole to me?" you demand, your frustration boiling over. “I’ve already apologized as much as I can, it’s fine if you don’t like me, but you could at least be cordial,” you say, voice defeated.

His mouth opens like he has something to say, but he doesn’t respond. "Right. Screw this, I'm going home,” you sigh as you walk away, thoroughly done with whatever messed-up game of cat and mouse the two of you are playing.

Joel watches you walk away, wishing he dared to go after you. 

++++

Months go by, and despite the shifting atmosphere, as the crisp embrace of autumn gradually succumbs to the biting chill of winter; the air between you and Joel remains unchanged. His indifference is as unyielding as the encroaching winter snow.

“Tommy, please don’t make me go,” you beg. “He doesn’t even like me,” you cry, hoping he’ll have some sort of mercy on you.  

“Sweetheart, he doesn’t like anyone. ‘M sorry, but it’s gotta be you two this time, ” Tommy replies, the sentiment of his voice echoing that there is no other option. 

As you’re packing your backpack, you consider taking your camera but decide against it. Joel’s words pierce through you once more, “you almost got killed on my watch – f’what? A picture of a fucking bird?” You stash it in your dresser drawer, exchange it for a beanie and gloves, and walk out of the room to head to the stables. 

Underneath the dappled morning sunlight filtering through the trees, you tread the familiar path to the barn, a soft crunch of gravel beneath your boots. The earthy scent of hay and the distant sounds of horses create a tranquil backdrop. As you approach the stables, your gaze catches Joel's silhouette – he stands, a rugged figure, in a weathered leather jacket and denim jeans with a knife sheathed at his side and a gun slung casually over his shoulder. 

"Hey," you utter, your voice a gentle cadence, drawing closer to him. His gaze assesses you with a measured scrutiny, and with a subtle nod, he responds in a low murmur, "Ready?" The acknowledgment of your greeting remains absent. 

Once inside the barn, you see the stable attendant readying your ride. 

“‘M sorry, but you two are gonna have to share a horse,” he says, matter of fact. “Good ole bessy here has a lame foot that we gotta take care of before she’s back in commission,” he adds, patting the horse on the side. “And every other horse already has a rider for the day,” he adds. You think you hear Joel groan, but you can’t be sure. 

You give the horse a friendly greeting, running your hand along its sturdy neck, a silent bond of understanding. Climbing onto its back, you settle in comfortably. Joel, without a word, positions himself behind you. The feeling of his thick chest pressed up against your back causes your breathing to hitch in your throat. Your eyes flutter closed as Joel reaches around you to grab the reins and he gently nudges the horse to go. 

The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the path fills the air as you and Joel ride in tandem, a shared silence enveloping the space between you. The warmth of your body pressed against him, and the faint scent of your strawberry shampoo mingled with the earthy aroma of the trail, causes Joel to stiffen behind you. He adjusts his hips, subtly pulling them back, so you don’t notice.

You ride like that for what seems like an hour or more, until Joel breaks the silence, "So what’s the deal with the camera,” he asks as the horses continue their steady pace. His question throws you off. Is he being friendly?

“Oh, uh – well, my mom gave it to me when I was a little girl,” you say. Your voice goes an octave higher as you continue, “It’s all I have left of her now. All I have left of anyone, really,” you say. You bring your gloved hand up to wipe away the bead of snot that has gathered at the tip of your nose, sensitive from the cold, as you wait for his response. 

“Hmm,” he adds, sensing the sadness, the grief behind your words; a hard truth almost everyone left alive has had to live. His heart hurts for you, hell, it hurts for him, too. 

“Must be hard, reckon there’s not much worth takin’ a photo of these days,” he says, his head scanning from right to left to look out for any potential threats. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you pause. 

“When I was younger, I used to think the sound of thunder was just the sound of god rearranging the furniture,” you say, slightly angling your head back to look at him, “it’s all about perception, Joel.” 

He peers down at you, a furrow forming on his brow as he considers your words, his eyes tracking down to linger on your lips. Before you can say anything more, your attention flickers upward to the sky, the clear blue sky has been replaced by dark, ominous-looking clouds, and a raindrop falls to your cheek. 

++++

By the time you find shelter, far from the comforts of Jackson, you’re both completely drenched.

“Stay here,” Joel says, hopping off the horse and swinging the rifle over his shoulders into his thick hands. You brush away the beads of water collecting on your lashes as you watch him enter the home to make sure it’s safe. He’s gone for what feels like forever, and after he returns, the rifle is slung over his shoulder again. It’s safe.

“Alright, darlin’ – all clear, let’s get outta this mess,” he says, offering his hand to help you get off the animal. Once steady, he takes the horse by the reins to lead him into the garage for shelter. 

The rain-soaked chill clings to your skin as you and Joel step into the abandoned home, seeking refuge from the biting cold. Droplets cascade from your clothes, leaving a small puddle beneath your feet. The air inside is still, the only sound is the soft creaking of the dilapidated structure, the percussion of the raindrops falling on the roof, and the whip of the wind beating against the siding of the house. 

Without a word, you both start shedding your damp layers, your shivers becoming more pronounced in the cool silence. You stand in the dusty living room, clad in only your bra and underwear, as you hold your arms crossed over your chest partially to warm yourself but also to shield yourself from Joel’s eyes, slightly self-conscious. 

Joel briefly walks off before he returns from the bedroom off the side of the living room, having managed to find an old blanket among the remnants of the forgotten lives of the people who once lived in the home. He holds it open wide to you, an offering, and you turn your body so he can drape it around your shoulders. Once secured, you find a little bit of relief in its thick fibers. 

You turn around to face him, and he stands there, rubbing his hands together in front of him in an attempt to warm himself.

“Joel, you’re freezing,” you say, slightly taking the blanket off of your shoulders as if to offer it to him. “‘M fine, Darlin’ – I’ll be fine, keep it, you need to get warm,” he says, but you see the way his body shakes as he says it, his tender curls plastered to his forehead; weighed down by the water collecting in them. 

At that moment, you witness a fracture in Joel's stoic facade, the rugged exterior showing hairline cracks. The formidable walls he's meticulously built begin to crumble. 

"Joel, seriously, we can share – come here," you insist, extending the blanket open with one arm, inviting him into the cocoon of warmth. The gesture carries an unspoken understanding, a truce. You might hate me, but I don’t hate you. 

Joel hesitates for a second, his eyes tracing over your skin; as if he’s committing the sight of your hard nipples and damp skin to memory. 

At last, he acquiesces, closing the gap between your bodies. His hands encircle your waist, drawing you close as he wraps both arms around you. You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck, and the blanket falls around both of your bodies. With him this close, you notice the subtle scent he carries with him, a touch of rain, a dash of cinnamon, and a hint of sweat. You’re not sure how, but he smells good. 

With a long exhale, he tightens his hold on you, enfolding you against the sturdy warmth of his body. You melt into him, your cheek resting on the soft skin of his chest, and your breathing returns to a steady rhythm. You both pause there, letting the warmth swallow you up; eventually, the goosebumps that once littered both your bodies, begin to fade.  

Your stomach flips as you listen to the subtle pitter patterns of his heart and the rhythmic sounds of his breathing. You had forgotten how good it feels to just be held; to have another body pressed up against yours. You realize Joel must feel the same, your attention flickers to the hard stiffness pushing against your stomach. 

Tilting your face up to meet his, your arms still entwined around his neck, you whisper "Joel," your voice suggestive and questioning at the same time. His name hangs in the charged air.

"Darlin'," he responds in a low murmur, and before you can formulate a response, his lips claim yours in an unexpected yet tender collision. Joel groans and forces his tongue into your mouth. The intensity surges, and he begins to pull you back towards the couch. Joel pauses when the back of his calves meet the edge of the cushions, and he deepens the kiss before sitting back, pulling you with him onto his lap, the blanket falling to the floor leaving you almost bare on top of him. 

The air in the home is still cold, but you don’t care, the adrenaline pulsing through your veins and your red-hot desire for him is more than enough to keep you warm. He’s as hard as a rock under his underwear, and you hum, noting how good his cock feels beneath you. You haven’t seen it yet, but you can tell he’s big. 

 “Are you sure you want this? What about Tess?” you ask, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts as he gropes both of your breasts with his hands, his lips meeting yours once more. 

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters, leaning back to look at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” he says, his hands leaving your breasts to find your hips, and he pulls you down harder onto his clothed erection. “And Tess and I are just friends,” he adds, “You’re the one I haven’t been able to get outta my head.”

Joel closes his eyes, and his mouth hinges slightly open. It has been a while since you’ve been laid, but god were you glad to see you could still render a man speechless. 

Joel’s long, firm fingers find their way up your back to the clasp of your bra. He begins to unhook it. “Take this off,” he says, and you do as he says, throwing the damp lace onto the floor, leaving yourself completely topless on top of him. 

“God damn, Darlin’ –”, Joel responds to the sight of you. 

“Like what you see?” you say, feeling confident, and less intimated now that Joel is beneath you. Of course, he could overpower you in a matter of seconds, but in this moment, you have the upper hand. You grasp his chin, admiring the feel of the coarse hair on your fingertips, and lean down to kiss him hard. 

His cock throbs against you, and your pussy drips in response. You stay there, kissing him, grinding your clothed cunt into him, enjoying the desperate sounds he makes as you do. His firm body, soft tummy, and compact muscles spur you on. You grin as you trace your hands down his smooth chest, noting the scars -- from what, who, you can only imagine –  until your hands eventually make their way down to the band of his underwear.

Joel stops you, firmly gripping your chin to look at him. He pauses there and then pulls your face towards his, firmly sucking your bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth. “Mmm, Joel,” you mutter, the words leaving your lips fumbled and sloppy. Joel intensely stares into your eyes for a moment, and you stare back, eyes wide in disbelief that this is happening. 

“C’mere,” Joel says, breaking the silence with another kiss, as you rock your hips against him again, the movement sending sparks straight to your core. God, you’re so fucking wet for him – a dripping mess. 

Joel presses his face against your chest and works his way to your pebbled nipple before daring his tongue out to lick it. You push a still slightly damp curl away from his forehead, before clenching his hair in your fist. His breath is almost desperate as he laps at your tender nipples, alternating between sucking and little flicks of his tongue. “Joel,” you moan, pulling his face into your chest.

He growls softly, and sucks at your nipple harder, then rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. You make a little noise in response. He trails the flat of his tongue up the valley of your breasts and over your exposed throat before kissing it, his hips lifting to you a bit as he does. He can’t wait to be buried inside of you. 

“Up, baby. There’s a bed in the back room,” he says, tapping your thigh. You shimmy off of him, and he rises to full height. It doesn't take long for his lips to find you again. Kissing in a way that’s almost as violent as he is, you walk backward this time, making your way to the bedroom with Joel’s guidance. 

It isn’t much, just skeletal remains of what was once a sanctuary. A duvet rests on the creaky old bed, its once vibrant pattern lost to time and dust. The room is mostly bare apart from the bed and a half-falling apart nightstand. Joel sits down on the bed and you fall to your knees in front of him. Your fingers hook under the elastic of his underwear, and his hips cant up to help you pull the fabric down and off his legs. 

The cock that springs free is thick and long. You’re intimidated only momentarily until the need to feel him overwhelms you. 

You spit into your palm and take his heavy member in your hand, before beginning to jerk him off. You slide your thumb across his swollen and red tip, your other hand gripping the thick, dark coarse hair against the base of him. 

Joel’s eyes roll back into his head at the sensation of him in your soft palms. You bend forward and place his cock in the space between your breasts, you tilt your chin down and open your mouth so a long line of drool dribbles down to the cleft of your chest for lubrication, and then you squeeze the flesh around his length, rubbing up and down the entirety of him. 

“Fuck nghh — that’s, ugh, that’s so good baby,” he grunts, his hands grabbing the nape of your neck. 

And it is good. Almost too good. 

“Darlin’, shit – ah, you gotta stop or I’m gonna come,” he says, his voice low. 

“Maybe I want you to,” you purr, torn between making him coat your tits with come, or letting him fuck you first. 

“No,” he says, voice more firm this time, “Gotta feel that perfect pussy before I do, baby girl,” he says, rising to full height, his arms wrapping under your armpits to bring you up with him. In one swift move, he has you turned and your back hits the mattress while a soft oof escapes your lungs. 

Joel has a hazy, dark look in his eye as he hovers over you. His pupils are blown open wide with lust. You think he might fuck you then, but he looks down and notices that your pussy is still covered by the thin lace of your now-soiled panties. He kisses down your chest, your tummy, and his head eventually finds its place between your thighs. He plants a soft kiss on your mound, and he mutters how sweet he thinks you’re going to taste. 

“Think we oughta find out,” he says, and he hooks his thumbs around the fabric and pulls them off your frame. Within seconds, his soft lips are on your wet folds. 

"Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. "Taste so sweet, Darlin’, knew you would," Joel breathes, his breath hot against you. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so fucking close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit. 

You pull at your nipple with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you. 

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and he works to throw you over the cliff of your orgasm. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are primal and filthy. 

“Be a good girl for me,” he demands, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me taste your sweet release.”  

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my god – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop" you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.  

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. “Kiss me, darlin’,” he says, and his lips find yours. You savor the way it tastes; a hint of tang, but just so. You reach your hand in between your bodies to grab his cock, and he takes the hint. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, lining the entrance of his cock, the tip of it weeping with pre-cum, up against your wet and waiting hole. He presses his hips forward gently, and you begin to relax and flutter around him, feeling the subtle sting of an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, stretch. 

“So big, feels so full, Joel,” you cry, “I know, baby. But I know she can handle it,” he coos, pressing impossibly deeper into you, until eventually he’s buried in you to the hilt. Underneath his solid frame, skin to skin, his cock firm inside of you, you feel your skin prickle hot and blood rushes through your ears. He fucks you equisitely, his chest crowding yours, but he bears the brunt of his weight on his forearms so as not to crush you too much. 

He steadies like this for a while, before he eventually pushes himself up and grips the back of your knees. You follow his cue and pull them up, feet flat on the mattress beneath you. He folds them cross-cross onto your chest, obscenely stretching your needy hole around the girth of him. 

You can’t breathe. He’s so big you swear you can feel him in your lungs. His cock drags in and out of you, making you shudder and your toes curl. The way he fucks you is so much – hard, deep, and passionate. 

“You feel so good, Darlin’. Gripping me so fucking good, being such a good girl,” Joel moans. 

“God, don’t stop, ugh I’m so close,” you say, eyes closing. 

“Eyes open, baby. Want you to look at me while you come on my cock,” he says, as he takes your chin in his thumb and forefinger, demanding your attention. 

Something snaps inside you, and your whole body tenses, and then releases in a sweet gush. “Jesus,” his blunt nails dig into the flesh of your hips before his jaw falls slack. With one more thrust, he loses himself, buried deep inside of you, your walls coaxing his balls empty.  “Fuck, baby,” he growls as he empties everything inside you, finishing his climax with a guttural groan. 

Joel pulls out, and you sigh at the loss of being full of him. He bends forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling sharp breaths, before falling to your side on the mattress. 

You sit up onto your forearms, and a dribble of his release comes out of you. You grin down at him, surveying the damage. Joel’s complexion is pink, and his eyes are closed – he’s successfully been fucked into oblivion. 

“Cmere, darlin’,” he says, eyes still closed, opening one arm open to welcome you into the warmth of his chest. You lay there, once again listening to his heart and the sounds of the rain on the grimy window in the room. You trail your index finger down his sternum. 

“You know, I thought you hated me,” you say, your voice a little sad, but you know you need to get this off your chest. “I know you had to kill that guy because I wasn’t paying attention, and I really am sor–” Joel once again silences your sentence by placing his finger on your lips. 

“Never say sorry to me again, Darlin’,” he says “‘sides, I’m the one who should be apologizin’, I’ve been a real asshole to you,” his voice sincere. “I just – I don’t know what I would ha’ done if I didn’t get to that guy in time, I’d never forgive myself if I lost you and could have prevented it.” His head drops to the pillow and he stares at the ceiling; your head finds it’s place once again the crook of his arm, nuzzled up against his side body for warmth. 

There’s still so much more he wants to say, but he knows that he’ll have the time to do it later. He stares at the rough texture above him for a moment longer, before he quickly gets up, as if to remember something. 

“Be right back,” he says and walks into the other room. He returns with a pack and pulls from it a little black container. “Found this during a raid the other day – thought of you,” he says, handing it to you. You jiggle it up by your ear and smile. 

Film.

Joel Miller may be an asshole.

But he’s an asshole that most definitely doesn’t hate you.

END

Tagging moots and those who showed interest in the preview: @untamedheart81 @darkheartgatita @endlessthxxghts @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @bastardmandennis @dins-riduur-anthe @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @nosesitter @pedroswife69 @morallyinept @milly-louise @toxicanonymity @javiscigarette @planet-marz1 @anavatazes @dugiioh As always, please let me know if you want to be added or removed from my tag lists.xx

#joel miller the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #The last of us #enemies to lovers #pwp fics #pedro pascal character #joel miller #pedrohub #film photography

[frodo-a-gogo]

also final word on this probably- I *like* Joyce Messier a great deal as a character. I think she's cool and interesting. I find it fascinating that she tends to approach things very bluntly. the words she uses and the manner in which she analyzes things, this is sort of an instance of a character who knows exactly *what she is* and articulates it in a manner congruent with the writers of the game. she is, as she says wryly but honestly, "a bourgeois woman". i cant think of too many rich people who would without prompting and prodding, self identify with marxist social taxonomies in this way, even with a thin veil of ironic self deprecation. She's educated. she knows the words and the motivating logics of class analysis. and shes *cool*. harry picks that up. honesty is cool. bluntness is cool. cynicism is cool. she is quite open about her place in the world and how she conceives of it. unlike a lot of other powerful figures in the game, i dont think shes completely swallowed by self justifying rhetoric the way, say, sunday friend is. or she is up to a point. she knows about countercultural movements and she has affinities for them and is also aware that they inevitably are consumed by capital. (this, by the way, is kind of complex in that like. ok its a depressing reality but also i think if the de team was fully bought into that line of thinking, they would not make this game. it is telling that joyce of all people would critique cindy on the basis of capital subsuming revolutionary art. I dont think joyce is wrong per se, but i think she is drawn to that line of thinking because it is *very comforting for someone of her class position to dismiss the value and power of revolutionary art and critique of capital* just a thought) She's disgusting in that her power is not rightfully hers. her position is not rightfully hers. she is actively repressing and oppressing others in service of disgusting, semi-fascistic, hypercapitalist forces. shes enjoying the comforts and benefits that such a role allows her. shes disgusting shes frustrating shes profoundly arrogant (as her clash with evrart claire proves definitively). Her self satisfied idiocy is what allows her to play with fire and foolishly assume she cannot be burned. She's smart but her comfortable position puts the blinders on her and so she's also pretty fucking stupid. and shes also deeply deeply sad. I empathize. I pity her. She's so fucking sad. I don't think she is drawn to self medication and self destruction through constant pale exposure or all that rueful nostalgic rumination for no reason. She knows what she is to the world and she knows what she's doing and she's too cowardly and comfortable and self interested to change, but she's too self-aware to ignore it completely. I think she probably dislikes herself to some degree and i think its destroying her. Like most of the cast of the game, she's complex and deeply human. She's hateful, but I also think she is too well realized to hate, at least not for me.

#i envy her obviously but i also pity her a fucking lot #i think she lives an adventurous appealing life that is largely facilitated by her moral cowardice #and is honestly characterized as profoundly empty and disheartening for her #shes a vibrant person and that vibrancy is being turned to ugly ends and its killing the spark #oppressive structures are bad for the oppressors too #joyce is a middleman to power but she is still in a place of power over the ppl she interacts with #that grants her a lot of excellent perks but its making her miserable and it renders her deeply pathetic imo #disco elysium #joyce messier

[jenscx]

UNDERSTAND — kim chaewon x f!reader

kim chaewon, your best friend and the girl you were in love with, was finally getting married. just not to you.

TAGS — angst, unrequited love, best friends, yn against the world, pining, this is so sad, red flag chaewon (Bad best friend!)

WORDCOUNT — 2.1k

the envelope in your trembling hands feel heavy. the closer it came towards you, the further your heart dropped. the simple words adorned across the back started to slowly choke you. a beige card resided inside, a string of words written that crushed your heart as your eyes glazed over the contents.

‘kim chaewon and kim minju requests the pleasure of your company to celebrate their marriage.’

you squeeze your eyes shut, as if this was a mere nightmare, yet the masochist part of you longs to continue reading. maybe somewhere in the invitation, there would be reasons as to why kim fucking chaewon decided to abandon you for someone else. this wasn’t the whole truth of course. you hated it, but chaewon was never the type to leave anyone. it was just difficult for you to accept the cold and harsh reality of the situation.

it was a dangerous game your head was playing, and your heart was like a marionette on strings to your mind. your phone buzzes, distracting you. messages flowing through your inbox, all full of worry by your friends. and hidden in those words of sympathy, there laid one, from chaewon.

chae ( ̀⌄ ́) [9.17am]:

ynnie!

u got the invite?

you considered not replying, yet, the longing feelings for your best friend pushed you to type out a shaky message.

ynnie (^з^) [9.20am]:

yeah.

i’ll check my schedule

chae ( ̀⌄ ́) [9.21am]:

huh

it’s my wedding!! take a day off

pls yn :<

when you don't reply after a minute, your phone rings with the opening of speak now by taylor swift.

“hello?”

“yn, don’t tell me you’re considering not coming to my wedding?” chaewon says, “you’re my best friend, you have to be one of the bridesmaids!”

your throat clenches up. “unnie, i can't just take a day off,” (you totally could, but it was just easier to say that instead of explaining the real reason for your absence), “and being a bridesmaid? i don’t have time for that, i’m sorry.”

and then sharply, chaewon snaps, “you don’t have time for anything.”

“are you seriously saying that?”

“yes, i am seriously saying that. when’s the last time we hung out, huh? probably in high school. you never have time for me anymore. i’m like, some meaningless stranger that you can’t care for!”

her words make your blood boil. because how could she say that? how could she just ignore all the times she brushed you off to go hang out with minju instead?

and why is she making it a big deal when you’ve never done so in the past?

“don’t say that,” you state firmly, “chaewon unnie. the more you try, the less i feel like attending. i have a life outside of high school friend groups—”

“stop calling me that!” chaewon yells.

you push the phone further from your ears, “calling you what?”

“chaewon unnie. why are you changing your nicknames for me? why are you acting like we’re nothing more than just friends?”

“more than just friends?” you ask, confused.

“we’re best friends! so, please stop being so cold and distant! i’ve know you for so long, what happened to ‘chae’ or ‘wonnie’?”

best friends. you fall silent at her words. until, another voice can be heard from chaewon’s side, one that sounds strikingly familiar with the only girl you’ve ever hated in high school.

“chae? are you on a call with someone?” kim minju’s voice shatters your heart.

“yeah, i’ll be done in a bit, maybe like half an hour?”

you make up your mind on the spot.

“chaewon unnie.”

“oh my god, i just told you to not call me—” her voice breaks and you feel a stab of guilt. a sniffle comes through the line and you can hear the frustration in her voice when she asks, “what?”

you clear your throat, hoping your voice wouldn’t waver when you say slowly, “i don’t think you know me.”

“what?”

“you said that you know me. i don’t think you do.”

a relented sigh of exasperation.

“y/n, i don’t have time for this. get to the point. i need to finish up wedding stuff.”

you nod forlornly, despite chaewon not being able to see you.

“ok. i’ll end the call now. goodbye.”

“what?! wait—”

a flurry of angry messages come through once you end the call. you can’t help but laugh at the situation (and chaewon’s messages).

chae ( ̀⌄ ́) [9.37am]:

YN ANSWER UR PHONE RN

oh my god URE SO ANNOYING

istg im going to come over.

the first thing that you do after skimming through the continuous train of messages is change chaewon’s name to a simple, ‘kim chaewon’, ridding her contact of any affection.

the second thing that you do is send a message to choi yena. a friend of yours that you met through kim chaewon. maybe if you didn’t exist, choi yena would be chaewon’s best friend.

after the read appears, you hear a knock on your apartment door.

oh shit. you widen your eyes. was chaewon actually here?

cautiously, you look through the peephole, breathing out a sigh of relief when yena’s duck-like face comes into view.

“hey,” you greet after opening the door. yena’s eyes glide over the wedding invitation on your dining table.

“oh,” her smirk widens, “is that why chaewon called me screaming about you?”

you shrug. “maybe.”

“and is that why you sent me a text that you needed help?” you shrug again. “you’re lucky i was just in the neighbourhood.”

“do you not have work today?”

“nah,” yena waves you off, “boss is hyewon, remember? bro barely even comes to work herself.”

you laugh heartily, recalling high school days of when hyewon would always show up to class late, panting, sweating and zero assignments done.

“anyway, chaewon had some things to say about you,” yena turns to you, eyes narrowing, “were you actually thinking about not going to their wedding?”

“maybe. i just said that to piss chaewon off, but i really do have work that day.”

she examines your expression carefully, “and you’re not going to take a day off?” you shake your head, sighing. “if i go, it’ll only make things worse.”

yena nods and you let out a sigh of relief inwardly. she was always so understanding towards your feelings for chaewon, having been the first one to know.

“i… i think you’re making a bad choice here,” yena says after a few seconds, “i understand what you’re feeling but i think chaewon’s hurting too. is distancing yourself for the best for both of you? or only for you?”

you’re taken aback.

“unnie, my heart has been hurting for so long. what else can i do?” right as you blurt those words out, yena’s gaze softens and you dip your head down.

“okay. do what you need to do. unnie will always be here to help you.”

your eyes shimmer with unshed tears of gratitude.

“thank you.”

“there’s a woman downstairs demanding to meet you,” kazuha, your assistant, says, “pretty tiny, short hair and very cute but angry.”

you tense up, peeking at kazuha through your bangs, “oh.”

“do i let her up?”

you weigh the options. either ignore chaewon and probably ruin your friendship, or let her up and have a huge argument in your office.

“hm, yeah.”

“yes ma’am!” kazuha salutes and exits the room. you sigh, running your hands through your dishevelled hair, papers strewn on your desk.

deciding that it would be best to clean up a bit before chaewon arrives, you try your best to stack up the documents neatly and arrange your attire.

you could hear footsteps approaching; kazuha’s light ones with chaewon’s angry stomps trailing behind.

the door bursts open, revealing your best friend and assistant, their expressions couldn’t have been more different.

“call me when you need me,” kazuha bows and flashes her gummy smile. you shoot a grateful smile back and turn your attention to chaewon.

she’s dressed in a black spaghetti strapped dress and a random jacket thrown on top of her shoulders. you purse your lips, “what are you doing here?”

“i wouldn’t be here if you had just given me a proper response,” chaewon approaches your desk, eyes aflame.

“is this about that? i already told you, i can’t make it. the date is scheduled at the end of december. year ends are always busier for me.”

“you can’t just take one day off for me? not even for my wedding?” chaewon scoffs, “what type of friend are you?”

you freeze, fists clenched and eyes closed.

“i’m sorry that i can’t make it. this job is important to me. i’m sorry that i’m a bad friend, but i can’t live without this job,” you try to explain, the last thing that you wanted was for chaewon to fling something at you.

“so you could live without our friendship?”

“that’s not what i said. i’m saying that this is the one time i need to prioritise something over you.”

chaewon’s eyes light up in surprise, then they narrow. “this isn’t the only time you are doing so. stop lying.”

“and you haven’t either? don’t act like you’re an angel, kim chaewon,” you snap, “you always ditched me to go hang out with minju.”

“why are you always talking about the past? and for the record, i never ditched you!”

you stare at her.

“you forgot my sixteenth birthday. you forgot that i had a competition. you forgot that my mom was in the hospital and i didn’t have anyone else but you. but you never came. so don’t say that you never ditched me. because you did.”

“you aren’t the most important thing in my life. don’t act like any of that matters. i don't care about you that much.”

oh, you think, this is what true heartbreak feels like. your heart clenches painfully and your throat closes up, making you feel suffocated. your eyes are attacked by an onslaught of tears. your best friend, saying that she didn’t truly care about you? even if you were rid of your affections for chaewon, it would have still hurt.

(and you feel like you’re seventeen again, heart crushed and head ringing with chaewon’s chat open on your phone. the day she had met kim minju was the day your world came crashing down.)

chaewon’s eyes are gleaming. you’re reminded of every attribute of hers that makes her so likeable. from her smile, puffy cheeks, silly personality, you find yourself vulnerable.

“i’ve liked you ever since we became friends. even if you don’t fucking care about me. and i’m sorry if me not attending your wedding hurts your feelings. but it doesn’t matter since you don’t care about me right?” you blurt out, as if you were possessed. tears spring to your eyes and you wipe them hastily.

“what? hey, wait, what do you mean you like me?” chaewon asked, eyes widened.

“i like you. i’m in love with you,” you repeat while chaewon gapes at you.

“i… yn,” chaewon takes a step backwards, “i’m getting married.”

“i know. i just wanted to tell you anyway,” you turn away, not wanting to see the look of disgust on her face.

you both don’t say a word. the sound of the raindrops hitting the windows piercing through the silence. you hear your heart tear into two again when chaewon speaks up, “why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“would you have accepted? would this change anything? you’re still getting married. i just wanted to tell you the truth, so you would just understand.”

before long, the dreaded words finally come.

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay.” you can’t believe you hate something about chaewon. the sympathetic look on her face, the way the pitiful words are spoken, you hate it all. a final bittersweet ending to your friendship. it’s finally over. all the yearning, painful pining and nights you’ve spent crying under your blanket. it all led up to this.

“congratulations on your marriage, chae. i hope you and minju stay happy,” you force a smile.

(i will forever love you.)

“thank you, ynnie.”

(thank you for loving me.)

#kim chaewon x reader #chaewon x reader #lesserafim #lesserafim x reader

[itsmeatballworld]

| it ends in heartbreak |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | you both knew he would break your heart. he couldn't help himself.

wc | 1400

warnings | cursing, sadness/heartbreak [aka the title]

a/n | I've had this in my drafts forever lol I forgot about this one! Also this is the first time I've ever written pure angst so go easy on me <3

You always knew this day would come.

There were signs pointing to the downfall of your relationship, signs you chose to ignore to enjoy the moments of happiness.

But the signs couldn’t be any clearer–it would never last. It couldn't.

It was the end of the world, for starters. Life was always in shambles. The group never stayed in one spot long enough. Even the prison wasn’t safe. With everything unstable, it should’ve been obvious this would happen, but you were naive to think you’d would be any different.

Because the reality was: this was always how it was supposed to end.

He was built on a fractured foundation. He set up walls and built his life around a broken base, worn down by his past that he couldn't escape. First, parents had cracked and hardened his outlook on life. Then his brother taught him he meant little to others by leaving him behind. Not once did he ever learn how to fix the ache in his heart.

Yet when he met you, things changed.

It was gradual. Pieces of him started to align and heal. The tough outer shell wasn't as indestructible as he first imagined. After some time he opened up and let you in.

But you both knew he would break your heart.

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to push back, to fight and wrangle away from anything that became too real. Too good.

But for the time being, you enjoyed the blissful moments of his affection.

When he kissed you goodnight it was over.

He lingered, almost as if he was allowing his lips to memorize the feeling of your skin on his. His fingers fell against your curves as you pressed into the cellblock’s cool cement wall. It was in these seconds of quiet where you both had a chance to breathe.

Pulling back, Daryl rested one arm above your head. He leaned in close, gazing sweetly down at you. His other hand slowly traveled to your face and Daryl’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

Without hesitating you whispered the words he never imagined hearing from you.

Love you.

There. Right there. You saw the spark in his bright blue eyes dim. The crystalline color washed away into a deep ocean blue. Rocky and turbulent. Daryl’s eyes were no longer filled with love, but rather, fear.

You lost him, right there, pressed against the concrete wall of Cellblock D.

This was destined to fail.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Have to.”

“No…no you don’t have to, Daryl.” Your chest tightened. It was like the air was on fire. No matter how deeply you breathed in and out, pain still resided in your chest. He was crippling you.

“Daryl–”

“Ain’t up for debate.” He stepped back, snatching his crossbow from the watchtower’s metal flooring.

Your hands fumbled to find your shirt, hating how he sprung this on you in the middle of the night. He didn't have patience to wait, apparently. Just break your heart and go, like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to…I just…” you groaned. “What happened? Was it me? Did I do something?”

His eyes went wide. That scared, fearful expression washed over him once again.

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut. That was it. That look. It was just like the other night. When those stupid words stumbled out of your mouth, falling to the ground at Daryl’s feet. Just before he crushed them with his silence.

“Was it something I said?”

He didn't answer and his silence (unlike most nights) wasn't good enough. You needed answers.

“So that’s it then. You say ‘I’m done’ and leave before sunrise?”

The broody man fought to glance in your direction. Instead, he focused out towards the tree-line. He grabbed onto the windowsill and squeezed so tightly that the white of his knuckles appeared. But his tactics to avoid the conversation at hand weren’t getting past you tonight.

You shot up from the floor. “Daryl.”

“I ain’t got time for this.”

“You fuck me, say we’re done, and leave? Like this was all nothing? Like we mean nothing to each other?”

Daryl paused. He turned to you with lips curled into a tight frown. Even in the darkness of the watchtower, through the bright white moonlight, his frustration was clear.

“I said ‘I love you’, Daryl.” There was a desperation behind your words. Your voice was so deeply distressing it made your chest ache. It was heavy and exhausting to display your feelings out to him in the middle of the night. But you wanted more–deserved more–than a shitty ending to whatever you had with him.

“You think this is love?”

You gawked, “yes!”

He paced the small room like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You love this man.

“This ain’t love.”

You love this man. This jerk.

“Then what the fuck is this, Daryl? Tell me.” You paused, tears welling in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. “Fucking tell me!”

The shirt in your hands balled up tight around your closed fist. You were hurt. Everything about him was trouble and you let him in.

“I said ‘I love you’. I said it and now you’re pulling away.”

As he watched you, just for a moment, his eyes didn’t fill with fear or confusion. There was something there. Between the declarations, he looked apologetic. His blue eyes softened, letting the emotions he desperately tried to conceal slip past those walls he built back up.

“Well, shit! I’m sorry I said it. I fucked this up, didn’t I?” The gravel in your voice scratched your throat. Everything burned.

The apologetic stare turned pitiful. A deep scowl crossed his face and your heart sank. “Can’t mess it up when there was nothin’ here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It was so condescending as his drawl pulls at the syllables. That tightness in your chest balled into a pit of rage. Fire that burned you before ignited an anger inside.

You moved closer towards him. “You sleep with me every night. You kiss me before leaving on runs. When you think nobody’s looking, you hold my hand. We talk about our past. Our future. This is real, Daryl.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his belt, twisting it through the loops. “This ain’t real.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric as you tugged the shirt on. “That’s not true—“

He huffed, staring out into the cloudy night sky. “You’re better off without me anyway.”

“Don’t. Don't say that. I’m not better off without you. I’d be worse.”

Daryl paused.

But the hurt and anger fueling your body didn’t stop. “So don’t make me feel crazy for falling in love with you. Like it was a choice? If I was fucking smart, I would’ve ran far away from you the second we met. But I didn’t. Because I saw you for more than the asshole you pretend to be. So excuse me for feeling blindsided by your decision to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He spat. “Get it through your head, girl. You ain’t mine! You’re just some bitch I screwed.”

The frogs croaking down by the creeks ceased to exist. Trees stopped rustling in the breeze. Crickets no longer sang under the stars. The world froze as his words were thrown at you with such haste. Like he didn’t think twice.

Your arms wrapped around your waist, tugging at the fabric clinging to your body.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes seemed to drift anywhere but you like he couldn't face the fact that he said it out loud.

No, no. He doesn’t really think that…

Your voice cracked as the tears from earlier were not going to wait much longer. “Daryl–”

He turned on his heels and was out the door. Down the ladder, each step was louder than the last. You paused, bawling your fists as the tears finally spilled across your cheeks. Loud and heaving gasps, muddled together with hot tears.

He broke you down within seconds. The tears and sobs continued on for what felt like forever until you finally had a moment of rest. The tightness in your chest subsided, thankfully, but this was the easier part. Tomorrow will be harder when you’ll have to put on a fake smile, wipe away tears in the dark prison hallways, and avoid him.

Forget him. Forget him…right like it would be easy. It’ll be fucking impossible to forget him.

You wished you could hate him. But you don’t.

So for tonight, you let yourself feel the heartbreak and planned to stand taller tomorrow. Because in the end you knew it would never last.

But it didn't matter.

You loved that man.

Yet after everything, he might have been right. You weren't truly with him.

And maybe he never really cared for you at all.

-xx-

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | daryl PLEASEE {as if I didn't write him to act this way}

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #dary dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #y/n x daryl dixon #reader x daryl dixon #you x daryl dixon #angsty angst #sad reader and broken daryl #daryl twd #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 20. showtime

chapter tags/warnings: dad! toji. toji also calls himself daddy. vouyerism. angsty! megumi. infidelity/adultery. pet names (mainly "princess" and "sweetheart"). mentions of violence. mentions of betrayal. so much family drama. strong language. classism. manipulative undertones.

word count: 2.6k

notes: this was originally going to be one long ass chapter but I had to break this into two. you will see why. enjoy! comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Obviously, you wanted to learn everything about Toji Fushiguro.  

He didn’t have to hear you say it. 

Already, Toji could tell from the inquisitive glisten in your round eyes, that all he saw in you was curiosity with the need—not the want—for him to share himself with you. Naturally, you would like him to retell his story from chapter one. 

Similarly, he longed to share his tales, revealing the burdens that had been gnawing at him since his childhood. That Toji had known Naoya for years, that he used to be a Zenin himself, that he knew your husband was fucking his ex-wife. How messed up was that? 

Very much so.

The main problem was, though, that Toji was selfish. 

While he would love to be honest, he did not want to shatter your trust in him. He knew how much you lived under Naobito and Naoya’s control since your father worked under the Zenin Corporation, so the last thing he desired was for you to associate him with them. 

Toji didn’t want you to be scared around him, too.

The idea of losing you was something that Toji did not want to think about. Yes, this was going to sound possessive but...Toji liked having you around. Not in a sexual way, but in a companionship manner.

Or maybe both, but still.  

Regardless, your presence comforted him.  

Of course, Megumi was another factor in the equation. Given that the teenager hated his Uncle Naoya, he understandably could not stand to see his pampered in-law (you) either. Toji knew Megumi’s frustration was a projection of his mental turmoil and that much of the ordeal was due to Toji’s previous poor decisions regarding women. 

But you were different.  

For the first time in a very long while, Toji believed he had gotten something right. 

All these thoughts brewed in his mind as he outstretched his arm to brush over the smudged mascara by your cheek. In vain, he attempted to rub away the signs from your earlier sadness. 

“Want to wash your face in the bathroom first?” 

The question came out more like a command, and defeat sank into your features as you ultimately respected his decision. 

“Okay,” you acquiesced.

Even if you wanted to, there was no chance for you to protest when Toji stepped past you and toward the spiral staircase. You followed him without another choice, trailing behind him like a lost duckling.  

Although you seemingly settled down from the whole Naoya situation, Toji had yet to. As he ascended the steps to the apartment’s upper level, he placed up a front in which he was all calm and levelheaded when—in reality—he could still feel the burning, white-hot anger rolling off his body. 

Toji badly—so, so badly—wanted to hightail it to wherever the fuck Naoya was in this world and beat the living shit out of him. He always knew that his kid cousin couldn’t be trusted with a wife because he wrecked so many people already. 

Nonetheless, Toji had kept these thoughts to himself ever since he first heard about Naoya’s marriage from business and celebrity newspapers. After all, Toji didn’t know you earlier this year and wasn't in the appropriate position to intervene, therapist or not. His relationships were his relationships, and your relationships were yours. 

Now, with that misogynistic jackoff proving him right, Toji had some regrets.  

He should have done more.  

Toji abhorred knowing that Naoya was emotionally abusing you, disrespecting you, and treating you like you were just another dumb slut.

Put simply, he absolutely could not stand to see you so upset and fucked over by somebody who didn’t deserve you in the first place—by Naoya fucking Zenin of all people in this world. 

While Toji would admit that he had his reservations about you upon the first encounter, he rapidly realized that you were nothing more than an innocent lamb caught in an ugly crossfire. 

Could Naoya not see how lucky he was with you? A whole package was what you were: your allure unparalleled, your energy contagious, and your elegance remarkable. No wonder Naobito had taken every measure to secure you as his son’s wife.

On the other hand, Toji sincerely wished that you would no longer be miserable because a person like you deserved to enjoy all the rhapsodies of life. 

Sometimes, Toji wished that you stood up for yourself more. He wished that you had been more selfish over some things that were rightfully yours. Your marriage, your family, your happiness一these belonged to you , yet some other woman (the real ‘dumb slut’) was robbing you of these entitlements.

Had you been single, had you waited a little, Toji knew for sure that countless suitors would have lined up vying to court you, willing to throw themselves on the line because you would be their queen. 

“Are you alright?”  

Given that he had been lost in thought, Toji jolted at your voice. He had stopped completely at the upstairs landing, brain still reeling from thoughts of leaving Naoya busted and bloodied, hanging on to life from a thin little thread. 

Vigorously, he shook his head from side to side to clear his mind. 

Regardless of how badly he wanted to and how easy the task would be for him, Toji would not stoop that low to exert physical violence on someone else. Even though the fool deserved to be punished twenty times over, Toji wouldn’t hurt your husband because you would also not want him to. 

But damn, holding himself back was hard. 

For Toji, who had seen how Naoya’s impulsivity and greed had hurt his step-daughter Tsumiki and his son Megumi as well, restraint was especially difficult.   

"Ah, my bad,” Toji finally said after composing himself many moments later. He then realized that he had yet to introduce the apartment’s layout. “So the lower level includes the guest areas: the parlor, kitchen, bar, dining space, home theater. Upstairs, though, are where the living spaces reside.” He gestured toward the far rear of the corridor. “Bedrooms are over there with a study room at the end, but the washroom,” he went several steps ahead, pushing open the first door to the left, “is right here."  

In slow and inquisitive steps, you followed as Toji started rummaging in a linen closet by the entrance. He grabbed at the white cotton towels in the lower compartment.

"For you," he explained, placing a neatly folded set into your delicate hands. “Here. Splash some cold water on your face. Let me find you in a couple of minutes. I will check on Megumi in the meantime.” 

“Alright,” you hummed while Toji retreated back into the halls. 

“Talk to you later, then.”

Next mission was Megumi Fushiguro, a troubled boy who could easily be misunderstood. 

Oftentimes, Toji saw his own reflection within his son. He recognized himself the most in Megumi’s cheerless gaze, where beyond the initial glimpse lay a barren tundra bleakened by pain, by incidents that have hurt him before. 

In that dark void existed a part that cried for help, but this place remained faded over so that others could not pry into the true emotions within.  

Megumi was terrified. 

Heck, even Toji was, too. 

Because, in their experiences, those who had betrayed the most were those who had been the closest to them. Therefore, all that was left was caution, wariness, and distrust, such that now—between father and son—there was no one to turn against but one another.  

“Megumi!” Toji shouted when arriving at the said boy’s door. (Unlike a certain colleague, he at least had the decency to announce his arrival.) 

As expected, however, there came no response. 

He then knocked loudly so that Megumi would hear the sound even with his headphones blasting.

Nothing again.

Exasperated, Toji wiggled the knob. Noticing that the handle was unlocked, he opened the door and into a darkened room. Megumi had switched everything off save for his glaring computer monitor, but the boy wasn’t in his chair either. 

“I don’t really want to talk right now.” 

Instead, Megumi’s grumble came from his bed, to where Toji looked and saw a large blanketed heap. The teenager was cocooned in his sheets, not leaving a single black strand in sight. 

From the small gap amid the lump came another glow.  

He’s on his phone , Toji figured, which he knew among kids these days was the ultimate sign that they wanted to be left alone. 

Except the therapist side in him was not going to give up that easily. 

Idly, Toji flicked at a nearby houseplant. 

“Not talking right now is okay but,” his green gaze shifted from the succulent to the enveloped lump, “trust me on her. She’s on our side.” 

Rather than another outburst, Megumi didn’t reply immediately. “Sure,” he mumbled eventually but hardly convinced, using whatever TikToks he was scrolling through to fill the silence for him. 

“If Tsumiki had been home from university,” Toji continued, this time bringing up the step-sister that the boy adored, “would she want to hear her little brother talk to others like that?”

Another long pause. “Whatever.” 

“I know I had made bad judgments about people before, but—for this one instance—think about what you’ve said tonight,” was what Toji left his son with as he wished Megumi a good night and closed the door behind him with one very extended sigh. 

Being a therapist was tough, but being a single father was a thousand times more wearisome.

Toji would consider calling an end to the evening, to sit in his study as he evaluated his own emotions, but was reminded that he had a guest by shuffling sounds from down the hall.

Knowing that he still owed a small explanation, he paced back to the bathroom, barging into the vicinity to suggest, “Whenever you’re ready, let’s go talk again...down...stairs....” 

His voice trailed off before disappearing completely when he could not locate you.

Rather than finding you by the sink washing your face like he advised and expected, Toji spotted your tossed clothes on the floor. Confused, his gaze darted around until he glanced toward the bathtub where he found your muted form hovering over, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“I, um,” you blinked rapidly, as though you had been caught doing something bad. “I showered, too.” 

You got flustered too easily, which was adorable. 

The only thing that covered your naked and glistening form was the towel that had been wrapped around your figure, but even that hung low from your chest before stopping abruptly past your hips, leaving little to the imagination. 

In the lamplight, you glowed golden while clinging droplets made your skin shine. Your cheeks and arms were flushed, your body heaving from heavy panting.

You clutched the fabric tighter so that the towel would not merely slip away, but if Toji had to be honest, you would have to hold on to that for dear life so that he didn’t yank the whole damn cover away entirely. 

A shaky breath later, his gaze wandered up your body until his malachite eyes flicked up to collide with yours, his tongue—piercing and all—caught between his teeth. Meanwhile, your mouth was plush and sweetly pursed, softened by a doe-like innocence, and he saw how you trembled slightly from the sudden vulnerability. 

Toji should be able to handle himself better. After watching you break down and then dealing with his personal stressors, the last thing he should feel was the boiling need that burned through his skin, the air in his lungs weighty as if flames from his stomach drifted thick smoke into them. 

Just…leave him alone okay? 

Fuck.  

"Not inviting your host to the party is bad manners,” was what he found himself saying, but the light grin on his face did not match the lust and pink flush that swept across his face.

You cleared your throat as water dripped from your elbows. With every effort, you tried to stay casual. “Sorry.” 

Toji chuckled at how seriously you took the accusation. “Relax, princess. I’m just messing with you.”

All pouty, you looked at him with those huge, round eyes.

“Then, can I ask something while you’re here?”

Intrigued, he lifted a brow. “Depends.”

“Why are you scared to open up to me, Toji?” you pressed on.

The said man didn’t immediately answer, placing his hands inside his pockets instead. He rolled his shoulders back, all without his gaze leaving your intentful one. Sure, you both stared at each other wordlessly—but somehow, in the absence of conversation, the more you two began to understand one another. 

“Simple. I don’t bring up my past to just anybody, darling. Apologies for the disappointment.” 

“But I’m not ‘just anybody,’” you fought back, half-offended. “We’re friends , remember? Just like you had said.” Then, you directed an accusatory finger to his stoic face. “So, I’m somebody special .”

Well, you stumped him now. 

Contemplating an answer, Toji walked around your clothes and met you at the other section in the bathroom, cornering you against the nearby countertop as his brawny body leered over your smaller one. 

When you glanced upward, your warm breaths fanned across his scar. But the heat that whirled between your bodies was far more excruciating, stifling even. 

“What if my reason is to protect you?” He stopped, half-expecting you to cower but all that shone was determination. So, he resumed, “My history is fucked up. I was born into an unlucky situation surrounded by manipulative people, and I was another stupid person making stupid choices. Here I am, still dealing with the blow many years later. I don’t think you’ll want to talk to me again once you learn about the people I share the same blood with."

“But that is them. That is not you . Why would I want to forget you after everything you have done for me?” you vented in disbelief. “Toji, all I want is to help you!”

“Better not to drag yourself into this. You’re already much deeper in the waters than you think,” he admitted with a heavy sigh and ran his hand through his inky hair. “I couldn’t shield my son, and I couldn’t shield my stepdaughter. Therefore, I cannot promise that I would not hurt you, either.”

You fell quiet for a brief moment.

“That’s okay,” you resolved. “Because you…would be worth the pain.”

Toji felt...his heart leap? He had not been this exposed in many, many years, and he reached for your hands so that he could lace your fingers together. His emotions were so fragile and raw , his face only inches away from yours at this point.

"Really now?"

"Yes." A pause. “Then, what…does this mean for us?” 

Toji shrugged, eyeing that stupid fucking wedding band on your fourth digit. “I’m not the married one here, sweetheart. The decision is yours,” he offered up, although he could feel himself grow dizzy. “What do you want?”

In anticipation, your tongue ran across your lower lip. You crept forward and moved closer until your thighs were pressed flush against his.

“ You .”

And boy, did Toji love that answer.

He leaned forward again, this time scooping up your behind and propping you onto the countertop, yanking the pointless towel that had been shielding your goddess-like figure. He gave your hips a good squeeze before tearing your knees in opposite directions. 

You yelped and winced from the discomfort, but Toji knew you loved being maneuvered. Between your legs was a glistening mess, almost as if your pussy had been weeping for him, begging and crying and sobbing for your therapist’s touch. Did you actually think you were going to hide this from him?

When Toji looked up and met your line of sight, he cherished how you peered at him from under your fluttering lashes.

What a beautiful scene. 

So, he smiled. 

“Then why don’t you give daddy a show?”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: 1) I know you hate me for the cliffhanger, but I had to! 2) For a while, I had been debating whether to write this chapter and the upcoming one in Y/N's or Toji's POV. In the end, I chose Toji's perspective to shine some light into his thoughts when he's with us. See you all again soon! Get ready to get real dirty next chapter. ♡

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @blackdragoncigarette @puffaloxx @shoisae @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk season 2 #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #naoya x reader #geto x reader #choso x reader #sukuna x reader #naoya #geto #sukuna #choso #toji #toji fushiguro #megumi #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro #anime #anime fanfic #anime smut #anime angst #anime fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #jamms.sextherapy

[nimas-li-kvar]

well, why not exactly like south africa? why not like any other arab country where muslims and christians and atheists and hindus live side-by-side just fine? why not like the diverse western nations that finance your state's existence? what exactly about palestinians is so Inherently Evil And Irredeemable (bc that is honestly how you sound) that they would not have the humanity and morality to treat people like people?

it's always the same fear of the day after. white south africans are alive. white american colonisers are fucking thriving. same in australia, in new zealand. immigrants to arab countries lead entire lives there. why not like any of them?

What an exhausting, insulting question... that truly has nothing to do with anything I said. I was speaking about Hamas and leftists who support their aims to dismantle Israel, not the Palestinian people.

I have never said that it’s impossible that Muslims, Christians, Jews, (and Samaritans, Druze, etc.) will live side-by-side. They already do, in Israel. There is discrimination, but they do indeed live side-by-side. What I said was that it will not happen under Hamas rule. Which is an objective fact. The Gaza strip, by the way, is currently 98% Muslim.

I also never said that Palestinians are “inherently evil and irredeemable,” nor did I imply it. You lie in order to paint me, as an Israeli, as hateful. I am not. I spoke only of Hamas. Your conflation of a militant terrorist group with civilians is unfortunate. Hamas has proven time and time again that they do not have the humanity to treat people like people. I said nothing of the Palestinian people.

While I owe you nothing, I'll have you know that I am absolutely in favor of steps towards a peaceful solution and mutual recognition of both nations. I think it is outrageous that there are Palestinian detainees held without charge. I find the number of deaths in Gaza an unacceptable collective punishment. I am supportive of cultural and economic efforts towards reconciliation (e.g., bilingual Arab-Jewish schools and summer camps, joint activism efforts, organizations that promote dialogue and cross-cultural events, shared efforts to help victims of violence, cultural exchange and language learning initiatives). I think the current government is a disaster. I want to see a world where Jews, Christians, and Muslims—and Samaritans, Druze, and Baháʼís—live in peace together in that land. The fact that you saw me saying that Hamas would enact genocide if given the chance (which is true) and interpreted that as me saying Palestinians are “inherently evil” (which I did not say) is truly sad.

The reality is Hamas is not a resistance group. It is an Islamic ultranationalist militaristic dictatorship that has kept its citizens as prisoners by stealing international aid and running military operations to commit war crimes from under schools and hospitals. It is a terrorist group that rapes, murders, and tortures civilians, including children and infants. Peace in the region will not be possible without a demilitarized Gaza. Hamas rule is incompatible with peace. If you support Hamas, you support the violent expulsion or genocide of Israeli Jews from our homeland. You can (and should) be in support of Palestinian self-determination. This belief is also incompatible with support for Hamas. Israeli war crimes do not absolve Hamas's war crimes.

Another thing I find interesting is that you refer to a dismantled Israel as “another Arab country,” and in the same breath claim that Jews would continue to live there. I wonder, was it a coincidence that you failed to list Jews in your list of religions living side-by-side, or are you aware that there are very, very few Jews living in Arab countries today? In case you are unaware, the absence of Jews from the Arabian peninsula, the Mesopotamian region, and North Africa is a result of diasporic Jewish minorities fleeing, being expelled, and/or being ethnically cleansed. Prior to that, they lived with second class status (dhimmis) under Islamic rule. As an Israeli Jew, I cannot set foot in many Arab countries today. Is that your version of coexistence?

And let us be clear: The remaining ethnic minority groups do not live in peace in the Muslim-majority countries of the region. The examples are endless. The genocide of the Yazidis by the Islamic State. The Houthi persecution of Yemenite Jews and Baháʼís. The displaced Christians from the Syrian civil war. The Middle East is rife with examples of radicalized religious extremists being entirely incompatible with coexistence with minority groups.

Yet, in your list of co-existing religions, you picked Hinduism: a minority religion that, while practiced in some Middle Eastern countries, is not indigenous to the region. Perhaps you did this in ignorance. Perhaps it was an attempt to support your point that some immigrants and migrants can indeed lead reasonable lives in Arab countries (e.g., Indian expats in the Emirates or Saudi Arabia), as ethnic minorities with a homeland to return to. Needless to say, it's an irrelevant and feeble attempt to claim that religions currently coexist well in the Muslim-majority countries. As a whole, they do not.

Let's talk about your list of colonizers next. White South Africans being alive has nothing to do with Israel. White people thriving in the USA, Australia, and New Zealand have nothing to do with Israel. Those examples are particularly bizarre anyway, as, excepting South Africa, you’ve picked countries where the colony essentially remained in place and became the ethnic majority. But none of these colonies have anything to do with Israel, because Israel is not a colony.

Jews are indigenous to Israel. We are one of a small number of indigenous Levantine ethnic groups who call that land home. The word colony requires a context we do not have–a colony for what country? What existing country is expanding territory? We are a 4000 year old nation, many of us displaced by the Romans, and who, after 2000 years of oppression and genocide both in the diaspora and in our homeland, won our independence from the occupying force in power at the time: the British. We have nothing to do with European colonizers. You cannot colonize your own homeland.

Again, that does not mean I support the Israeli government or the IDF's actions. I fully believe Palestinians also deserve self-determination in our shared land. Our status does not change the Palestinian story. It does not undo their suffering. The situation in Gaza is untenable and an outrage. Our status does not change the inhumane conditions that Israel, along with other countries (like Egypt) have placed on the population of Gaza.

But Jews being indigenous to the region matters—because the context to understand Israel is not one of colonizer-colonized. Ours is an ethnic conflict in the context independence after a long history of many colonial powers (British, Ottoman, etc.), a wider political context of Arabization and oppression of ethnic/religious minority groups in the entire Middle East, as well as a global context of hatred of Jews and Arabs, and of Western meddling.

It also matters because it highlights the fact that Palestinians are our cousins—both because many Palestinians are likely decedents of Jews, Samaritans, etc. who were Arabized and forcibly converted Islam—but also because the Arabs are our cousins too. It is important to remember that this is an ethnic conflict, and not a situation in which one group can "go home." We have to find a way to coexist. Hamas is not that way.

Is “leading a life,” as you say, enough? Well, we wouldn't be able to, under Hamas. They have made that clear. But even if a Hamas-led state made room for dhimmi-status Jewish Israelis, then no, it would not be enough. (Remember, it is not even enough for many Palestinians who hold Israeli citizenship to live under our state with full rights.) Self-determination is important. Maintenance of language and culture is important. Statehood matters, for both Palestinians and Israelis. I do not believe we are ready for a fully unified state. Perhaps we never will be. But whatever the solution, it is imperative that both people have self-determination in their homeland.

And be it a unified democratic binational state, a single federal government with autonomous cantons/states that govern themselves, a "two states, one homeland" two state confederation, a fully-realized two state solution, or any other solution: the violent—and yes, evil—Hamas regime can play no part.

#israel palestine conflict #israel #palestine #westoid leftoids at it again #leftist antisemitism #jumblr

[ren1327]

Spoilers!!!

"Loser Baby" frame analysis (1/3) (With lyrics)

I feel obligated to do this with all of my ships. So! With the power of two sugar free redbulls, skinny pop and the homoerotic audacity the makers gave me!

Lets do this!

Red = Husk Pink = Angel Dust Purple = Both Normal = My commentary

 [HUSK] So things look bad, and your back's against the wall Your whole existence seems fuckin' hopeless You're feelin' filthy as a dive bar bathroom stall Can't face the world sober and dopeless You've lost your way, you think your life is wrecked Well, let me just say you're correct

So, Angel just let lose he wants to self destruct to the point of being too broken for Valentino to want him. He has a outburst and Husk is the only one there to see it. So what does kitty boi do? Sing a song, of course. But where Charlie would sing something encouraging and positive...Husk wants reality. He knows Angel plays a role to deal with all the messed up shit he's in. He showed Husk a sliver of his true self. And Husk knows he cant break that wall, Angel has to. So he engages by slapping him with that reality, snapping him out of his funk.

[ANGEL DUST] Wait, what?

[HUSK] You're a...loser, baby

Angel gets into Husk's space often to flirt/piss the bartender off. So why not return that energy to Angel when he's vulnerable and unassuming? Angel often grabs his face, making Husk face and look at him by force. Husk doesn't go that far. Just his finger on his nose. Just enough contact to get Angel's attention and make sure he's paying attention to his words.

A loser, goddamn baby You're a fucked up little whiny bitch

Husk needs more of a reaction, so why not casually insult him? Angel often thinks this about himself; but Husk says it out loud.

[ANGEL DUST] Hey!

And Angel is full on reactive, listening and giving Husk his full attention. It worked.

[HUSK] You're a loser, just like me

[ANGEL DUST] Thanks, asshole

[HUSK] You're a screw's-loose-boozer An only one-star reviews-er You're a power-bottom at rock bottom But you got company

Husk is successfully shifting Angel's sadness out, but also getting on his level, however, notice how his head is lower than Angel's. Angel often sees himself as powerless. Looked down upon. And Husk takes a moment to look up at Angel, showing him he doesn't see him as lower, he sees him as an equal. "You've got company." His issue wasn't Angel being a porn star or promiscuous, like others and even other hotel staff/patrons do. It was him putting on a mask and not being himself towards Husk. Fun thing about cats, they show thier belly to only those they trust. So Husk laying on the filthy ground with his belly to Angel's back, he's allowing himself to be vulnerable right back. (My cat did the same before biting the shit out of my hand, the little demon spawn.)

[ANGEL DUST] This supposed to make me feel better?

[HUSK] There was a time I thought no one could relate To the gruesome ways in which I'm damaged But lettin' walls down, it can sometimes set you straight! We're all livin' in the same shit-sandwich

Husk then sits next to Angel, closer and on his level. They're in similar situations. Not just being in Hell, but signing themselves away.

[ANGEL DUST] I sold my soul to a psychopathic freak

Angel angrily points out the obvious, but to him, its more than a fact. Its a shameful truth he hates. Husk laughs because "same!"

[HUSK] Haha! And you think that makes you unique? Get outta here, man!

He holds a hand out to Angel to help him stand, but its more than that. It's understanding. The loss of control under someone, to one's vices, to ones self destructive wishes.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel analysis #huskerdust

[sturniolosugar]

INTERLINKED PT. 4

pairing y/n and chris sturniolo

summary: Y/n and Chris have been best friends for awhile. They end up becoming sexually involved with eachother. They value eachother so much but are both scared of the consequences of their actions, which leads their friendship to be stuck in a rocky place.

warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, intense emotions, arguing

Interlinked pt1, pt2, pt3

I lay down on my bed feeling my whole body numb. It’s been a couple days since I’ve seen the triplets. I think. I don’t know I kind of lost track of time. I feel the most calm I’ve felt in what felt like years. I’ve missed this feeling. I miss the feeling of my body being so numb to the point where I can’t even move. I haven’t left my bed. I made sure to at least put a piece of toast in my body everyday but that’s the most I’m able to eat. In a really fucked up way I’ve missed this. Probably way more than I should. The way all of my thoughts would disappear and the world would become quiet and peaceful as soon as I swallowed Xanax. The way my face and heart would go numb from just 1 singular pill. Ive been taking 1 a day for the past couple days. Probably gonna buy more soon. I haven’t even thought about Chris. I mean I have but to be honest, barely. I don’t even remember the last time I checked my phone.

-

The come down from Xanax always hits harder than the last one. I’ll go from being numb to feeling completely empty and hopeless. I hate it. I have tons of missed calls and messages from Nick and Matt but I only know that because I got on my phone to call my dealer. I just got back to my house from buying 10 of the pills. This should last me for a bit. I ignore the missed calls and messages from Nick and Matt and proceed to place one of the pills in my mouth and taking a drink of water. Already feeling better knowing the pill that entered my body gives me a feeling that nothing else could compare to.

-

It’s the next day. I guess I fell asleep without realizing it. I sigh feeling reality hit me. The Xanax has worn off and now my body feels completely weak. I feel deep sadness run through my veins as I see the morning sun shine through my blinds. I feel tears rise in my eyes. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t ruin myself over someone who doesn’t give a fuck about me. Here we go again with the unbearable harsh fucking reality. I feel my heart clench as tears stream down my face. I can’t continue to live like this. Chris was everything to me. I loved him with my heart and soul unconditionally. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone the way I love Chris. He’s all I think about when I’m sober which is why I continue to do what I do. He’s my first thought in the morning. The last thing I think about before I fall asleep. He’s constantly on my mind. And I’ve lost myself trying to love someone who doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I sit up from my bed and grab the little baggy of pills that are on my desk. I sit down on my bedroom floor and take out two pills from the baggy. Id rather have Xanax be the death of me than Chris. I put 2 pills in my mouth and swallow. I sit on my floor with my knees pulled into my chest with the baggy of pills next to me. Some time passes and I feel content again as the pills start to kick in. I sniffle feeling my nose run. I put my hands over my face, feeling wetness. I’ve been crying and haven’t even realized it. What the fuck is actually happening to me. I lay down on my floor losing strength in my body to keep me sitting up. I close my eyes and let the drugs take over. Feeling everything but nothing at once.

-

“Get up. Please get up y/n” I hear a man’s voice say as he shakes my body causing me to open my eyes. I must of blacked out and fell asleep. I blink trying to get my awareness back but struggle. “Your okay. It’s okay. Get up please” I hear the man’s voice plead. I rub my eyes feeling hazed and confused as I see Nick and Matt in my room towering over me as I’m still laying on my bedroom floor. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Sit up. Drink this” Nick says trying to help me sit up and handing me a bottle of water. “What’s going on. What are you guys doing here?” I say quietly before taking a drink of water. I feel like there’s fog in my brain. I can’t think straight. I don’t know if I’m dreaming or not. How did they even get into my room? And why? “We thought you were fucking dead y/n” Matt says in a concerned voice. The pills. Fuck. I instantly start looking around on the floor searching for the baggy of Xanax. “We already flushed them down the toilet” Nick says sighing. “What! What the fuck? No! Don’t fucking lie to me Nick! Your lying right?” I yell. He shakes his head no. “I’m not lying. We flushed them down the toilet y/n” he responds in a calm tone. “Nick. Why the fuck would you do that? Huh? Are you trying to ruin my fucking life. Your a fucking-” I start to yell but am interrupted by Nick. “Look at yourself right now! Look what the fuck your doing to yourself. Are you trying to fucking kill yourself? Huh? When is the last time you took a fucking shower? When’s the last time you ate an actual meal? Think about what the fuck your doing for a second” Nick yells back pointing his finger in my face.

Tears start to form in my eyes. “Fuck you. Fuck you both. Give me the pills back. Please I need them you don’t understand” I yell and beg starting to pace back in forth in my room running my fingers through my hair. “We’re sorry y/n but we’re not gonna sit here and let you destroy yourself. Calm down. We know your hurting. We know your in pain. We know. And we care. A lot. So much that we’ll sit here with you all day, all night just to make sure you don’t have to be alone. So much that we flushed down the poison your putting into your body. So much that you can scream and yell at us all you fucking want and tell us that you hate us and want us to die, it doesn’t matter we are still gonna be here for you. We love you y/n” Matt says. I stop pacing back and forth and let myself fall down to the ground. I cover my face with my hands and start to cry hysterically as I don’t want to face reality. “I just cant- I cant- I love you guys- I just cant” I try to let the words come out of my mouth but am struggling as I’m having a full on breakdown. Matt and Nick sit themselves on the floor next to me and proceed to rub my back. They just keep repeating that everything will be okay and that they love me. I cry and cry until no more tears were able to come out.

-

After a 3 hour long talk with Nick and Matt they talked me into taking a shower and staying the night at their house. They told me Chris isn’t gonna be there since he’s at a friends house. We pull into their driveway and get out of the vehicle, walking towards their front door. We get inside and I sit down in their living room on one of the couches. I wrap myself up in a blanket as Matt comes over and sits next to me. Nick walks into the kitchen grabbing Gatorade from the fridge before coming back to the living room and sitting next to me. “Im ordering us food. Is there anything you guys want in particular” Nick says. “I’m down for whatever” Matt responds. “Im not really hungry” I say. “Your gonna eat wether you want to or not. I will literally force feed you if I have to y/n. Your gonna eat, not eating isnt an option” Nick says. I sigh and roll my eyes. This fucker is such a pain in the ass. But I love him for it.

-

After eating so much food that I felt like my stomach was gonna explode I began to get really tired. We’re watching old Disney movies from our childhood on the living room tv. I start think about what Chris is doing and if he’s okay. I wonder if they told him what happened. My eyes become heavy and I fall asleep on the couch.

-

Chris’s POV:

I’m sitting on my friends couch chilling. I’m probably around 9 beers deep when I get a text message from the groupchat that has only me, Nick and Matt in it. “We need to talk to you about something very serious. Let us know when your on the way home” the text from Nick reads. I take a drink of the beer that’s in my hand before responding to the text. “What do you mean? Did something happen?” I reply back. “It’s about y/n. She was on her bedroom floor passed out when we found her. I’ll give you a hint. Xanax” Nick replies. As soon as I read the text I swear my heart beat stopped for a couple seconds. “Wtf do you mean? Is she okay? What happened? Where is she?” I instantly texted back. “She fell asleep on the couch in the living room. We’re not letting her leave our sight. So when you come home be quiet and just go to your room. It’s best if she doesn’t see you right now with the condition she’s in” Matt texted in the groupchat. I immediately tell my friend to drive me home. So many emotions spike in my body on the car ride to my house. I stare out the window trying to keep my breath steady. This is because of me. This is my fault.

We arrive at my house and I tell my friend goodbye before getting out of his car and walking towards my front door. I stumble while walking, trying to keep my balance. I open the door and walk straight into my living room seeing y/n wrapped up in a blanket sleeping. Tears fill my eyes instantly. Matt and Nick stand up immediately and walk towards me. “Its because of me isn’t it” I say feeling tears run down my face. Matt and Nick grab onto my shoulders helping me keep my balance. “Shhh it’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s go. Your okay. She’s okay.” Nick says rubbing my back.

“It’s my fault” I respond feeling my chest get tight while tears continue to stream down my face. “Chris let’s go. Your okay. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Matt says pulling my arm leading me towards my bedroom. “No. Stop. I need to talk to her. I need her. Let me talk to her” I say while continuing to cry. Matt and Nick ignore me and just continue to walk me to my room. We get inside my room and I sit down on my bed letting tears pour out of my eyes. “Don’t blame yourself. Everything’s gonna be okay” Nick says stepping closer to me and places his hand on my back before rubbing it. “I need her. I need her” I say standing up and walking towards my bedroom door, trying to go back to the living room to talk to y/n. Matt pulls me back and sits me back down on my bed. “Your drunk. Talk to her tomorrow” Matt says. I stand back up and push Matt out of my way “No I need her right now” I say trying to make my way out to the living room again. Nick pulls me by my shirt “Chris. No. Not right now. Go to sleep dude. She’ll be here in the morning she’s not going anywhere” he says. I push Nick making him stumble backwards. My sadness quickly turns into anger. I start to punch my wall. Over and over. Repeatedly, until Nick and Matt grab me and sit me back down on my bed.

“Chris calm down. Everything’s okay please calm down” Matt says. “Please wait to talk to her until the morning. Please get some sleep.” Nick says. I shake my head and put my hands over my face. She need to know that I love her. And that I always have. And always will. I need her to know that everyday that has gone by of us not texting, calling, hanging out I’ve been losing my mind. I’ve been losing myself. And I feel so lost without her. Being without her makes me physically sick. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think. I’ve been trying to drown down my emotions with alcohol. It never works it only makes them more intense. She’s the only thing that helps me. I would choose her in every lifetime. Memories come in waves, and tonight I’m drowning, as I think about all the times we had together. I love her so much that it physically hurts.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smutt #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #smut #spotify #triplets #tiktok #fanfic #fandom

[oh-saints]

can you write unrequited love with mason mount like you did in "sick"?

uuuu as spicy as this gif coming right up!

done

when you decide you have enough of mason playing with your heart.

mason mount x bff!reader

word count: 1.1k

note: i actually had the inspiration to try writing from the 1st person POV during my subway ride to work but it went *poof!* when i got to my desk ☹ and as usual, i happen to always write around dawn so ofc this is not beta-read.

you shouldn’t have said yes to him.

you shouldn’t have said yes.

you shouldn’t have gone to the club.

you should’ve gone to your therapist because this is getting out of hand.

how many times are you going to say yes to every of mason’s call?

“you really need to stop sticking up for him just because you’ve been friends for years,” you know that your therapist’s going to repeat that line, just like every other session you’ve had with him. he’s not wrong, your therapist, but he’s not entirely right because he doesn’t know what you truly feel.

and you never let him know what you truly feel.

out of duty? out of love? heck, if you know.

the bass at the club is pounding as hard as it can your head, in hope to quiet down the sadness and devastation and desperation and depression away from the dance floor. but it certainly doesn’t stop your tears from running down your cheek at the sight of mason kissing a random girl so passionately like the world’s ending tomorrow.

well, in all honesty, your world’s ending tomorrow because you recognise it. you know what’s coming and it’s synonymous with all those sad songs and tragic stories you used to combine together when you’re younger. nothing beats reading slice-of-life books with a good, fitting soundtrack, no?

ironic how the combo’s now beaten by reality.

you know mason’s going to go home with that girl—another club, another random long-legged bimbo—and you know he’s going to either dump her in the morning or date her by the end of the month. if it’s the latter, then he’ll certainly break up before summer comes around the corner and the cycle’s going on a full circle once more.

he’s truly committed to the line he said when he’s doing casuals only the last time Tatler interviewed him—god, you’re there and you feel like puking. and by doing so, he’s also truly committed to breaking your heart every chance he gets.

yes, his girlfriend—whichever she is—will always stir up something so you and mason won’t hang around while they’re dating. but that’s not what breaks your heart the most. not even the words that flat-boobs idiot said about you. it’s when he comes back to you after dumping the girl and acts as if nothing happens.

yet, you always says yes to his plea of going to a party with him to celebrate his newly single life. even after knowing the pattern that he’d always desert you later on and you have to take a taxi home, all alone.

your therapist once asked, “have you confronted him about how he feels?” and you could only answer it with, “most of the time, i forget.”

but you know yourself better. you don’t want to burn the bridges.

however tonight, different than any other night, the bridge might as well been burnt down to ashes the moment your tears fell because fucking hell. you recognise the girl; new, upcoming starlet that comes from golden spoon. you want to hate her like usual for ending your world by tomorrow but you can’t because she’s basically everything you’re not and you know they’re a match.

he’s boisterous, she’s calm. he’s an active social butterfly, she’s everyone searches for.

but you can’t bring yourself to hate her because it means happiness to mason and it’s what matters to you the most. and it means he’s staying for longer than 3 months, which further leads to you probably sidelined for longer than usual.

you’re supposed to hate it, the fact that you’re getting replaced by someone miles better. but you can’t and you hate yourself instead. you start blaming yourself with all the things only an insecure person can think of, but you know you’re not insecure.

mason made sure of that—he’s good at building confidence—but he’ll never know why. he’ll never see why.

ironic because he’s got the clearest set of brown eyes and you will always love them till the ground buries you 6-feet down, even when you know those eyes will never see the watermarks on your skin because when it comes to you, he’s always blind.

blind to the fact you’re the one who stuck up when the teachers at school looked down on him going through the footballer path; blind to the fact that you’re the one who finished his homework whenever you knew he forgot because you wanted him to prove those teachers wrong too; blind to the fact that you were the one who put an umbrella over his head when he got turned down by the girl he liked; blind to the fact that you move down to London to be with him.

blind to the fact that you do that because you love him.

the very reason you never read those ‘childhood friend to lovers’ trope.

but unlike the endings of those kind of books where the characters reciprocate feelings, mason mount doesn’t even know how to appreciate someone who’s always by his side. he thinks it’s always something given to his plate and only then it feels like someone drops a bomb on your head.

how can you love someone so deeply when he’s stuck in his own head?

“i’m going home, mason,” so you cut their public make-out session to say it to his face, and the man’s shocked at your use of his first name. you never do that, not once in your entire time being friends. “i’m done.”

poor boy only thought you mean by done for the night. that you’re done because it’s tiring to see him doing his deeds like every other night. imagine his shock when he calls you the next week for another party, only for his calls to be answered by “the number you’re calling does no longer exist.”

he frowns so deeply ben had to straighten the crease out. there’s nothing happening in your life that can possibly lead you to cut off your line or to change your number. he calls your office and your assistant answers, as usual, but when he says he’s looking for you, the line goes silent for a full minute.

“hello?”

“mason,” a deep breath. “she resigned a week ago.”

“what? why?”

“if only we know,” and he knows your assistant’s not lying because he knows regret when he hears one. the company’s best asset leaves at her peak. “she goes in to the CEO office one minute and the next, she’s out of the building for good. boss says she’s done here.”

then it clicks him.

you’re done with him, once and for all.

and it’s too late for him to fix it.

#anon asks #oh-saints answers #oh-saints writes #mason mount #mason tony mount #mason mount blurb #mason mount blurbs #mason mount one shot #mason mount oneshot #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #mason mount fic #mason mount fics #mason mount fanfics #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst #mason mount smut #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #oh-saints writes request

[1eoness]

uhmmmm actor leon kennedy?? mayvbe

cw: dom! ooc leon kennedy x sub afab reader | no specific leon | he's kinda weird here idk | creampie | praise | mild degradation | wee bit of size kink idk

[to clarify, i am a minor (17). anyone <17 and anyone >17 uncomfortable with interacting pls dni}

a/n bc i love rambling : so uhmmm when i was writing this there was an electric explosion right outside of our house so the power's out in our neighborhood and im back in this damn cafe LMAOOO

a/n : (update lol)i wrote this like monthssss ago (wtf this sucks).. so im back nd im gonna post this bc why the fuck not it's still rllyyyy bad and a lot of word repeating but yeah just felt like posting lol

synopsis : actor!leon kennedy has been in the gig too long to deal with nepotistic, wide-eyed girls like you. yet much to his exasperation, you're just too much of a greenhorn in the showbiz world.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -you can fucking skip this part idc- ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

you've only ever heard his name maybe once or twice in one of the magazines in your mother's bar. you must've read it over and over again, having to see his name and face habitually to endure the excruciating hours of working behind the bar with your phone in a locker. you weren't particularly enthusiastic about films or Hollywood or WASP families, either. but it was better than nothing.

it started like this. you were wiping the cedarwood slab that dewed with beer, when the woman who sat across you (having drunk maybe 4 pints) reached over with her veiny, grisly hands. the acrylics tapped at your temples when she held your awkward face.

said "woman" was your aunt who just got back from monaco. and she's been urging you to work with Pierce. whoever that was.

you were well content with the life you had right now. but sometimes—often in front of your vanity— you did find yourself fantasizing about the 'big city'. you caught yourself in a cliche dream but the idea was invigorating, the mere machinations of those opportunities dangled above your eyes like meat on a stick.

"..oh, but.. i don't think it's practical, you know?" you excused as you dismissed the billowing thoughts in your head. even if you had the physical assets that aligned with the director's vision, it would still feel wrong. some people go to literal schools for this stuff, don't they?

but she remained persistent. and after a low, lighthearted sigh, she continued her persuasion. "..y/n, you're a diamond in the rough." your aunt neared you, holding your hands together in a friendly hold. "..let me make it a reality for you."

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -♡- ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

so. were you a natural? hell no.

you're wearing a costume that you can't even touch without the stylists getting mad at you. you got harped on and poked at for so long you were starting to get a migraine. the studio refused to let up on you, jabbing at you passive aggressively until you curled like a millipede. honestly, you were more pissed than sad!

and leon? god, he was a total fucking hottie. and he was totally cold.

the director announced an hour break to everyone just before they'd jump straight to the next scene. you remained sat on one of the props, hands clasped on your lap, contemplating the choices you've made over for the 7th time today. you were fidgeting like you were anxious. you forgot how breaks felt. the luxury was there, five star hotels, velvet cushions and robes and office gossip and dinners with imported wine and cheese. but it felt like hell. working with leon was the only thing that made it even ten percent worth everything, but even he doesn't seem to like you. why was everyone so mean? fucking fair enough, you were beginning to hate this place so much you might ask for a cigarette yourself.

the petrichor mellowed through the film set, nibbling her skin with chill. nights in raccoon are cold, you needed to keep mind of that in case you decide to open your front door without a jacket. the alleyways were diffused by vapor lighting and LED signs. you also had another superficial thought. what do people on set usually do when they're on break?

you whip your head up, legs swinging slightly as you scanned the area. most of them are either adjusting equipment, going through script, or smoking one. you turned your head to your right without expecting much.

you saw leon leaning against the wall, next to the director, sharing smoke (you're beginning to see this is a trend) and cheap laughs. you were mildly surprised, not realizing they were both adjacent behind you, and you felt goosebumps rise when your eyes landed on leon. you quickly looked forward again. you didn't want to move away.

you missed leon's subtle smirk to himself when his gaze flicked to the crown of your hair. he took a puff of his stick, still sounding like he was talking to the man beside him. his eyes didn't leave you and the way you sat there like you were going to spend the remainder of your break spacing out.

leon's voice was nonchalant behind you. to you, it was faint chatter. "...life will chew you up and spit you back out before too long, but that's..."

...

was he talking to you?

leon wasn't too nice on you while you guys were on set, but he wasn't so directly mean either—emphasis on directly.

he's earned word of you from both your aunt and the director, obviously. he doesn't look like the type, but sometimes he has a knack for gossip. that's just how the nature of stardom works, doesn't it? name number #1 did this that tto name number #2, someone divorced someone, someone slept with someone—and the whole world goes aflame. he could care less about where you came from, why you're really here or who you were connected to. but something about you was thought-provoking. contrasting you, he worked for where he was. you just sat there looking pretty and snagged the role right away. maybe that sort of incompetency and oblivious audacity made you stand out from the rest. he found it pathetically attractive. you're an artless girl.

your head swiveled over your shoulder, looking behind and up at leon.

leon's eyes met your gaze halfway. "aww. is this your first big time acting gig, baby? no need to be nervous, it'll be alright." a tinge of mockery sweetened the husk of his voice. the director, who you now know is 'pierce', snickered at leon's subtle sarcasm.

the director tells him he's going to announce everyone to continue, since he wanted the rain to 'sex things up'. heaven's dew tapped lightly on the concrete as the director mounted his back off the vandalized walls, leaving you and leon alone in the same space. oh god.

for a minute you sat there quietly, letting the tension sink in upon the director leaving. you tentatively take another glance at leon. he wasn't looking at you anymore, and his hands were out his pockets as he swipes the little box open. soft brown tufts wisped when he shook his head to get the rain off his hair.

you got off the table. you walked to leon. you'd say your feet were moving on its own.

his head shifts to your direction. his bangs falling over his face. a gust of wind breezes by, and he smells deep, musky. like cardamom. cedarwood.

" if anyone's givin' you trouble on set..." leon looks down as he slips a cigarette in his mouth, rummaging in his pocket for his lighter. "you come to leon... 'kay?"

his hush voice was honeyed whiskey when it wooed at you, applying simple emphasis to his two-syllable name. leon, leon, how that name would sound in bed. there's a slight tease to his eyes, before diverting his attention to his cigarette, casting an orange glow in his palms when he flicks the lighter on with his thumb. his presence was prodding, inviting you with every inch of his body language. this man was blazing and you were a fucking moth.

he likes the way you're looking at him right now. your eyes are batting at every subtle sculpt of him. you can look away but he knows you're still thinking about him.

such a sweet thing, this one.

he decides to be 'friendlier', pitying the fact that you're obviously having a hard time socializing with the crew. "what's your favorite movie, doll?"

"mm.. i liked kill bill. and pulp fiction." you converse casually.

a name rolls off his tongue. "quentin tarantino." he nodded in what seemed like approval, watching a puddle.

you blink. "what?"

he glances at you and he doesn't reply, before leaving that wall all to yourself.

...

leon's tongue trickles with the taste of vouvray. you were art in the shadows, the honey lighting of the dimmed lamp doing nothing to illuminate leon's hotel room. your lips are glossed with his saliva, evidence of your breath went after he made out with you.

you're barely holding it, all while his big hands purchased at your flesh, drinking in the way you straddled his boner. the subtle friction where you were able to feel how big he really is intimidated you, blooming excited butterflies, your stomach fluttering at each soft push of your hips. you watched with your palms flat on his stomach, the soaked fabric of your panties collecting and staining all over his boxers as you stifled a needy whimper. "y'need it now, baby? oh, don't go soft on me now... i'll take care of you, just tell me."

his pretty baby, sitting on him and too shy to plead from the big shot. leon's hands languidly travel your skin, palms massaging up your sides. "...i-i wan' it.. i want you.. please.." you murmured hazily, leaning down to give him a soft kiss to compensate for the bashfulness that rode over your speech.

"is that right, sweetheart?" he bit his lip gently at the teasing sight, loving the way you sounded needier by the minute. "oh, baby, go on. it's all yours, yeah?.." he crooned, patting your thigh gently.

"easy, baby.. oh, there you go.. atta girl.." he groans prettily when he's muttering you through it, eyes delectably gazing at the way you sink on his length. it was cute to him seeing you not knowing what to do with your hands. but he watches you settle them on his built torso, and he could only look at you in adoration. god, he was so fucking thick and you were so highly strung..

leon's touch stroke at your knees. you aren't moving, and he looks almost amused seeing you try to render just how he feels inside you. "i can't.." he heard you murmur before you giggled quietly, to which made him chuckle as well. but the flustered laughter dies down. the actor groans, feeling your fluttering grip around his cock, making it his instinct to hold onto your waist.

it didn't take long before you started getting loud. your arousal lathered up and everytime you pump down a creamy squelch. "mhmmm... uhh, keep going.." leon whispers, and his eyes stared at where your bodies met. you could hear a soft whimper from him—vocally begging your sweet little self to go faster.

leon watches you trying to change the speed. poor girl, you looked like you were already starting to ragdoll. you resisted stopping, unable to with the way he'd rub into the right spots. leon took your small, depleted whine as a sign for him to initiate. he was just letting you have your fun. just until you'd get a bit frustrated. by this time he'd already lit another cigarette and the stick perches between his lips.

"..tiring, ain't it, sweetheart?" leon coos, feigning pity for you, fingers clutched at your hips like its his favorite thing to hold. he started to thrust up into your sopping little cunt, pulling a weak mewl out of you. there might be nothing he loves more than watching your supple frame as it bounces atop him.

"mmm.. aww 's okay, baby.. leon's got you.. mhm, that's right." he responds to every quaint sob you make. his stamina was stubborn as he gradually shifted his pace.

"nice and quiet, baby... don't want th't fucker 'pierce hearin' you..." leon almost feels like a sick fuck, pretty lips grinning slightly as he moans. "god, fuuuuck... mmmhh... uh- f-fuck!" leon almost whines before giving you a harsh thrust, as if he were desperately trying to make you his cocksleeve. if you were going to take it so well then you shouldn't be surprised at how he's gonna force you down, and keep you in place while he sluts you out.

you're murmuring something, and the words fall like blabber to his ears.

leon smiles endearingly, as if he isn't fucking you stupid right now. "mhhh.. wanna cum? you wanna cum?" leon asks as he tries to make sense of what you're saying.

and you gulp, gasping through your watering voice. "w-wanna cumm.. give it t'me-"

he tries not to laugh.

"c'mon, let me make you cum... i'll make it feel good.." leon murmurs before you could feel him pound into you, a whine dripping like syrup from your voice. your body barely keeps up. you feel tight and it's making leon's head tilt back a bit. "oh, there you go, sweetheart... atta girl.." he mumbles hazily as his mind starts to get messy.

"like that? uhuh? mmmh?~" leon moans back almost mockingly at each pleasured whine that spilled your voice. you're mindlessly pawing at whatever you can reach on leon, turning him on with your helplessness. "takin' me nice and well-..." he growls as he starts to piston up into your cunt brutally. you look cuter when you're stuffed with leon's thickness, when you're crying on what you begged for.

"leon, c-cumming" you lolled out in a low moan, head leaning slightly. "i'm gonna cum.."

he responds with a groan, hips rocking upward as he feels you clenching around him. "go on, baby, give it to me. 'm right here,"

he has you shuddering when you cum, the vibrating sensation jolting to your brain as it reeled in pleasure. it takes a few shallow thrusts to keep you satisfied but it's hard to tell when you're already sniffling and twitching on top of him. you wipe your face as you draw a few breaths. leon reaches to warmly take your wrist, thumb pressing onto your skin, feeling your heartbeat.

he watches you gather your bearings before generously caressing your hair once. you help yourself off leon's shaft and a heavy-sounding breathe escapes him in wonder.

leon whispers something once he leans into you and chucks his half-dead cigarette into the ashtray. "c'mere.." his one arm tucked around your back and eventually the other to your leg as he makes you lie down. he treats you with some sort of delicacy, at least until he doesn't.

leon tugs you closer with his arm hooked loosely under your knee, pulling your princess body in for a few intimate kisses to calm the both of you. he tastes mildly bitter. you hummed in his mouth when your lips lock together, eyes fluttering while you felt weak. leon starts muttering as he asks if anything hurts, if you're okay, if you're gonna stay here for the night. for a moment he doesn't say anything and he's just gazing down at you languorously while he breathes. he kisses one of your eyelids before he shifts.

maybe leon liked you better like this, on your fours, limping against the satin bedding as you cried and panted in a way that seemed like suffocation. his thick fingers tug at your hair once, your only teary view being the couch and the TV that dimly mirrored a reflection of you being held down be leon as he rammed into your dribbling hole tenderly. your legs occasionally kicking up against him, hitting him with your ankles as you found it hard to not writhe. he watches you peek over your shoulder, the expression in your eyes instigating struggle. "what?" leon tugs at your hair again, fighting the toothy smile from his face as he fucked you brainless. "didn't think i could make a whore out of you?"

leon lets go of your hair to rut into you with urgency. the bed was starting to jut out small squeaks from leon's rhythm. he leans closer, chewing on his lip as his eyes narrowed in pleasure. a soft growl emanates from behind you, skin on skin, breathing near your ear. the rough hands that were once planted near yours on the mattress start to grip your forearms like handles. he watches your back contort.

you jolt up as leon yielded you to his body, impaling you with his girth in a routinely fashion, urging you to cry louder. "oh, baby.." he whimpers lowly as he starts to feel himself lose control again.

"fuck, i can't.." you wail out, head hanging low briefly. he notices.

"ready to pass out, honey?" he pants softly.

you weakly shook your head.

"good girl." leon bit his bottom lip, whispering out a needy 'fuck' as he slammed into you while pulling you back. he felt satisfied by the way you yelped. his brows furrow, expression tainted with a lustful and crude color as he almost began to drool. brown strands started to get in the way of his vision. his breath is suddenly hitched, water lining his eyes as his voice turned up a note. he hisses, head tilting to the side. "fuck, fuck,-" his gruff words start to match with his thrusts. "take it- all-, yes, baby, that's a good- fucking- mnnnghh..."

it takes leon a while to recover, moaning lowly and riding his orgasm, watching you spasm beneath him while he spills inside you without much restraint. he tiredly fucks his load in you before he gives out and huffs a spent whine. he catches a glimpse of it. you're leaking white.

you're breathless, fatigued, sweating, and almost thoughtless as you catch some oxygen back in your lungs. you could feel yourself pulsating around his twitching shaft as waves of pleasure traveled your burning body. his arms loosen of their sensual hold before they catch you, pulling your weary form down to spoon with you momentarily. you can feel each other inhaling. exhaling.

a phone rang. it wasn't yours, you could tell by the ringtone. your eyes flit to see pierce's name on a default iphone screen. "i need a drink." leon exhales roughly, leaning over to kiss the shell of your ear before he reached for the bedside table to grab for his phone. he slipped out of the sheets with his phone on his ear.

#leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader smut #this is so bad kms

[queerxqueen]

Not Noah being straight up racist, islamophobic and hateful by liking a video making fun of victims in Gaze who have died and liking Amy Schumer's islamaphobic post. As a middle eastern fan, I defended him time and time again about this issue, and for what?? This is just really sad. 10,000 Palestinians have died, and he's actually making fun of it and being Islamophobic?? Horrible.

Noah's behavior has been disgusting and grossly uneducated and---I'd say it's disappointing, or heartbreaking, if it weren't completely expected for him.

I totally get why some folks are taking an ST break and I respect that decision. Because it's not just Noah sharing disinformation but Brett Gelman as well, and Ross Duffer signing an open letter that, at best, could be called misguided, and at worst, ignorant and dangerous.

I don't condone people harassing or threatening Noah and I hate that people are using his stupidity as an excuse to be antisemitic and hateful. But I can guarantee that whatever hate Noah is experiencing is nothing compared to the horrific reality of what's happening to Palestinians every day in front of our eyes while world powers do nothing to stop it.

I love Will Byers so much. I love Stranger Things in general so much. And I like to think at this point that these characters and this show are not just their actors or their creators anymore, they're ours. But fuck Noah and his privileged, uninformed, hate-filled perspective. I won't be supporting him or the others outside of Stranger Things and I hope they educate themselves and listen to Palestinian voices before even more harm is caused. (I don't have that much faith in them, though. They've shown their colors.)

Just to add some resources so this isn't just me talking shit:

Educate yourself. Listen to Palestinian voices.

There are a slew of free ebooks to learn about Palestine from Haymarket Books and Verso Books.

Here's a list of organizations you can donate to.

If you're in the US, call your representatives and demand a ceasefire and demand that the government stops funding Israel.

#noah schnapp #free palestine #israel palestine #politics #current events #brett gelman #ross duffer #anon #answered #jamie being serious for a moment #sorry this got longggg