#(I don't know man I just personally think the entire was so stupid and clear indication that the writers had no idea what to do for finale

[catboybiologist]

Wanted to ask about this for a while but you had asks off, you mentioned having experienced hetero(ish) relationships from "both sides", so like, do you have any interesting observations or perspectives you think most people don't know about?

Ah yes, the bisexual transgender eye. There's lots to say here, and I don't think much of it hasn't been said before. I don't think my observations are limited to what I'm rambling about here, but here's some surface level ones.

Btw, this is probably going to be my post with the most weirdly gendered thing of anything I've posted here. I hope its abundantly clear that I don't think any of this intrinsic or morally good, its just my observation on how heterosexuals act towards each other while dating. This isn't about the boxes men and women should be in, its about the boxes that society has put them in.

I think that dating apps are intensifying stereotypical "masculine" and "feminine" dating roles in heterosexual relationships. Eg, encouraging men to "take the intitiative", oftentimes enabling harassing behavior in the process. This, in turn, forces women to screen and shut down men extremely harshly. Except, because of the entire dynamic that's being set up now, this makes a lot of men think women are "playing the game", and again, enables harassment from them.

I recently deleted all my dating apps, but even before then, I had them set to women and enbies/other only for a long time. Her was my primary app, but it has a very small userbase where I live.

Irl, men absolutely take the initiative more than women, but less aggressively than online. There's a huge added element of fear because of the in person aspect, however, and when meeting up, men can be extremely pushy.

The "toxic girlboss" angle of this is that this is often fun to play with. If you're clearly communicating in a serious context, and have established systems of consent that extend to communication as well as the bedroom, playing with "the chase" is... intoxicating. Having a man wrapped around your finger is really fucking fun. It has to feel safe and fun for both parties involved, though. You need to be able to "break character" at any point and have direct conversations, either about boundaries or directly communicating a want or need.

Obviously I haven't publicly been a woman for very long, so my experience isn't vast and limitless or anything. But I've had a few wonderful romantic entanglements with men already. Luckily for me, one of these is ongoing 😘

As for some of the people I've talked to, but never gotten far with.... cishet men are really stupid. I'm sorry but like. Y'all are. There's a lot to be said about how society normalizes male incompetence in heterosexual relationships (eg, the dopey husband stereotype) but I think this also extends to the early stages of a relationship. Men very frequently bitch and moan about "games" while not realizing that they play just as many "games" themselves. Oftentimes, those games involve being overly pushy with everything, and then not communicating their own limits and what they want out of a situation, expecting women to figure it all out for them. Eg, they want to bring forward unlimited energy and pushiness, but expect women to be the ones that whittle them down to what they actually want. This applies both romantically and sexually. Men have a lot of emotional needs, of course, and yes its a problem that they're often not met. But a huge part of that is society discouraging them from openly communicating what they want.

I guess to summarize all of this, I feel like so much of modern dating is essentially a process of elimination, where men are constantly encouraged to push and say yes, and women are constantly encouraged to shut them down for their own safety, and if they're lucky, they eventually reach a healthy dynamic by sheer process of elimination. Which... really isn't fun, and leaves a lot of room open for frustration.

Queer relationships and flirting provide a lot of open communication that hetero dynamics don't. I've had the most luck in "heterosexual" dynamics with queer or queer adjacent people, and literally everyone I've ever gotten past the initial stages of "talking" with has been at least a little bi, by their own admission. It's not that straight men aren't interested in me, or that straight women weren't interested in me before, its just that these are the people who will understand my existence as a queer woman the best and communicate with me the most openly.

I probably could say more, but that's a summary, I guess. I know its weird and stereotypical, but unfortunately, heterosexual dating is pretty much the most gendered possible environment you could be in. I feel like Jane Goodall in there sometimes, but hey. Ya gotta do what you gotta do.

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

I want to thank my Lord and savior Tom Cardy for posting a song that has the exact vibe I wanted for the relationship of ps8!Lance/ps8!Allura with an oc I have for this au

[ladyempty]

Yandere Maegor, Daemon and Aegon I reaction to Reader running away and marrying someone else and having children?? Please 😭😭

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. | ° | English is not my first language. |

Aegon I

Aegon Targaryen I is the definition of a conqueror, courageous, intelligent and ambitious, with a friendly and captivating personality, easily lovable and admirable, but with few close friends. A certain air of enigma surrounded his figure, making people try to unravel him, attracted like moths by his light of monarchical dignity.

The king was comfortable and accustomed to sycophants, women dragging themselves for crumbs, or simply a single night in his bed. He was unfamiliar with something denied to him. He had "conqueror" in his name for a reason that went far beyond the submission of the other lords.

So it came as a complete shock when he was so bluntly denied when he approached you at one of the numerous banquets hosted by the royal family. At first, Aegon couldn't even process it, the features remained the same with a gentle smile and analyzing eyes and no words uttered. Like a person who was suddenly punched and in the first few seconds didn't understand or simply didn't know how to react. He just narrowed his purple eyes and watched you leave in an elegant bow.

The first time he was seriously denied, you hadn't done it to pique his interest, but rather to preserve your own honor, not wanting to be just another king's case knowing that he would return to Rhaenys at the end of the day. He admired this. If his plans were to push him away, you were not successful, you only made a dangerous obsession settle in your being.

He began to pursue you subtly, with gallant and courteous gestures, he urgently wanted to erase the first impression you had of him. Forcing the Targaryen to reveal his personality beyond the superficial, rambling for countless hours about some common interest and constantly summoning his presence, whether to read to him while I work or simply enjoy his warm presence.

And when his barriers were still not lowered, the king had to resort to more drastic measures, asking for her hand in marriage and making it clear that he would not accept being denied.

You would be softer when you were a wife and had duties towards him. The conqueror thought wrongly. Never in a thousand lifetimes did he expect you to run away. As soon as he found out, Aegon simply went crazy, the image made up of himself falling down the moment he threatened to destroy the entire seven kingdoms again if he didn't get you back.

Stone by stone, leaf by leaf. Everything was meticulously investigated by the countless guards spreading even through the most forgotten places by the gods. The Targaryen king became somewhat paranoid and easily irritated by his disappearance, not even Rhaenys could calm him down or change his mind. It was two years of pure torment.

Ah... When he finally found you in a small house in pentos... Married and obviously pregnant... It was like the world was open beneath your feet again. A loving feeling of betrayal. How dare you? Did you think that pathetic man could love you more than him?! How stupid.

He coldly killed her husband and none of her tears and pleas could change his mind. His heart was partially darkened by his betrayal. He won't forget anytime soon, you'll have to regain his trust to have the slightest amount of freedom. Countless guards will follow you closely, if you are even allowed to leave your quarters.

And your son? Don't worry, Aegon will assume paternity of the child even if it comes with rumors about having deflowered you before the wedding. It didn't matter. He just wouldn't let you mother a bastard or have that other man as a part of your life. Aenys was his heir anyway.

Maegor, The Cruel

You were certainly a very unlucky person to have caught the attention of the Targaryen king who was called cruel. You probably met at an event organized by him to celebrate one of his conquests, reaffirming his power and sovereignty as king, or you were one of his wives' ladies-in-waiting.

Whether you were from a big house, small house or even a commoner. It didn't matter. You were his the moment the king laid eyes on your enchanting figure.

Maegor was a man of few feelings, he didn't truly love any of his wives, it was lust mixed with the rational thought of creating heirs. But you were different, there was something special that made Maegor feel a bubbling sensation in his chest, a pleasant and addictive warmth like he had never felt before. It was something unfamiliar, one that he felt slightly hesitant to demonstrate or how to handle. But he just knew he wanted you and he would have you. At any cost.

Maegor was far from the definition of courteous, he knew little about the gallant arts or gentle love. Therefore, he had little knowledge about the courtship, the little he knew was from his mother's advice, who only knew about these things from the poets who surrounded Rhaenys.

Either way, he is not discreet. He doesn't even make an effort to appear less intimidating than he is. His eyes are fixed on you no matter the moment, his intimidating and darkening presence looming over you like a shadow. Once he even gave him a white fur coat, an animal he himself killed. It was his way of showing his interest. Something raw and rustic, without words, just proves to be worthy of you.

Either way, he wouldn't wait long. The moment he gets tired of waiting and the itch that grows in him is not relieved, he will attack. Demanding her hand in marriage from her, leaving no room for disagreement. He didn't expect you to run away in the middle of the night... Stupid little bird. Did you think he wouldn't come after you?

The man flew into a rage the moment he found out, destroying everything and everyone in his path, no matter if they were his wives, servants or important masters. Everyone should pay for his blinding rage. He turned the seven kingdoms into hell looking for you. A thick layer of blood, smoke, ash and corpse covering every corner of the kingdom.

And when he found you... Ah, dumb little bird, did he think he could hide for another year? Never.

He killed her husband the moment he saw the man, not even bothering to give him a painful death to pay for his crimes. He was as furious as a bull at the sight of any trace of red. He never thought about seriously hurting you, but he would have to punish you in a certain way to put you in your place. But his angry thoughts strayed the moment he caught sight of her swollen belly with a child.

A baby, that could and should be his. It was someone else's... It was an unforgivable betrayal. He could never fully forgive you. He would never forget or leave you alone for even a second.

He wouldn't kill the child, he would keep you away until you gave birth and then pretend that the child belonged to his lady-in-waiting, even if it was his child behind closed doors. It was a good way to keep tabs on you. Do you love your child? So better obey, you don't want something bad to happen, right?

Do not worry, dear. If you want to be a mother and wife so much, who would Maegor be to deny you that? You would be two things very soon.

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon was never a man to love madly, he fell in love a few times. He rolled from bed to bed without a fixed commitment, just looking for momentary fun and vague pleasures. He indulged in his desires without shame. Bad luck for you to have been so captivating. He was hooked on you the moment their eyes met his.

Any slight affection he ever had for other women and men was forgotten. For you he felt love. Real love that went beyond lust. After all, he had never touched you intimately and he already had such overwhelming feelings.What was it if not love? You were his only thought.The first thought when waking up and the last when going to bed.

And Daemon had no intention of hiding his affection. His hands constantly find their way to your shoulders or start from your waist, a touch that lingers on a simple handshake and a look so intense that it would make anyone else tremble in fear.

As expected, rumors were created questioning his honor and how terrible the prince was. When his father went to confront him, Daemon just smiled mischievously and just said he would marry you. To everyone's great surprise, after all, the Targaryen had demonstrated his unhappiness during his first marriage.

But you weren't like that woman uglier than a sheep. You were perfect in every aspect and in the very definition of the word. Something to be admired every day.

It was a strong, stunning blow when you disappeared during the night, your maids only finding cold, wrinkled sheets when they went to wake you up that morning.

Where in the seven hell were you? He would find you... You couldn't run away.

He destroyed, killed, tortured and threatened. He spent days flying with Caraxes to every corner of the seven kingdoms just to find you. Unsuccessfully. A long year without having your favorite addiction... You.

He drowned himself in e wine while you were gone, nursing a bubbling rage and constantly exploding at everyone, scaring even Viserys, who thought he had seen the worst side of his brother.

But nothing lasts forever. He found you. He invaded your home in Essos without hesitation. He didn't kill your husband at first because his stunned mind simply refused to understand that you had betrayed him in such a disgusting way.

But the moment she saw the little newborn baby in her arms. He understood everything.The black sister ran through her pathetic husband without mercy, blood spatter staining his robes in small crimson droplets.The cold, darkened eyes like never before were directed at you.

For a moment you feared for the baby's life, placing the small bundle against your chest to protect it.

"Don't worry, I would never hurt our son." He smiles as he says each word slowly. He would legitimize that child as his and didn't care what he would say. A good way to keep you behaved and not tarnish his bloodline with bastards. Obviously he would love his own children more with you, but he wouldn't show it so openly. You're lucky the child looks so much like you…

[zorosangell]

I love your fics sm they’ve been getting me through my weekend! In honor of the cold and flu season, maybe a Zoro x Sick Reader would be cute ^^ (where of course Zoro is a big blockhead who doesn’t know how to care for someone who is sick but is too overprotective to not at least try).

⛥ﾟ・。 ham melon

synopsis: after you contract a rare, deadly disease, zoro has to take care of you... the best he can.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a lovable idiot, reader's a little nervous

a/n: love the love i'm receiving from some of you guys tysm. though i just wanted to remind some of you in my inbox that it is the holiday season, and while i'm writing these i am also getting my house and gifts together for christmas. so plz give me some grace lol. i am doing my best to work through my asks

"Zoro... honey... I don't think I can eat that," you rasped, breathing labored and voice weak as you glanced toward the man standing at your bed side. "I can barely keep down water..."

Eye wide, Zoro flushed with embarrassment, now feeling stupid as he glanced down at his hands, which held the bone of a comically large cut of raw ham melon.

And after he spent a whole hour looking for it, too...

'Dammit.'

"Shit..." he cursed under his breath, tossing the meat off to the side as he ran an anxious hand through his hair, looking around the room for something else to help.

Of course, fate had to have chosen the worst possible person in the world to leave you with.

"Alright, I'll... um... shit..." he frantically thought aloud, his hand coming to rest on his chin as he brainstormed more things to give you. "Tea helps people when they're sick, right? Do you want some tea?"

He turned to you for an answer, only to be met by your heavy wheezes, your chest rising and falling both slowly and deeply in an attempt to get as much air as possible.

Your eyes were shut, blankets pulled up to your neck for the body chills and rag placed carefully on your forehead for the fever—which was a whopping 104 degrees last he checked.

Moving closer, Zoro removed the wet cloth and placed the back of his hand in its stead, letting it rest against the painful flush for a moment before quickly yanking it away, worried.

"Christ, woman, your burning up! Tea's gonna kill you!" he winced, concerned, before quickly turning around and rushing toward the exit. "Here, gimme a second!"

Bursting into the kitchen, he bee-lined it for the cupboard and grabbed a glass, moving to get water out of the fridge.

Chopper and the others would have to hurry up if you were going to survive the night.

After docking on a mysterious, tropical island, you somehow managed to catch a rare disease—a disease that had a one-hundred percent fatality rate.

Naturally, the entire crew was worried, but an elderly woman from the town explained that a cure could be made from the large lotus flower that sat in the center of the jungle.

But, because there's always a catch, the jungle was teeming with dangerous animals and man-eating plants, thus making the trip a suicide mission.

So, Luffy and the others embarked on the journey, while your boyfriend was left on ship-watching and you-watching duty.

Though, it was clear that the crew was having a far easier time with their task.

"I got you some water," Zoro stated, walking back into the room.

Quickly, he took a seat next to your bed, scooping his hand under your neck and lifting you up, helping the cup to your lips as you drank.

"Thank you..." you mumbled, taking a few sips before allowing him to lay you back down. "M'sorry... m'such a pain in the ass."

"The hell are you talking about?" he raised a brow, placing the glass on the end table.

"Well... you never get sick... and it's my luck the one time I do, it's deadly," you looked down at yourself, slightly embarrassed. "Not to mention you probably had things you wanted to do today..."

"You talk as if I think you're a burden."

"Well—"

"That's stupid."

You piped down, slightly surprised by his blunt statement.

"There's no burden in this relationship. There's me... and there's you," he stated, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "You keep me sane... and I protect you... and both of us pick up the slack where we need it."

Seriously, he turned to you, eye practically peering through your soul.

"I don't date dead-weight. If that were the case, I would've never asked you out in the first place."

Gagged, you could do nothing but sit there, stunned to silence.

You didn't know he thought so much of the relationship...

Not that you were treating it was a fling, but that you didn't think your swordsman read so much into it.

"You're talking better. The fever must be breaking," Zoro yawned, standing up from his seat. "You need anything else?"

Quietly, you shook your head, and he let out a heavy sigh, allowing his shoulders to slightly sink before he flopped onto bed with you.

"Good... M'takin' a nap..."

"Zoro! I'm gonna get you sick!"

He grunted in response, allowing his eye to shut as he rolled over and dropped his head in the pillows, tucking his hands behind his head.

"You said it yourself... I don't get sick..."

"Well, I don't wanna risk it!"

"Just shut up and c'mere," he mumbled, looping his arm around your waist and jerking you into his side.

The moment you came in contact with his shirtless body, you nearly let out a sigh of relief, his warm skin doing wonders for your body chills.

'Maybe... a few snuggles won't hurt...'

"Five minutes..." you warned, groggily, resting your head on his chest as you inched closer.

"Mhmmm," he hummed in agreement, already half asleep.

Though, when the rest of the crew returned around midnight, the two of your were still in bed together, a mess of limbs and snores as Zoro held you close—his position that of a shield as his front cradled you in his arms, and his back shielded you from any outside dangers.

After Chopper administered your medicine, and Luffy ate the ham melon left behind on the desk, the crew left, leaving you both to continue your slumber.

Zoro, relieved that you were still alive, able to sense your breathing through his sleep.

You, relieved to know that your swordsman viewed you so highly, and saw you as anything but a burden.

[multifandomslxt]

How I think each Nct 127 member would be during a heated argument (honest)

THIS IS NOT REAL. MY IMAGINATION IS AT WORK HERE. IDK THEM PERSONALLY.

Taeyong

he plays the victim really well

The argument started because of something he did

but he flipped the script

now he's pinning EVERYTHING on you

manipulative

omg its crazy

knows exactly what to say to set you off

and when you do bow up he says something like

"see? this is what I'm talking about"

Johnny

he speaks to you like you're a child

like you don't know basic shit

ALOOTTT of hand gestures

and the worst part?

he sometimes disregards your point just to get his across.

twists your words a lot

He's a walker btw.

walks away from you whenever it's your turn to speak

Yuta

You won't win

let me clear that up first and foremost

You. Will. Not. Win.

You could've made an entire PowerPoint presentation with detailed examples

He doesn't give a shit.

You're coming at him for shit like this?

alright then here

He's saying the most low-balled shit ever

he's throwing shit back in your face btw

stuff you confided in him about

so you're not gonna win this one

Doyoung

Girl bye.

attitude on top of more attitude.

looks at you stupid

"how does that even make sense?"

"whatever"

and quite literally blocks you out after that.

argue with yourself is basically what he's saying

Jungwoo

pretends like he doesn't know what he did.

CANNOT take accountability for shit

everything is "but-"

excuses and more excuses

also plays the victim

also manipulative

a manipulative crier (I have ptsd from this)

makes you feel like shit for even coming at him like that.

Jaehyun

don't argue with this man if you value your sanity

he does not give you ANY reaction

just sits there and nods

"alright." "okay."

like he just wants this over with

makes you feel stupid because he really and truly is not even attempting to properly engage at all.

"are you done now?"

Mark

He tries to understand where you're coming from but boyyyy

he got some shit to get off his chest too.

he'll try to word it nicely but just ends up making it worse.

walks away and then comes back later more calm and collected

arguments don't go too far with him.

Haechan

"and?"

that's what an argument feels like with him.

completely disregards anything you say and makes you feel stupid for even thinking it.

"y/n, be serious..."

"...so tell me then, since you're so smart"

rolls his eyes at EVERYTHING.

[fanfics-for-you]

what's in a name? || Patrick Verona (TTIHAY) x gn!reader (Modern!College!AU)

AVAILABLE ON AO3 (SOON)

Inspiration: ✨️Patrick Verona✨️

Summary: Patrick Verona is apparently the most intimidating guy on campus. You just want to get by, pass your classes, and get to your actual dreams. When you casually approach him one day and decidedly are not scared of him, Patrick has some questions.

TWs: light language, use of Y/N (only like twice), second person POV (you, yours).

[[A/N: This is basically under the concept that you approach Patrick first, and aren't really as afraid of him as anybody else. He's intrigued. Also this is a college AU, because I am in college and I think it's weird to write about high school lmao. ALSO,,, I know this is incredibly niche and a dead tag, but... I watched the movie recently and was violently possessed to write this. The parasites in me what to continue this universe, but idk. Anyway. Enjoy :)]]

You were exhausted. Totally and completely exhausted.

You'd stayed up all night for your chem quiz, and still, didn't think you did great on it. Which made your day ever so worse. So, when you went to the library, and someone was sitting in the spot you always sat in, you halfway wanted to cry and halfway wanted to rip your hair out. Normally, such a thing wouldn't be a big deal, but today it was. So, with a certainty that rivaled a lawyer in court, you stomped over to the chair.

For a moment, the guy didn't even look at you. He kept staring at his friend, a surprisingly 'metal' dressing guy who was talking avidly about something.

You cleared your throat.

That's when they both looked at you.

You were entirely focused on the one in your seat. A taller guy with built shoulders, curly hair and a sharp jaw. In normal circumstances, you'd probably think he was hot. Today was not normal circumstances.

The man raised an eyebrow.

Okay, so maybe it was a little normal circumstances, but that wasn't relevant.

"What are you doing?"

The man answered, simply -maybe a little confused, "Sitting?"

"That's my spot," you clarified, pointedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry-" the man pretended to start getting up before pausing -speaking sarcastically, "-Oh wait, I've just remembered, this is public property."

Mindlessly noting that he had an accent that you couldn't quite place, you rolled your eyes, "I sit there everyday. Just give me the spot."

"You weren't sitting here all day," he pointed out, "-or else I wouldn't be here."

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, "I was busy failing a chem test, now get up."

His eyes skimmed over your face, thoughtfully, "Do you know who I am?"

"Why-" you sighed out, frustrated, "-would I know who you are?"

Even despite the comment, he did seem familiar somehow but you weren't going to tell him that.

He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, and didn't say anything. You felt like you were going to explode in fiery flames.

You groaned, "Oh my god. There are thousands of seats on campus, just go sit somewhere else."

"Exactly," the man countered, "-why don't you sit somewhere else?"

"Because-" you huffed out a breath, "-that's my spot."

"And why is this spot so important to you?" He shuffled slightly, moving his hands along the cracks of the seat, "-You got something good stashed in 'ere?"

"Dear god," you huffed out a breath in defeat, "-Whatever. Enjoy your seat, asshole."

And with that, you spun on your heel and pulled yourself deeper into the library. Taking a breath in, you pulled yourself into a seat not too far from the original, but you were around the corner so you wouldn't have to look at his stupid face. You soured just at the thought.

You pulled open your chem book, and read through it -trying to figure out which ones you definitely missed, that way you could get the ballpark for what your grade might be. You really needed to know, to make sure your GPA stayed in the range for your dream university.

But, in the middle of it, you heard someone plop into the chair in front of you (it was a group of chairs, like for a group of people if necessary).

Before looking up, you spoke -sharply, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Your eyes shot up at that familiar accent, and you frowned.

"You got the seat," you pointed out, bitterly, "-What the hell do you want now?"

"Your name," he answered simply.

You blinked, (what?) before settling back into your seat and flipping to the next page, "Yeah, no."

The man seemed to move forward, and unwillingly your eyes flickered to him (his curls moving with the motion), "Why not?"

"I don't give my name out to strangers," you retorted -flicking your eyes down to your book, "-especially not assholes."

"Don't know if I can change who I am," he smirked, "-but, I can work on the stranger part."

You frowned, eyeing him particularly, "Seriously, what do you want?"

"I already told you," he replied, fidgeting with something in his hands (you weren't paying attention), "-I'm Patrick, by the way."

"Well," you exhaled, sharply, and ignored his name, "-you're not getting it."

"Well," he repeated with the same sort of grin, "-I'll just have to work on that too, then."

You looked up at him again and squinted at him -trying to read him somehow. All he did was grin at you, a charming kind, of course, that made crinkles on his cheeks. You ignored the flutter in your chest that it gave you and darted your eyes back down to your book.

The next day, you were in better spirits. After studying for an entirely different class, you were pretty sure you aced that test. So, you weren't as pissed, thankfully. Until you went into the library to sit between classes like you always did.

You paused in your step and frowned.

The guy (Patrick, your mind treacherously noted) was sitting by your chair, mindlessly tapping his fingers along the arm of the chair. He wasn't in your chair, thankfully, but still, he was in the one beside it. Pointedly close.

You huffed out a breath, and moved toward the chairs, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," he repeated.

You raised an eyebrow.

He seemed to take that as a repeat of the question -before saying, confidently (too confidently), "I'm studying for a test."

"You don't seem like the studying type," you retorted, throwing yourself into the chair and pulling out your laptop -realizing it was no use to try and get him to leave.

Patrick pointed out, "You don't even know me."

"And I don't intend to," you replied with ease, flicking your eyes to meet his, "-your point?"

He grinned the same bright one from before, amused maybe. Your heart skipped a beat, so you dropped your eyes back down to your laptop. He, on the other hand, didn't seem to look away.

"What's your major?" He asked, thoughtfully.

"I won't tell you my name," you leveled, scrolling through your online schedule for homework, "-but you think I'll tell you my major?"

"Well," he reasoned, "-a name is much more identifiable, but your major," he shrugged, "-not so much."

You eyed him again for a second, before saying, "What if you just want to look up my classes and hunt me down?"

Patrick smiled again, before asking, "What is your next class?"

"Why?" You ask, pointedly, "-So you can force me into talking to you again?"

"Preferably," he replied, grinning cheekily.

You raised an eyebrow, and bit your lip to pull down a smile that begged to quirk up, "I'm not telling you that either."

"What if I just follow you when you leave?" He questioned, curiously, "-Figure it out myself?"

"And what if I-" you smiled at him -patronizingly, "-call the campus police?"

He raised both eyebrows as if to say 'touché' without saying it out loud. You bit down another smile and moved back to your computer -pulling out your planner and jotting down dates.

"Your pissiness," he suddenly spoke, "-Are you often filled with boiling hatred?"

"No," you sigh out, before shooting him another patronizing smile, "-that's special just for you."

He laughed then, and something warm zinged down to your toes (you ignored it), "Do you seriously not know me?"

"Do you know how many Patricks exist in the world?" you point out, "-No, I don't know you."

"So you do remember my name," he smirked, patting along his lap with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes but didn't say a word.

It ended up like that for the rest of the time, Patrick shooting questions now and then, and you shutting them down. His stupid smirk and low, rumbly, accented voice, you hated that he actually seemed kinda nice -all things considered.

But, as you stood up to leave, you decided on something.

"Literature," you said simply, gathering up everything into your bag.

He paused, shooting up his eyebrows, "What?"

"My next class," you answered, nonchalantly pulling your bag onto your shoulder, "-Intro to Literature."

Patrick grinned, bright and shiny, "Gen Ed?"

"Yeah," you answered, moving to put the last few things in your bag.

"Can I walk you?"

Your eyes snapped to him then, curiously -detailing the rather honest look, before answering solidly, "No."

He burst into laughter then, throwing his head back against the chair -you mindlessly watched his curls fall back with the motion and then snapped your eyes away.

"Same time tomorrow then?" He asked, still laughing a little bit (something in you twinkled).

"Nope," you exhale a breath, ignoring the disappointment that swirled into your chest, "-I'm not on campus tomorrow."

He seemed to falter for a second, "Do you live on campus?"

You raised a solid eyebrow, you really think I'd tell you that?

"Right, yeah, okay," Patrick conceded, holding up his hands in faux surrender, "-What days are you on campus?"

You paused, pressing your lips together, but something in you did it, "Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays."

He grinned a little brighter, "Are you here around the same time on Mondays?"

Something in your chest flipped, but even still, you answered, "That's what you have to figure out. Not me."

And then, you spun on your heel and walked out of the library. His laughter trailed out behind you, and if you had a small little smile on your face at the noise, that was only for you to know.

Monday came, and you woke up early and made your way to campus -the first class of the day was at the crack of dawn. You physically despised it, but so is the schedule of a college student. Plus, you still worked, so the earlier the better for your schedule -didn't mean it didn't suck though.

Sipping on your drink, you wandered back toward the cafeteria -crossing the main connecting area, where everything led to. There was a baseball game going on, not an official one by the looks of it, in the grass. Your eyes hinged on the game for a few seconds, the echoes of laughter shooting toward your ears. It looked fun, but you weren't too invested in being outside for that long. Before you could look away though, your eyes caught on a familiar frame.

Patrick.

His hair was tied back, and he was wearing a pretty bland tank top (just grey), with some typical jeans. With his hair pulled back, you could see his jaw more distinctively -the sharp lines clear from even this far away. (Not that you were looking.) The sun bore down on them but all of the players seemed to be happily distracted. And you kinda were too.

You pursed your lips, for a moment, and looked forward again after a breath, heading toward the cafeteria again confidently.

Before you could get very far, though, you heard a familiar accent.

"Hey!" He yelled, a little distant -footsteps following his voice, "-Hey!"

At first, you weren't sure if he was talking to you, so you kept moving.

"Shit, I don't know what to call you," he called out, breathless and much, much closer.

You spun on your heels with furrowed brows, and met his eyes over a few people's heads. The grin that swallowed his face whole should've been criminal, bright and twinkly and... charming.

Before you could say anything, he was by your side with heavy breaths -assumedly from playing baseball and getting over to you. Leaning over slightly, he leveled out heavy breaths. You were almost concerned enough to offer him water, but he seemed to settle himself before you could.

"Hi," he echoed, "-'Ve been looking for you all morning, what time did you get here?"

You blinked, all morning?

"I get here early, 7, and immediately go to class," you answered, a little blankly (looking for you, looking for you, looking for you).

"Oh," he paused, "-I got here at 8. There's classes at 7?"

"Obviously," you respond, because you did in fact just say it.

"Did you-" Patrick started, before pursing his lips together, "-Are you going to the library now?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "No, I'm going to the cafeteria to eat between classes. Why?"

"I'm actually quite hungry myself," he avoided the question, "-Do you mind if I tag along?"

"What about your game?" You furrowed your eyebrows even further -eyeing him curiously.

"'S just to fill time," he explained, "-It's nothing serious. They're sure to find someone to fill in for me."

You flicker your eyes along his face, trying to read him. What's your prerogative?

After a moment, you come up with nothing and instead, just turn on your heel -leading the way to the cafeteria.

"I'm taking that as a yes, then?" Patrick called out from behind you, catching up and matching your stride with ease (despite you making no move to slow down).

You decidedly don't answer him, and say something focused elsewhere -eyeing him as you walk forward, "Do you always stalk people this much?"

Patrick laughed, catching your eye with his warm brown ones (they were almost sparkly under the sun of the day), "Only the ones that blindly hate me."

You pressed your lips together in a flat line (trying not to give anything away), "I didn't say that I hated you."

His face lit up at the words (and you couldn't decide if you regretted it or not), "Well, you could've convinced me."

You roll your eyes, and keep walking forward, "Not telling you my personal information isn't... hating you."

"I'm not sure not introducing yourself is exactly anything but hatred," he argued back, fluidly.

"I just told you that I don't hate you," you point out, "-so it isn't."

"Does that mean you'll eventually tell me your name?" Patrick asked, curiously.

You turned to him, flicked your eyes over him, and then looked forward again, "Maybe on good behavior."

He burst into laughter, brown eyes set on your face, "You're quite an enigma, you know that?"

"And you're not half the mystery you portray," you fire back, naturally, with the flow of the conversation.

He grinned at that, eyes shining with something you couldn't quite label, "You know, I don't think I've met a person like you. You're fearless in like a-" he motioned with his hands, "-casual way."

"I'm not fearless," you argue, approaching the door to the cafeteria, "-I'm just confident."

"Do they not go hand-in-hand?" Patrick offers, getting to the door before you and promptly holding it open for you -unflinchingly.

Something warm stirs in your stomach at the gesture (and his woodsy scent that brushes your nose as you walk past him), but you ignore it, "You can be certain and still be afraid."

"But knowing you're right doesn't necessarily mean-" Patrick followed you in, matching your stride again, as if it's natural, "-that you're confident."

You furrow your eyebrows, genuinely intrigued, "What do you mean?"

He paused, maybe a little shocked by your attentiveness, "Plenty of people know they're right and still concede to someone else because they don't want to fight it. You-" he pointed at you, "-will fight it."

"Well," you purse your lips, avoiding his eye contact, "-maybe I'm only like this with you."

"You," Patrick paused, "-You're not this fiery ball of rage with anyone else?"

You eye him for a second, before saying flatly, "Maybe."

"All of this seething hatred and impressive indifference just for me?" He grins, the big teeth-showing kind, "-I'm touched really. Because I am special to you in some weird kinda twisted way-"

Before you can stop yourself, you let out a laugh at his words -just a quick one. Barely there.

But you could still see the delight smooth along his face, and just knew he caught it.

"How much of that have you been holding back?" He tilted his head curiously, before continuing to push it, smirking, "-Oh I bet you think I'm hilarious."

Your heart skipped a beat at the smirk, and you simply pressed your lips together and turned on your heel to the food counter. There wasn't even a second before you heard footsteps following you.

"You're not denying it, you know," he called after you, close on your tail.

You peer over the selection of food, eyeing the different items thoughtfully, "But I didn't confirm it either."

"Still not denying it," Patrick hummed, sing-songy.

"You know," you turn to him (mindlessly noting that he is very close), sharply, "-someone can have one good joke and still be unfunny."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes set on yours -challenging, "Then tell me why it came out like you were holding it back?"

You blinked at him, once and then twice, the sudden closeness sent a shock through your brain and the challenging tone of his voice nearly gave you full-body shivers. You can't find words to say, and you can nearly see it processing on Patrick's face (the way that he had made your mind melt for a moment), so you turn to the counter and point at something random for them to pick out for you.

The woman eyes the two of you suspiciously, but still diligently pulls out a to-go plate and piles the... mashed potatoes onto it.

"Oh my god," he finally says after a moment (you ignore it).

You go through a few other items, and the woman gathers them onto the plate. You pay, grab your plate-

"You like me," Patrick retorts, and you're not even looking at him but you can tell he's got a shit-eating grin.

Your brain malfunctions for a moment, but you step toward the tables and fire back (on autopilot), "I won't even tell you my name."

He's hot on your trail, following you diligently, "You're avoiding the question."

You spin to him, and reply -sharply, "You didn't ask a question."

His eyes flicker along your face, taking you in (you want to squirm but you steel yourself in place -your eyes now challenging), and then he grins so bright that you'd need sunglasses in any other scenario.

"Oh, you're really into me," he continues, low, gravelly, accented voice rumbling through your ears.

You screw up your face into something defiant, roll your eyes, and turn back to slide into a table. Patrick follows you like a lost puppy. Well, an incredibly arrogant lost puppy.

"You're still not denying it," he slides into the chair beside you and you hate the way your brain swims at the woodsy smell that brushes your nose.

"'Thought you were hungry," you say, simply (avoiding the question and decidedly not denying).

"It was very obviously a ploy," Patrick chimed back, with natural ease -tilting his head slightly and looking at you with twinkling eyes, "-They had pizza out there for all the players. I've already eaten."

Your fork froze for a millisecond (even still, you were sure he caught it), and after a moment, you pulled it to your lips. Maybe conquering both of your lack of response and the way your mind lit up at the idea of 'he just wanted to see me'.

His smile and eyes seemed to soften slightly, as he leaned his head down to catch your eye and guide it back up to your natural gaze (your heart skipped a beat). His brown eyes were soft and if you were honest, maybe a little affectionate.

"What's your name?" He finally said after a soft few moments.

And just like that, for you, the moment snapped, and you rolled your eyes -turning back to your food.

"Oh, come on," Patrick tried to catch your gaze again, "-Look, I'll tell you. Patrick Verona. That's my name-"

You bit down a smile, as he motioned to you with his hands.

"-Now, your turn, tell me yours."

You raised an eyebrow.

Patrick let out a half-laugh, before leaning forward slightly on the table -not quite a breath away, but certainly closer.

"You're so stubborn," he laughed, "-I'll beg. You want me to beg?"

You can't help but let the smile slip onto your lips then, "Why would you beg for my name?"

"Because I want it," he pointed out, still grinning "-Because I want to know you, and personally, I think it should start with a name."

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you let your fork hang there on the path to your face. You took a moment, scampered your eyes along his face (dark brown eyes so incredibly soft, curls coming down from where he put them up in individual tendrils). Your resolve was weakening, it was really and truly broken under Patrick Verona's hand.

Stupid pretty boys-

"Y/N," you said finally (quieter than intended), immediately pulling a bite to your mouth.

Patrick blinked, "What?"

"'S my name," you explain -shortly, moving a hand in front of your mouth as you chew, "-Y/N."

His eyes lit up at the words, that stupid charming grin smoothing onto his face as he repeated, softer than expected, "Y/N."

You shove down the fluster that begs to climb up your cheeks at his accented voice saying your name. It's something you'd never really thought about but now that it's said, you probably should've thought about it.

Patrick leaned back in his chair, eyes still set on you. He was still grinning, as he said simply, "Suits you."

You furrow your eyebrows, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He raises his hands in faux surrender, laughing to himself, "Jesus, you're a true ball of rage, you know 'at?"

"I'm not-" you huff out, and take a deep breath in, "-I'm not mad."

"Defensive then," he mends, "-You act as though I'm about to strike any minute."

You pursed your lips, "Whose to say you aren't?"

"Me," Patrick laughs, "-This entire conversation. The way I've acted around you since the beginning-"

"Oh, shut up," you roll your eyes, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your lips, "-you were an asshole once."

He groaned, but something like amusement was twinkling in his eyes, "You are the most stubborn human being on this earth-"

"You took my spot," you interrupt, sturdy.

"-It's public property," Patrick argued back, "-and how was I supposed to know it was yours before I sat in it?"

You paused, for a moment, before saying, "You couldn't. But, you could have given it to me when I asked."

"And then we wouldn't be here," he explained, now fully grinning, "-and wouldn't that just be such a bore."

Your eyes swam over his face a moment, Patrick Verona. And his dumb persistence. And his stupid handsome face-

God.

You let out a long sigh, picking around at your food. Eyes watching the swirl of your fork, you debate a few different things to say. Finally, after a few spare seconds, you made up your mind.

"Yeah," you hum, flickering your eyes up to his, "-it would."

Patrick grinned, big and bright and twinkly (you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest). His eyes, the deep brown that if you weren't careful you could stare at for way too long, were soft but still sort of happy, eager. Definitely eager.

And maybe, just maybe, you could get used to-

"I told you I could work on the 'stranger' thing," he suddenly said, smirking, "-You never should've doubted me."

"What?" You raised an eyebrow, confused.

"You said-" Patrick explained, "-you don't give your name out to strangers. And I said I could work on that part-"

You level a look at him.

"-And look, I did," he continued, before adding with a smirk, "-I have successfully escaped the cavernous barrier, deeper than the ocean I'd say, that walls you off from any poor soul who wishes to know you-"

"You're really pushing it, Verona," you chime back, fiery (but not quite all the way).

"What?" He raised his eyebrows, like he said nothing at all to warrant the reaction, "-You can't tell me that it's not like pulling teeth getting to know you. Or trying to anyway-"

You press your lips onto a flat line, "Wow, you must be a sort of masochist, then?

He faltered for a second, before laughing a little, "Oh absolutely, I chase the high of you ignoring me for 2 hours straight every day."

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile, "I despise you."

"Better that than indifferent," he responded with ease, "-I prefer you feeling something rather than nothing at all."

"Oh my god-"

It continued like that, a back and forth, as you finish eating your mediocre cafeteria lunch. The silence is sparse but not uncomfortable when Patrick isn't running his mouth, that is. It was nice. Insanely nice. You'd probably never had as much fun on this campus as you did with him, just in general, but...

"Same time Wednesday?" He poses with a cheeky grin, leaning onto one hand against the table -closer to you than before.

You felt something warm swirl into your stomach, as your eyes flickered over his face. He was still smiling, like he wasn't able to stop when he was here with you. And something in you never wanted to see it go away anyway.

So, with a slight head tilt and a brighter grin than what you'd let slip past all day, you repeated.

"Same time Wednesday."

[exilethegame]

k but what would your characters do if Commander gave them a box to look after but they were told whatever they do, do NOT look inside?

hmmm now I'm curious what MC is putting in there

Vethna: I think this depends on MC's personality. If MC is genuine, they'd really want to look, and they'd probably just pout a lot, but they wouldn't. If MC was stoic or aggressive, Vethna would take it a lot more seriously and just not look at all-- they'd probably assume it's something bad or dangerous. And if MC is sarcastic, they'll immediately open it the second MC even kinda turns away, fully expecting it to just be empty or something stupid.

Nikke: Would depend on MC's body language! If MC read as being super serious, he probably wouldn't open it and would smack other people's hands away who try to. Definitely spends the entire time wondering what the actual fuck is inside the box. If MC is just screwing with him, and he'll know if they are (trust me), then he'll be like "Oh, yeah for sure, mhm, whatever you say Captain," super sarcastically and then just immediately rip the top off.

Jost: "Okay." (Proceeds to do exactly as asked and hold it until MC comes back for it. If MC never does... oh well.)

Amilia: Asks a billion questions as to why she cannot open the box. Is there something hidden in there? Is it dangerous? Is it a gift? For her or someone else? Is it something embarrassing? Does peeking through a gap in the lid but otherwise keeping the lid on count as opening...?If she's super close with MC, she won't open it, but she'll be oh, so very restless about it. Otherwise... yeah, she's peeking. Sorry. Choose someone more responsible!

Sabir: "Okay... why...?" Would not look in it, even if he thinks it's a prank. Would be very suspicious about the box regardless. Proceeds to try and subtly ask MC in a million different ways what is in the box and will not stop prodding until MC tells him. I mean this could literally last for years. MC forgets about it and then they'll be hanging out years later, MC confiding in him, and Sabir will just... "you know what ELSE was a secretive, sensitive topic...?"

Syfyn: Raises a brow, stares at the box, then takes it and does as asked. I don't think she'd care what's in the box, or if there even is anything in the box. Like even if MC was just pranking her and it was empty, she'd still carry it around. She'd probably know it was empty too and just be like "man I wonder why this empty box is so important to MC. I better keep it safe for them."

Freedom: Why would you even do that. Why. You could literally hand them Pandora's box, make it clear it's Pandora's box, and Freedom would be like "oh that's sick" and then pop the top right off.

[verysium]

I’ve been seeing some discourse around twitter about the blue lock boys and whether they’d be a loyal bf or not 😭 Curious to know who do you think would be more inclined to cheat or who just wouldn’t at all!!!

I saw someone say sae would 100% cheat like whattt I feel like he wouldn’t even bother looking at anyone else if he already has someone (Cuz I mean dating him would likely mean you actually mean something to him) but I digress

ok anon you had me pulling up a whole argumentative essay here cus WHO TF SAID SAE WOULD 100% CHEAT??? 😔 that mischaracterization is so painfully inaccurate. twitter really took the whole emotionally unavailable itoshi archetype and ran with it. let me just clear the air here because my man deserves some explanation.

sae itoshi would not cheat. as in capital N and capital O. he took nearly an entire decade off his life just to work on his own issues and finally form a functional and healthy relationship with another human being. and you're telling me he's just going to let all that wash down the drain for someone else? 😒 twitter logic really be showing its illogical side here. apparently a man can be loyal to a professional sports career for eighteen years, but he can't be loyal to his significant other.

i think this misunderstanding probably happened cus of shidou. people read the manga and saw that sae dropped rin for a bug-eyed freak and automatically assumed he was disloyal. 😑 let me just say two things here:

(1) sae and shidou's relationship is strictly professional. imagine being stuck in an god awful corporate office with coworkers who bore you with their weaponized incompetence and a boss who annoys the living shit out of you. and then one day, the company hires a new recruit who is probably the most unhinged and debauched creature known to man. you're probably left wondering how he even got hired in the first place. but then you find out...he's useful. he takes risks and gets a high return on what he invests. it's impulsive and stupid, really. but at least it's unconventional and outside-the-box. he has your interest piqued. that's basically sae and shidou in a nutshell.

(2) just because sae gave shidou his number after the u-20 game does NOT mean he would do the same to any other person who would try to encroach on your relationship. and let's be real here. sae would get one text from shidou and block his contact.

anyways, here is my analysis on the bllk boys in general. introducing the anti-cheating to pro-cheating spectrum:

(A) cannot cheat under any circumstance (as in they already hate the fact that they live on a planet with 8.1 billion other people who are not you):

itoshi brothers (atp they don't even have the physical or mental capacity to entertain a third party), ness, reo

(B) cannot cheat due to physical incapability (literally cannot pull anyone within a five-meter radius to cheat with):

ego, igarashi, raichi, bachira (not that he's in any way unattractive...it's just...i feel like he would purposefully act weird to drive off people who aren't you)

(C) could not cheat (basically option A and B but less problematic version)

yukimiya, barou, kunigami, noa, loki, gagamaru, chigiri, niko, hiori, karasu (baby boy literally felt inferior cus his crush was the cutest in his class), kurona (head empty, just you)

(D) would not cheat (on you but everyone else is not included)

isagi (unintentionally a homewrecker to others but would never let anyone homewreck his relationship with you), leonardo (idk why but i just don't trust him entirely)

(E) could cheat (depends on what they get out of it):

kaiser, shidou (honestly what did you expect when you willingly dated a blonde man...)

(F) would cheat (either proven by canon or they accidentally fucked up somehow):

otoya, oliver, nagi

[burst-of-iridescent]

I hate when people say(*writers*) when zuko is an emo bad boy. When zuko acts "emo" and "badboy" as they say it's him reacting to his trauma and abuse as a kid(most of time. Zuko is still badass. But badboy no). Is it an excuse? No. But when zuko is acting that way in canon, his obsession with honor, his yelling, his moodiness, his short temper. That is the product of having his empathy literally beaten/burned out of him by his father(and mocked and emotionally abused by Azula). The reason Zuko is doing this whole thing is because he wants to please his father. Become someone he's not. His struggle of who his father wants to be with who he is. It's because of the abuse of his father and his family. As the series goes on you get more and more flashes of the person Zuko was and the person he can become. By the end of the series it's such a great contrast and Zuko is much more happier because he's with the gaang. His family. He got out of that abusive situation he was in and finally became himself. A dorky, empathetic, caring, skilled swords men, a balanced person. Does he still have moments of anger? Yes. But over all Zuko becomes a fully balanced person.

gasp! but if we don't call zuko a bad boy, however will we make sure people don't get any ideas about shipping him with katara?

jokes aside, you're absolutely right and i roll my eyes so hard when people point to bad things zuko did, or his behaviour pre-redemption as indisputable proof of the kind of person he'd be post-redemption. like you said, a lot of zuko's actions and mannerisms before day of black sun is a direct result of the trauma he suffered, and though that doesn't excuse him - and neither does the show allow it to - discounting it entirely is to erase the abuse zuko endured and how that shaped him.

using the first half of book 3 as evidence of zuko being a supposed bad boy irks me in particular because a) the narrative makes it pretty clear that this is zuko as the worst version of himself, the opposite of everything he actually is and could be, and b) he is stuck in an abusive household at the mercy of his abusers, in an actively life-threatening situation.

zuko knows that he is in a situation where he has no real agency, freedom or control. he knows that aang is alive, that azula has turned him into a scapegoat and that his life will be forfeit if his father finds out the truth. that is an incredibly terrifying and stressful situation to be put in and it's worsened by the fact that he can't even admit it - not just because doing so would mean accepting that he gave up everything that actually mattered in the catacombs to gain nothing in return, but also because no one around him will allow him to do so.

his girlfriend can't understand his experiences or his turmoil and doesn't seem to particularly want to, brushing off his anxieties and encouraging him to stay the course. he is manipulated by his father and gaslighted by his sister, aware deep down that he is entirely under their control and that they have a vested interest in keeping him helpless, yet forced to pretend as though nothing is wrong. he is isolated from the one person who could help - his uncle - physically and emotionally, both because visiting iroh puts zuko in danger, and because zuko's choices have created a rift in their relationship.

all of this compounds the psychological stress zuko is experiencing, forcing him into a constant state of fight-or-flight, and this context is vital to understanding many of the decisions he makes and how he behaves in the first half of book 3.

(this is why i don't agree with the take that hiring combustion man is an ooc moment for zuko because even though i think the idea of combustion man himself is stupid - not to mention disrespectful to the hindu origins it's pulling from - it's a fundamentally desperate move, and zuko at this point is more desperate than he's ever been.)

that's why it's unlikely that zuko post-redemption would behave similarly since many of the factors that contributed to his anger, hostility and moodiness would no longer exist! judging zuko's future behaviour based on a time when he was constantly abused, gaslighted and threatened is just not an accurate or fair means of measurement, especially since we know what he's like at his best. the zuko we see with the gaang still has a bit of a short fuse, sure, but he's also sincere, honest, awkward, shy and far happier than he's ever been. because shocker, people tend not to act the same way in healthy, supportive environments as they do in abusive, traumatic ones. who would've thought?

people who make this argument also usually tend to compare zuko to aang, especially to glorify how aang remains cheerful and peaceful despite his trauma, and... no. just no. first of all, the show barely gives a fuck about developing aang's trauma the way it does zuko's so of course it seems to affect him less, and secondly, there's something to be said about how trauma responses like aang's are a lot more palatable and comfortable for audiences than responses like zuko's, or even katara's in the southern raiders.

anger or moodiness, or wanting to punish the people who hurt you, are not inherently wrong ways to react when you've been wronged and traumatized. praising aang for remaining cheerful and forgiving while calling zuko a bad boy for being angry and moody implies a sense of moral superiority that comes with reacting to trauma in the "right" way, which is both inaccurate and insensitive.

zuko will never be aang, and that's fine. he doesn't have to be. he ends the show reclaiming everything his abusers tried to take from him, having found himself and his destiny, in a place of healing that is all his own. that is an incredibly meaningful and powerful narrative, and the last thing zuko deserves is to have all of his complexity and development stripped just to be reduced to the tired trope of a "bad boy" when he was never one in the first place.

[just-a-strange-boy]

a helping hand

part one

part two here

masterlist

Unable to use his hands after the accident, Stephen is in desperate need for some help. And who are you to refuse?

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader (GN)

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), questionable sexual proposal, handjob, edging, orgasm control

A/N: IT'S TIME! buckle up bc this is shameless... and tbh who wouldn't love to help our poor Stephen in need

"Of course I'll help out", you had said, thinking that you could spare some time, to sporadically take care of Christine's friend, determined to offer a hand whenever you could.

It was a clear arrangement – whenever she couldn't be around to help, you'd be the one to step in for the time being. Keep an eye on him, help him around the house, and make sure he won't do anything stupid that might hurt himself.

And you had just been fine with that. It wasn't an issue for you to pop by once in a while. You had flexible work hours and being the reliable person that you were, Christine knew you'd definitely jump in when needed.

What you hadn't expected was kind of getting stuck with helping, something you had most definitely not signed up for, to the point where you found yourself regularly on duty during your free time. Not that you didn't like to help out – there were worse things you could have imagined and there must have been a good subconscious reason why you kept agreeing to it.

You just hadn't planned to get so wrapped up in it.

Instead of simply sparing a couple of hours for Christine's friend because you could and thought helping him out was a good deed, you had ended up agreeing to an entire week on duty at his apartment, because someone had the audacity to leave for a medical congress, letting the task of caring for him fall into your hands and not missing the opportunity to instate you as a personal watchdog.

"Yeah, don't worry about it", you had said, though her request initially confused you.

Why was she asking you to stay around his apartment for an entire week? Not even Christine stayed around him for that long, knowing fairly well how insufferable his behavior was sometimes, glad she had the distraction of leaving for work and getting out of the house once in a while.

Maybe you wouldn't have had to agree to staying at his apartment all week. A couple of hours would have sufficed and you couldn't even quite explain to yourself why you still put yourself up to the challenge.

Perhaps it was because Christine always had the tendency to put on that kind of tone and expression on her face that expressed 'Please do it for me or else I won't be able to get rest'.

Being the worry wart that she was, she wouldn't have let it go until you caved – which was exactly what you had done, agreeing to her request anyways and accepting you would just have to pester the man in question with your presence.

He probably would have been happy to stay on his own for a bit, with no one around to constantly get on his nerves. You often felt like this was exactly what Christine and you were doing.

He would have been fine, probably, because it wasn't like he was incapable of taking care of himself. Yes, he was in a vulnerable position, his last surgery hadn't been that long ago and his hands were still in some state. There were things he couldn't do on his own, he needed to rely on help with certain things, but he wasn't a child needing to be coddled.

Christine's friend, Stephen, had gotten into a fucking wreck of a car crash, leaving him unable to use his hands, which had taken the most damage. You had heard plenty about Stephen Strange before all that happened, considering he had been good friends with Christine ever since she had gotten employed at the Metro General. But you had never had the pleasure of truly getting to know him until you began helping him out.

Plenty of people probably knew, as did you, that Stephen used to be a truly brilliant neurosurgeon, who would obviously not be able to continue to work in that field since his hands were pretty mangled. Which of course was really frustrating him to the point where he had refused to accept help from outside, all alone in his stupidly huge apartment, relying on not another person in the world but Christine, who was pretty much the only friend he had.

And now he had you too, since Christine (understandably so) also needed a break from Stephen sometimes and had pulled in you, her sibling, for help.

At first Stephen had been mad at her for even bringing someone else around for something as ridiculous as being cared for, claiming he didn't need to be pitied by another person, as pity was all he had for himself and his lost career.

But once his frustration was out of the way, he had warmed up quickly to you. It might have been because he had quickly learned how snarky you were, unashamed to speak your mind and comment on his occasional dickish behavior, volleying his little jabs and teasing him right back.

Or perhaps, it was simply because you weren't throwing him a pity party, while never once belittling him for the amount of help he actually needed.

By all means, Stephen should consider himself lucky that someone put up with his shit.

It was a given that Christine helped him out, considering they'd been pretty close friends for years and colleagues as well, she was aggressively caring for those she loved, and since Stephen didn't have a lot of other people to rely on, she fit the role perfectly.

You also quickly began to understand why she had wanted to split 'Stephen duty' with someone else though and being family, you were apparently the only reasonable choice.

She could be certain that he wasn't going to dismiss you or else he would have to endure the wrath of Christine – and she sure had a temper people knew better than to mess with.

So had he though.

He truly was the perfect match for butting heads with on the regular. Sometimes you were convinced he was just being a cocky and arrogant ass out of spite, to rile you up, to get on your nerves as a payback for getting on his, to have some fun because he was getting sick of his recovery at home.

Sometimes you acted out of spite too, placing things out of his reach, screwing on bottle caps extra tight, rearranging his cupboards, to the point where he was forced to ask for help (which he hated doing), but this, as much as most of your comments, was all meant in good humor.

You were sure that Stephen got it. He didn't seem to mind that you were head-strong and speaking your mind, didn't seem too bothered by the harsh things you said sometimes or the not-so-friendly tone you tended to use when it was necessary.

He even seemed to find it rather amusing sometimes, making for playful banter, and in a way you were almost certain that he liked having someone to argue with, even if only for his entertainment.

It offered him some sort of distraction he desperately needed, after things going dastardly wrong, after all this suffering due to his own stupid lapse of judgment, letting himself be distracted while driving and leaping down a cliff.

There was a lot of pent up frustration within Stephen, a lot of sadness, and desperation. Things he didn't necessarily show, but obviously felt anyways. So whenever you managed to put a smile on his face with your gentle, friendly teasing, you were relieved to see him in a different mood.

You liked Stephen quite a bit, no matter how much he was irking you on some days – and no matter what it was, you were always there to help. So maybe staying at the apartment all week wouldn't be as bad.

Surprisingly enough, Stephen hadn't resented the idea either, though of course dropping the occasional comment about not wanting to be under supervision 24/7.

While you were not one to coddle, going after your own work on your laptop and giving Stephen some space during the day, you were insistent on taking care of his basic well-being, as usual.

You did care for Stephen, and not just because of your sister. In some sort, you considered him your own friend as of now, wanting to make sure he was having a reasonably pleasant recovery, fully aware how much it must suck to go through all of this.

How far you were willing to go though? No one, not even you, would have been able to tell.

"You can either eat the food I make for you or go back to wasting your money on shitty takeout", you had set pretty clear the first evening, scolding him like he was an insolent child not wanting to eat his greens, staring him down at the kitchen table when he wouldn't bother touching the dinner you made, "But I sure as hell won't let you miss out a meal."

Whenever you had stepped in prior, you were trying to make sure Stephen ate properly and regularly, because you knew the man occasionally refused to take a meal altogether, which usually ended in an argument. When arguing with Christine, she tended to give in.

While you were really fed up with his stubbornness sometimes, you had always accomplished getting at least some food into Stephen and this time was no different.

A mere two days later, you had been quietly working on your laptop in the living room, waiting for Stephen to finish up his shower, when you heard a thud and a loud "Fuck", thinking that perhaps the shampoo bottle had slipped out of his hands. It didn't sound like a dangerous bang, so you weren't sure whether you needed to check on him or not, but just in case something bad had occurred...

You still got up, caught a peek into the bathroom and rolled your eyes hard when noticing that it hadn't been his shampoo, and dear Lord, Stephen had apparently managed to slip, the spray of the shower still raining down on him while he was sulking on the tiled floor.

"Did you hurt yourself?", you asked instead of 'Are you okay?', because you knew that Stephen felt far from okay the way things were. He was obviously ashamed this had happened, any other person would have been too, but accepting of the situation itself, accepting that he needed help.

He didn't dare to look at you then, but you could tell there was defeat written all over him and it probably wasn't helping his embarrassment that he was stark naked – which wasn't the first time you had seen him like this, as you had assisted a few showers before and gotten into plenty of awkward situations whereas you'd seen a bit more than asking for, but still... the two of you sure could have imagined a more comfortable setting.

Though you were rather unafraid to touch him, which was a good thing. How else could you have possibly helped?

You touched Stephen all the time. Helping him get dressed? Done that. Combed his hair? Yup. Shaved his stupidly handsome face? Also yes. Changed the dressings on his hands? A given. Assisting him in holding as much as a spoon without dropping it? Daily. Tucking him into bed at night? Okay, maybe not that one, but you sure would have, if he had asked you to.

"It's hard to fall down gracefully without using your hands to help yourself", Stephen sighed, but turned out to be unharmed by his tumble, though he would likely still get away with some bruises from the impact. Coming round the shower cubicle, you could see his knees seemed to have taken a lot of the brunt, not too mention he had cracked the skin of his elbow open, trying to not use his hands to ease the momentum.

"This is ridiculous. Slipping in the shower like some seventy year old sod”, he grumbled.

"I slipped in the shower once as a child and that's how I lost two of my teeth. It happens, Stephen", you tried to ease the mood, momentarily seizing the spray, so you could aid Stephen to get back up without getting too wet yourself. You casually looked him over – he seemed fine enough to continue. At least he hadn't banged his head or something. Still, you decided to stay nearby for the rest of his shower, making sure he was able to get out unharmed.

"What were you even doing? Were you feeling dizzy?", you inquired, helping him towel off his hair, quietly acknowledging how long it had gotten since meeting him for the first time and especially how the gray on his temples had begun to spread.

"No, just unaware of my surroundings for a moment, didn't think and... there I went", Stephen answered, but you weren't sure if that was the whole truth.

You accepted it though, continuing to help him dry off. Situations like these brought an uncomfortable awareness to your mind - he was putting so much trust into you, letting you help him like this, and you had never really managed to find a good answer as to why he was allowing you do all of those things for him.

All the signs of trust were obviously there. He was letting himself be vulnerable with you, being in situations that were so deeply intimate without refusal or much shame.

Stephen was allowing you to touch him too, aiding him with getting dressed, letting you check his newly won bruises today – and as usual, quietly accepted your care for his hands, his sore point, tender and heavily scarred, so that he mostly kept them hidden beneath a layer of bandages, ashamed of having anyone see them.

Sometimes, only sometimes, you even got the impression that whenever your hands were on him, it seemed to ease the tension out of his shoulders, never minding the undoubted awkwardness of the moment.

You weren't one to judge. Maybe he did want a bit of comfort after all and therefore didn't mind being taken care of sometimes, even though always pretending that he didn't need any help or tending to.

Everyone needed someone. Even him.

Stephen was a very lonely person. He would have never admitted to it, but all the fame and the glory from his neurosurgery days hadn't really ensured stable friendships and people being actually interested in him on a personal level. On the contrary, a lot of people had dropped Stephen rather quickly. But not Christine.

And thanks to her, you wouldn't anytime soon either.

You grew aware of Stephen's actual issue, when your work was interrupted for another time that same day. Finally coming to actually work on a commission that had been prompted weeks ago, setting the final touches to the project, tapping away on your graphic tablet, you took note of the noises coming from Stephen's bedroom.

Somehow you tried to make sense of it as moans of discomfort, anguish, perhaps he was having a nightmare, perhaps he was in pain, perhaps he was just frustrated he couldn't sleep, a reoccurring problem he had described to you before.

Whatever it was, it did appeal to your little helper syndrome and you at least felt like you needed to look after him, figure out if anything was going on that might require your help.

So you went to check on him, no regard for personal privacy, quietly opening the door to the bedroom, about to inquire what was going on and whether he was okay.

"Stephen? Is everything... oh..." Shit. Okay.

You had barely crossed the threshold to the room when you took note of what exactly was happening. Because the noises of frustration weren't rooted in trouble sleeping, but as it seemed in sexual desperation – and apparently the man had been trying to get off, unable to take care of his evident erection, pulling the blankets over himself immediately once noticing that you were standing in the doorway.

Awkward.

Standing like a deer in headlights, you wondered which one of you would have rather wanted a hole to open in the ground and swallow you whole to avoid the complete embarrassment.

"God, fuck, I'm so sorry", you apologized after overcoming the initial full-body freeze, not sure whether to leap out of the room, cover your eyes or just act bluntly about it. Logically it would have been best to not make a big deal out of it, because it wasn't, not really.

Just a private moment you had interrupted. Nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone had needs.

"I was... uh... I was worried something was the matter and...", you tried to explain then, going on stuttering and noticing that nothing you were about to say was going to save the awkwardness of the situation.

"Well, you know what's the matter now", Stephen sighed, barely illuminated by the soft lamp light from the bedside table, though still turning away from you in plain shame, continuing on with the sort of self-pity you had never experienced so strongly from Stephen before.

"I'm pathetic. Can't shower without help, can't live without help, I can't even jerk off without help, because of this stupid fucking car crash and these stupid fucking hands and I can't even blame anyone but myself for it."

It wasn't all too often that the man voiced his own hurt so intensely, clearly on edge, emotional about what had and, in that case, what hadn't happened.

Understanding of his evident frustration, but unsure what to do with him now, in this state, you contemplated. Things were already awkward enough and it didn't help you remained standing there while Stephen was wallowing in self-pity, and you weren't really sure why the idea of helping him out even crossed your mind in the first place.

Sure, helping around the apartment was no big deal, attending to Stephen's needs was okay, but taking care of this rather specific issue... you didn't want to push his boundaries too much after all.

And yet you were so bold as to ask, "So, are you in need of a helping hand?"

"Fuck off, now is not the time to make fun of me", Stephen groaned, probably ready to smother himself (or you) with one of the pillows, "Life already mocks me enough. I don't need to have you ridiculing me because of this."

"I'm not... I'm not mocking you", you assured him, finally moving, closing the door shut behind you as you went over to the bed, watching his cowered figure, "I'm just... I'm not pitying you. It's just...me... requesting like... a favor for a friend in need? I'm sure I could help you out some way? If you wanted me to, that is."

"Why would you even offer that?", Stephen asked, though appearing neither dismissive nor exceptionally shaken about what you were suggesting. A little in disbelief perhaps, but that wasn't surprising since you were clearly deciding to cross a boundary for the two of you here.

"Because life's been shit for you and I guess you could need some relief. Since you can't seem to get off on your own, I'm offering to help you with it", your answer seemed to make him consider and you planted yourself down on his bedside. You reached out and touched his shoulder, trying to find out how he would respond to you initiating touch.

"Maybe it will help you unwind and relax?"

Stephen turned to look at you. "We will never speak of this ever again", he hummed in agreement, "And not a word to anyone. Especially not Christine."

"Promise", you agreed – this was definitely not something you were meaning to boast about. You just wanted to help and the decision to do this for Stephen had been surprisingly easy to make.

A normalcy had kind of settled over the situation, which however didn't mean that you weren't feeling some type of way. You were a little jittery as you slid into bed next to Stephen, making sure not to cuddle up to him too much, because you weren't sure how he would feel about any unnecessary affections.

This was just about a quick hand job and that was it. It already must have taken a lot for Stephen to even accept the offer. Not to mention, a lot of desperation too. But he trusted you. This was a friendly gesture and nothing more. It didn't have to mean anything, let alone be a big thing between you, something that might never be mentioned ever again.

Gently pulling back the blanket, you probably held your breath as much as he did, reaching out, making sure to touch Stephen where his sleep shirt had ridden up at first, your hand finding its place on his stomach, letting him get accustomed to your touch, which wasn't entirely new to him – this time with a little different intention than usually, which made it all the more exciting.

The man drew out a shaky breath, agitated even, and his muscles were tensing up before he was even thinking of relaxing. Looking at him, you could see there was concentration on his brow, his gaze averted to the ceiling, neither daring to look at you nor at where your hand was resting.

"Okay?", you asked.

"Yeah", Stephen said, barely a whisper. His consent urged you to go on, your fingers brushing over his abdomen, following the trail of hair down his navel, fully aware that his pants were still bunched down somewhere around his knees, and you could have reached for him right away. But you didn't, sliding your hand past his arousal, stroking along his thighs instead, bracing yourself to make the next step and touch him more intimately.

But even your hand on him alone was seemingly enough to awaken all sorts of things within Stephen and he sucked in a sharp breath as your hand skirted his inner thighs. He was warm, his thighs firm under your touch, and you gently squeezed them in reassurance.

"You're a damn tease", he muttered.

You thought replying something witty, but you knew better and just bit your tongue this time, curiously watching his face, not meaning to stare at his genitals. It wasn't like Stephen didn't seem to like it. He had closed his eyes, seemed concentrated, small breaths were slipping past his lips, and he swallowed hard.

As you continued to carefully caress his thighs, you could most certainly feel him squirm, tensing again, but not because he was uncomfortable. He was aroused, you had no doubts, and his words just made it all the more evident he wanted you to go on.

“Please don't make me wait”, he requested, so quiet as if he was speaking a forbidden thought aloud.

You didn't, fingers trailing the path up his thighs, enjoying the little huff that escaped Stephen when you brushed past his balls, reaching for the half-hard member, responding to your touch with a twitch, stirring in interest. Wrapping your fingers around him, you grabbed the base of his cock in a tight hold.

"God, I feel like I'm about to burst already", Stephen groaned in anguish as his breathing almost turned labored instantly, pressing his head back into the pillows, and the notion alone encouraged you to be a little more bold in your advances.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? Spilling your cum all over my hand and I haven't even really gotten to touch you?", you chuckled, unsure how Stephen would react to your words, but unable to hold them back. He didn't seem to mind the dirty talk though – if anything, it seemed to rouse him even more. You could feel the warm flesh throbbing in your hand, practically begging to be touched, already craving some release.

But maybe you didn't have to make this as quick as you had planned for initially, only allowing him slow movements of your hand, gently tugging on his cock, drawing out soft moans. And dear lord, he sounded wonderful. It was entirely entrancing and you found it hard to choose where you'd rather look – at the subtle emotions passing Stephen's face during your ministrations or his erect cock. With utmost interest, your eyes flicked back and forth.

You made sure to touch all of him, from the base all the way to his tip, thumb gliding over the glistening cockhead, a satisfied smirk coming to your lips when you noticed how much precum he was already leaking, circling his glans, before stroking down again, tracing the veins on his length, making sure to give special attention to those spots that made him buck his hips when touched.

No wonder Stephen was responsive and desperate for it. You had no idea how long it might have been since someone had touched him, intimately most of all. Stephen didn't have anyone, wasn't partnered and you doubted that your sister was that sort of friend. His own hands wouldn't do, which had caused you two to end up like this in the first place. Touch-starved like this, there was no doubt Stephen deserved someone to take proper care of him – and you had made it your mission to do so.

Unfortunately for him, you weren't all that nice to just give everything to him right away.

So as the man tried to thrust into your hand, wanting to chase his own pleasure, needing more, you eased the grip of your fingers around him, almost letting go off him, stopping any sort of movement altogether, earning a huff from Stephen.

"Oh, fuck off", he groaned with evident frustration, fully aware you were doing this on purpose.

"Do you want me to stop then?", you asked, with a grin Stephen didn't see as he still kept his eyes closed, and loved the power you held over him - you could have just taken your hand away, walked off and left the man even more desperate than before. Of course, you would have never been so cruel to actually do this, now that you had already gotten started, but the thought was amusing.

"No", another groan followed, "I want you to go on, you asshole." Then a pause. "Please", he added then.

"As you wish", so you tightened the grip around him again, jerking him at a slower pace, gently at first, before beginning to move your hand a little quicker, knowing very well that the change of rhythm, the change of pressure applied, was going to keep Stephen more on edge than anything else. You knew how, in some ways, it was more than cruel to tease him like this, in his position no less, but if Stephen was seeking release that badly, you might at least make the best of it and draw it out as much as he could.

You'd make sure to give him an exceptional orgasm.

So whenever you felt Stephen tense up, his breath quickening, his moans increasing, his words more pleading, brows furrowing, biting down on his bottom lip, when he might have been just on that threshold to achieving an orgasm, you stilled any movements again, sometimes taking your hand off him entirely, sometimes only abandoning his cock for a moment, though always long enough for a looming orgasm to be ruined entirely. It was a torturous game to play, trying to bring Stephen close to the edge each time, only to deny him pleasure the last second.

It didn't take you much to drive him to madness with fleeting touches, promising release, not quite allowing him to get it, and then doing it all over again.

The sight of Stephen was wonderful. He was squirming, erratically breathing, his sweet moans turning to frustrated groans, his words reaching from "God, please, just let me come" to "I hate you for doing this to me", but still welcoming your hand whenever it returned to touch him, each time a little more.

You didn't even want to imagine how much his balls must have been aching after minutes of being edged and denied, but of course you decided to take pity on Stephen eventually. You weren't that heartless after all and when you finally gave into him chasing his pleasure, allowing him that sweet relief, guiding towards the long awaited orgasm, it was absolutely worth it.

For the last few strokes, you even let him thrust up into your hand, gently guiding him through his orgasm as it struck. A long and shaky moan escaped his throat, a sound of relief coming from deep within, his body completely tensing up, before that concentration finally left his brow and was replaced by a look of ease, surrendering to the sensations altogether.

You could feel his cock pulsing, thick cum spilling all over your fingers and it didn't even seem to end there. He really was bursting, arching his back off the mattress as he was coming loads and loads, his entire body was trembling, sweetly groaning.

You doubted anything could have ruined the moment for Stephen now and thoroughly enjoyed how he was seeming to enjoy himself, jerking him through the remaining throes of passion, until his body just slumped.

Noticing his orgasm had passed, you eventually took your hand off his cock, gently placing it on his lower stomach instead, both sticky with cum anyways. You smiled to yourself, following the movement of his chest, still breathing heavily, and decided to wait for him to calm down again, allowing him another moment of comfort, allowing him to have another presence near, someone warm and caring.

He deserved it.

Though it wasn't like you weren't doing this at least a little bit for your own gain. You had enjoyed doing this for Stephen, had drank in the sight of him, this intimate moment forever etched inside your brain. And now that you thought about it, you wondered about whether you could still only consider this a friendly favor or if perhaps you wanted things to change between you.

You had never really questioned the kind of feelings you harvested for the man. Or could see yourself potentially having for him, if there was any sort of potential at all. Of course, you had come to consider him a good friend – but good friends didn't just randomly pay each other sexual favors, did they? Not like you were counting on this being more than a one time thing... well, unless he wanted to perhaps.

"Jesus... that was kind of... mind blowing. I mean I haven't come for weeks, but I don't think I have ever come that hard in general...ever", Stephen commended you, interrupting your train of thought, still a little out of breath, "Fucking hell, where did you even learn to give handjobs like that?"

"Years of studying", you joked, deciding to definitely not give him an honest answer to his question, looking at him to find him curiously eyeing you in return, "Sorry for being a tease. Can't say that I didn't enjoy it though."

"So did I. As you can probably tell", Stephen sighed, seeming a lot more content, showing you one of his rare smiles, "Though I'm probably going to need to wash up again now. I'm sticky and sweaty."

"It was my pleasure. Make sure to tell me if you ever need assistance again", you patted his stomach and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, before withdrawing altogether, trying not to smear any of the sticky fluid on your hand anywhere else it wasn't supposed to be, deciding to flee the room quite fast after realization hit that you had just jerked your sister's friend off. You had made your own friend, a man relying on your help day by day, come the hardest in his life ever.

Though perhaps it didn't matter, for this was only going to be a one time thing and you'd accomplished to help him out, only because he needed it. The moment was gone now and it had been good while it had lasted. That was the most important thing.

Stephen's voice stopped you in the doorway when he spoke your name. "Thank you. Not just for this. For everything you do for me.”

You turned your head back for a moment, gave him a reassuring smile, acknowledging his gratitude, and left anyways.

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Lorch is talking about writing again...

[Lily's Post]

Where do I even start here?

Okay first lets define what subtext is. Subtext is when a detail or meaning is conveyed indirectly through tone, dialog, character actions etc.

I talked about gay icon Gus Fring in relation to Lorch's thoughts on villains recently. Him being gay is entirely subtext. Even his final scene in Better Call Saul that practically hits people over the head who didn't pick up on him being gay is still subtext.

Gus is not the kind of man to come out and say "I'm gay", you won't see him at a Pride parade, you won't see him decking Los Pollos Hermanos in rainbow flags during June. That's just not in character for him. And yet both shows still, through subtext, communicated to us that Max was not just his friend and business partner but his lover.

(even the name of their restaurant Los Pollos Hermanos is a clue. It was not unusual for old school gays to just claim to be siblings in order to explain away why they live together)

And Gus' final scene in BCS shows him very much mooning over the sommelier he seemingly often chats with at his favorite bar. But we can also see him decide at the last moment to not get involved as his cold, dangerous drug and revenge filled lifestyle won't allow for love to spring anew. None of this needs to be stated aloud.

Okay with that out of the way lets dissect Lorch's nonsense:

So as usual Lorch's opinions on writing all absolutely come down to her not getting it and being bitter that other people do.

Whenever she talks about writing or fandom it becomes clear that the one thing Lorch absolutely can't stand is not being the smartest person in the room. But she has never been the smartest person in the room. So instead she has to decide that things other people understand that she doesn't are just worthless and overused and need to be done away with.

Subtext, worldbuilding, metaphor, lore, they're all just stupid things people use to SEEM smart, because LORCH doesn't understand them and so they must not matter.

Notice she doesn't give a single example of these things. She just starts with the assumption that people only use subtext because they think they have to or are trying to "look smart" and not because, you know, most audience members don't want to read or watch something that's basically the cliff notes of a story like you do, Lily. Subtext can aid in immersion and believability, especially when it comes to dialog.

You don't understand how to make an analogy either I see.

How the fuck is Lorch putting serialization in the same category as subtext and metaphor. Serialization is a method of story delivery, Lorch. It goes all the way back to dime novels and penny dreadfuls.

Something could be completely absent of subtext and metaphor and still be serialized. The fuck are you even talking about?

People don't "understand your point", Lorch, because you don't know what you're talking about and every single one of your opinions just comes back to your inability to understand narrative and your annoyance that other people do. But instead of expanding your understanding you try to control how people engage with and discuss narrative. You haven't deconstructed shit you just rage like a child at writing techniques that have been refined over centuries.

[liquidorcard]

Lily's Harley Quinn Show video is Garbage (and here's why)

We all know Lily's media hottakes are BAD. But, I feel like critics have mostly focused on her hottakes on media she hates. I've personally become more interested in what media she actually LIKES . . . Because her rational is often times even more nuts.

Well, this video made me mad enough that I'm gunna write a post about it now. Prepare your assholes for the death rattle of this DC fanboy losing his shit:

To be clear, I like this show, for some of the same reasons Lily does even. . . But that's not going to stop me from taking the piss.

(I encourage you all to watch the video in full beforehand so you can get the context of the quotes I'm pulling. Timestamps will be included though.

I just told people to watch your stupid video Lily-- can't cry copyright here.)

-0:19: TWENTY SECONDS IN, STEVEN UNIVERSE IS REFERENCED. GG LILLIAN.

-0:36: BITCHING ABOUT HOW VICTIMIZED SHE IS. 30 SECONDS IN.

-0:55: "I dare say it's the best thing to come out of the Batman franchise in a long time."

It seems like the last thing Lily watched/played/read in "the Batman franchise" was The Dark Knight. You dare boldly, Lily. Ironically I feel like she would at least like the Lego Batman movie, if not all the other good shit that's come out since 2011. Also, this is one of the first of many times she calls the entire fucking DC Universe "The Batman Franchise."

-1:00: "If you're watching this show for at all you're watching it for the romantic arc between Harley and Ivy. Don't lie."

I know this is a joke. I'm not an idiot, but. If you're familiar with Lily's general media consumption, you'll be well aware she watches shit a lot of the time for the ships and the ships ALONE. I feel like this really highlights how she views media in general in a way that's rather revealing. This video is two years old, and I wouldn't be surprised if Lily's opinion has soured a bit given the direction the show goes after this video was released. Put a pin in this comment. 📌

-1:15: "I mean it's a post-joker Harley Quinn show what else are they going to do.

Put a pin in that comment.📌

-2:00: Lily goes on to summarize the plot of the show . . . Completely ignoring all the plot beats that have nothing to do with the romance.

Put a pin in that one too.📌

-3:30: Lily indicates she identifies with Ivy.

Another pin.📌

-4:10: Lily starts talking about how near the end of the second season, Harley has now confessed her feelings to Ivy, but Ivy turns her down because she's going to get married to Kite Man (enjoy the insanity of that sentence if you haven't seen the show.)

Though I don't think she's nessesarily making any real poor points here yet, I want to point out that she really flattens the complexity of the emotions going on here. The problem is that Ivy and Harley's relationship has reached a level of intimacy where they really can't just go back to being friends. Ivy is happily in a relationship with Kite Man at this point, he's been a much more stable and reliable partner to Ivy. Though it's implied her feelings for Harley go a lot deeper. During Joker's confrontation of Harley, Lily frames it as a "go get 'er" pep talk like it's a fucking 80s rom com. He's trying more to get Harley to emotionally resolve things with her-- regardless of outcome. Ivy did say no once already. The audience expects she isn't going to say no a second time since that wouldn't be a narratively satisfying conclusion, but in the real world equivalent, she could have. The Joker wasn't telling Harley to harass Ivy until she gives in.

-5:16: Not really a mark against Lily's video persay, but in a season that aired after Lily made this video the prospect of Harley and Ivy breaking up is explored. Lily must have been seething, lol.

-5:28: "I love a good fluffy romance. I'm so fucking done with people's obsession with the nasty stuff [Flashes Catra and Adora on screen.]"

Honestly this comment has me wondering if Lily decided to check her phone or just skip through scenes where Harley and Ivy weren't being lovey-dovey. I don't know what fucking show she apparently watched (foreshadowing is a narrative tool wh--.)

-5:48: "Poison Ivy has always had the same problem a lot of female characters in DC comics have had in despite being an actual doctor they always just put her in a skin tight leotard [ . . . ] About the only notable exception to that was in The Batman [the 2005 show] where she was a teenager [classical Lily goonery inserted here.]"

Ignoring the goon comment, in isolation I don't have a grievance with this comment persay. As a generalization, it's more or less true about Ivy. She's unfortunately one of the lesser well-used characters in the various DC canons as a whole. However, Lily is going to start implying she's more familiar with DC in general, especially the comics, than she really is. I have strong reason to doubt Lily would know Ivy canonically has a doctorate in botanical sciences if this show didn't call so much attention to it. You'll see why in a moment.

Also the 2005 Batman show is far from the only iteration to reimagine Ivy as a teen. I like that show's take on Ivy too, but that's not a fucking unique spin on the character.

-6:57: "Clayface was always a random D-list monster like Carnage, but here he's reimagined as a struggling actor."

In a show that had the balls to feature Queen of Fables, she's calling Clayface a fucking "d-lister." Nevermind Carnage. But no Lily, Clayface has been a struggling actor since his first appearance in Detective Comics No.40. It's literally the first thing in his bio on his fucking wiki page.

-7:09: "There's one episode where [Clayface] assumes the identity of Stephanie to get into Riddler's college [ . . . ] Seriously I'm convinced he's been moonlighting as Stephanie a lot. The other girls on campus call her 'Steph.' She's been there for a while. This is Clayface's secret identity and you can't convince me otherwise."

LILY THAT'S NOT SUBTEXT THAT'S THE FUCKING JOKE. IT'S TEXT. IT'S CANON. YES. CLAYFACE HAS BEEN FUCKING AROUND ON RIDDLER'S CAMPUS THIS WHOLE TIME. CONFIRMED IN THE SHOW. LILY. LILLLYYYYYY.

Worth pointing out too, she'd totally call Clayface's Stephanie character transphobic if she hated the show.

-9:00: "The writers though 'okay, what do we use to fill our quota of the sad misguided villian this arc-- oh I know fucking BATMAN!'"

Lily what the fuck are you doing when you sit down to watch a show for your channel? Are you playing Candycrush the whole time? Are you screaming at Mikaila that often you miss like . . . Almost everything!? What are you doin' sweaty!?

Lilian, Bruce is not the primary antagonist of the 3rd season . . . IVY IS. Or really, Harley and Ivy's emotional dysfunction is the antagonist of basically this whole series, and it's Ivy's turn to be the main driver of conflict. The person destroying Gotham is Ivy. Not Batman, IVY.

Bruce and Selina's relationship is supposed to be a conceptual foil to Harley and Ivy's. Bruce is having an emotional breakdown the entire series has more or less been building up to.

-9:15: [In reference to Batman getting sent to prison] "I want him to get some nice and comfortable therapy."

. . . Lily is that what you think happens in prison?

-9:35: Lily is talking about the Joker's step-dad arc, and this is as good a time as any to stop for a sec to talk about how Lily doesn't seem to get what The Harley Show is doing with the characters.

The thing that makes the show an exceptionally brilliant take on the DC universe is that virtually all the characters (with some exceptions, that were tweaked for the better mostly) are actually faithful to their comic book/generally established characterization. To an impressive degree, down to even just minor details. You can tell the people who made this show are genuine fans of DC comics. Their personalities and character arcs are exaggerated for comedic effect, with specific interesting angles teased out to draw focus to them. Some elements of their personality are recontextualized to create a more engaging dynamic, but regardless. Even most of the plot elements are at least loose adaptations of storylines from the comic, or other DC media. It's really impressive how the show both works as a functional take on the DC universe by itself, and as a parody of it. Lily demonstrates she's totally oblivious to this multiple times in the video, but her section on the Joker best exemplifies this.

The Joker has taken over and/or become mayor of Gotham multiple times in the comics. Lily thinks for some god forsaken reason in the 70 something years Batman comics have been printed, nobody's thought of that. THEY HAVE. The gag with the second time Joker takes over Gotham IN THIS FUCKING SHOW ALONE is . . . He's actually a really good mayor. Gotham is a perpetual capitalist nightmare shithole of a city. The most insane, radical anarchist thing for The Joker to do is . . . Be a socialist who actually gives a shit about the small folk. That's the joke, Lily. That's the joke. That's the mother fucking JOKE. THE FUNNY HAHA, THERE IT IS LILY. I FUCKING EXPLAINED IT TO YOU.

And Lilian. The Joker being at his most normal and stable while he has a family. Is. A. Direct. Parody. Of. One. Of. The. Most. FAMOUS. BATMAN STORIES. EVER. WRITTEN.

SHE IS LITERALLY FUCKING SHOWING THE EPISODE WHERE THEY DIRECTLY VISUALLY REFERENCE THE KILLING JOKE ON SCREEN. LILY YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE ME A FUCKING HERNIA.

-10:10: Lily calls Sam Raimi a "douchebag."

Fuck right off.

-10:25: "It's a return to wacky hijinks that uses to define The Joker back when he was a gangster in funny makeup."

NO IT ISN'T LILY.

-11:00: Lily bitches about Harley Quinn for the 7 minutes in the remaining runtime.

Okay, the play-by-play is over, I'm going to address this section all at once because it will be quicker and more comprehensive if I do. This is the point where all the aformentioned pins come in.

Though I'm going to have to be ignoring some bullshit Lily says here in order to stay focused, I will mention first, Lily doesn't seem to realize Batfleck and Nolan's Batman were MASSIVE departures from the comics and don't pull much from the storylines. I don't think that's nessesarily a bad thing, even though I'm not the biggest fan of either of those interpretations, but for the record-- no. Those adaptations have almost nothing to do with Year one, The Dark Night Returns, The Killing Joke, or The Long Halloween outside of superficial elements. Lily just googled "famous Batman comics" and picked the four she probably vaguely heard of before. Again, she didn't even recognize the in-your-face impossible to miss Killing Joke parody episode she used as footage for this video. SHE'S JUST PRETENDING SHE'S READ COMICS SHE HASN'T.

Now to the point:

Lily's rational for not liking Harley's portrayal in the Harley Quinn show is honest to god brain damage. I'm not even sure how hard I need to go into explaining this because . . . It's pointing at the text itself and calling it a flaw. Harley's entire journey as a person is TRYING TO DISCOVER WHO SHE IS outside of the toxic codependency she had with the Joker. Her arc is both a meta commentary on the nature of the character conceptually and her journey to redefine herself. THIS ISN'T FUCKING SUBTLE. THIS IS STATED IN THE SHOW. Harley's identity crisis over whether or not she's even a villan anymore STARTS IN SEASON 3. Harley's lack of inhibition is what DRIVES THE PLOT IN SEASON 2. Harley's struggles to emancipat herself IS THE PLOT OF THE FIRST FUCKING EPISODE. This is also honestly the ONLY DC property I can think of that actually bothers to do something with the fact that Harley is a psychologist. Almost on that basis alone, it's one of the most refreshing takes on the character. That actually means something when I say it, because I've actually read a fucking comic in my life. LILY WHAT FUCKING DIMENSION DO YOU SLIP INTO ANY TIME YOU SIT DOWN TO WATCH A SHOW.

That question is rhetorical-- Lily tells on herself several times throughout this video. Remember those pins? Go read em again. Lily identifies with Ivy, so Lily decided Ivy is the "real" main character-- and wants Harley to be Ivy's loving kissy huggy gf. She genuinely thinks the show is actively making a mistake anytime her smut ship fanfic is interrupted. Lily wants porn. LILY YEARNS FOR THE PORN, ALWAYS. Every single fucking time.

She's decided Ivy has done nothing wrong to create tension in the relationship. She has deemed the character flaws Harley has that creates tension in the relationship a mistake in the writing.

Because Lily has not actually read a comic, but probably has seen Batman: The Animated Series-- she's missed all of the other references and spoofs in the show except for the ones involving Harley. That was the show she was originally created in.

Case-fucking-closed. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Lily Orchard is talking out of her ass.

Kill my parents and call me the world's greatest detective, I guess.

[dragons-hoard-of-fandoms]

(Murder Drones Episode 8 spoilers!)

Space. The final frontier.

Poor robo-roaches always getting tossed around and killed.

They just left Braiden and Rebecca's corpses there??

Honestly the Teacher is such a mood, I can't believe I never realized it before.

Solvedcalculus reference???

Nori you can't say that this is a Christian Minecraft server.

It's amazing how they're able to make her still convey emotions when she's only got one eye.

YES HE SAVED HER BUT ALSO WOW THAT WAS FAST

Well she did tell you to "Die Mad" about it, so...

Kiss. Kiss! KISS! KISS!! KISS!!! KISS!!!! KISS!!!!!

New cute date idea: Skydiving from space and burning up in the atmosphere together <3

THEY ARE DATING THEY ARE CANONICALLY DATING!!!!!!!!!!

Why no kiss tho :(

Dang it, that was Thad's only good pipe.

V IS ALIVE AND SHE RODE IN ON A SENTINEL I THOUGHT WE WERE JUST JOKING ABOUT THAT

AND IT HAS A LITTLE COWBOY HAT

SHE WAS LIZZY'S SECRET FRIEND AND SHE DID THAT ONE MEME

No!! Bad dingo!!! We do not eat our friends!!!

IT'S DOING THE WALL-E FIRE EXTINGUISHER THING

So did J know the whole time or was she kept in the dark at first and only recently found out? Not entirely clear on that.

You really think it's not gonna dispose of you once all the universe is dead?

V SAID BITE ME

I was fully expecting her to chuck N into the core for a second there. But TBH I don't think continuing to destroy the planet is gonna fix it.

THEY'RE SO CRINGE IN A COOL WAY I LOVE THESE STUPID DORKS

THE CAPTIONS SAY SOLVER CONFIRMED THAT IS NOT CYN

"Okey."

STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP

Y'know J thinks pretty highly of herself for someone who's literally never killed a single person on-screen in the entire time that this show has existed.

Huh, I guess those theories about Uzi not having a core icon were wrong.

You get a panic attack! You get a panic attack! EVERYBODY GETS A PANIC ATTACK!

Wait which part of this is the trap?

FREAKIN EXCUSE YOU DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I JUST TOLD NORI THIS IS A CHRISTIAN MINECRAFT SERVER THERE WILL BE NO SWEARING

Uzi is not beating the bisexual allegations.

SHE IS CANONICALLY CRINGE AND FREE

Nori I don't think most people call their daughters "babe."

"...'Kay."

Playing Nightcore during a final battle is the most anime thing ever.

And the J abuse continues.

*teleports behind you* Nothin personnel, kid.

Okay bye J, thanks for literally nothing.

SECRET HANDSHAKE N YOU'RE SUCH A DORK

o7

THEY'RE SO STUPID I LOVE THEM

YOU STOPPED TIME???

SHE LITERALLY ATE A BLACK HOLE???

😦

Thad is confirmed the coolest dude on Copper 9.

Sorry y'all, Khori divorce real.

Man Teacher don't wanna deal with none of this, same TBH.

Everybody gangsta til the cowboy robot dinosaurs start driving buses

THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH!!!!!

Nah you're not damaged you're just autistic and edgy.

Polyclue shippers low-key getting fed tho.

HE'S BEING SUPPORTIVE AND TEACHER STILL DON'T WANNA DEAL WITH THIS

HE CALLED HER HIS GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!

My heart goes out to all the Doll fans, y'all got done dirty. 😔

He's learning how to draw anime!!! His art is getting so good!!!

He finally got to play rummy with the WDF!

They're gonna passionately make love on that bed later.

Wow what did Rachel ever do to you. Also who's Rachel.

THE NUZI-VIZZY DOUBLE DATE FEATURING DINGO AS THE FIFTH WHEEL

THAT'S THE REAL CYN YOU CAN'T CONVINCE ME THAT ISN'T THE REAL CYN FINALLY FREE OF THE SOLVER AND LIVING IN UZI'S TAIL UNTIL THEY CAN MAKE A NEW BODY FOR HER

IN YOUR FACE EVERYBODY WHO SAID LIAM DOESN'T LIKE HAPPY ENDINGS!!!!

[from-the-clouds]

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

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | chapter summary: The final chapter pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 9.2k (I love being insane) chapter warnings: SMUT (18+only) - unprotected sex. Insecurity/Jealousy. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, blood and injuries. Alcohol & Marijuana use. Fluff. Bisexual reader (happy pride ya'll!). As always please dm for more specifics. a/n: This could probs use another round of proofreading but it would've delayed this even longer sooooo.... Here we go! I feel pretty emo right now and I might make a more in-depth post about my thoughts at a later date bc I just finished writing this in a hot daze so I can't put all my thoughts coherently together. But I just wanna say thank you to everyone who supported and gave love to this story. This is by far the most popular fic I've ever written, and I don't really know how? Or what I did to deserve all the love but I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. Thank you for sticking with me through all the angst and delayed updates and everything. I'll never forget you and I'll never forget Joel x Reader!! Thank you so much, I hope the finale lives up to your expectations! ❤️

**I DO NOT HAVE A TAGLIST. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

I’m not the kind of man who tends to socialize I seem to lean on old familiar ways….

-May 16, 2024-

“Are you sure you’re okay if I leave you here alone?” 

Ethan’s voice jolts you out of a daze, and you blink your eyes open, realizing that you’d dozed off while sitting upright in a patio chair, the cheesy romance novel you’d been reading still lying open on your lap. Turning to look over your shoulder, you find him standing with one foot on the deck, and one foot still inside, cut in half by the sliding glass door.

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and nod. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

Ethan studies you carefully, like he’s not entirely convinced. He’s been hesitant to leave you alone unless it’s absolutely necessary – only stepping away from the house to go on patrol shifts and to bring home meals from the mess hall. Recovery has made you feel like a burden to him – to all your friends in the community, really. Everyone….well, almost everyone, has been supportive, but you’ve never been comfortable being openly vulnerable.

Unfortunately, it’s too hard to deny the pain that you’ve been in since the accident, the trouble you have getting around, the exhaustion that clings no matter how many long naps and twelve-hour nights of sleep you get. According to the doctors, being so tired is just part of recovery – rest is important, but the concoction of pain medication you’ve been prescribed only makes your drowsiness and confusion worse. It had been a big deal that tonight you’d mustered the energy to drag yourself outside to sit in the fresh air. 

“I’m fine,” you assure Ethan, once again. “Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not really a date,” he says, almost a little too quickly. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Right,” you say, matter-of-factly. “Do I know who this person is?”

Ethan looks at his feet. “You remember the day this shit happened?” he asks, gesturing towards you. “Before you left on patrol, the girl that said hi to me? It’s her. Her name is Alex.”

“Oh?” you tilt your head, give him a small smile. “She was cute. How’d you ask her out?”

“Well,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck. “I may have…uh, gotten some advice.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?” you’re able to muster up a small smile.

“I would’ve, I just…..” he shakes his head. “It seemed stupid…with everything you have going on.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say, feeling a wave of guilt. Even though he’s the one looking after you, you haven’t spoken to him much about anything going on in his life. In fact, you haven’t really spoken to anyone in a long time, beyond thank you’s and blanket statements like I’m doing better. You feel disconnected, and more lonely than ever. If you ever get enough energy to leave your house, you expect most of the people in the community to have forgotten you exist. “Who’d you ask?”

“Uhm….” Ethan runs a hand through his long dark hair, shifts his weight. “….I’ve been assigned on patrol with Joel Miller a lot lately….so….”

You almost laugh when he uses Joel’s full name. Joel has been such a huge part of your life – sometimes the hero, sometimes the villain – that you don’t need to hear his last name to know who Ethan’s talking about. You could know a thousand Joel’s, and he’d still be the first person that came to mind. But Joel is still a sore subject, and Ethan knows it, which is why you suspect he’s avoided telling you this in the first place. You feel your eyebrows knit together, only able to let out an unenthused. “Oh.”

“I just, you know….he’s a guy. And it sounds like you even liked him at one point so….he must know something, right?” 

“That was a long time ago,” you say quickly, regardless of the fact that he’s right.

It’s probably not fair to blame Joel for everything that has happened to you. You know this, deep down. But you’ve been so helpless and isolated since you’ve woken up in that hospital bed that you’re desperate to find someone to hold accountable. And Joel hadn’t visited you in the hospital once. By this point, he’s abandoned you so many times that your resentment feels justified, even if your current state is not directly his fault. Because it was you, after all, who had walked into the path of those men, too angry to think clearly, too weak to take them down alone. The only person you can blame is yourself, and you really don’t want to.

“Did he tell you to take her out on patrol, make her cry, and almost get her killed?”

Ethan clicks his tongue, looks down, almost ashamed. “No. He did not.”

“You should be careful with Joel,” you warn.

“I was…” Ethan says. “But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he’s actually alright.” 

“So you’re friends with him now,” you state, hoping he refutes. But instead, he looks up at you, frowns, and lifts his chin.

“What happened to you was horrible. It shouldn’t have happened. And yeah, maybe you think he’s the reason you almost died…. I don’t know the specifics so you can believe whatever you want. But I know that he’s the reason you’re still alive.” Ethan’s voice breaks, and you feel tears brimming your eyes before he continues. “He brought you back here, he donated his blood, he-”

“What?” you cut him off.

“What do you mean, what?” Ethan asks. “He was the only person there who had your blood type. You would’ve died if he didn’t. They didn’t tell you this?” 

“Whatever it took to make him feel less guilty, sounds like,” you say, dismissively.

Something hot burns in your veins, something that must have always been there since you woke up, but you’re only feeling it now. It’s unsettling, Joel being a part of you that way. Your lives had already seemed intertwined enough already. But now, he’s inescapable.

“Well, he stayed by your side every night while you were asleep. Fuck, I mean, he was probably there just as often as I was. He made sure I ate, and slept and showered and… and he never once asked for anything in return. He cares about you as much as I do, clearly, so I don’t think it’s wrong to think he’s a good guy….”

You must not care about me that much, you want to say, but you stop yourself. Because it’s not true, and you’d only be saying it to hurt him. You have nothing to defend yourself with, no way to convince him otherwise, and so you just stare at him until he shakes his head and slips back inside.

Ethan is stubborn, he always has been. And it’s a special kind of stubbornness, fueled by anger – so common in most of the young people you meet these days. You understand why they’re all like this. When you’re robbed of your childhood – you get stuck there….waiting….. Like someday you’ll have a chance to do it all over again, regardless of how obvious it is that you won’t. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-May 25, 2024-

Things get better, albeit slowly. You begin to wean off the pain medication, which makes you more alert. It’s still difficult to leave your house, but you can move around it more easily, and you don’t spend all your days sleeping. Luckily, you aren’t as stir-crazy as you’d been expecting. 

One afternoon, Ellie Williams shows up on your doorstep with a bag full of groceries. 

“Maria wanted me to bring these to you,” she says when you open the door. “She told me to tell you she’ll be over tomorrow, but she wanted me to give you these to tide you over.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you for bringing them to me,” you try to take the bag from her hands, but she steps back just a little, like she’s unsure if you should be carrying anything. You let your hands drop to your sides. “Would you like to come in?” 

Ellie hesitates for a split second, adjusting the bag in her arms, and then nods. “Sure.” 

Stepping to the side, you allow her into the home. Because of how warm it is outside, you’ve opened all the windows to let the breeze through. 

“Sorry for the mess,” you say, Ellie following you into the living room. There are stacks of books and pill bottles with instructions scattered on your countertop. You haven’t swept the floors in awhile and all the hard surfaces are covered in a thin layer of dust. It’s not really that bad, but you don’t have the energy or strength to be on your feet for long – let alone to clean the house. 

“I don’t mind,” Ellie says. “It’s not even that bad. I don’t know why older people worry about leaving your house messy and shit….no offense.”

“There was a time it used to matter,” you tell her. “And I see where you’re coming from, but my thing is – if you’re going to live somewhere, you should do what you can to make yourself feel comfortable.” 

Ellie purses her lips, as if you’ve made a good point but she doesn’t know how to answer. Instead, you continue. “Can I get you anything? Water?” 

“No, I’m okay,” she puts the bag on your kitchen counter.

“You can sit if you’d like,” you tell her. “I just need a moment to put these away.”

When you walk into your living room a few minutes later, she’s hovering near your record player, looking through the vinyls. The turntable was already in the house when you’d arrived years ago, but it was buried in the closet and broken. Ethan had managed to fix it after a little troubleshooting and scavenging for parts. Now, you both were always looking for records to bring home, and had amassed quite the eclectic collection – jazz, funk, hip-hop, and everything in between. 

“Wow,” Ellie says, running her fingers along the shelved records. “You found all these?”

“Some of them were already here. But yeah. Ethan and I are always on the lookout on patrol. I can play you something. What do you like?”

“Eighties, I think,” she says. “But…I also haven’t heard as much.” 

“Well here,” you thumb through the records, pull out a worn copy of Speaking In Tongues. “How about some Talking Heads?” 

You pass the record over to her, and she stares at you blankly. It’s only then that you realize — she’s never used a record player before. There’s a familiar pang of sadness before you show her how. 

“Are you feeling better?” Ellie eyes you wearily once the music starts, and you settle onto the couch, feeling a little worn out after being on your feet.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m older now, so it seems like healing takes a lot more time.”

Ellie nods, then bobs her head to the music a little. “This is better than most of the stuff Joel likes.” 

“Oh yeah,” you smirk, and instinctually, you recall his enthusiasm for all things old-school country. “I remember that,” you say softly.

With so much time on your hands lately, you’ve found yourself thinking of Joel a lot, reminiscing on the time you’d spent with him and Sarah. What Ethan had told you about him staying by your side was definitely making you reconsider your assessment of him, even if you were still hesitant. It was probably a trap to think you’d ever be able to feel those things with him again, but if remembering them brought you comfort, you weren’t going to resist it. 

“You’re more than welcome to come over to listen anytime,” you offer, and she nods excitedly. 

Ellie stays for longer than you expect. You talk a fair bit. She tells you about what she’s learning in school – but mostly how ‘fucking useless’ it is. She wanders around your living room and pokes through your stuff without asking, but you don’t think to stop her – you just answer her questions and let her be curious.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, and she excuses herself to go home, insisting that Joel will ‘fucking kill her’ if she’s out too late. Even though you’re exhausted after entertaining her for a few hours, you find it feels nice. Being on house arrest, essentially, had left your starved for connection outside Maria and Ethan.

You see her out the door before returning to your refrigerator to look for something to eat. Ethan will be back from patrol any minute, so it may be nice to make him something even if you have almost no energy.

But when there’s another knock on your front door, you’re shocked to see who you find staring on your porch. 

Joel.

You almost forget to speak at the sight of him. It’s been weeks since your accident and he might as well have moved away from Jackson since you hadn’t seen him at all. 

“Hey,” you say, tentatively, taking him in. He seems preoccupied – cheeks flushed, hair rumpled, and out of breath, like he had run all the way to get here.

“Have you seen Ellie?” he asks, not even greeting you in return. “I’ve looked everywhere and I-

“You just missed her,” you cut him off, not because you’re trying to dismiss him, but because he's clearly distressed. “I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way over.”

Joel sighs, eyes closing in relief. “Thank God.” For a second, you glimpse the frazzled and overworked father you used to know. “She stayed out too late, had me worried sick.” 

“She’s fine,” you say. “Although she did say you might kill her if she didn’t get home soon.” 

Joel gives you an almost imperceptible smile, but seems mostly irritated by Ellie’s suggestion. “I would do no such thing.” He shakes his head and takes two steps backwards. “Thank you. Didn’t mean to be a bother.” 

Your mind floats to a memory of Joel on your front porch, late getting home from work and looking for Sarah, and you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness and longing for a simpler time, a surge of affection. 

Joel is halfway down your front porch steps when you speak again. “You aren’t bothering me.”

He pauses, turns to look over his shoulder. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, and you step outside, letting the door fall shut behind you and remaining huddled against the siding, and he turns to face you fully, sighing. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, actually….” 

“Oh…really?” you can’t keep the surprise from your voice, and he notices.

“Yeah,” Joel rubs his fingers together, a nervous habit of his you know all too well. “Yeah. I- well, I wanted to apologize to you.”

You’re so startled by the words you can’t answer right away. But the split second of hesitation causes Joel to continue, looking to fill the empty space. 

“I’ve been waiting to find the right thing to say….but it doesn’t seem like that’ll ever happen. I’m not even sure I know where to start.” 

“Oh,” is all you can manage, still taken aback. The only thing that doesn’t surprise you about his admission is the sincerity. You could say a lot of things about Joel, but he isn’t a liar. He always tells the truth. Maybe it’s why he pulled away from you to begin with. It’s easier than the alternative – spending time with you, which would force him to be honest. For how much you’ve changed, you’d probably do the same. 

But the thing with Joel is that you’re exhausted. You’re tired of the back and forth, of the push and pull, of the constant struggle to hold your care over each other's head, hoping the other will break first. Maybe this is a fresh start. 

You step closer to him, and you see him study the way you move. Of course, you’re trying to look strong, but he can surely sense the weakness. He’d always been good at that, better than any of the others. Your hand comes to rest on the porch railing for support. 

But…..

There’s that voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you this is a mistake. The one that reminds of the pain you’ve often earned through vulnerability. It likes to think it’s served you, protected you, and it has. But it’s not always right.

“I suppose I owe you an apology, too,” you say. “At the very least I should thank you for what you did.”

Joel shakes his head, dismissively, but looks to where your hand rests on the porch railing, looks back up to you as he reaches out. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

His hand clasps over yours, and to anyone else, this might be nothing. It’s so innocent, unassuming. But the effect it has on you is palpable. He squeezes once, and you flip your hand over, squeezing his back, giving him a gentle smile. “I am too.” 

Joel’s eyes fill with a warmth you haven’t seen in twenty years, and your stomach flutters, your heart races. A part of yourself that you’d considered long dead seems to rouse.“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I told Ellie we’d go to the mess hall together,” Joel says. “Otherwise I would.”

You blink once, and Joel sees it, immediately continuing on. “But maybe Ellie and I can come another time, join you and Ethan?”

“Yeah. He’d like that,” you say. “That might be nice.” ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-June 20, 2024-

You think that at the end of a long winter, bears must hate coming out of hibernation. 

It must suck. They spend months sleeping, doing almost nothing, and then suddenly they’re forced to function again – to hunt, to eat, to roam, to survive and socialize. You imagine there has to be a learning curve, a desire to crawl back into their den and never leave again. 

Or maybe you could be wrong, and they love it. And you’re just a wimp who hates feeling uncomfortable.

All you know is that you’re huddled in the back corner of the Tipsy Bison, nursing a whiskey – and it’s the last place you want to be. 

You’re overwhelmed. 

And despite the fact that you regularly used to attend community events, it’s been so long since you've been out in Jackson that you feel like you don’t belong. To some extent, you’ve always felt this – too hardened by the outside world to fully assimilate, especially when the town throws dances. But in the past, you at least attempted to convince yourself otherwise. 

Two weeks back, the doctors had cleared you to go about your daily activities as normal  – within reason, of course – but you hadn’t exactly jumped at the opportunity. Tonight, Ethan had accused you of becoming ‘antisocial’ and ‘reclusive’. You had agreed to attend – but only to beat those allegations. So far, you are definitely not. 

You scan the crowd, taking in the people spinning around the dance floor. Some of the women are wearing dresses. You can’t help but feel a little envious of how easily they’re able to perform femininity, which is something you’d given up on a while ago. It hadn’t exactly served you before arriving in Jackson, and you predict it would be humiliating to start trying now. After all the things you’d experienced, you were left marred with scars and wrinkles, stretch marks and loose skin. Since then, you’ve remained loyal to the combination of men’s denim and tank tops with flannel-button downs overtop. 

It doesn’t always stop the men in the community from descending like vultures. You might be the last pick – there are plenty others who are younger and prettier – but you’re still an option. Bea, your old partner, had always theorized that some men were particularly drawn to sapphic women, that it was ‘the ultimate challenge’. Maybe there is some truth to her theory, but you like men….sometimes. So there is always a part of you that yearns for their validation, for as many times as you tell yourself you don’t want it. But it never feels good to get it after you’ve watched them exhaust all their other options.

It’s pathetic, but it makes you think of Joel. He and Ellie had been over to yours and Ethans last week for a nice dinner, and you had tried to gauge whether there was any romantic connection between you still. Occasionally, you’d caught him looking at you with a wistful smile, but he could have been lost in thought. It’s not like you needed that from him or anything, but it might be useful information. After all this time, Joel is still so handsome, and probably has an impressive selection of potential partners here in Jackson – women of all ages. You hope he’s not here tonight – you can’t see much besides the dance floor at this point – because the thought of him cozied up to anyone here, combined with the acrid taste of the drink in your hand, makes you want to gag. 

You take another look around the room. Eugene, your partner in crime – quite literally – is walking towards you, which helps quell your spiraling mind . If you talk to him, say hello to Tommy and Maria, maybe Ethan will see the effort you’re making and you can sneak out without having to deal with anyone. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s worth a shot. The sooner you can get home tonight, the better.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel can’t stop staring. 

He knows it’s impolite. He knows that he’s not being subtle. He knows that if any other person in this bar followed his eyeline, they’d pick up on what he was doing in an instant. But every minute he doesn’t get called out for it, he becomes more and more emboldened. 

It’s the first dance he’s ever been to in Jackson, and the only reason he’s here is to placate Ellie and Tommy. But even they have abandoned him in favor of better companions – his brother is deep in conversation with Maria, sitting across from him in a booth, and Ellie is out on the dance floor dancing with one of her new friends, Dina.

Joel just can’t help himself. He still feels guilty for what he’s done, but he can’t shake the feeling of a soft hand clasped within his own – the first time he’d felt any semblance of hope since arriving here. Tommy and Maria had already slyly let him know about all the women who were interested, but he couldn’t bring himself to entertain their advances. There’s only one he wants, and she won’t even look in his direction.

When he’d first noticed you, you were whispering with Eugene on the opposite side of the dance floor. According to Tommy, you spend a fair bit of your time with the old man, which Joel initially thought to mean that you had some sort of entanglement. At first, Joel thought that couldn’t be possible. But you were deep in focus as you listened to Eugene’s words, nodding and leaning in closer and closer, and Joel thinks Tommy might be right. He wants to understand what you see in this man – tall and unkempt, covered in tattoos with long, graying hair and a beard to match. But Joel catches himself in his judgment, he’s probably just as unappealing – not just because of how he’s aged, but because of how horrible he’s been to you in general. 

The next time Joel sees you, you’re at the bar, chatting with a man who Maria had introduced him to not long ago, a resident who is new in town. Joel had been too busy focusing on the fact that he’d been in Jackson long enough to not be its newest resident that he couldn’t remember his name. He wishes he had, so he could keep tabs on him. Of course, he can’t blame the man for being drawn to you – Joel knows very well that you’re hard to miss in a crowd. 

Still, Joel bristles when you both step away from the bar, and the man’s hand lands just above your sacrum. He actually finds himself tensing up, resisting the urge to intervene, because it’d likely only make you angry. Plus, maybe you are interested. That question is answered quickly when you reach behind your to clasp the man's hand and place it back at his side. Where it belongs, he thinks.

“Joel!”

He snaps his attention to what’s in front of him – interrupted, and probably for good measure, lest he get himself too worked up. Ethan approaches with a girl his age, her arm linked through his. Joel stands to greet them. 

The terse understanding between himself and Ethan while you were still in the hospital had somehow turned into a friendship, especially after they’d begun getting paired up on patrol. Ethan reaches out for Joel’s hand to dap him up, slinging an arm briefly over his shoulder.

“How’s it going, kid?” 

“Good, good,” Ethan nods, pulling back, and gestures to the girl next to him. “Joel, this is Alex.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Ethan’s told me all about you.” 

“Really?” Joel asks, feeling a little bewildered. 

“Only good things,” Alex says quickly, as if she senses his apprehension. Ethan puts his arm around her waist. Joel recalls a few weeks back when he’d asked for advice on how to ask out a girl. Joel hadn’t pried at the time, but now he seems to understand, and is surprised by the swell of pride he feels. “Ethan says you’re a fucking badass,”she giggles after she swears.

Joel looks over at Ethan. “I don’t know about that.” 

He shrugs, changes the subject. “Since when do you come to these things?” Ethan asks.

“Ellie dragged me out,” Joel answers.

“I did the same with my aunt,” Ethan chuckles. “But now I can’t find her, and I’m pretty sure she’s escaped.”

“Oh, is she here?” Joel plays dumb, like he hasn’t been aware of exactly where you have been all night. “I haven’t seen her.”

“I think she was with Eugene earlier,” Alex has to stand on her toes to speak into Ethan’s ear. Joel watches Ethan’s nose wrinkle. 

“Do you know Eugene at all?” Ethan turns to Joel. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on there, but she won’t say anything.” 

Joel wishes that he had more information. “Tommy says they seem close.”

“I know that,” Ethan says. “I wish she would just be honest with me. It’s not like I would be mad. Whatever,” he shakes his head. “We can talk about it another time. I just want to find her so I can introduce her to Alex.”

“We should say hi to Tommy and Maria first,” Alex says, and Ethan nods in agreement before saying goodbye to him. Joel claps a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he moves past him, and Alex gives him a shy smile in acknowledgement. 

Focusing back on the crowd, Joel realizes that you’ve vanished in the short span of his last interaction. Maybe you’d rejected that guy, and then he’d retaliated. Maybe you’d gone home with Eugene. Joel shakes his hand. It’s none of his business. He doesn’t need to get involved. It’s not his job to look after you, regardless of how much better he feels when he does. Old instincts. He can’t help himself.

He settles on watching Ellie and Dina spin each other around on the dance floor. Eventually, Tommy and Maria, then Ethan and Alex all trickle out of the booth to go get another round or head to dance. Joel stands to release the booth to someone who actually needs it – and is left in the corner, nursing a nearly empty beer that’s now flat and warm. He looks towards his family and friends, but for some reason, he still feels alone. 

Joel isn’t sure how long he stands sulking, but he starts when someone approaches from behind.

“Having fun?”

You’re a pace or two back, one thumb hooked through a belt loop, a whiskey in your opposite hand. Joel looks back at the crowd a moment, then at the ground. “No.” 

“Neither am I,” you commiserate, stepping alongside him. 

Joel considers offering that Ethan was looking for you, but selfishly does not want to give you a reason to leave, so he stays quiet. You observe the dance floor like he is, smiling slightly at the sight of Ethan and Alex dancing. The flannel you’re wearing over a gray tank hangs loosely off one shoulder, and Joel wants to reach out and touch the exposed skin. You take your last sip of whiskey, bring a finger to swipe under your bottom lip, and Joel wishes he knew what you might taste like right now. He scolds himself for fantasizing.

You don’t speak either, and you stand in silence for a while, until you eventually pop your hip, shifting closer to him. Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re already standing so close that your arm gets pressed up against his. Neither of you acknowledge the contact, but Joel is acutely aware of how your skin burns hot against his own. He feels comforted by the affection, even if it’s unintentional.

“Want to leave?” Joel asks, and can hardly believe that the words came out of his mouth, even if he wanted them to. 

You look over at him, not bothering to hide your surprise, but your expression evens out quickly, and you give him a single nod. “Yeah.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel’s still not convinced this is real. It feels too much like a dream, the weather outside is so pleasantly warm it feels like he’s floating as you walk down the street. He had never expected you to agree to leave with him, and now he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say.

The greater distance you put between yourselves and the bar, the quieter the town is. Most of Jackson’s residents are at the dance, save for the guards at the front gate and the handful of people that had been mingling just outside.

He heads in the general direction of the neighborhood, even though he lives on a different street. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” you wonder out loud, and you sound a little incredulous, like you’re equally as shocked to find yourself beside him. The question carries a bit more weight than it would have coming from anyone else.

Joel contemplates. He’s not sure what he wants from you – there are a lot of things, actually – but he doesn’t know if he really deserves any of them. For now, your companionship is more than enough.

“You’re welcome to come back to mine,” he offers.  “But if you’re looking to keep drinking, all the booze is back at the bar.”

“I’m good.” You shake your head like you’re uninterested, but look over at him with a sparkle in your eye. “I have something better….” 

You reach into the pocket of your flannel and produce a rolled joint between two fingers, looking over your shoulder. “Those dances are usually terrible, so I always come prepared.” 

Joel can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, and the sheepish grin he gets in return makes his cheeks feel warm. “Where’d you even get that?”

“You’ve never been on patrol with Eugene, have you?” you ask. “He has a place just out of town where he grows it. I’ve been helping him since we first got paired up, and in exchange, I get to sample the supply.”  

Of course. Joel would’ve never imagined that was the reason you were so close with Eugene, but it suddenly makes incredible sense. He shakes his head in a combination of relief and amusement. “You really haven’t changed.” 

“Oh, I’m sure I have,” you answer, smiling to yourself and looking at the ground. “But of course I haven’t shaken all my bad habits.”

“That’s not true,” Joel mutters.

“Well, you haven’t changed either, for as much as you’ve tried to convince me,” you nudge him gently, offering him the joint. “What do you think?” 

Joel plucks it from between your fingers and puts it between his lips. “I think I have a lighter at home.”

“Sounds perfect.” 

In the front hallway of his house, you slip out of your tennis shoes, shuffling behind him in your socks, pausing occasionally to study some of the doodles that Ellie had drawn and hung on the walls – it wasn’t exactly a priority to decorate these days, but they certainly livened up the place. He knows how much Ellie likes you, despite the fact that she doesn’t gush, but the odd comment here and there says as much. Joel remembers how difficult it had been to keep Sarah away, and Ellie now is no different. He doesn’t seem to be able to help himself, either. 

You sit next to Joel on his wicker couch, curling your feet up under you as he lights the joint and study him while he takes the first few puffs. He does it without thinking. That’s how soft Jackson has made him. Normally, he’d be too stressed about being out of his wits. But he can’t see how hypervigilance has served him since settling down. He feels safe here, and somehow especially because he’s with you. 

When he passes the joint your way, you look at him wistfully. “Old times,” you say with a grin. 

Joel nods as he exhales, coughing. “Old times.” 

“Oh yeah,” you say, as if you just remembered something. “You can’t tell Ethan about this. He doesn’t know, and he will give me shit about it. I need him to take me seriously.” 

Joel shakes his head. “Well, you know, it sounds like he and Tommy both think you and Eugene are together.”

“What?” your head jerks forward in shock, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, no. Do people think that?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel wants to mention how he had seen you whispering to each other at the bar earlier, but then realizes it’d give a bit too much away. “That’s what they think.”

“Well....historically speaking I might’ve liked older men…. but not that old.”

Joel purses his lips. “You’ve lived here awhile, huh?” When you nod, he continues. “Has no one caught your eye?” 

“Uhm….not really. But….” you trail off, looking into Joel’s backyard. “To be completely honest, I  don't think about that much these days. I guess I feel like I have a lot to be grateful for. I don’t want to push it.”

Joel understands, and nods pensively.

“What about you?” you ask. 

“I guess I feel the same.”

That causes you to smile a little bit, look over at him. “I bet you already know this. But the women here would line up down the block for you.”

Joel can’t help but roll his eyes, though he wonders if you would, too. Even if you did like him, that didn’t seem like your style. 

“I’m serious. I’ve heard the things they whisper behind your back. All their fantasies about you are pretty creative...”

“Fantasies?” He grimaces. He imagines none of them know anything about who he really is. You’re the closest thing, and all he’s done is hurt you. “I’m sure you were quick to set them straight.” 

“I don’t say anything,” you say, then continue on, a little quieter, looking at him from under your lashes. “I like to keep you to myself.” 

Joel isn’t sure how to respond to that. You have every right to tell all of them that you were once together, and all the ways he’s hurt you since. Yet for some reason, you’ve chosen to protect him. 

“So….all this time….” you wonder. “You had to have been with other people, right?”

Joel doesn’t think to hold back. “I had a partner for a long time. Tess. First, it was all business, I helped her smuggle things in and out of the Boston QZ…and then, I don’t know….we got along, we trusted each other and…” Joel trails off, hoping you’d put together the rest before he has to go into too much detail. “She was real fuckin’ tough. Scared me a little at first. You would’ve liked her.”

“Well, we already have one thing in common. What happened?”

“She’s the whole reason I ended up out here….with Ellie,” Joel explains. “But I lost her a little over a year ago.”

He hopes you don’t ask how. Maybe someday he’d be willing to go into detail, but talking about it generally is hard enough as it is. But fortunately, you seem to pick up on his hesitance. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you say softly.

He shakes his head. “I was an asshole. To her. I should've....after Sarah died I didn’t want to get attached, so I kept her at arms length and I... I wished I hadn’t in the end. It only made things worse.”

“Yeah,” you nod, look down. “I’ve made that mistake before.”

Joel doesn’t want to linger any longer on the memory. “What about you? Were you with anyone?”

“Uhm, yeah,” you fidget, looking uncomfortable. “I had a partner….for like ten years."

Ten years? He had been with Tess for more, but something about that information feels jarring. He’s shocked Tommy never told him this. Did Tommy even know? Suddenly, it dawns on Joel everything that could’ve happened to you since you’ve been apart. Entire lifetimes. And he’d said such horrible things when you’d fought. He remembers your face when he’d told you that you didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. Maybe you had. He’d been so cruel and inconsiderate just because he was uncomfortable. 

His throat feels tight, almost scared to learn anymore. “What…what was his name?”

“Well, Bea….was her name.” 

Joel is sure he doesn't hide the shock well. “Sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I did either. Well, I sort of did, but I was too young I think when I first realized to make any sense of it, but…. I met her and…yeah,” then, you smirk. “I mean, I went to an all-girls school and I had a really bad relationship with my dad so…it definitely makes sense. ” 

Joel considers this, smiles along with you. “But anyways. Her and I met shortly after my brother died and it was kind of the same. We kept each other alive, things developed from there. We ended up getting involved with this group who lived in the middle of nowhere. That’s a whole other story, but…” you wave your hand. “I loved her, and I lost her right before Ethan and I got here.” 

Joel sees all the pain in your eyes, and wishes he could say something to take it all away. He knows he can’t. You look back out into the woods in his backyard, take a deep breath, and reach back towards the joint that you had put out not long before, lighting it again. Joel gets the sense that both of you had done the most amount of sharing possible for the time being. 

“Look at us,” you take another drag before passing it over. “Old times.”

“Old times,” he repeats, a smile working its way onto his face. 

“This used to be my favorite thing to do with you.” 

“It was nice,” Joel agrees….hesitates before continuing. “But I can think of some things I liked better.” He gives you a knowing look, and you roll your eyes, laughing easily at his joke. It feels so good to make you laugh, to see you smile. Why had he spent so much time resisting?

“Touche.” 

What happens next spills out of Joel so quickly he doesn’t think to stop it. “I tried to look for you….after all this happened. I didn’t have Sarah anymore, and I thought maybe….I don’t know. It was the only thing that kept me going for a while.”

“I did too,” you confess. “But…I was with Vincent and Ethan, and I felt like I couldn’t leave them alone for something that might just be…. I always hoped you both made it. And I’m so sorry she’s gone. I really did love her.” 

“I know you did,” Joel reaches out to take your hand. “I know. And I shouldn’t have said those things I did. I’m still not sure why you’ve been so patient with me.”

“Hmm,” you shift so that you’re closer to him. “You waited around for me back then. It’s only fair that I’d wait around for you now. I want you in my life. I don’t care what that looks like. But it’s too hard to forget about a person that you loved.” 

Joel wants as much from you as you’re willing to give, and he can’t tear his gaze away from you. But he wants you to see him, all of him, before he takes it. 

“I’ve let a lot of people down. I’ve done a lot of h-horrible things,” his voice cracks, and tears well in his eyes. 

“I have, too, you know? Those things still live with me. But I think what matters is who we are now,” you reach out, fingertips brushing the scar on his temple, and Joel swears that even if you don’t know the story behind it, you can see right through him. “And I know who you are.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.” 

“You won’t,” you say. “No more than anyone else has. And if it makes you feel better…when people hurt me, I’ve gotten pretty good at hurting them back.” 

“If I do, I’d hope you would.”

“I will. I promise,” your thumb strokes his cheek, marveling at him. “I would suggest a blood oath or something but….I heard we kind of already did that…”

He’s given you every warning, every barrier, and you’re still here. He can’t believe it, and he doesn’t think he can hold back any longer. “Come here.”

He kisses you. He wishes that he could be slow and tender and gentle like he used to be – and certainly he’s still capable, but he realizes that he’s been depriving himself of something he wanted for so long, and can’t seem to control himself. 

Your hands land on the side of his face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Maybe you’re somewhat taken aback by his urgency, you hum against his lips, but you don’t resist at all. Joel maneuvers you so you’re straddling his thighs, and he grips your hips, your ass, coasts his hands up your side. Your lips part in a moan, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

For a while, he stays there, savors the taste of you, whiskey and smoke still lingering on your lips. His hands cup your jaw, feel your body, grip and squeeze and stroke and you let him, continue to let him. He tries everything, wondering if you’ll tell him to stop, if you’ll decide you’ve had too much, but you don’t. Then again, he should know by now that you’re a woman who knows what she wants. He just finds it’s hard to believe that he’s the thing you want.

You break away from him, just a little, and Joel presses his nose to your neck, kisses your pulse point. 

“Should we go upstairs?” your voice is raspy and breathless. “Will Ellie be home soon?” 

“Probably not for a while. We can be quick.”

“Hopefully not too quick,” you raise your eyebrows. Joel can’t help but laugh a little. He relishes in the way your hands rake up and down his arms, exploring him, touching him. Of course he wants you, but even just this would be enough. He’d be content with less, he hadn’t realized how starved of affection he’d been.

You’re able to pry yourselves off one another to make it up the stairs, and Joel guides you with a hand to the small of your back. When you get to his bedroom, he opens the door, but stops you before you go inside. 

“Hold on,” Joel mutters, winding one arm around your waist, the other behind your knee.

“Joel, what-no, you’ll–” he pulls you into his arms. 

“Do you really think I’m not strong enough?”

“I didn’t say that,” you chuckle as he carries you over the threshold and into the bedroom, breath puffing against him before he lays you down on the bed. 

When he hovers over you, your fingers wind into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. He savors every sweet sigh he’s able to pull from you, hands cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips. You’re so pliant and open beneath his body, it makes it easier to not feel guilty about what he’s doing. He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty, you’ve said as much, but it might take some time before the feeling will die completely. Hopefully, he has enough time with you to see it off completely.

Clothes are removed quickly, intentionally, as you both bare more and more of yourself to each other. And while he wishes he could’ve been there to see the ways in which your body has changed, you’re still as beautiful as ever. 

Joel, however, is hesitant to give himself away completely. When you tug at the hem of his shirt, he hesitates. 

“I don’t know if-” he pauses. “If you want to see all that.”

“Joel,” you stare at him knowingly, kneeling across from him as he stands at the edge of the bed. “I do.” 

So he releases your hand, and lets you pull it over his head. Carefully, you study him, his body littered with scars. He knows he’s not as in shape as you remember. These days, he hardly can look at himself in the mirror after a shower. He expects you to be disgusted, or at least see it flit across your face before you compose yourself, but you don’t. Your fingertips drag through the smattering of hair on his chest and down his torso, tracing several prominent scars – each one with a story – but you linger on the one at his abdomen, frowning. 

He sees the question on your face, but you don’t ask it. Instead, you return to press yourself against him. “I’m so glad you’re still here….”

You kiss him, then, and Joel can only kiss you back. 

Joel isn’t the only one with battle scars. Some of them he feels are his fault, but you seem less self-concious about them, which gives him a surprising amount of confidence. Maybe it’s just a reality of what happens when you make it this long. 

When you’re finally bare beneath him, he admires how you look, stretched out and waiting, chest heaving and shivering with anticipation. He slides his hand between your legs – feels you already wet and warm, sinking two fingers inside. Your walls flutter around the intrusion, back arcing off the bed when you sigh out his name. Joel.

He’d forgotten how nice it felt to hear that. 

Joel is already thinking about what he’d like to do to you next time. He’d be more careful, more patient. He’d bury his face between your thighs to see if you tasted as good as he remembers, he’d let your fingers curl into his hair. But right now you both seem desperate for the same thing. 

He pumps his cock a few times with his hand, he can’t remember the last time he’d been this hard – the last time he’s wanted anyone this badly. Even with Tess, it had always felt like the both of them were hurrying to scratch an itch, her eyes would wander like she was thinking of other people, and maybe he was, too. 

Joel lines himself up with your slick cunt, teases you a little, and you roll your body down to meet him, gasping when his blunt head slides in – just a little. 

He can’t hold back. You practically suck him in, so tight and hot around him he finds it immediately overwhelming, but he doesn’t even think to pull out. Only when he’s fully seated inside you, and given you a chance to adjust, does he start to move. 

It’s euphoric. You’re both older now, more mature, but he still remembers all the things you liked, even if it takes a moment for him to find the spot inside you that makes you cry out, legs wrapping around his hips. 

Unlike before, you don’t bother trying to hide from him. You kiss him, hold him, touch him, look him in the eyes, tell him how good he feels – you don’t hold back. Joel relishes every word you say, clings to the praise and gives it back. Your lashes flutter when he tells you how pretty you look.

He can think of nothing else other than bringing you pleasure, can tell you’re getting close when you begin to rut against him, and he reaches down to let the pads of his fingers slide over your clit.

When you come, you whine his name, lock your lips with his own and he swallows your moans. The feeling of you so impossibly tight and wet and pulsing and squeezing him so tightly has him following closely after. 

His head is still buried in the crook of your neck when you speak again. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

The second Joel pulls out, he starts missing how close he felt to you. But you fix that by rolling over onto your stomach, curling up at his side, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach. 

“Joel. Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

He’s far from it. But he’s starting to think if you say it enough, maybe he’ll start to believe it. He turns his head to kiss you gently, slowly. “So are you.” 

“We can do this again, right?” you ask. 

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we can.”

“Good,” you settle back against him, and very slowly, he dozes off with you right beside him. He doesn’t want to sleep alone again, and luckily, he doesn’t have to. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-December 4th, 2026-

When you return home from patrol, you find Joel in his living room – boots off and socked feet propped on the arm of the couch. You don’t notice his eyes are closed, that he’s asleep, until you get closer, see the book he’d been reading resting on his chest as he snores lightly. You can’t help but feel for him – he’s probably exhausted from constant patrols, so he must be tired. 

But mostly, you’re just overwhelmed by the love you feel for him, catching him in a quiet moment of vulnerability. Hesitantly, you reach out and squeeze his foot. It’s gentle and tender enough that he blinks his eyes open and looks around, taking in his surroundings, rather than jolting awake like he often does. When he sees you on the opposite end of the couch, he melts back into the pillow he’s propped against. 

“Hey, stud,” you lean against the arm of the couch. 

“Hey,” Joel answers, voice still gruff with sleep. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just got in.”

“Hmm,” Joel closes his eyes again, folds his hands across his stomach.

“You’re wearing the glasses I got you,” you point out. They’re simple. Rectangular black frames. You’d found them on patrol, and brought them home after Joel had been complaining that he could barely see when he read before bed. But he’d tried them on and insisted he hated the way they looked, so you’d ended up using them most of the time.

“They do work,” he grumbles, like he’s ashamed to admit it. “But I still think they look stupid.”

“You look like a sexy librarian,” Joel rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s suppressing a grin. There’s always a bit of defiance about him, he can’t fully admit how you get him so flustered even after you’ve spent so much time together. You press your thumb into the arch of his foot and he groans. “That feel good?” you ask. 

“Yes.”

“Whatcha reading?” You gesture towards the book. 

“Some book about the moon landing,” Joel lifts it off of his chest, where it lay face down and open, looks at the back cover. “For Ellie.”

“How sweet.”

“It’s a little dry,” he deadpans. “But she likes this stuff.” 

You shift your massage to his other foot. Joel stretches, his arms lifting above his head, the shirt he’s wearing rides up just so, so you see a sliver of his lower belly before it disappears again, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

“Are you tired?” you ask. 

“Always,” he says through a yawn. 

“Me too,” you yawn along with him, since they’re contagious. He pulls the glasses from their perch on the bridge of his nose and shuts the book, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him. You take your hands off his feet and he sits up a little straighter, holding out his hand. 

“Come ‘ere,” he says, and you do. 

He grunts as you settle into his arms, head nestled against his chest, sprawling out almost on top of him, the only way you both can fit like this on the couch.

“You’re so warm,” you say softly, letting him wrap his arms around you. 

“You’re cold. Your hands are freezing,” he holds them in his own.

“It’s cold out.”

“Don’t know why you left today.”

“Obligations. Patrol.”

“Fuck that.”

You laugh into his chest, pausing for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I think we might be boring.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, we don’t really leave the house. We spend all day reading. And we’re old.”

“We’re not that old.”

“But we’re getting up there.”

“Sure, but…” Joel trails off. 

“Everything’s so quiet, so calm.”

“I think that’s what most people would describe as content.” 

“Are you content?” you ask, lifting your head to look him in the eyes. 

“I’m happy,” he says softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. “Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then don’t worry about the rest.”

“Okay,” you settle back against your husband's chest, feel his lips brush your forehead.

His fingers search absentmindedly for the ring on your finger he’d found while clearing out a pawn shop not too long ago. The one he wore looked nothing like your own. But the marriage had been long overdue, and neither of you cared what the rings actually looked like. 

Nowadays, you split your time between his place with Ellie, and your own with Ethan, but end up in his bed every night. At this point, you don’t think you could sleep without him. 

Years ago, another lifetime, you’d had a conversation underneath a sky full of stars. You’d told him that for you, good things had never lasted. Joel had made a promise. 

This will.

It took time. There was a lot of pain. But in the end, he had told you the truth.

-

-

-

[eww-y-tho]

Okay, fair warning, this is long, so tldr, it's a rant about the "Debling is better" and "Colin should have suffered more" take, so just so you know, you know?

I can accept disliking friends to lovers or thinking they don't have chemistry (even though I don't agree with it and I think the people who say that don't know what chemistry is or means) except this bizarrely widespread Debling take and the "Colin hasn't suffered enough," take because that makes it clear that you weren't paying any attention to the season.

I'm sorry, but Penelope has been through the wringer. Her family only cares about her if she marries and treats her like trash otherwise, makes her feel inferior and incapable of being loved and cherished, and broke down her confidence. She is right when she says the ton considers her a spinster and a laughingstock, and Cressida among other women consistently sabotages her. She's not in a position where she can make demands and her main goal at the beginning of the season is to literally get away from her family.

Her (honestly not best) best friend has abandoned her and linked with Cressida and engages in gossip about her. Obviously, Eloise still cares for her a lot, but Penelope doesn't know that. She's lost hope that the one man who's always treated her well and with respect and actually listens to what she has to say before making a judgement and can speak freely about her deepest thoughts would ever love her back because of one stupid comment.

We know throughout her character arc that Penelope's yearning for love and a passionate romance, especially with Colin, has been a consistent desire for her.

As this is the darkest point in her character arc, the story demands that she deserves the one thing she's asking for: love. A person who will value her and cherish her and make her feel special and sexy and worthy of being with someone.

aka not Lord Debling.

Like, I don't know how you can stand on two feet with this argument because you're literally supporting Portia's opinion. You know, the character that's been insufferable the entire first half of s3 (and presumably the second half).

Colin is right when he says that Pen hardly knows Debling compared to him. Again, it's not about "which one you like better," it's about Penelope's character arc and what she needs to be fulfilled in the plot.

Also, anyone who says Colin hasn't suffered enough, like what??? Yes, Penelope's been rejected so many times it's almost ridiculous, but it's not like Colin wasn't affected by his denial/obliviousness/naivety either. He was depriving himself of the love of his life without even knowing it.

His intrinsic, hopeless romantic nature was beaten out of him with every subsequent season until he succumbed to society's expectations and pretended to be a rake despite his love and respect for the women in his life, and being a people pleaser because of his experiences literally stunted him.

S1 was him being deceived into a romantic relationship with someone who didn't love him and was using him, S2 was just a mess of an identity crisis mixed with a healthy dose of alcoholic beverages. He felt aimless in life and was isolated. His only saving grace was Penelope and her letters, so it's no surprise when Pen stops replying to them Colin freaks out some more.

People literally want to use Colin as a punching bag. His ONLY sin in the story is making the 2x8 comment. And I hate to be that guy but compare that to Anthony, who was at the altar with his love interest's SISTER.

Anyway, yeah, rant over.

[sunasrin]

Only If

Finacè!suna rintarou x fem!reader

summary: Suna had done something that caused his lover to leave him behind along with the ring he proposed to her. Only if he could turn back in time to fix the situation to make it clear that he's sorry.

tw: slight swearing, triggering word being used (cunt). I think that all it was, tell me if there's anything that I had missed.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: I'm so sorry that this is in a rush, by the way this is my first writing on here. It is NOT PROOF READ. it currently late right now, sooooo.... enjoy this as you can!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Loving Suna Rintarou is a treasure to appreciate. The love that is shared, the desire, the lust, everything in a topic of a relationships meaning. But, those everything was only taken for granted. Even if it means having to see the man 24/7. If he wanted something, he had it. If he desires something, his desires got it. Everything that accountable, he GOT IT. Just that, this time he got what he wanted it. The love that was incarnate into his body was only to be given as a betrayal afterwards. He made her suffer. He made her addicted to him. He made HER become the person she wasn't when she first met Rintarou. She knew from the beginning she can leave her love and trust towards the middle blocker. But, was only soon to be eaten with guilt and stupidity. Y/n herself, known as the middle blocker of the ejp Japan's men's volleyball team's girlfriend was only be thrown into the trash. Bye bye. Her visual, her body, is what every man would want. She couldn't deal with the amount of kindness that she would recieve from the team itself and the world wide supporters. She just couldn't deal with it. The love and the appreciation from everyone, she was happy to hear it all. But among those things, she hated the most was the amount of neglects from the man she loved. Y/n couldn't deal with the pain. So she decided to speak her mind. Telling Rintarou on how she felt about the situation. "Rin?" Her voice was soft, even softer than a female fan who's obsessed with Suna would speak. "What?" He groans in annoyance, he just got home from practice. He didn't want to hear another bother than herself. "I feel like you've been avoiding me lately. I don't feel enough love or either appreciation from you." She fiddles with her fingers, as she picks on her cuticles. "Why does it matter?" He cocked his head to the side looking at her in boredom. "It should, Rin. I don't want the communication that being built between us to fall. I don't want the relationship to be only me caring it on. I feel like I'm just dating a stranger who comes home and just sleeps in the bed all the time-" she was feeling frustrated. She just couldn't get the words out as she wanted too. Her ears were starring to reddened, as tears begin to be on the brick of existence.

She just wanted Rintarou to listen to her, to hear how she felt. Y/n couldn't handle the amount of bottling the emotions on top of each other. All she wanted was for Rintarou to hear her feelings. "Is that really how you see it, huh?" He was being cocky, Y/n knew that this would turn out in the wrong on how she would imagine it. "Why do you need my attention when u have the world and the entire ejp team hyping you up and supporting you?" Rintarou frustratingly yells. "All you ever wanted was me and me along. I don't want your affection, I don't want it at all. I'm tired of coming home and dealing with a woman who can't even appreciate the things I do for her." He screams, Y/n hands bundles up into a fist as she screams her heart, "you know rin! I'm tired of having to chase after you! I'm tired of feeling the way of having to keep my hopes that my boyfriend actually loves me. I'm sorry that I can't be like you. I'm sorry that I can't be the girl who is patient enough to hold their grounds and carry a relationship that two people at the same time should carry. I appreciate the love and encouragement from the team and your supporters. But at the same time, they aren't you, Rin. I want something out of you. It's not something that has to deal with a part of pro volleyball shit!" Y/n huffed and puffed. Everything that bubbles up in her finally explodes. She finally released her thoughts on the whole thing. "Well then, leave. The door is wide open for you to leave. If you're so sick and tired of being with me, then leave. Your just a stuck up cunt who goes around and fuck other dudes anyways. Oh right, you're everyone's type of girl. On the other hand, I'm going to sleep. Leave If you want. It's not my problem. Now piss off." Rintarou stood up and finally headed to the shared bedroom. Y/n was stunned, tears finally released from eye sockets. Tears are frustrated, angry, hurt, and sad all together. Her mouth trembled as she finally sat down with a big thud sound on the floor. She held her mouth as her whimpers were shut by the palms of her hands. Y/n couldn't do anything, whenever she wanted to voice her thought to Rintarou, it was always shut down with a painful throw back. So she decided she will exist herself out of Rintarou's life.

The next morning came along, Rintarou woke up and left as usual. There is nothing to be surprised by Y/n herself. It was just a daily routine that so happened to be played every single day. Just Y/n and the house itself. Soon, 8:30 rolled around. She decided what was best. Her suitcase ready to leave the home she once called comfort. Soft footsteps sounds slowly came to the kitchen were she finally sighs waving goodbye to the once shared home she'll leave behind and move on from a new chapter. Closing the door behind her as she got into her vehicle and drove off to a home she can stay at.

After several hours since Y/n had left, Rintarou had arrived home. Waiting to be greeted by the women, but was only announced with silence and no utter trace of the women being home. Rin furrowed his eyebrows wondering where the he'll could she be at this time. It was currently midnight. It was always like this, coming home so late after practice again and again. His feet traveled around the house trying to find his lover, but was only recieve with the ring he proposed to her a few weeks ago and a note.

dear Rintarou,

Your probably shook at the moment, but I want you to understand that I couldn't bear the neglect that was happening in the household. I understand you were busy with the upcoming tournament that's just around the corner. But. Overall, you hurt me. You made me feel unappreciated, unaccepted, and unloved with the actions and words you've spoken to me. Last night, you opened my eyes and showed me that you no longer love me. You told me I was welcome to leave and said some real hurtful words that you knew deep down I was insecure about. I get that you're exhausted and not having the best time at the moment, but I want you to understand how I feel about the negativity that's being thrown at me. I love you, I really do. I appreciate the small interactions you showed and the love that's being given to me. Just that, I won't be in your life no longer. You won't have to suffer with my living in the home that causes you annoyance and exhaustion. I hope you're doing well while I'm gone. Please don't call or texts, you'll make things harder for both of us. I have already left as you can see. You'll see no existence of me in a home that we use to share. All my belongings will no longer leave any trace of me being there. You can have the ring back, and I hope you're happy enough that I won't intrude your life anymore. Once again. I love you, Suna Rintarou. Live a life that can make you proud, be healthy, take care, and don't think about me while you're alone.

Sincerely,

Y/n Y/l/n

Rintarou was going through a panic mode. He knows he fucked up someway and somehow that include her to leave him and the relationship behind as if it never existed. Rintarou tears fell rapidly he couldn't deal with the amount of pressure and hurt that's being pained through his heart. He couldn't handle it. All thanks to his dumb self for losing someone who was even out to be by his side and marry him. To be able to comfort him while he had a hectic day of practice. Only if he could go back in time and fix the problem that he caused for his one and only finacè to leave him.

@ sunasrin 2024 : Please don't copy, repost, or spam likes on any of my posts! Keep in mind not to credit yourself as if it's your own of any sorts of these warnings!