#just going to have that DEEPLY EMBEDDED INTO MY BRAIN

[mrsoharaa]

yuppp.....I think i found my rekindled spark for miggy.....through twitter....of a....certain delicious post.....shiiiit. 🫠🫣

[shidoukanae]

I would like to make an addendum to this piece with the new chapter out and say that I was wrong about Phillip, he's great, 10/10 he went from being a giant red flag of a character to being genuinely relatable and man do i feel bad about side-eyeing him for that line he said last chapter

Also this chapter finally wrapped up another plot thread I was waiting for it to return to and waaaaaah seeing someone else's POV on Helene is so nice (and we finally got another flashback of OG Helene for like,, the first time in literally forever). Helene being called out as a lonely person who hides her kind feelings behind a cold expression...man suddenly my fondness for Helene is increasing thousandfold

Like literally how the fuck does this manga keep making Helene better and better there's literally nothing disappointing about her character and im STILL shook about it

[loveindefinitely]

01 — 𝘎𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘊𝘙𝘠, 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.

Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.

You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?

It had left you pissed off to no end, so.

Here you were.

"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.

You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.

"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.

Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.

"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."

Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?

"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.

"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.

There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.

"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."

A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.

You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.

"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"

"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.

"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."

"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.

You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.

There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...

They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.

Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.

Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.

Or.

One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.

Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.

Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.

Stupid, stupid girl, you think.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?

Then, there's a knock on your door.

Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.

"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"

You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.

The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.

"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.

A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.

"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.

So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.

You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.

This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.

Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.

Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.

Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.

It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.

It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.

You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.

Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.

You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.

When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.

"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."

"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."

You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.

Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.

"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.

"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.

"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."

You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.

"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.

You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."

There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.

"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.

You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.

Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"

If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.

You softly shake your head.

"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.

Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.

"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.

"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.

You swallow, mouth dry.

"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.

Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"

Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.

Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."

The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"

All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."

He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.

The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.

He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.

"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.

You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.

"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.

His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.

You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.

When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.

"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.

You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.

His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.

It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.

He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.

"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.

He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.

When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.

"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.

Like kissing the four men he warned you about.

Like doing more, maybe.

...Maybe.

His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.

He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"

And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.

"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"

Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.

"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."

The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.

You feel filthy, and you love it.

Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.

He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.

You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.

"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.

"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"

"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.

Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.

Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"

"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.

Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.

"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.

With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.

"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.

It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.

"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.

Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"

You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.

Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."

There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."

With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.

"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.

"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.

Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.

"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.

Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.

"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.

"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.

Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.

You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.

"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.

Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.

"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.

Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.

"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.

"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"

Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.

As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.

"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.

Dangerous men.

Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.

"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.

He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.

Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"

Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --

"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."

You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.

Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.

"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.

"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.

You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.

It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.

Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.

"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."

Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.

You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"

Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.

Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.

It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.

The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.

Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.

If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.

Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.

Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.

"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."

"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."

"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?

No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.

You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.

Oh. God.

"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."

What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?

Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.

Oh god.

Oh. God.

"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."

There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.

You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.

The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.

It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.

"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."

You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.

His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.

Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.

"Get off me!"

Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.

And those specific words, what --

"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.

Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.

You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.

"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.

But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.

"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.

"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."

"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"

Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.

Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.

There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.

"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.

"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.

There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.

First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"

And then...

A bullet.

The sound of a trigger being pulled.

The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.

The sound of a final breath.

Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.

Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.

He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.

And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.

a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah

[chvoswxtch]

like a prayer

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: you want matt for dessert.

warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

a/n: I haven't written for our favorite dumbass in awhile, and after finishing another rewatch of dd, he was heavy on the brain (pun intended). this song came on the other day and I immediately thought of matty, so here we are.

word count: 1k

i’m down on my knees / i can take you there

Matt hadn’t even had a chance to shut the front door to his apartment behind himself before you were pushing him up against the wall, claiming his mouth in a deeply sensual kiss, blindly fumbling with the buckle of his belt. His cane slipped from his right hand, falling to the floor with a loud clatter that echoed in his silent apartment, and the dessert you’d gotten to go was also long forgotten, haphazardly tossed onto the side table in the entryway so Matt’s hands could find their home on your waist instead.

Before Matt’s brain could even catch up to what was happening, you’d pushed his pants and briefs halfway down his muscular thighs and sank down to your knees below him. The second the warmth of your mouth enveloped the sensitive head of his cock, Matt’s jaw went slack, and his head fell back against the wall behind him with a soft thud.

Instantly, every single one of his senses was completely overwhelmed. Your soft hands grasped onto his thighs and he shivered feeling a chilled raindrop that had been lingering on your knuckle slip down onto his heated skin. The bold scent of espresso in the tiramisu that had been abandoned on the side table was overpowered by the fragrance of arousal seeping through the thin cotton material of your panties. That combined with the aroma of your warm spicy perfume intermingled with remnants of fresh rain, and the natural scent of your skin that was just uniquely you, was knocking Matt out of equilibrium.

Matt’s fingers slipped into your roots, tangling into your tresses to give them a gentle tug while a soft grunt tore from his throat. Your tongue felt like velvet gliding along the underside of his cock, flicking over a pulsating vein, swirling around the tip in a slow and seductive manner. Matt was a giver, but God, so were you. The way you took your time and savored the taste of him and the feeling of his heavy cock against your eager tongue was torturous in the most tantalizing way. Your mouth was just as warm and wet as your cunt, and sometimes Matt struggled to decide which one he preferred being inside of.

He couldn’t stop himself from tenuously shifting his hips forward, slipping a few more inches of himself past your welcoming lips. The way you moaned around him had him shuddering, and he whimpered at the way the vibrations of your own pleasure traveled throughout his entire nervous system, causing his toes to curl in his shoes. He gripped harder at your roots, earning another erotic moan from deep within your chest, and even though Catholic guilt was practically embedded in his DNA, the raw hedonistic desire he felt was far more powerful, and you didn’t seem to mind that he was taking over to subtly fuck your mouth. 

God, your mouth felt like pure heaven. Matt knew he didn’t deserve to be let through the pearly gates of your soft lips. He was a sinner, and he didn’t deserve to be blessed and absolved by the saliva coating his cock and dribbling down your chin. Only an angel as sweet as you would welcome the Devil somewhere he had been banished from. Matt’s moans were growing in volume the closer he got to gratification. He was being selfish, God he was being so fucking selfish right now, taking complete advantage of your selflessness, but your pussy was practically dripping onto the floorboards beneath you, and he could taste just how much you enjoyed having his cock in your mouth on his own tongue. 

You wanted this. You wanted him. And Matt couldn’t deny you if he tried. If you wanted the moon and Saturn, and every single star in the sky, he’d find a way to get them for you. 

Matt’s mind was blank. He couldn’t hear anything but the sound of his own labored breathing and racing heartbeat, your soft moans of raw enjoyment, and the way the material of your soaked panties rubbed along your wet folds when you shuffled closer on your knees. Feeling his tip reach the back of your throat and your nose flush against his pubic bone, he began to recite a prayer of your name, loud enough for the entire building to hear. The muscles in his lower abdomen tightened and contracted, and if the wall behind him hadn’t been supporting the burden of his body weight, he would’ve collapsed and joined you on his own knees right then.

His hips stuttered as wave after wave of his gratitude coated the back of your throat, which you were all too eager to welcome, swallowing every drop of his generous offering. Matt let go of your hair, opting to hold the back of your head gently instead, using you as an anchor to tether himself to avoid getting lost in sensory overload. He let out a desperate whimper when your warm mouth escaped him, exposing his softened cock to the drastic change in temperature in his apartment that had goosebumps spreading along his bare flesh. He was panting heavily, like he’d been trapped under a current and had finally breached the surface in search of oxygen.

With his senses so overwhelmed, he didn’t notice that you’d risen from your knees, and his body jolted in surprise when he felt your soft hands caressing his scruffy cheeks. He immediately encircled his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, burying his face into your neck to inhale your scent deeply. He needed to ground himself. He needed you. A soft noise of appreciation sounded in the back of his throat when your fingers slipped into his hair, your nails faintly scratching at his scalp in a way that had him faintly moaning into the juncture of your neck where your throat met your collarbone. Your breath was warm against the shell of his ear, and despite how heated his skin was at the moment, your sultry whisper sent a shiver down his spine.

“Ready for dessert now, baby?”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover  @avengerstower-houseplant @mars-rants-a-lot @topperthornton @hailey-murdock @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejloveb0t @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @Vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts @starsm00n @mentallyunstablebish @spiritofthewriter @merleisapartygod @powellssaturn @geeksareunique @urlocalgeek

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm moving out of the city and I'm going to have to learn to drive. Any advice for someone (reluctantly) looking into cars for the first time?

Sorry for the late response, but I really wanted to answer this because I think I have some relevant advice.

I started driving the very day I was allowed to get my learner's permit. I took it very seriously. My dad was a mechanic, my brother literally built a car when he was 16. They were car guys and I was the goofy comedian they didn't really understand. So I wanted to be a really good driver to impress them.

I practiced every chance I got. I took driver's ed in school and got a 100% in the class. And I got a perfect score on my written driver's test and only got dinged for 1 thing on the main exam (it was bullshit, but apparently there is no way to protest a near perfect score).

But then I got sick and it didn't make sense to pay for car insurance and maintain a vehicle. So I didn't drive for roughly 15 years.

Then both my parents got sick and they became dangerous drivers and so I had to figure out how to drive again. And at first I was nervous, but after about a week of driving, I was nearly as good of a driver as when I was younger.

The reason?

Muscle memory.

Muscle memory will save your life over just about anything. The less you have to concentrate on the physical actions and habits required to drive, the more you can concentrate on situational awareness. If you don't have to think about turning the wheel, or braking, or even activating the turn signals, you can use all of that brain power to pay attention to all of the dumb fucks they let drive cars.

So my biggest piece of advice would be to break down all of the physical actions required to operate a vehicle. Even the tiny stuff like switching the station on the radio or turning down the fan on the A/C. Then find a way to practice these things over and over and over until you have that muscle memory embedded into your brain. My muscle memory was so deeply ingrained that it lasted through 15 years of not driving and a batch of mind-wiping electroshock treatments.

Find a safe place to practice and just repeat things until they feel like second nature. Especially checking your blind spots. If you can get checking blind spots to the point where you do it without even thinking about it, you will increase your safety substantially.

Other tips...

Small cheap cars are best first cars. Big cars can make you feel disconnected from the road. Almost like you are piloting the vehicle in a video game. I started on my grandma's 1987 Chevy Cavalier. It was tiny. It had no power. It was free. But I could feel everything I was doing. I could feel the turns. I could feel the road. I could feel braking and acceleration. And it really helped me understand the relationship between driver and vehicle. It was like a big go-kart but I think having that as my first car really helped me develop my driving skills.

And my last tip is to learn gradient braking and acceleration. It's mostly for the comfort of your passengers. It gives them a smoother experience but it also makes them feel safer driving with you. Basically you want to figure out how to apply pressure to the pedals in such a way that almost no G-force is felt. So you start with very light pressure and gradually transition into the max pressure you need. And you need to do it quick enough to stop and accelerate at the proper rate. If you don't transition fast enough you might not stop in time or be able to merge onto the highway. And if you transition too fast people will be lurching back and forth in their seat. But, again, practice makes perfect.

My brother is horrible at this, though mostly on purpose. He likes driving like everything is a race. And with his muscle cars, that can be fun at times. But when you are just going to the store it can make one a little nauseous. I find myself just grabbing the "oh shit" handles and never letting go.

But if you can smooth out your acceleration and braking to the point it is barely felt, all of your passengers will thank you for it.

Hopefully that helps. And maybe other folks can reply with additional advice. And if you have any more specific concerns feel free to ask. I wasn't sure if you were more worried about driving or picking out a car, so hopefully we can collectively cover both.

I wish you luck and hope you learn to love driving. It is pretty cool once you get the hang of it.

[direquail]

You know the point of "protecting the children" dogwhistles, right? It's a reference to the idea that all queer people are child abusers. Super common belief among homophobes and transphobes, including (sometimes especially) gay ones.

It's also not just "a dogwhistle". When pressed to explain what exactly they want to protect children from, it's a ready-made emotional appeal to something that has broad social support. Most people, even if they don't like being around kids, are also not pro-child abuse. That's why conservatives go out of their way to invent (even if it's completely fictional) "reasons" why acceptance of gay and trans people amounts to child abuse. It helps them create an emotional connection with their target audience, and can be leveraged into logically ridiculous arguments like "well, if you don't agree with my platform, you must be pro child abuse, because I'm on the side of The Children".

"Protecting the children" is also super appealing to parents in particular, not because all parents are secretly authoritarians, but because it's super common to have a child and realize "Oh shit, I brought this person who can't defend themselves into the world and the world kind of sucks", and to feel horribly, horribly inadequate in the face of that.

I get very tired of people who mock, scorn, and ridicule people for falling for these rhetorical traps, or being snared by something that seems common-sense but disguises something ugly underneath. They are traps. That is what they're meant to be. That is why there are gay people who fall for anti-queer rhetoric, and get pulled into exclusionist or violently reactionary circles. We all have things we are vulnerable to, whether that is a history of being abused or a deep fear that we cannot protect our own children, who we brought into the world and are responsible for the protection of. And we gain nothing by mocking the latter.

I'm sure it makes some people feel great to say "well if you were really who you claim to be, you wouldn't fall for this shit", but frankly, that's a stupid-ass take. It misses entirely that these messages are carefully crafted by the people who hate us! They workshop these statements! They spend months or years trying to find the right message and when they find it they use the hell out of it, because it works. Because they are listening to the public conversations people are having online, and it doesn't take any level of basic agreement to be capable of regurgitating the party line word-for-word.

I am so sick of people who look at a deeply-embedded struggle over social and political ideals and think that this fight won't demand our whole brains and hearts and souls and yeah, we might fuck up because we care deeply and sometimes, people with bad intentions prey on that. On our grief and our fear and our rage.

And I'm frankly a lot more nervous around people who refuse to be aware of that, especially when they loudly mock the people who are willing to acknowledge their own fallibility and explore how they got ensnared in something. People are not moral machines, they are people.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 21: A Crowbar Called Love

GIF Credit: @carmen-berzattos

Bearblr Promptober Day 21: Drunk Confession

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend (who he calls Darling) drunkenly confesses something that sends him into a tizzy; that she wants to have his kids.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of trauma, self-doubt, evolving Dad!Carmy, maybe the start of a breeding kink(?), fem reader/generic lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns. (822 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

21 Oct 2024

She said she wants to have my babies, and I honestly don't know what in the fuck to do with myself.

How did I get here?

What the fuck did I do to earn that?

What?

How?

I'm a fucking disaster, why the fuck would anyone think I'd make a not-shitty dad?

And she said it in front of Richie and Nat. That asshole is never gonna let me hear the end of it. This is what I get for taking my eyes off the cider for five minutes. Richie probably didn’t even fucking measure before spiking it.

Fuck. My. Life.

I have no business having kids, I'm just gonna end up like ma! No! No! Abso-fucking-lutely not!

Okay, yes, they'd be cute, but this is a terrible idea!

I can’t stop fucking thinking about this. The adoration in her eyes, the way she whispered it into my mouth, the way she pulled my hair and repeated it—whined it—until my brain checked into reality in a confused state. Carmen, I wanna start a family with you. I love you so much. I want babies. Carmy… Carmy, please? Please, can we talk about kids?

It’s the next morning, and I woke up an hour before my alarm, invaded, besieged, strangled by thoughts of cradling her belly, of feeling little kicks against my palm through her soft, supple skin. The thought of baby shoes while I stared at my own, hand trembling as I dragged it through my hair and tried to recompress so I could make it through a workday. What was more was that I couldn’t stop fucking thinking about how wonderful of a mother she’d make. She’d be sweet, kind, understanding, protective, a great advocate, teacher, counselor. I thought of being home with a kid in my arms. Nat’s daughter is so precious, so innocent, so pure. I could have one. A few. And I could do better than ma or dad did.

I wanted to do better than ma and dad did.

I wandered back into the bedroom, leaned against the doorframe and just watched Darling snuggled up in bed, her face buried in my t-shirt, a cute little croissant under the covers. There existed in my mind, sometime before then—couldn’t figure out exactly when it changed—this looming understanding of this arrangement being temporary. This relationship was a ticking clock, a sword dangling over my head by a horsehair, and in all likelihood, I was going to fuck up, and she was going to leave. It seemed like an inevitability. But permanence, comfort, routine, it crept up on me. Could I imagine an existence without Darling? Did a future without her even exist? Did I allow myself to love her so completely, so deeply, that my forever was staked in the ground with her?

Two kids. And a dog. Our own house. It’d be nice if one of them liked cooking, but I wasn’t going to be upset if they wanted to try something else. I’d support them trying new things. I’d reduce my hours at The Bear, too, so I could be around to hug them and read them bedtime stories. My vision abruptly blurred. Droplet of warmth fell from my eyelashes and drew a streak down my face.

Of course, I was fucking crying again.

Ever love someone so much that it hurt? That the love embedded itself so deep into you that it burrowed roots in the same places that all your fucking trauma lived? That it crumbled and frayed the armor of bitterness, apathy, hatred, and anger you’d been using to hold yourself together against the assault of being alive and being so many things the world didn’t like—short, sensitive, warm, caring, quiet, shy? For your curly hair, for your features, for your weird fucking quirks and habits? The world stabbed you in the fucking kidneys for daring to exist, and you walled off yourself behind protective mechanisms to stop the knives going any deeper than they already had, from piercing the softest parts of you; and out of nowhere, this little thing called love shows up as a crowbar and jams under that armor with no ceremony and certainly no warning. It fucking hurts at first. It hurts like you can’t fucking believe or imagine, and it scares the shit out of you because if that armor comes off, you feel like you’ll die, but eventually? Eventually, the armor starts crumbling away, and you feel the saccharine mercy of love in all the places that the armor hurt. Yeah, you thought your trauma was the thing that inflicted agony all these years? Your fucking armor wore chasms in you all the same.

This wasn’t a contest, baby girl, but you win. I surrender. I love you. I love you so much that it hurts, and I can’t get enough of it. So, yeah. Yeah, we can talk about kids.

[demonbanger]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ ♡ 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒 ♡ ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

sukuna x reader

Imagine you and your handsome pink-haired demon, in your room. Your walls have cute little posters, plushies lit by the soft LED lights. Your little collection of random objects sits atop your dresser and you have plants in every corner.

Vivid, alive, just like the girl who decorated her space. Your bed looks like it belongs to a princess with the sheer amount of pillows, the cutest decorations, the hanging sheer canopy with glow-in-the-dark stars, the adorably printed Sanrio covers. The Totoro ottoman standing guard at the very end. One little detail that stands out is how the bed creaks under the weight of two people.

Sukuna towers over you in your pretty little room on top of your squishy mattress, hands gripping the plush of your hips, his own pistoning into you. He’s thrusting so deeply into you, your brain turns to strawberry jelly. All you can do is whine and mewl for more, more, more, as he fills you so perfectly, bending you over in such an arched position, putting a soft pillow under your tummy so you’re comfy as he fucking destroys you with all the details of his pretty cock dragging against your sensitive walls. Your shiny nails are digging into your fluffy blanket and you sob as he hits your sweet spot, over and over again.

You turn your head back as much as you can as half your face is smushed against your pillows and see his red eyes smiling back at you from above. His skin as decorated with sharp tattoos as your room is with cat stickers. He leans down, continuing his thrusts that make you see more stars than those embedded in your bed canopy. Licks the shell of your ear. And deeply growls, “my sweet, sweet girl, letting me into her pretty little space, letting me fuck this sweet, wet, little pussy. How did a big, scary man like me get so fucking lucky, hmm?”

You moan at the praise, and a tattooed hand wraps around your throat , causing your pussy to flutter around him. He growls in your ear, the baritone vibrations going straight to your clit, and you shiver. You can tell he’s grinning, as his other hand lazily rubs your clit. “Damn you’re fucking soaked.”

He’s not wrong. Your juices are drooling so much they reach your bed covers, but you can’t help it, you just can’t help it. He’s going so fucking slowly and deeply into you and all you can think about it’s how good it feels. How full you feel, how great it is to have his weight almost crush you. His intoxicating smell mixed with the smell of home in your safe bedroom. In your relaxing room that gives you so much peace away from the world, this is your favorite activity.

____________________

tagging: @yuujispinkhair (thanks for inspiring me to think about sukuna)

[hedgehog-moss]

Loved your mentioning of learning poetry by heart: this is something I haven’t done since school! What are some of your favs that you’d suggest to ease my brain back into it?

(Française ici donc les options 🇫🇷 autant que anglais sont welcome :) merci!)

Hi :) You can look at the poem tag of my quote blog if you want—some of the ones I've learnt by heart (or excerpts from them) include this one by Sara Teasdale - Nanao Sakaki - Velimir Khlebnikov - Wallace Stevens - Rabindranath Tagore - Archibald Macleish - Howard Nemerov - and these paragraphs by Henri Peña-Ruiz which I consider prose poetry... My favourite French verses (from Corneille, Aragon, Anna de Noailles, Hugo, Valéry...) are all alexandrines and I find it to be the easiest type of verse to remember, as the structure is so rigorous and consistent. I sometimes translate English poems into alexandrines (like this one) to make them easier to learn in this more familiar form—I think even after all this time English prosody still feels foreign to me; the patterns of sound and rhythm in French are more deeply embedded in my brain so it can more easily predict what comes next...

Re: easing your brain into it, I guess that depends on your style of learning? For me the best way to learn a text is to spend time with it in written form, be it by translating it, or by writing it down by hand (slowly) and then (sometimes) keeping it for a while in a place where I often stand idle, like taped to my microwave so I re-read it as I wait 1 minute for something to heat up.

One thing I like about learning poems is that it's a costless, always-accessible way to get a sense of personal accomplishment. Beyond that, I've got three categories of poems I like to learn for different reasons—I'll go into some detail in case it can help you figure out what you're after :)

1. Classic poetry, because it's just fun to have little snippets of ancient tragedies or epic Victor Hugo poems living at the back of your mind and accompanying you through your own everyday tragedies—as an overdramatic person who tends to feel devastated or exasperated over tiny stuff, it helps me to take some distance from my feelings. Like if I spill a bucket of manure on my boots and my first reaction is rage and despair and my second thought is a couple of verses by Euripides where Iphigenia bemoans her relentless fate, it's a way to make fun of (and get over) myself.

My grandmother did this a lot, she knew so many poems by heart and often used them ironically. If I went whining to her when I was little she'd recite to me the last few verses of Alfred de Vigny's La Mort du Loup (it sounds better in the original but):

[...] With all your being you must strive To that highest degree of stoic pride [...] Weeping or praying—all this is in vain. You must instead shoulder your long and heavy task In the way that Destiny has seen fit to ask Then suffer and die without complaint.

(Let me tell you, that's just what a five-year-old wants to hear after scratching her knee at the park) But really I admired this treasury of poetry she carried within her, especially as she only went to school until age 14 and came upon most of it thanks to her own curiosity; as well as the way she used it playfully in everyday life, using dramatic classical verse to de-dramatise minor annoyances.

2. Nature poems are great in the opposite way, to magnify minor positive things :) Like seeing a fox and having a few lines by Mary Oliver come to mind, seeing a frog and thinking of that Basho haiku... I recently discovered Jean-Michel Maulpoix and I also love his nature poems, like 'The recovery of blue after a downpour', the way he describes snow melting in the spring, or golden-blue evenings:

[Snow] takes some time to leave, but delicately. She doesn’t insist, hardly persists, never roots… She gives way. No one else dies so merrily With such good humour Unmatched is her disdain for eternity…

L’azur, certains soirs, a des soins de vieil or. Le paysage est une icône. Il semble qu’au soleil couchant, le ciel qui se craquelle se reprenne un instant à croire à son bleu.

3. And then there are the poems that proudly serve no purpose. <3 I mean beyond distilling language in a beautiful way. No deep meaning—or no meaning at all, e.g. surrealist poetry. I learnt this passage from Les Champs magnétiques back in middle school:

La fenêtre creusée dans notre chair s'ouvre sur notre cœur. On y voit un immense lac où viennent se poser à midi des libellules mordorées et odorantes comme des pivoines. Quel est ce grand arbre où les animaux vont se regarder ? Il y a des siècles que nous lui versons à boire. . . Prisonniers des gouttes d'eau, nous ne sommes que des animaux perpétuels. . . Nous ne savons plus rien des astres morts ; nous regardons les visages. . . Quelquefois, le vent nous entoure de ses grandes mains froides et nous attache aux arbres découpés par le soleil.

—and I've often recited it to myself just to enjoy these gratuitously nice sentences that aren't here to deliver information. Like Kay Ryan said, "Poetry makes nothing happen. That's the relief of it." It's a nice break, a way to remember that communicating isn't all language is for; beyond the social dimension there's also an intimate one that relies on our own aesthetic sensitivity. Most of the time we look through language, to access ideas, meanwhile enjoying poetry means looking at language, for a change, appreciating it for itself.

I just realised I'm paraphrasing John Brehm here—in The Poetry of Impermanence he wrote something that can be read as an ode to learning things by heart:

When you read lines that seem especially lit up—that move or intrigue you in some way, or that are simply pleasing or even dazzling—don’t focus on being able to formulate a statement about what they might mean, as if you might be called upon to explain the poem, to yourself or to someone else. Just linger with those poems or passages that resonate with you. . . Rest your mind on them; let them live inside you.

[toutvatoujoursbien]

A (relatively new-ish) fan’s perspective on Luke Newton

(I wrote my very first Tumblr post last month and now I think I’ve chosen the path of essayist/suffering. I’ve also been writing this on and off for four weeks because it seems like every other day, something new pops up or the fandom has a meltdown of some kind. I’m not even sure if it’s worth posting, but I think, like my first one, I needed to get this out of my system in order to TRY and return to being a normal person - which is still unlikely because Lukola has me in a chokehold. NOTE: I finished the majority of this on July 19, before all the weird-ass stuff happened over the weekend, and haven’t had the chance to post until now. Anyway, this is going to be long, full of ramblings that are hopefully organized in a cohesive manner, and all opinions and observations are my own. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings, okay?)

I’ve really struggled to understand why the whole Bridgerton S3 and Luke Newton PR stunt has embedded itself into my brain the way it has. Like, how could the actions of someone I don’t know still be lingering in my thoughts even now, weeks later? After my first post, I realized that there was more to the entire LN situation than I was previously unaware of - so I started digging. None of this information is hidden or secret, it was publicly available and therefore the fans picked up on it quickly. But I, personally, DID NOT KNOW ANY OF IT, going into S3, and I think that’s why everything has hit me like a ton of bricks. So I thought, surely I’m not the only new(ish) fan who has suffered from this emotional and mental whiplash? 

I really, really, really loved Luke’s portrayal of Colin and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching all the interviews and behind-the-scenes from S3. I would also love to continue to support him as he builds his acting career. However, I didn’t have a full picture, which unfortunately includes a history of making - what I think are - poor and questionable decisions in his personal life that he also allowed to bleed into his professional one. And that’s how I find myself struggling with the dichotomy of everything I’ve seen him do during Bridgerton promo vs. lots of other actions he’s taken. So let’s talk about it, okay? (Importantly, I reserve the right to update my current opinions as more information comes to light.)

I want it to be clear that I am in no way hating on Luke. Part of my struggle with writing this post has been because I don’t want this to be misconstrued as more hate being thrown his way. That is not my intention, at all. Seeing “fans” over the past few weeks absolutely rip into him on social media has been heartbreaking and deeply unsettling. This type of behavior is ugly and nasty and no one should be subjected to it. Full stop. As others have said: it’s okay to have thoughts and criticisms (criticism ≠ hate), but please keep it to the appropriate corners of the Internet. I think you can admire/support a famous person, but you should also be able to call them out on their conduct, particularly the stuff that happens in public. Blind love/following and putting people on pedestals is never going to allow any room for reflection and/or growth. I think there is a LOT of nuance in the whole discussion around him, his past actions, his handling of things now, and what’s in store for the future.

Okay, deep breaths & continue after the cut (because this got… wordy).

Some brief background on how I got here: As noted previously, I’ve been a longtime fan of both Polin and Bridgerton, first with the book series and then with the tv show. But, for whatever reason, I never even thought about jumping into the fandom until earlier this year, in anticipation of Season 3. I will say that I have been delighted with Nicola and Luke and their work as Polin from the start, but with the nature of the show being what it is, I just didn’t pay as much attention until it was their turn to lead. I watched some behind the scenes and promos occasionally, but not consistently. It wasn’t until around the February/Valentine’s event that I started to take notice and then I fell down the rabbit hole in April (literally, figuratively, and spiritually 😅). I say all this to illustrate that up until the spring, I was part of the General Audience, though admittedly with a bias towards viewing Bridgerton favorably.  Another factor is that I got most of my fandom content from Twitter (again, I’m never going to call it X), with the occasional peek into Instagram and Tumblr. Yes, Twitter is a hellscape. But I am also lazy and only have so much time to scroll online. And since everything seems to get cross-posted everywhere, it was easiest for me to keep mostly to one social media site to consume all my Bridgerton content. But I point this out because I now see this as an error on my part. Why? Because I wasn’t getting a well-rounded picture of the situation around L, N and S3. Remember my own self-admitted social media bubble? Sigh. The fast pace of tweets meant I could blink-and-miss something on Twitter, unless it trended (or really riled the fans up). It’s a breeding ground for the hyperbolic and for discourse, in general. Twitter also seems to be divided into the Luke Haters (let’s be real, most of their “reasoning” is just uncalled for, vile hate) and the Luke Apologists (who have the tendency to exhibit, imo, some gross-excuse-all-his-behaviors-he-never-does-anything-wrong rhetoric). So it wasn’t until I started noticing chatter of Luke’s past actions that it prompted me to start looking deeper into what others have witnessed and noted online, particularly on this platform. Again, it wasn’t like I was trying to find some sort of hush-hush subject matter. Instead, I rather got the impression that those established in the fandom had a sort of unspoken agreement to keep these discussions to DMs and group chats - mostly as to not detract from Polin’s upcoming season. (But seriously, great of y’all to keep it locked down, however it would have really helped a girl out all the times I was like, “why is everyone so mad?” 🤣) And a lot of things started clicking into place once I knew more of the details. So I’ve put together a list of high-level topics/points that I didn’t know before, being relatively new to the fandom. Perhaps this can help other fans who are trying to wrap their heads around the various discussions occurring now and may feel clueless.

One more thing, HUGE shout-out to @jack4132cf for giving me a concise timeline of… well, everything I apparently missed last year+ when I wasn’t part of the fandom 😆🙌🏼 They’ve really helped me fill in the blanks (of which I had many)! Also, darcytaylor has a great 3-part deep dive, and I’ve read (and backtracked) through most of herejusttosufferalong and allsortsofthingsmpov ’s blogs, among others. They’ve provided a place for differing opinions and perspectives to be voiced in a respectful manner (unless you’re a troll, in which any clap-back is justified). I may not agree with everyone’s take, but I firmly believe that hearing views from others has helped shape my own thought process.

Let’s begin, shall we?

The Hot Fuck Boy Summer™️ (which I’m trademarking as HFBS)

Bridgerton S3 wrapped up filming in March 2023 and then Luke starred in the play The Shape of Things, which was in production from around May-July 2023. At some point prior to all this, Luke and his previous gf broke up - this is reported on by several media outlets in March, as well as “news” that he joined the dating app Raya. This is where, I think, his questionable behavior starts to raise eyebrows. It’s not the fact that he’s dating - I feel like fans gave him a pass since he just ended a long-term relationship (Enter the mentality some had of “let him have his hot boy summer!”). No, I think the issue is that he was not at all private or discreet about it. 

Remember when I said I think he let choices in his personal life bleed over into his professional one? Yeah, there were multiple glaring examples happening in real time last year, and the fandom took notice. He started publicly following certain users on IG and liking their posts, (unfortunately) many of whom were young, female models and dancers, under the age of 23. He (foolishly) followed his private account on his public profile, and then tried to backpedal. He engaged with some online flirtations that didn’t sit well with the fans (cough, E. Bear, cough), and then tried to backpedal. Mind you, all of this occurred and at some point later on, it’s then also decided that he’s going to move (aka, clean up) his social media presence to be more work-related. My point is:

Luke was digitally messy and left a trail (several, really). 

In conjunction with the HFBS, we also have:

& That Friend Group

Ah yes, the “boys.” Look, clearly I don’t know his friend group in real life, so all I can speak on is the image they give off based on their public social media accounts. And I, personally, am very unimpressed with what they’ve chosen to share with the world. My general perception is that L’s group of friends love to have a good time and show it off; seem to have an large amount of influence over him, particularly R; and can been seen as reaping the benefits of his success. He has discussed before how he likes to be generous with his friend group. During HFBS, they posted all about their vacations, on public accounts, and tagged Luke in them. They posted thirst trap photos and tagged Luke in them. They took quite a few boat trips and, once again, tagged Luke in them. Are we sensing a pattern here?

His friend group was also digitally messy and left trails.

I am in no way saying his friends aren’t allowed to post whatever they want on their accounts. It’s totally within their rights to have a good time and capture it on their pages, and I completely understand the desire to only show the “memorable” and “fun” stuff on social media. I just think it was short-sighted to NOT consider that Luke’s fans would be interested in seeing what he was up to with his friends - and you know that people will always, always dig around on the Internet. Maybe this was some kind of fun game to them? Maybe they enjoyed the attention? Maybe they didn’t think it was that big a deal? Who knows? But I think, in hindsight, it would have been safer and smarter to not have all this documented and out in the open, imo. 

My other understanding is that around the time the break up was “officially announced,” Luke’s ex began dating someone who was 22/23 at the time. His childhood friend R also ended a relationship last year and began dating a young woman around 22/23. Do I think R may have encouraged Luke in a certain direction dating-wise, especially considering that A was/is a friend of S, R’s new gf? Do I wonder if this was all to get back at J for starting a relationship with a new young thing, too? It seems likely, but of course this is all conjecture on my part. This is giving “high school drama” vibes, being played out in public, which is very, very  unfortunate.

However, Luke was ultimately the person who did not ask his friends to refrain from posting him on social media, as well as publicly following young women on socials and not being very discreet about his dating life, which is what raises my eyebrows…

The Age Gap Thing

Let’s just address this here and now. Remember, these are my opinions, each individual is entitled to their own, and I hope everyone takes a moment to really think and evaluate how they feel about the matter! I’m going to be very transparent and upfront about this:

I do not like the age gap between L and many of the young women he was showing interest in last year.

I’m viewing this from the lens of someone who is an elder Millennial and female. For me, personally, my dislike has more to do with: 1) A's age when they started dating/the age she is now (22/23); but more specifically 2) the power dynamics at play. 

I don’t have a problem with age gaps overall, because I believe that love can find us at many stages in life. However, I’m also of the opinion that a person 30+ should not be dating a someone in their early 20s. I’m not going to use the whole “the brain hasn’t been fully developed” argument, though valid. My issue has more to do with where an individual is in terms of life experience, emotional and overall maturity, and (this ties in with #2) financial stability within age gaps. In general, I find, say, a 45-year-old dating a 37-year-old to be on more even footing, which becomes even more so as you age. But a 22-year-old, presumably fresh out of college/university and about to embark on their next steps into adulthood, is just not in a position to date someone in their 30s. To me, your early 20s are the time for you to gain all the things I mentioned above (life experience, maturity, financial stability that is independently your own) as well as make plenty of mistakes. And that’s not to say any of that stops once you hit 30, or beyond! I know I’m constantly evolving and learning more about myself and my place in the world as each year passes.

My deeper discomfort comes from the inherent power dynamics and power imbalance between L/A. Of course L has lot more of the power in terms of money, resources and status; they are not equal partners. This article here (https://jill.substack.com/p/the-problem-with-men-who-date-much) illustrates these points much better than I can; I think it’s worth the read. 

Is he allowed to date whomever he so chooses? Yes. Are people allowed to feel the ick with the current choice/choices he made last year? Also yes. Does it entitle anyone to post nasty comments on his social media? Absolutely not. I may not personally like his choice, but it’s ultimately his to make. 

NOTE: I also want to address right here that, to me, his behavior isn’t “predatory” or whatever twisted narrative some folks are trying to push. Honestly, I think he’s gone the complete opposite direction from the type of women his ex and N are because it might be less complex/more simple both in terms of emotions and permanence. But obviously, pure speculation on my part. 

Antagonistic A

At some point during HFBS, L meets A and she becomes a part of That Friend Group. During Fall 2023, there are many trips to Soho Farmhouse and other posts made to R/S/A’s social media accounts. A in particular made quite a few posts that could be interpreted as her wanting to show she was with L, but never actually including him fully (these are the arms/legs photos that fans talk about and side-eye). Some of these types of posts have since been conveniently deleted. L and That Friend Group celebrate NYE24 at Soho Farmhouse, where everyone but him share photos and videos. On Jan 2, a photo of L and A kissing was circulated on social media -  they got caught in the video of the band playing. Also at the beginning of this year, A - for whatever fucking reason - started tagging along on various work trips and had a tendency to post TikTok’s from various hotel bathrooms. Again, insinuating that she’s with L but not outright showing it. 

The “InStyle stunt” - end of March/early April, there is a trip to Los Angeles which A posted stories and photos on IG. It’s later revealed that L was going to be featured in InStyle Magazine’s “This Guy” series, which included an interview, video and photoshoot, as well as an IG post that consisted of several polaroid, “boyfriend-style” pictures. The Instyle polariods were released three weeks after A’s posts, and let’s just say that A’s are a little too on the nose to be coincidence (also cue more hand/leg reveals…) Please note, again, that some of these photos on A’s account have been conveniently deleted/removed.

These are only a few examples of how… messy this all is and how it can be viewed as her antagonizing the fans. There is a lot of back and forth debate between “just leave her alone, she’s allowed to post what she wants” against “she’s clearly using social media to taunt the fandom/get attention/chase clout/etc.” When I finally learned about all the social media games being played, I just felt really unsettled for a few reasons.

Luke has stated that he wishes to keep his private life more private (see: social media clean-up from last fall). But, and this is my big issue here, A and That Friend Group don’t seem to WANT to be private. So to me, that can push people to question how much does he know what’s actually going on (he admits to not being online much) and, more importantly, how complicit is he with all of their postings? I personally feel like the narrative being pushed by his friends is very self-serving, and doesn’t seem like it’s in L’s best interest or protecting his privacy. Because I think we all know and understand that if a celebrity wants to keep certain things private, they have the money and resources to do so - some good examples that come to mind are Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes, Benedict Cumberbatch, Dolly Parton, and our girl Nicola herself.

A has made it a pattern to post shortly after either Nicola or the main Bridgerton account posts something, usually on IG or TT; there is timely evidence of this. So much so that the fandom jokes about how obsessed she must be with N. And these posts don’t really have much substance - other than to show off her body or her latest vacation. It just all comes off as very insecure and seeking attention, whether it’s from L or from the public in general. Again, why do we feel the need to play social media games? But this does not mean she deserves hateful comments either. I personally don’t care for her or her actions, but as an older female, I also can’t help but be saddened by the fact that she’s making many, many poor choices in a very public forum. I can’t help but wonder if she’s going to have regrets later on when/if she reflects back on this time. 

The PR Stunt/Papgate

This has been dissected by the fandom to death and there are a plethora of theories on who exactly was responsible for calling the paparazzi, who knew what was actually going to happen, WHY did this occur, and how much did this impact the season and the press tour overall. It’s enough to make anyone’s head spin - hell, I’ve changed my opinion at least a dozen times over the past several weeks. Regardless, the thing that aggravates me the most about the whole thing is the absolutely terrible and suspicious timing of it. As stated in my previous post: Here’s my point: I think what should have been a moment of triumph and a joyous occasion for Nic, Luke, and Bridgerton season 3, was sadly overshadowed by the aforementioned shitstorm. And that’s a damn shame. Too many cast and crew put in a lot of time, effort, and blood sweat and tears, to pull this all together.

I’m still personally stuck on a few things: 1) How did paps know when L was leaving the official after party? Additionally, how did they know which hotel L was going to for his after-after party? Because that’s where we got the super awkward handhold attempt photos. 2) Did L know about the first location but not the second one - which ties into was this an attempt by his PR team to distance himself from Bridgerton and Nicola now that promo was almost done? Because the way he looks from location 1 to 2 is vastly different. 3) If paps were there, why was literally NO ONE else from the cast also photographed??? 4) Why has DM double (and tripled) down over the past few weeks on how she got those exclusive photos in the first place? And 5) Who ultimately has benefited the most from this whole PR stunt 🤔??? (Because I sure as hell don’t think it’s Luke…)

The Cinnamon Roll vs The Bad Boy

Luke has stated in several interviews that he’s interested in going for edgier, darker roles. I think that’s great that he wants to try something new and diversify; I would love to see him in whichever type of role interests him! However, he’s also spent 4-5 years playing Colin, a character that is quirky, kind and lovable (much more so on the show, thanks to Luke’s portrayal) and known for being the ultimate “wife guy” amongst the fandom. It’s also been mentioned time and time again that Luke is most like his character (by Luke himself and his Bridgerton cast mates). Nic speaks so highly of him, and the way he presented himself during the 6 months of press was really wonderful; I think he has a deep understanding and love for his role, and he was a genuinely supportive partner to his co-lead during filming. Think golden retriever energy - which is NOT a bad thing, at all!

If there is any truth to the PR stunt being organized by his team (and I’m in no way saying this is fact) as a way to differentiate/disassociate him from Bridgerton/Nicola, then I think this was a miscalculation on their part. We know that Luke did a lot of editorial photoshoots during the promo tour; and looking at the pictures now, it seems like there was definitely a narrative/aesthetic that was trying to be pushed of a more intense, moody and provocative L. Which is also fine! I don’t think he must be one personality or the other; humans are multi-faceted and complex, it’s what makes us so interesting.

The (Ongoing) Fallout

This is really difficult to write about because, honestly, I feel like we’re still witnessing it happening in real time, bit by agonizing bit. What we do know is that at this moment, he hasn’t announced any new projects other than returning for Bridgerton Season 4. He hasn’t announced any major brand deals and we don’t know what his next steps are career-wise. Which is completely baffling to me because I would think he and his team would want to capitalize on the momentum of a very successful season of a Netflix/Shondaland production. However, this is his life and his job, so until he comes forward with literally anything to say (a statement, an announcement, hell, he hasn’t even publicly claimed to have a gf FFS), then everything else is just noise and speculation. As much as I hope he’s not taking another HFBS, I also wouldn’t blame him for wanting to step away from the spotlight. He’s been unfairly dragged and smeared since the Part 2 premiere. Do I think he and his team/friend group have made a some missteps along the way? Yes, but again, no one deserves the nasty comments and vitriol that has been flung his way. 

So How Do We Move Forward?

I keep thinking back to the adage: When someone shows you who they are, believe them.*

And isn’t this the root of my (and perhaps others’) struggle? Because it’s been really difficult to reconcile someone Nicola calls “a true gentleman, the kindest friend, a dream costar” with a man who seemingly (?) goes along with pap walks, Instagram subterfuge, and appears to be distancing himself from the very project and costars that helped propel him into the leading man spotlight. For me personally, I go back to my point that people are multi-faceted and deeply complex. I think Luke can be all of those things; I also think he might be struggling right now to figure out who he is and what he wants next after being scrutinized so heavily.

Also from my first post: We have to remember, though, that what we’re shown is only a fraction of their true selves, carefully and deliberately curated to accommodate their status as actors/celebrities/those in the public eye. 

I choose to believe that we saw glimpses of the real Luke throughout the press tour. (ColinBridgey is a rockstar and compiled everything into a master list for our enjoyment!) I choose to believe Nicola knows Luke a hell of a lot better than almost everyone else yapping in this conversation. I choose to believe that his anxiety and quietness could be perceived as standoffish, and unfortunately he wasn’t able to shine as much as Nicola during the press tour, but they are a team and have each other’s backs - there is genuine love there, after all. I choose to believe that social media posting and likes are not indicative of the actual friendship and relationship between L and N. I would love to see him post more, or be more vocal in publicly thanking Bridgerton and Nicola - however, I realize those are expectations I have/desire and he does not owe me anything. 

I choose to believe that despite the mistakes and missteps, he’s a decent human being who deserves to live his life on his own terms and at his own speed. I really, really hope that whenever he announces his next project, I can be joyful and supportive. There’s a lot of talk about giving him grace, which I agree with. I cannot imagine, nor do I desire to be in the public eye this way; it’s easy for us and others to feel entitled to say things behind our screens and keyboards, but these are real, actual people with lives and feelings.

I do think that it is for the best interest of the fandom to try and ignore A and That Friend Group (and DM) as much as possible. And I will be the first to admit that it is really fucking hard to do so. Like I’ve said before, I try to ignore toxicity and hate, but I am also human and therefore imperfect and capable of pettiness. There is just something about this situation (probably how much Lukola captivated me and how much disdain I have for his friend group) that makes me watch everything play out like it’s a train on fire, careening towards an unfinished bridge, over a ravine. Sometimes I feel bad because I wonder if I’m adding to the entire spectacle with my continued interest. But then I remember that I specifically keep it to this corner of the internet, and I’ve found a nice little community where we can gossip and discuss and dissect it all.

If you’ve made it to the end, thank you. This is just everything I’ve been ruminating over the past month, put into word vomit form. I would looove to hear your thoughts and takes on everything/anything discussed above. Maybe you have a different perspective or noticed something that I missed.

*Fun fact: In my research, I learned that this saying comes from Maya Angelou’s “A Song Flung Up to Heaven” and is actually "Believe people when they tell you who they are. They know themselves better than you.” The more well-known version comes out of an Oprah Winfrey interview with Angelou in 1997, where they were discussing life lessons. Okay, I’ll stop being a nerd now.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Hair Lockets - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

——

“Cut with dull scissors and tied with a ribbon, curated under the glass of my pendant”

Summary: BAU!Reader asks Spencer for a lock of his hair after a near miss and a visit to the museum.

Word Count: 1.1K, not proofread oops ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

A/N: i’m overly sentimental and a sucker for ephemera of all kinds, including the old school tradition of keeping a lock of your lover’s hair so that’s exactly what this is. also kind of an explanation for jesus reid cutting his hair? titled after and inspired by the song hair lockets by nicole dollanganger <3

if you want to learn more about the history of the art mentioned in this fic, this article is super informative!

TW: kissing, gunshot mention, mild anxiety, i think that’s it?

Rating: PG, this is all fluff baybee :)

——

When Spencer proposed the two of you visit the local art history museum on your last day in the midwestern town the latest case had brought the team to, you hesitantly agreed, though the idea of relaxing in your hotel room until your flight the next morning seemed much more appealing after the traumatic nature of the events surrounding this particular case.

Spencer had another near miss with an unsub and from the moment the bullet hit his vest your heart felt like it would tear itself apart. This man that only a year ago had been just your nerdy, know it all coworker now felt like a part of you, and the idea of losing him was almost too much to bear. He walked away with only a deep bruise, but you couldn’t help but cry yourself to sleep that night at the thought of what the alternative could have been.

Now, almost a week later, as you anxiously wait for him to get back from the class he had today, you think back to that museum trip.

The thought had embedded itself in your brain from the moment you laid eyes on the most unique piece of art you’d seen - a victorian era hair sculpture. The concept of having a piece of your loved one, something their very body had curated, with you forever touched you deeply. That is what you wanted, a piece of your lover to hold over your heart whenever you are apart.

You heard the key turn in the door, your heart thumping in your chest as you watch Spencer walk through the doorway.

“Hello my love.” He coos, giving you a tired smile.

“Hey Spence.” You reply, walking toward him, hoping he wouldn’t see the way your hands tremble.

There was no hiding your nerves though, Spencer could read you like a book. He takes your hand in his as he slips off his shoes, guiding you to the couch.

“Is something wrong?” He questions, concern lacing his gaze as he looks over your features.

“No no, I’m okay Spence, I promise. I just have something I want to ask you.” You stumble over your words, unsure if it’s worth asking at this point.

“What is it? You know you can ask me anything.” He reassures.

“You can say no, I don’t want you to feel pressured.” You waver, unable to hold eye contact any longer.

He nods, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

“I was wondering if you would be willing to let me cut a small lock of your hair, t-to keep in my locket so you’re always with me. I know it’s weird but that sculpture we saw at the museum just stuck with me.” You ramble, your gaze fixed on your lap.

Spencer slips his fingers under your chin, gently raising your head to look you in the eyes.

“You know, keeping locks of hair is actually a practice that dates back centuries, even before the victorian era. It was common for families to use locks of hair from one or many family members to weave intricate sculptures as a mourning ritual in some cultures and to create family heirlooms in others. In recent time, during wartime it was common practice for soldiers to present a lock of their hair to their lovers as a forget-me-not. The sentiment is a sign of love, I’m honored you want to keep a piece of me with you.” His voice is calm, unwavering, somehow knowing exactly what to say to calm your nerves.

He squeezes your hand one last time, standing and telling you to stay where you are before disappearing into the next room.

A moment later he comes back, scissors and spool of ribbon in hand. He hands you the items before sitting cross-legged on the couch, turning to face you.

“Take whatever your heart desires.” He smiles, shaking his hair out.

“You know I could just chop off a giant chunk of hair, you’re putting a lot of faith in me right now.” You giggle, jokingly holding the scissors higher than you intend to cut.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, Morgan called be Jesus the other day.” He sighs.

“How about I take you to a barber after this, I don’t want you to end up bald if I make the wrong move.” You joke.

“It’s a deal.” He nods, smiling at you once more.

You choose a piece behind his ear, tying it off with the ribbon before snipping off an inch. You hold it for a second, feeling the soft locks against your palm.

It’s quiet as Spencer observes you. He’s never seen you so sentimental before, but he’s surprisingly comfortable with it. You’re unlike anyone he’s ever known, so strong willed yet full of boundless love for those who are important to you.

You place the lock inside the locket around your neck, rubbing the cold metal between your fingertips for a moment.

You look up at Spencer before leaning in to gently kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you.” You sigh.

“Of course angel.” He responds, turning your face to give you a proper kiss.

After a moment you smile against his lips, pulling away to pull him off the couch.

“Time for a haircut, Jesus. Oops, I mean genius.” You laugh, headed towards the door.

“Not too short though, I like when you run your fingers through it.” He smirks, making you blush.

You can’t help but hope you’ll get to grow old and grey with him and have the privilege to look back on this day in the future and know you’ll always hold a piece of Spencer Reid with you forever.

——

“Pretty strands that grew in your youth, pieces that I’ll always hold on to.”

——

Taglist: DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist :)

[yeahspider]

I have a request if they're open! Can you please write something with Han or Felix based of the song Matilda by Harry Styles? I relate to that song more than I want to 😭

THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST !!!! tysm for stopping by my inbox i love this song it means alot to me so this is gonna be based off of my personal experience a little bit and i hope that's okay. also its a lil short im sorry . this is only semi proofread but just know that it was written passionately. abrupt ending as always and to all readers this is sfw but allusions to triggering topics such as parental abuse and neglect . enjoy and feel free to stop by again ! <3

(also i have something to confess …. this was originally written with lee know in mind bc i’m dumb and read your request wrong ….so i altered it i hope you still like it i’m sorry 😭😭)

Grape juice 🫀

"Do you think I'm a terrible person for leaving?" you asked felix as you both sat in silence on the hood of his car. The night was warm despite the cold thoughts making their way into your head. It's been six months since left your home and three since you met him. In that time you've never felt more free. Your home life was never that good. Your stepfather was mean and your mother was blinded in love She did her best and you know that, but you were suffocating. Never enough money to go around and even less love. Your childhood was cold and ended all too soon. your family was struggling and you wanted out. As soon as you came of age you left. Starting a life of your own a world away. A life that was significantly better than the previous one you led. Every so often though, those thoughts would creep back up.

you abandoned them

you're being selfish

ungrateful

a coward

but felix was always there to chase them away. he didn't know every sad detail of your life but he knew enough to know that your home life was slowly killing you. Taking your hand he rubbed his finger over your palm, tracing the lines and curves.

"Your mother called again?" you nodded as you mulled over what details of the conversation you had with your mother earlier that evening. Calling it a conversation is a kindness you apply for her sake. In reality, it was thirty minutes of your mother berating you for leaving. From the sound of her slurred words, you could tell she was drunk, not a new thing for her. On most days you can ignore her hurtful words but today for some reason unknown to you, they stuck around in your heart.

"Just more of the usual stuff. She wants me to come home. Says Im a terrible person for leaving, that I abandoned my family. you know the usual stuff." you tell him as you pick at a peeling piece of paint on the hood. you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes and it made you feel so pathetic. How could someone miles away hurt your feelings? Crying felt stupid and pointless, you weren't taught to cry.

"You can cry you know? I'm not going to judge you." felix said as he wiped an escaped tear on your cheek. Something about those words made you so confused. Why wasn't he telling you to stop? To suck it up and be an adult? That you weren't a child anymore so it's not okay to cry when someone hurts your pathetic little feelings. An anger surged through you as you jumped out of the car and turned to him.

"Why are you so nice to me? I mean we barely know each other yet here you are comforting me on my mommy issues. What do you want from me?" you shouted at him as he just blinked at you, taking in your frenzied state. You weren't mad at felix and he knew that. This is just how you were taught to respond to kindness. Vulnerability was punished growing up, that lesson was still deeply embedded in your consciousness. He waited until your words washed over you and with the water came a calmness. He's seen plenty of your outbursts at this point in your friendship, although infrequent he handed them with grace every time. It surprised you never gave up on yourself like everyone else. Your brain wanted to be suspicious, your heart felt otherwise. felix waited until you released a breath and sat back down on the hood, muttering an apology as you went.

"You owe them nothing. All your life they've done nothing but tear you down as soon as you try and build a life for yourself. Your family robbed you of a childhood don't let them do the same to your adulthood. You deserve to live for yourself. That doesn't make you selfish or a coward. I won't let them ruin all the progress you've made. You're a good person. No one should make you feel any less." He finished his speech with a pat on your thigh, signaling you to get up and into the car.

"where are we going?" you asked as felix reached over and buckled your seatbelt for you. a habit he never seemed to forget.

"Somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. As far as we need to go for you toshake off those feelings. I'm gonna remind you how fun life can be. "

[wildemaven]

fall apart, again : chapter three | joel miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC!Genevieve

WC: 4322

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Loss of child, Talk of death, anxiety, panic attack, heavy emotions, grief, Ellie’s wild mouth, reader has a name but has zero descriptive features/is a blank slate

A/N: I don’t have a ton to say. It’s all just heavyX and I didn’t anticipate to feel so many things when I started this fic. But I think things will feel less heavy moving forward. I’m going to take a small break from this, just to let it be for a minute. There will be a small interlude I’ll put out before Chapter 4. I appreciate all the love and support through this! Big thanks to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being the best and constantly helping me work through things when I was feeling stuck.

Series Masterlist / Inspo Board / Playlist

Previous / Next

You’re frozen, standing in front of the man you had come to accept was gone. 

Your life. Your husband. 

You mourned him. Cried for him— for years while navigating through a post apocalyptic world. 

The grief ate away at you as the years ticked on, further and further from that September day, where you both stood together in front of the home you had built a life in. The pain festered at the fact that you were alive and your family was not. 

A selfish twinge of guilt swirled, so deeply embedded within, the shame you felt by allowing yourself to fall in love with another man, a man who was not your husband. 

But now you’re here, safe with the confines of this settlement, no more threats to out run or hide from. 

Here, in this home that is unfamiliar to you, your husband, Joel, standing merely feet away— alive. 

Joel is alive. 

“Joel?” 

“Eve?”

Your movements are slow, borderline hesitant, as you take the few short steps needed to bring you closer to him, your brain still registering this new version of him— seasoned with many years, years that lacked your existence. 

A single tear cascades down his face, sadness and surprise cloud his features. Breathing becomes difficult, his chest tightening with each passing moment, lungs constricting with each pull of air— vision beginning to blur as he tries to focus on you standing in front of him. You’re alive. 

The first touch is surreal, the cool-wetness of the tear beneath your thumb as you wipe it across his warm cheek— his eyes closing as he leans into your hand. 

A sob wrecks through your lips as you throw your arms around him, chests knocking against each other as you scramble to get as close as possible, gripping him tightly— the proximity not enough to elevate the fear of him disappearing the moment you let go. 

Words fail you. 

Joel tucks his face into the curve of your neck, his arms securing you to him, body vibrating as he weeps along with you. 

“Wow, that’s quite the welcome you're giving her there, Joel. He threw me against a wall and pointed a gun at me the first time we met.”

A low chuckle ripples through his chest, unwrapping himself from your arms, using the sleeve of his green plaid shirt to wipe his watery eyes, then taking it upon himself to wipe your face— his callused hands rough to the touch, but forgiving in their efforts. 

“Ellie, this is Eve—.” His eyes are fixed on you, a smile slowly emerging on your face. 

“Got that, already been introduced— Genevieve, Eve or whatever. By the looks of it, you seem to know each other pretty well. What— are you guys, ex-lovers or something? Clearly something more than whatever Tess and you were.” Ellie snarks. 

There’s a pause, Joel wincing at the mention of Tess. “Whatever Tess and you were.” Even now he doesn’t think he can find the words to define what they were to each other, never feeling like he could fully give himself to her the way she wanted, needed or deserved. 

You were his wife—then, now and forevermore. 

Joel reaches for your hand, still wet from your tears, wrapping it around your own. 

“Eve— Eve is my wife.” He notices the ring still on your finger the minute he says it, the pad of his finger smoothing over the small diamond, you never took it off after all this time. 

“No shit! Can’t believe you convinced someone to marry your grumpy ass. Ha! Wait, when did you have time to get married?” Ellie’s brain is already working through the timeline of events to see where she missed this union between Joel and you. 

“Umm… before, everything— Eve and I were married before the outbreak.” He feels a knot forming in his throat, thinking back to that last time he had seen you— the last goodbye that turned into the last time he’d ever hear from you again. 

You squeeze his hand, pulling his attention back up to you. Knowing Joel, you can only imagine the amount of anguish he dealt with over the last two decades. 

“Dang! And this whole time you thought she was dead and she probably thought you were dead— fuck.”

“Ellie, don’t!” Joel sees where her thought process is going. 

“Wait, so that makes you— Sarah’s mom? Oh, damn!” 

“Ellie!” 

Sarah. 

You were so caught up with seeing Joel alive after 21 years, it had slipped your mind to ask where Sarah was. Your heart skips at the thought of being reunited with her, your sweet little girl now a grown woman. 

It’s been a never ending stream of tears today, the thought of embracing your daughter only adding to your endless weeping. 

Breathing her in, reacquainting yourself with an older version of her, being on the receiving end of that bright smile, again. Your mind runs through every single thing you wanted to say to her, ask her so many questions, just sit and listen to everything she has to share. 

You want your daughter.

Sarah. 

“Where’s Sarah?” Your eyes scanning the rooms, how could you have missed seeing her?

“Eve—“ Joel barely manages to get your name out. 

Every turn you’re met with an empty couch, an empty kitchen, Sarah nowhere in sight. The staircase catches your attention, another floor of rooms, Sarah must be tucked away and unaware of your presence. 

“Sarah! It’s me— mom! I’m here!” You shout up to the second level of the house. 

“Eve—“

Your heart is pounding within the confines of your rib cage, ready to burst the second she reveals herself. 

As the minutes continue to pass by, the silence becomes deafening. Your vision begins to soften, it’s a battle to try and pull air into your lungs, tiny little tingles dance across your skin 

“Sarah— J-joel, where’s Sarah?” Stammering over your words, staring dolefully at the top of the empty staircase. 

“Eve, we should talk about everything— about Sarah.” 

He didn’t need to say anything more. You don't need a slew of words and sentences to confirm what you already know. 

You can feel yourself slowly breaking, piece by piece your heart shattering at the realization that Sarah isn’t here— not just in Jackson. 

You need to be alone, to process through this loss— again. 

“Is there a shower in the garage? Or is there one in here I can use? I’d like to freshen up…” You ask as you turn to Joel, his eyes filled with tears again knowing you have already come to the conclusion on your own. 

“Uh, yeah—  upstairs. The room on the right is mine, you can use the shower in there. Do you need me to get you anything?” He remembers how you always used to say a hot shower always made you feel better after a shitty day, this felt like one of those days. 

“Just— just my bag. Maria said she was grabbing it for me.” You say flatly before heading up the stairs in the direction of Joel’s bedroom. 

“Okay.” He utters at your retreating form. 

It’s a quick journey from the living room to the bathroom tucked in the corner of Joel’s master bedroom. 

The minute the door clicks closed, you steady yourself against the bathroom counter, knuckling tight against the cold tile as you try to muster up the energy to move. 

You’re met with your reflection again, the second time in a 24 hour period. Puffy eyes staring directly back at you, taking in your worn appearance, in desperate need to wash the grim and sweat, hoping it will wash the despair and heartbreak right along with it. 

It’s a fumbling mess as you try to rid yourself of your clothes, the fabric feeling claustrophobic and uncomfortable. Your hands work against each other as you attempt to undo each tiny fastener of your top, resulting in tearing it off as quickly as possible and buttons flying across the room. 

Boots, jeans and undergarments thrown off in an arduous mess. 

Goosebumps litter your arms and legs, the cool air of the stale bathroom wrapping around your exposed skin. 

Bare. 

Your mind. Your body. Your heart. 

Flashes of light prick at your sight, narrowing your vision, a dizzying feeling as you stand in the small room unable to move as your mind wanders through the darkness that’s haunted you— that small voice that has never been kind, a relentless force that creeps in when you’re at your lowest. 

This is your fault. You should have never left. You tore your family apart. If you were there you could have saved her, she would still be here. Sarah would be alive. This is your fault!! Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!

The walls groan the second you turn the shower on, steam looming over the plastic curtain. The water stings as it hits your skin, just the right amount of heat to wash away the pain that began to settle in your body. 

Your gaze fixed at the ceiling of the shower, blinking away the tears that so desperately need to be shed, your lips trembling as the memories begin to fill your mind. 

First cry, so tiny and beautiful tucked into Joel’s strong arms. 

First steps, her little legs waddling across the living room floor to you and Joel. 

First day of school, so eager to meet her teacher and new friends as she bounced into the classroom, leaving you and Joel, both a mess, at the door. 

First concert, singing at the top of her lungs as Jewel sang her top hits, Joel standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your shoulders quietly serenading you throughout the show— You were meant for me, And I was meant for you. 

First day in middle school, a teen waving you both off as she walked towards her first class located across campus, your little girl no more. 

It’s the final memory that wreaks havoc on your already depleted soul, eyes closing as a surge of tears cascades down your face merging with the scalding water, shoulders shaking with each choked sob, head falling into your hands— finally allowing yourself to fall apart, again. 

Last goodbye, her not so bubbly self annoyed at her parents for their lack of communication, trying her best to put on a brave face when the separation had been secretly affecting her, a goodbye hug and kiss with a promise to see her in a weeks time, her reflection the last image of her as you drove away. 

*

Joel finds himself frozen in place. Tears crystallized and his heartbeat slowly returning to a normal state. He’s staring at the top of the now empty stairs, muffled sounds of the shower pulsating through the air. 

He’s still processing the events since walking through the front door. Seeing you alive has him stunned. Spending the last two decades broken and marred over the loss of his family— his life. A pain so deep, it’s forever etched into his fractured heart. 

A part of him wants to run up those stairs, pull you into his arms and never let go. The rational part decides he should let you ease into this space, the less overwhelming the better. He knows a talk will have to happen at some point, one he’s not sure he’s ready to endure, but you deserve to know everything. 

“Well, that was fucking awkward. Geesh! Like your past is coming back to haunt your old ass or somethin’?” Ellie stated, breaking Joel from his growing thoughts. 

“Ellie, knock it off.” He spits out, knowing she means well, but her timing is usually off. 

“What? It’s not everyday your wife shows up, her husband gets shot and dies—“

“Her husband?” Joel says in disbelief at Ellie mentioning that you had come here with a husband.

You weren't alone? Your Husband?

“Only to find he’s not her husband or he is, but you are too? Then she’s wandering through the house calling for a ghost!” Her filter is doing a terrible job as she continues to push his buttons. 

Joel turns, brows pinched and eyes boring at where she’s still sitting at the dining table, smirking to herself at how wound up he’s getting. 

“So, I’m assuming she put two and two together about Sarah then?” Ellie adds, her tone less nagging than earlier, sensing Joel isn’t in the mood for her antics. 

“Yeah…” He breathes out, his fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose, he feels the slight twinge of a headache beginning to settle in. 

There’s a knock at the front door that grabs Joel and Ellie’s attention. Joel opens the door to find Maria standing on the front porch with a canvas backpack in her hands. 

“Hey, Joel. I’m just dropping off Genevieve’s things.” Handing the canvas pack to Joel. “There’s a letter in there you should probably read— I didn’t mean to snoop, it had fallen out. Tommy read it too— he told me, she’s your wife. Once things have settled a bit, he’d like to come say hi. Maybe we can do a family dinner or something— if you’re up for it.”

Joel hears a mention of a letter, the rest of what she says blends together, he’s too focused on the bag in his hand. It’s not heavy in weight, filled with pieces of you and your life that you carried around, a burden he wishes he could have taken on himself.

“Yeah, sure. Oh, umm— no need to worry ‘bout setting up another house, she’ll stay here in the guest room—“ Joel explains to Maria. 

“What! Why can’t she just shack up with you, she’s your wife? That’s my room— where the fuck am I gonna stay?” Ellie’s chair scrapes across the floor as she stands up and shouts to Joel and Maria. 

“You can stay out in the garage, plenty enough space for ya. I'm not gonna force her to do something she might not be ready for just yet. We’ll see how things go.” Joel tries to reason with her. 

“This is bullshit! She shows up and gets the royal treatment and I’m kicked out like I’m nothing!” Ellie blurted as she side-stepped between him and the front door, passing Maria to make her way out of the yard. 

“Ellie! Where are you goin’ kid?” Joel protested. 

“Out!” Ellie doesn’t look back as walks further away. 

“Shit! Sorry ‘bout that. I should have waited until and talked to her about it first before makin’ that call myself. After everything we’ve been through— this is all a lot to deal with.” Joel apologizes. 

“Give her some time. I’ve never raised a teenager, yet, but I come from a family of girls and we always needed a little reassurance when it came to change or major life events. I wouldn’t worry too much. Plus, teenagers love their own space, she’ll come around to the idea.” Maria tries to make him feel better about his decision. “I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t forget— dinner in the next day or so.” 

“Got it. Thanks, Maria.” Closing the door hastily. 

Joel sits on the couch, your bag resting on the coffee table in front of him, chin propped up by his hands with his elbows on his knees. He can still hear the shower going, making the house feel less empty than it should. 

He cautiously opens your bag, the letter Maria had mentioned is sitting on top of your other belongings. As he carefully pulls the folded paper out, he notices a picture tucked into an inside pocket. An old faded Polaroid, it sits heavy between his fingers. He stares at the image, a distant memory of him and Sarah on a summer afternoon trip for ice cream— you had insisted on taking their picture. It was your favorite and you always carried it with you in your purse. A soft whimper falls from his lips, eyes welling up as he takes in the worn photo— it’s been so long since he’d seen her smile.

Joel reads your words through his tears. The lump in his throat building with each word, thick with a longing to be close to you, hold you in his arms, make up for lost time and lost intimacy you once shared. 

My Sweet Joel,

I hate that this is the only way I can talk to you. You’d think it would get easier as time goes on— it probably would if I allowed it. But I can’t seem to let go of you and how much I love you, no matter how many years have passed— you’re too ingrained within me. 

I miss our mornings together, quiet sunrise talks in bed were my favorite way to start my day— even if it took us forever to untangle from each other. What I wouldn’t give to be in your arms right now. I miss your warmth, always so warm. 

I miss the way your eyes lit up when Sarah would finally join us for breakfast. I think we spent most mornings missing her when she was only down the hall from us. She was such a light, gentle and loving— she got that from you. 

Her birthday is in a few weeks— her 35th. I wonder what she would be into now? I’m sure she would still hate the way we always tell the restaurants it was her birthday, those cheesy songs always embarrassed her so much. 

I miss her so much Joel. I miss our family. I miss you. 

Sometimes I wish I could start this life over. A redo. I’d still choose you. But we’d do things differently— no stress, no fighting, no separation. And there would be no fucking apocalyptic bullshit to tear us apart. Live somewhere in the country, away from the busy world, just us— our family. 

We passed what looked like it was a small farm at one point. It made me yearn for normalcy. Where we could settle into the small farmhouse, drink our morning coffee on the wraparound porch while we watch the sun rise…

It’s a blurred rush of movements as he fumbles up the stairs to his room. Your bag tossed into a corner of his bedroom, items spilling out onto the floor, a problem for a later time. 

He runs through the reasons why he should wait, giving you space until you’re ready to talk as he stares blankly at the closed bathroom door. It’s when he hears a muffled cry coming from the other side of the door that his vow to protect you from any harm physically or emotionally, to keep you safe from all the things happening in your mind. 

Joel is grit and determination when he needs to be, a hard exterior presence that has been a staple feature of his, especially in the midst of this apocalyptic world. But even with his austere backbone, he’s an equally broken and fragile man. 

When he pulls the shower curtain back and sees your grief-stricken body, he’s immediately stepping into the shower with you, fully clothed and shielding you from the hot spray of water as he wraps himself around your shaky frame. Your hands instinctively grabbing onto his drenched flannel for support as your knees give out and he slowly guides you both to the shower floor. 

“It’s okay— I got you sweetheart— y’er okay, I got you!” His hold on you is unwavering, keeping you tucked in close to his chest, doing his best to lessen the impact on your heavy heart. 

“I-it’s my f-fault! I-I s-should have n-never l-left!” Your words thick with guilt and gasping for air as you weep against Joel’s sodden shirt. 

“Shhhh— none of that. I won’t let you do that to yourself!” He says between pressing purposive kisses to the top of your head. 

“I s-should h-have b-been t-there! I-it s-should h-have b-been m-me!” 

A pair of heavy wails crash into the air, your bodies convulsing against each other, no longer suffering in a grievous purgatory alone.

Your lashes flutter over your cheeks, eyelids heavy and swollen. Tears dried long after the shower had run frigid prompting Joel to turn the water off, a respite from the sadness—but too weak to find the strength to remove yourselves from the cramped cold space. 

Joel shifts his body, the rubber sole of his boots squeaks against the porcelain tub as he tries to alleviate the pressure of his worn knees. He adjusts his grip on you as he moves, his hands brushing across your skin sending shivers down your spine. 

“You’re shakin’. Let’s get you outta here— you can borrow one of my shirts. We can go down to the mercantile and pick up some new clothes tomorrow.” Joel manages to get you both to your feet. 

“Joel, your clothes— you’re soaking wet.”

“S’fine. Need to get you warmed up. I’ll worry ‘bout myself afterwards.” He says rubbing his hands over your shoulders, hoping it’s giving you some sort of warmth. 

Your hands tremble as you begin to slowly pluck at the buttons of his shirt, his large hands halting your movements wrapping around your wrists, pulling your attention to where he’s already looking at you. 

“Let me— let me help you, please.” Your whispered words float through the air, and he lets you continue to work your way down the line of buttons, sliding the flannel off his broad shoulders on the floor. 

Gathering the hem of his drenched white undershirt, you peel it up and off his body, his now exposed upper half littered with faded markings. Each scar is a new layer in his story, an indication of risks and challenges he faced. 

Your fingers trace over the ridges of what you assume is his most recent one on his lower abdomen, no desire for the details of how he got it or how it almost cost him his life, at least not right now, grateful that the bunched and distorted skin is proof of his survival. 

“I missed you so much, Joel. I’m scared this is all a dream, that I’ll wake up and none of this was real.” You say with your lips pressed firmly over the space where his heart lives, its thrumming cadence a calming force. 

“This is real, very real. I thought I lost you, but you’re here, we’re together, again.” He murmurs softly, cradling your face in his hands, his gaze consuming your hesitant eyes. 

His eyes land on your lips briefly, the gesture feels so natural, he doesn’t want to pressure you, he’d wait forever— he already has. For you it’s an easy decision, closing the distance between you, your lips slotting over his, in no real rush to make up for lost time at the moment, just needing to convey your love for him. 

“I love you so much, Eve. I never stopped.”

He kisses you now, a little deeper and a little more confident and all-encompassing. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance again to tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me, Joel— and now that it’s here, words don’t feel like they’re enough. I love you!” 

Once in his room, Joel finds a shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear, promising again to take you to find some new items tomorrow when you’re ready. 

“Umm, I guess I’ll head into the garage then.” Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt, a musky scent of him already drifting from the woven threads, eliciting a nostalgic fluttering. 

“No— you sleep here tonight. I’ll go sleep downstairs tonight, then Ellie can get off my back for volunteering her room to you.”

“It’s fine, I don’t want to be a bother—“ You protest. 

“Eve, you’re not a bother. And I’m not arguing with you over it. I would feel better if you were here, so stay— for me.” His protective side takes over, asserting that this isn’t up for debate. 

“Okay. I won’t argue— I’ll stay here.” Sitting yourself down on the edge of the bed, you look up to where he’s standing in the doorway still only in his boxers, hands secure at his waist— his features soften at the way you agree to stay. 

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me—“

“Joel, stay— here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you sure? I can wait until you’re—“

“Joel, please stay with me.” 

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take long for your body to find him once you’re both tucked under the sheets, nestling into his side. Your head resting on his shoulder, fingertips slowly draw shapes over his bare chest as he stares up at the ceiling. 

Sleep feels close, the long day catching up to you as you relax further into Joel’s side, but there’s so much you want to say, not really sure how to approach any question you have for him, knowing he probably has an array of his own. 

“You’re thinkin’ too loudly.” The low husk to his voice interrupts your busy mind. 

“I just— there’s so much to talk about. Things I want to ask, things I know I’m not ready to hear but need to know.” There’s a slight wobble in your throat. “And I’m sure you have things you want to ask too. It feels like I have to learn so much about you, while I’m still trying to cope with this still being real and true. That you’re alive and I’m lying here with you—“

His lips on your forehead soothe your bubbling anxiousness, a warmth washing over you instantly. 

“How ‘bout we don’t talk about any of it tonight. We save all that for tomorrow— we’ll figure it out then.” You’re grateful he makes the decision for the both of you. 

“Okay— tomorrow.” 

[magnusbae]

13 books

What’s up readers?! How about a little show and tell? Answer these 13 questions, tag 13 lucky readers and if you’re feeling extra bookish add a shelfie! Let’s Go!

Tagged by @cuubism Thank you!! 💖 Heads up: if you're tagged, you don't need to read it alllll even if you do want to participate 😌

1) The Last book I read:

I'm pretty sure it was Tress of the Emerald Sea, what a delight!

2) A book I recommend:

.... The Way of Kings... (The Stormlight Archive)

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

The second book of The Stormlight Archive, Words of Radiance had me by my throat like nothing else. wow. 👏🏻

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more):

Listen. I'll list something other than The Stormlight Archive just because this is getting embarrassing. The books I used to regularly reread were: HP, Eragon and Assassin's Apprentice. (full series rereads, crossing the 10 each) 😌

5) A book on my TBR:

I have a hefty amount of books I bought and never read. Ranging from classics to cheap fantasy-- but alas, my brain is fixated on the other author who doesn't disappoint me and so I just stick to his books XD

Some of the books sitting on my ineffective 'shame you into reading' shelf are: Captive Prince, the rest of the Wolfsong series, the.... shadowhunters books... the new trilogy about Fitz which I have in hardcovers yet never read. And some... others...

6) A book I’ve put down:

One of the reasons I am avoidant of taking on new books at all is because I have a very hard time putting down books I started. I'll suffer through entire series just for the few grains of gratification in the end. Or to... spitefullfy and confidently say it sucked balls.

However... three series managed to break me.

First being GoT, I just didn't manage to get through, not even 10 chapters. A true oddedity for me, but I just couldn't.

Second being The Witcher. I managed to power through like 4-5 books? And then I just couldn't do this to myself anymore. It was so, so, so not my vibe. (even while the pc game is about my most favorite game ever.) 🤷🏻‍♀️

And lastly, although I think I did finish the entire series before deciding that if ever a new book came out, I'll never read it, was the-- god what's the name of it... the First Law Trilogy – The Blade Itself etc from joe abercrombie. What a bleak series! Oh my god!

7) A book on my wish list:

My honest wishlist is just to keep on reading Brando Sando in my slow and enjoying-it phase... Although I admit that there's a large amount of those new spicy fantasy books apparently being released that shorts recommend and older folk rant about, so I naturally do want to check it out to see what's up with that but.... in truth... I just want to keep on enjoying Brando Sando XD

8) A favorite book from childhood:

I genuinely really loved Eragon. Oh and Artemis Fowl was all fun. I also really loved Tunnel in the Sky, like really.

9) A book you would give to a friend:

ngl it'll be an unapologetic The Way of Kings with big and passionate begging session of 'please give it a try' like for real.

In case any one of you is actually interested--- (you don't have to read this part) -inhales deeply-

The Way of Kings is a truly misleading book, that might leave you with the impression that the book is all about wars and kings but that is the furthest from the truth a description and a cover and a name can go.

It has fantasy, it has deep and rich world building, elaborate magic system that is deeply embedded into the story, culture and literal every single stone of the world. There's politics, culture, introspection, deep and varied characters, each reading like the main character of the story, having unique and vibrant personality and motivations.

It is not just a book, it is a work of true and deep love for the genre and writing in general. Beautifully done, enriching and enticing.

And what's most important for people who read too many books?

Hard to predict. It managed to pull the rug from underneath my feet in the most surprising and pleasing ways. Brandon writes in a way that is not 'shock just to shock' nor 'drama just for drama'. Every single scene is true, and forward. You always have everything right in front of you, the key is that you do not know how to put it all together just yet.

That can finally give that refreshing 'I don't know where it's heading but I'm enjoying the experience" I feel I had lost over the years, being able to recognize patterns too easily and predict writing intentions.

God, what a book! It does however have a rough learning curve, being such a massive world, it takes time to ease you in. Say about at least 5 chapters in at the minimum. On a personal note, I recommend the audiobooks read by kate reading and michael kramer, literally the best experience I've ever had, listening to those two bring to life every character and accent and scene, wow!

10) A book of poetry or lyrics that you own:

Come to think of it, I don't actually own any. Ha.

11) A nonfiction book you own:

I don't haha! Looking back, it's a lie, I have a few phycology books gathering dust in various hiding spots.

12) What are you currently reading:

........The Way of Kings....

13) What are you planning on reading next?

.....Words of Radiance.... haha. 😋

Y'all don't need to read all them answers in case you just want to answer it for yourself, or you can skip, too 😊😊😊

@mayhemspreadingguy, @pollyp, @nonbinary-nicolo, @msmongoose, @hardly-an-escape,

@ladymatt, @underacalicosky, @grapenehifics, @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts

@acedragontype, @palfriendpatine66, @heretolurkandnothingmore , @virahaus, @wallsinmyhead

@kittttycakes, @elcaballerodragon, @justsuffilike, @pumpkinkingsalem, @handahbear

@willameena

I am certain this is 13, I am certain. Cheers 💖💖💖

[astradyke]

Suddenly I need you to write a dissertation on anything!! You're so well spoken <3 since we're getting into a bit of a character (?) study almost on them, I need you to talk about phil's supposed breakdown when dan left him aka went on tour. These two are so codependent it's adorable!! And now in the context of phil incorrectly (but still sweet) explaining to dan the invisible string theory. I can't!!!!! If it wasn't so sweet, it would almost be toxic but I love them!! They're obsessed with each other, only want each other, cannot stand to be separated for more than a day and want us to know it!

i again need to pause and thank you profusely because i am really happy that there is an interest for my little dissertations ^_^ this is the second to last day i have at home before i move back into university so we really need to maximize this time haha

honestly though, i know i say this every time i make a post but i actually don't know how many thoughts i have about this? i dunno... this is going to be messy but, i guess here are some of my thoughts as to why i don't think Dan and Phil are codependent (ft some tangents and affirmations that they are still crazy insane bc you are right and i'm emotional about it)

Dan is leaving me is actually such a masterpiece of a video because it is really like the loudest thing they have ever publicly released, barring the second pizza mukbang video. it's a little ridiculous in concept because like, come on guys, you're in your thirties and you haven't been apart for longer than two weeks? ever? in like a decade? but also like... i don't know! i kind of get it?

one of the aspects of their relationship that Dan specifically really amplifies in interviews (and throughout Dystopia Daily interestingly enough) is the fact that Phil is essentially a part of his everyday routine so much to the point that it's no longer remarkable. it's heard when he describes their relationship as "two 1,000 immortals/ancient divorced couple", or when he says "Phil doesn't count as a person", or when he calls Phil a piece of furniture (can't snag citations right now but if you are unfamiliar with any of these just ask me and i'll find them for you). a lot of these are done snarkily, but it is actually a massive facet of many close relationships: you become so used to each other that your everyday existence is parallel play, and you are so good at communicating that you know how to flow in and out of each other's spaces like it's breathing.

quick little Mare lore drop, let's talk about university! from January to May at the bare minimum, i would spend anywhere from 2-8 hours a day with my best friend (who comes up in these posts way too much i promise that isn't intentional). we'd study together, eat together, hang out together, etc. we were talking about this recently, because i'm actually not the most extroverted person in the world-- i have spent the majority of my time alone this summer by choice-- but i simultaneously spent literally every waking moment with another person in college, aside from when i was asleep and maybe an hour or two in the middle of the day. the last time i FaceTimed him we both spent it playing separate video games and basically not talking for 1-2 hours straight? yet i am exhausted after seeing another very close friend of mine at the mall for like, two hours. how do you reconcile all of that?

the reason why my best friend's company doesn't drain my social battery is because i have embedded being around him so deeply into my routine that my brain doesn't register it as a social event anymore. i could be in a room with him for literally eight hours and only spent about a quarter of that time socializing. and yet, a few days away from going back to university, that reality feels like a total shock to me, because i spend all my time alone-- how the fuck am i going to go back to being with him from three PM to midnight?

well, that's the exact opposite question Dan and Phil had to ask themselves in 2022! the two of them had been so used to each other's company that it really did become part of their daily routines: a post-social event recharge for Dan might not exclude him resting beside Phil, because Phil isn't a Person, he's just Phil who happens to be a person-- Dan's person. Dan playing the Elden Ring DLC involved Phil being there because yes, Dan was the one playing, but Phil's obviously allowed to be there. so, when Dan decides to go off on tour, and the two of them split apart... that's when the question springs up. because suddenly alone time isn't alone time and also Dan's there, it's proper, actual alone time. the things that you forget to do around the house because you know someone else is able to do them shocks you, because it was never a problem to rely on someone before-- Dan was literally always there! etc etc.

and i actually... okay, i love jokes about codependency and sometimes i do look at them (like with parts of Dan is leaving me) and go holy shit you two that's crazy, but i actually don't see this as a codependency thing! it's a pretty massive shock to anyone's system when you live around another person for that long in such a compact space, right? and like they joked about in... shit, i don't remember the video, might have been the wdapteo 3 (?), the two of them were startled to see the other person in the flesh after Dan's long stretch on tour because that is also a massive adjustment! it's kind of a terrifying one to be honest! just like how university life / home life is a distinction for me, home life / WAD life was a distinction for Dan. and i do take note of the fact that this scenario was unfolding while Dan was the one on tour, because I do think we'd see something kind of interesting if it was the other way around-- like, my point holds, but Phil was right in the video when he said that he has lived alone before versus Dan hasn't because as soon as he moved out he found Phil and, well, not even Dan seems to remember when he proper moved in with him versus when he just crashed in his bed for a weekend. tour life gave Dan structure, and i think that overwhelming reset to his system probably helped with the lack of Phil, versus Phil had experienced living alone but didn't have the same routine that led him to handle the shift in company with the same grace. can't fault the guy.

that being said, while i don't think they were codependent exactly in this period of their life, i do think they were still crazy obsessed with each other because like they really cannot go two seconds without calling or texting or saying each other's names it's so funny. i don't really feel comfortable likening anything they have to toxic because i (like all folks here i think) am very very strongly for the idea that really none of it is, they just kind of happen to be a healthy relationship in which both party is convinced they are soulmates and nobody else has ever had a love like theirs. which... cheers, mate. for sure! can't believe Dan and Phil invented romance, should we throw a party, should we invite Joey Graceffa etc etc

anyway! those are my thoughts <3 this is a clusterfuck of a post SORRY i am very sleepy and also between packing 😭 so not as articulate as usual. but i tried!

[songofsoma]

beloved

kinktober day 31: aftercare

(my brain needs some after this month)

pairing: karlach x f!tav words: 451 rating: mature (sexual themes alluded)

read it on ao3

Strong fingers curled around Daefina’s wrist as Karlach trembled around her. Her hand was still lingering between the tiefling's thighs while she peppered kisses over the small, heaving chest. 

Something different lingered in the air tonight. Usually, when they had sex, the air was hot and heavy—and not just from the heat elicited from the vents embedded in her lover’s shoulders. But now, it was heavy in a different sense.

Daefina looked up from her breasts to find Karlach’s eyes glassy with unshed tears and her brows furrowed like she was trying to process something. 

Alarm bells blared in her mind. Had she done something wrong? Had she hurt her? Did she go too far? 

“Karlach? Sweetheart, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” she asked, not able to rein in the panic in her voice.

She shook her head and smiled. “No. Not at all. Quite the opposite.”

Daefina scrambled to kneel beside her, a hand caressing Karlach’s cheek to catch a scalding tear that escaped. 

“I’m just…feeling a lot.” She sniffed, but made no move to wipe her eyes. “I haven’t been able to touch or be touched in so long and I’m just so fucking happy.”

Relief flooded through her veins and she smiled softly. She bent down, brushing her lips against heated cheeks to kiss each tear that fell away.

“You make me so happy,” Karlach whispered.

She pressed her hand against the place where her heart once sat, now relaxed with the thrumming engine that was the source of all her troubles. Daefina wished so badly that she could give her own heart to Karlach so that she may live in peace. Instead, she would just have to settle for giving her her heart in the metaphorical sense. 

Daefina laid down beside her, tugging at her arm so she would roll over to rest on her. There was no hesitation. 

Karlach settled her head against Daefina’s chest, allowing herself to be enveloped in her embrace. Her arms held the battered soldier tightly as if her love was enough to protect her from anything that might come.

Tears still dripped down her cheeks, falling onto Daefina’s skin, but still, Karlach smiled. 

She nuzzled the top of Karlach’s head, breathing in the smell of amber and smoke that always seemed to cling to the tiefling. “I love you,” Daefina murmured, making sure it wasn’t too muffled by her affections that Karlach wouldn’t hear. 

“I love you too,” she whispered, afraid that if she spoke too loud the moment would be shattered and it would slip through her fingers. 

But then Daefina tightened her embrace and Karlach knew it was real and that she was truly and deeply loved.